A Time to Keep Read Online Free PDF

French before her European vacation and hadcome away with only a rudimentary fluency in the language. During the two weeks she’d spent in France she was able to order food, ask street directions and negotiate with shopkeepers. The French were impressed because she’d at least tried to communicate with them in their language.
    Shiloh picked up her bags and headed for the staircase, Gwen following. She was intrigued by the man named for a horrific Civil War battle; a man who as sheriff of St. Martin Parish had gone beyond the call of duty to make certain she was safe; a man who understood and spoke French fluently. The reporter in her wanted answers—a lot of answers, but they would have to wait until after she’d gotten some sleep.
    Soft light coming from two table lamps revealed a room that was spacious and clean. A mahogany four-poster bed draped with mosquito netting, a matching highboy and rocker beckoned her to come and spend the night.
    Shiloh placed her three bags on the floor next to a small, adjoining bathroom before he walked over to the French doors overlooking a balcony enclosed with decorative wrought-iron grillwork. He checked the lock, then flipped a wall switch and the blades of a ceiling fan stirred the air.
    Turning around, he stared at Gwen who lay across the bed, eyes closed. Moving closer, he saw the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. She’d fallen asleep. Bending over, he removed her sandals. A knowing smile softened his firm mouth. He was right about her shoes costing more than some folks earned in a week. Gwen Taylor’s size seven sandals were Jimmy Choos.
    He couldn’t pull his gaze away from her face and he noticed things that weren’t apparent at first glance: the length of her lashes resting on a pair of high cheekbones, the narrowness of the bridge of her short nose, the incredibly smooth color of her sable-brown face, and the lush softness of her mouth.
    An unbidden thought popped into and out of his headquickly. Spinning on his heels he walked out of the room, closing the door softly. He checked the knob to make certain it was locked, then made his way down the staircase to the lobby.
    â€œBon soir,” he said to Willie as he strolled across the lobby and out of the boardinghouse.
    â€œA tout a l’heure, Shiloh,” Willie called out at the same time the telephone rang.
    Shiloh climbed behind the wheel of the black unmarked SUV and turned on the engine. The clock on the dashboard read 9:55. It wasn’t often he worked overtime, but he didn’t consider helping Gwendolyn Taylor work. It was one parish resident helping out another.
    He drove away from Jessup’s thinking about the woman asleep on the bed in a second-floor bedroom. She intrigued him, intrigued him enough to want to get to know her better. And like her namesake who’d occupied Bon Temps for half a century, he was certain this Gwendolyn would also get her share of male admirers.
    What she didn’t know was that she’d acquired her first one: Shiloh Harper.
    * * *
    Shiloh lay in the oversized hammock, his head resting on a down-filled pillow, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over an equally bared chest, listening to the nocturnal sounds of the bayou: the low growl of an alligator, the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, and the occasional splash of a muskrat, opossum and other wildlife. The sounds had become a serenade, easing his frustration. And like those he’d tried and sent to prison he now counted the days, weeks, months, and it was now less than a year when he would eventually return to the D.A.’s office.
    Four years of college, three in law school and countless hours studying to pass the Louisiana bar hadn’t prepared himto become a sheriff. He loved preparing a case for trial, going to trial, and delivering opening and closing arguments. His mother called him a frustrated actor because there were times when his