Free Across the River of Yesterday by Iris Johansen

it could have taken away a portion of Gideon’s pain. “As I said, I’m new at having someone need me. I reacted without thinking.”
    “Instinct,” he said thoughtfully. “You came to me instinctively. Think about that tonight. You might learn something about yourself and about us, too, perhaps. I believe in instinct.” They had reached the top of the stairs and he paused to look down at her. “Instinct made me know you belonged to me that night.” He touched her cheek with a fingertip. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning, love.”
    She hesitated. “Will you be all right?”
    He nodded, then smiled. “You could leave your door ajar in case I get ambushed. I like the idea of your being available to hold me like you did out there by the fountain.”
    “I don’t think you’ll need me. I’m not as experienced as you at shooting bushwhackers out of the saddle.” She turned away. “Goodnight.”
    She could feel his gaze on her back as she walked quickly down the hall and opened the door to herroom. A moment later she was in bed, her head awhirl with a wild confusion of thoughts. Why had she committed herself? It was crazy.
She
was crazy. She had been swayed like a tree in the wind by sympathy, remembrance, and the sensuality he had evoked so effortlessly. She knew he’d had no intention of arousing her to this extent. He had just been himself, Gideon, and that had been enough. Even now, lying here in an emotional turmoil she was conscious of a nagging anxiety. Was he lying in his room across the hall unhappy and lonely again? Surely he had been joking about the possibility that he might need her to help him get through this time. Still, he hadn’t closed his door on her, when there had been a chance she might need him.
    She lay there for many minutes staring into the darkness, trying to make a decision. Then she abandoned all reasoning as totally useless. She had half known what she was going to do from the beginning anyway. Maybe Gideon was right, and following instincts was best.
    She slipped out of bed and ran across the room. She opened the door and left it ajar in unspoken welcome, a gesture of friendship and support. Then she ran back across the room, jumped into bed, and pulled up the covers. It was done, and she felt immeasurably better. She closed her eyes and was asleep a short time later.
    Gideon had left his own door open and was lying in bed, waiting. It was only a chance. It was really too soon for her to offer him that kind of trust, but maybe …
    Then he heard the soft click of Serena’s dooropening and the slight rustle of the mattress as she returned to bed.
    Gideon smiled into the darkness, turned over on his side, and shut his eyes. There was still a faint smile on his lips when he, too, fell deeply asleep.
    “Somehow, I didn’t expect a coffee plantation,” Serena said as the driver of the limousine negotiated the gravel road leading to the large stone house on the top of the hill. “Ross said your largest hotel property was here on Santa Isabella and I guess I thought you’d live near your base of operations.”
    “I have a penthouse suite at the hotel and I stay there most of the time.” Gideon waved to a khaki-clad man in one of the fields bordering the road. The dark-skinned man waved back, a brilliant white smile lighting his face. “That’s Henry Delgado, my foreman. He runs the plantation for fifty percent of the profits, leaving me to be the gentleman farmer. It suits us both.” He leaned back on the blue velour seat and stretched out his legs. “I was going to sell off the land and just keep the house and a few surrounding acres, but that could have disrupted the lives of the farmers who live on the property. So Henry and I came to our agreement.”
    “How long have you had the plantation?”
    “Two years.”
    Her gaze flew back to his face.
    He nodded slowly. “I decided I’d better try to have a home ready for you,” he said softly. “Thehotel is plush