A Time to Keep by Rochelle Alers

Augustine had said holiday instead of vacation. Shiloh had mentioned the region’s isolation, so she assumed some European customs and vernacular still persisted more than two hundred and fifty years later.
    â€œNo, I’m not. I’ve just moved here.”
    Moriah’s expressive eyebrows lifted as she stared at Shiloh. “Where are you living now?”
    â€œSt. Martin Parish.”
    â€œWhere in the parish?” Augustine asked.
    â€œBon Temps.”
    The masks covering the faces of Moriah and Augustine wouldn’t permit Gwen to see their shocked expressions. Moriah recovered first. Her smile was dazzling. “Have you sampled any of our Cajun cuisine?” she asked, deftly changing the topic.
    â€œI’ve had a poor boy—I mean a po’boy at the Outlaw.” The three shared a smile.
    Moriah tapped her fan against her palm. “What about red beans and rice, peppers and grits or Creole shrimp and eggplant?”
    â€œNo, ma’am.”
    Moriah flicked open the fan with a quick snap of her wrist. “That settles it. You must come for dinner next Sunday. You will bring Gwen when you come, won’t you, Shiloh?”
    He glared at his mother. “Why don’t you wait for her to either accept or decline your invitation, Mama?”
    Moriah ignored her son’s reprimand, and smiled sweetly at Gwen. “Should I expect you, my dear?”
    Gwen struggled to hide her confusion. What did Moriah expect her to say? No, I can’t come? No, because her attempt at matchmaking is anything but subtle. No, because I don’t need to spend any more time with your son than necessary. And no, no, no because Shiloh Harper wasn’t a man she could date and relate to as a friend. Three pairs of eyes stared at her, the silence lengthening between them and making her uneasy.
    â€œYes,” she said after a pregnant pause.
    Exhaling audibly, Moriah pressed her palms together. “Good. You will bring her, Shiloh, won’t you?”
    He rolled his eyes at Moriah. “Yes, Mother, I’ll bring Gwen with me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Please excuse us, but we must circulate.”
    Shiloh shouldered his way through the crowd filling up the ballroom. He reached for a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and handed it to Gwen before he took one for himself.
    She rested a hand on his sleeve. “You don’t have to take me to your mother’s.”
    He frowned at her. “Why not?”
    â€œI can go alone.”
    His frown vanished. “You think my mother coerced me into agreeing to bring you?”
    â€œWell, she did put you on the spot.”
    â€œNo, she didn’t.”
    â€œShe’s playing matchmaker, Shiloh.”
    â€œMoriah’s being Moriah.”
    â€œWhat’s that suppose to mean?”
    â€œYou’ll find out after spending a couple of hours with her.” He touched his flute to Gwen’s and took a sip. The champagne was excellent.
    Gwen moved closer to Shiloh. “Why are you being so evasive?”
    A sensual smile softened his mouth. “Why are you so suspicious, darling? What you see is what you get.”
    â€œAnd I happen to like what I see, darling,” crooned a sultry feminine voice.
    Gwen turned to find a masked woman cradled in an embrace with a man who, although masked, reminded her of Shiloh. They shared the same hair texture, jawline and chin. He was an inch or two taller, his body larger, bulkier.
    â€œYour woman is shameless, little brother.”
    Ian Harper dropped a kiss on his wife’s braided head. “I wouldn’t have her any other way. Well, big brother, have you forgotten your manners? Aren’t you going to introduce us to your lady?”
    Shiloh glanced down at Gwen and found her staring up at him. “Gwen, this masked man is my younger brother Ian, who also happens to own the Outlaw. And the beautiful woman with him is my