“She’s my wife!” Launching to his feet, Gideon stared unseeing out the window. Pressing his forehead to the cool glass, he whispered, “I’ve never felt more helpless in my life.” His friends were quiet for a pregnant moment, until Whitfield spoke again. “And you feel helpless because you care. A great deal, it would seem.” Gideon glared at him over his shoulder. “Of course I care. Like I said, Ana María is my wife.” “Yes, I’m aware. I was at the wedding.”
