Walking on Air

by Catherine Anderson

  Nan finally found her voice. “If this is your idea of courtship, M-Mr. Valance, I can assure you that it leaves a great deal to be desired.”

  He laughed, and the gruff rumble of humor came so unexpectedly that she started. “No, ma’am, it’s not my idea of courtship. I’ll tend to the courting part after I put a ring on your finger.”

  “I have not agreed to marry you.”

  “No, but if you refuse, I can promise that you won’t like the consequences, and neither will your sister.”

  Nan clenched her fists over the gathers of her skirt. “I never meant to kill Horace Barclay. He was . . . Well, he meant to take liberties he had no right to take prior to marriage. I got away from him long enough to grab a knitting needle from my yarn basket to warn him off. He just laughed and lunged at me, tripped, and fell forward, taking me down under his vast weight. I never meant to stab him.”

  Valance leaned his back against the door and crossed his booted feet. “I’ve no doubt you’re telling the truth. As dumb as I’ve been a few times in my life, I’ve smartened up over the years. I’d never marry a woman I thought might stab me when I turned my back on her.”

  “Then why?” Nan cried, her voice turning shrill. “If you believe I’m innocent, why are you doing this to me? You can’t possibly bear me any affection. You know only enough about me to send me to the gallows, and if I end up there, my little sister will suffer even more than I will, and for far longer. Why? You walk into my shop from out of nowhere, a man I’ve never seen in my life, and demand that I marry you. I don’t understand. What can you possibly hope to gain? You don’t seem interested in money.”

  “I’ve got plenty of money of my own without tapping a woman who works from dawn until late at night to make a success of her business.” His coffee-dark gaze locked with hers. “So, you’re right: I’m not interested in your bank account. Maybe I’d just like a chance to spend time with a beautiful, refined woman. Or a chance, maybe, to hang my hat on the same hook for a spell and see how it feels to have a normal life. I’ve countless reasons, Miss Sullivan, but time’s a-wasting, and I’m finished talking. You can get your cloak and go with me to the preacher—or a justice of the peace, if you prefer—and become my wife. Or you can tell me to go to hell, and I’ll walk down to the marshal’s office. Your choice.”

  “Choice?” Nan’s voice shot up an octave. Catching herself, she continued in a calmer tone. “What do you mean, choice? And even if I agree to this madness, how can I be certain you won’t soon tire of the situation and turn me in anyway?”

  “You don’t for certain yet.” He shrugged one thick shoulder. “On down the road, you’ll come to know me better and realize I’d never make a bargain like this with you and then renege later. But for now, all you’ve got is my word. If you marry me, the truth of your real identity will be a secret I’ll carry with me to the grave.”

  Nan realized her blurred image of him was caused by tears, and that infuriated her. She never allowed herself to cry in front of anyone. She’d learned under her father’s harsh tutelage that weeping only encouraged a merciless person to be crueler.

  And there was not the slightest doubt in her mind that Gabriel Valance was merciless, perhaps even more so than her sire. He was the kind of man who would rule a woman with an iron fist, and crush her with the brute force of a blow if she dared to defy him.

  Even so, Nan had no options. She didn’t want to hang for a crime she hadn’t intentionally committed, and she would endure anything, even marriage to a self-confessed killer, to protect Laney.

  She pushed shakily to her feet. “Please excuse me while I go upstairs to my living quarters and fetch my wrap.”

  He inclined his head. Then he moved quickly forward as the door opened behind him and bumped his back. Geneva White, the banker’s wife, walked in, smiling brightly. Atop her brown coiffure, she sported a gaudy, overdecorated hat that Nan had made, per Geneva’s specifications, cringing as she’d added the requested stuffed canary to a crowning and unattractively flamboyant abundance of flowers and feathers. According to Geneva, such hats were all the rage back east, and it was the silly woman’s primary aspiration to set the fashion standards in Random, keeping its female population apace with the latest fads. Over her rose walking dress, she wore a lush cape of burgundy wool and suede gloves of exactly the same hue.

  Her blue eyes twinkled with eager excitement. “I’ve finally succumbed to temptation, Nan, and Simon has relented. I want to commission you to design that gown for me.”

  Nan glanced at Valance. He gave a slight shake of his head. Nan tried to smile at her customer, but her face felt as if it were painted with dried egg white.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Geneva, but I’m closing for the day. A matter of some urgency has come up.”

  “Oh, dear, is Laney all right?” Geneva asked.

  “Laney is fine.” Nan groped for an explanation and settled for, “It’s a private matter.”

  Geneva finally noticed the man who loomed to her right like a dark specter. She paled, flashed a horrified look at Nan, and made a fast retreat to the door. “Later, then. Perhaps I shall return on Monday after the holiday weekend.”

  “Perfect,” Nan managed to reply with some semblance of a normal tone. “I’ll look forward to coming up with a fabulous design.”

  Geneva gave Valance a last, wary glance and exited the shop with a loud jingle and bang of the closing door.

  Valance gazed through the windows at the fleeing woman. “Was that a bird on her head?”

  “Yes.” Nan’s stomach rolled, and for a moment she feared she might gag and purge her stomach on her gleaming plank floors.

  “Not a real one, I hope.”

  Bile burned in Nan’s throat. “The fake ones don’t look that real.” She remembered how she’d hated handling the stuffed creature—ever conscious of how tiny, fragile, and defenseless it must have been in life. She’d read, afterward, that people painted the insides of shoe boxes with varnish, stuffed the live canaries inside, closed the lid, and killed them with the fumes. A quick and painless death that left the birds unmarked, the article had claimed. But Nan didn’t believe it was painless.

  Her world had become a varnish-coated box, the lid was closing, and she could attest to the fact that struggling for breath was agonizing.

  • • •

  A biting chill sliced through Nan’s green wool cape, making her already cold body feel like a chunk of ice. She couldn’t imagine how Gabriel Valance could bear being outside without a coat, but if he suffered from the near-freezing temperature, he gave no sign of it. He stopped just outside her shop to arch a raven brow at her.

  “Which do you prefer,” he asked, “a justice of the peace or a preacher?”

  Nan definitely didn’t want to marry this man in a spiritual ceremony. If they kept it as merely a legal union, recognized only by the state, she could at least tell herself that the vows she was about to make wouldn’t be binding in heaven. “The justice of the peace suits me fine.”

  He nodded, and for a man who had to be new in town, he turned right, needing no direction. With surprisingly good manners, he stepped to the outside of the boardwalk and cupped her elbow in his hand, keeping her sheltered between him and the storefronts as they walked. Nan tried not to think about how large his hand felt—or how even the relaxed press of his fingers emanated strength through her wool wrap. If he chose, he could probably crush her bones with the sheer force of his grip.

  This isn’t happening, she thought a little wildly. It can’t be. I swore never to marry, and it was a promise I meant to keep. And yet here she was, striding along beside him as if nothing out of the ordinary were about to occur. Madness. How would she explain this to Laney? Even worse, how would she survive the coming night? Gabriel Valance wasn’t one to prevaricate; he’d been brutally honest about his reasons for doing this. He’d seen her and decided th
at he wanted her. Though Nan had never lain with a man, she was no twitter-brained young girl who had no idea what occurred in a marriage bed, and in her opinion, the whole process would be not only disgusting, but also possibly painful. She seriously doubted that Gabriel Valence knew the meaning of the word gentle.

  “How did you find out about me?” she asked, her voice twanging with panic.

  His grasp on her arm tightened as he guided her around a loose plank. “Well, now, there’s a story, and one you wouldn’t believe if I told you. So let’s just say a little bird whispered in my ear.”

  Nan’s panic mounted. “If you were told about me, then someone else must know as well.”

  “Two individuals—no, make that three—know every detail about your past, but they’re in no position to talk.”

  “You can’t be sure of that!” she responded shrilly.

  He laughed, and with surprise she realized his amusement was genuine. “Oh, ma’am, I think I can. They’re no longer of this world.”

  “You killed them?”

  Just then, a drunk burst through the bat-wing doors of the saloon out onto the boardwalk. Valance caught Nan back, drew her to a stop, and gave her a perturbed frown. “Why the hell would you think that?”

  “You said they’re no longer of this world; that means dead.”

  “Well, they’re not dead,” he shot back. “Not the way you’re thinking, anyhow.” Using his free hand, he fidgeted with his hat. “It’s hard to explain, and I’m not going to stand here trying until I talk myself blue. You just have to take my word for it; they won’t be yapping to anybody.”

  Nan gaped up at his tanned face, wishing his coffee-dark eyes were easier to read. The drunk finally staggered from the boardwalk into the street, heedless of the fact that he forced a farmer to bring his wagon team to a rearing stop, and apparently deaf to the insults shouted after him as he wove across the thoroughfare toward the general store.

  Valance guided Nan back into a walk. Only a few doorways ahead was the office of the justice of the peace, a man named Walter Hamm, who also served the community as an attorney at law, occasionally sat on the judicial bench, and sold eggs from his wife’s chickens on the side, undercutting Burke Redmond’s prices at the general store by a penny a dozen. Ellen Hamm’s eggs were superb, with yolks that were nearly orange, and whites that held their shape in a hot skillet, testimony to the good care and feed her hens received. Nan often came up the street to buy eggs from Walter. Today the walk seemed much longer, yet at the same time all too brief.

  When they reached the door, Nan jerked to a halt well away from the threshold. She felt Valance’s grip lighten on her elbow.

  “If you want to bolt, I won’t try to stop you,” he said. “If you can’t go in there and do this willingly, I won’t—”

  “Willingly?” she challenged, her voice reed thin with anger. “You’ve given me no choice. It’s go in or be hanged by the neck until dead.”

  “With that or you just contradicted yourself. You do have a choice.” He angled a meaningful look across the street at the marshal’s office. When he looked back at her, a muscle along his jaw ticked, and his eyes seemed as black as a moonless night. “Make up your mind, Miss Sullivan. Marriage or the gallows? I think I’m the better bargain.”

  Nan couldn’t argue the point, so she covered the remaining distance to the entrance. She couldn’t make herself believe, really believe, that she was going to marry a man she had never clapped eyes on until an hour ago, if, indeed, it had even been that long. But do it she would. No matter how badly he treated her, she would somehow protect Laney, and in the end, being his wife would be better than dying. She’d escaped from an intolerable situation before and started a whole new life. If she had to, she would withdraw what money she had in the bank and do it again.

  Chapter Five

  For Nan, the experience inside Walter Hamm’s office passed in a nightmarish blur. Gabriel Valance’s voice rumbled distantly in her ears, and her own responses sounded tinny and unreal. Vague impressions assaulted her brain of witnesses to the nuptials being called in off the street, and then casting her horrified looks when they realized the identity of her groom. She repressed a shudder as her new husband slipped a gold band onto her left finger. He whispered that he’d gotten the ring earlier at the jewelry shop. It disturbed her that he’d been so confident she would marry him prior to meeting her, and it bothered her even more that the circlet of gold fit perfectly. She was unable to suppress the shudder that shook her body when he lightly kissed her on the lips to conclude the ceremony. Then she was unable to steady her hand as she put her name to paper. She stared blankly at the register, wondering for a fleeting instant if the huge ink blot she’d made would render her signature worthless. If so, it would be the only bit of luck she’d had today.

  Walter, who’d worn a concerned expression on his bony face during the entire ordeal, tried to catch her gaze with a question in his own. Nan managed to avoid looking him in the eye, leaving him with no alternative but to sigh and say that he would go directly across the street to the Office of Public Records, Random’s version of a courthouse, to record the marriage and instruct the clerk to send copies of the documents to Denver.

  Gabe wasn’t in the least rattled during the ceremony. He was well accustomed to the wary expressions of distaste on people’s faces when they first saw him, had fully expected Nan to be a quivering mass of trepidation, and was able to repeat his vows without a single qualm. He could swear to love, honor, and protect his wife until death did they part. He had to play the role of husband for only a month, after all. And then he’d be among the dearly—or not so dearly—departed. He had absolutely nothing to lose and eternal salvation to gain.

  His calm lasted until he guided his bride onto the boardwalk and turned her toward her shop, which was now locked, with a closed sign hanging at an angle on the door window. What the hell am I supposed to do now? He felt so uneasy that he even hoped the chatterbox angel who liked scaring the crap out of him would materialize and give him some advice. But the ever-eloquent Gabriel had chosen this moment to remain silent. Gabe had absolutely no experience with women who didn’t earn their livings on their backs. How could he put Nan at ease? What should he say to her now? How was he supposed to act?

  He knew only that she was as jumpy as a bug on a fiery-hot rock, and every time he shifted his grip on her elbow, he felt her body snap taut with what he guessed was fear. Did she think he might shove her between two buildings and force himself on her in broad daylight? And if she was this nervous out in the open, with people and wagons passing by, she’d be in a fine state once they were alone in her shop.

  Gabe mentally groped for comforting sentences. I have no intention of forcing you to have physical relations with me. No, that wouldn’t work. If he said that, she’d immediately think that was precisely what was on his mind and that he meant to bed her posthaste. I’m not going to hurt you. Scratch that off the list. Then she’d have reason to believe that he did indeed mean to have sex with her immediately and was only promising to go about his business gently. Don’t worry. Everything will be just fine. That was the worst yet.

  Shit. Gabriel, where are you? I need advice! Gabe nearly parted company with his boots when the angel’s deep voice finally vibrated in his ear. I have no experience with ladies, Gabe. I’m an angel, remember, not a man. Gabe circled that reply in his mind and silently shot back, But you must have been a man at some point. Right? You had to die to become an angel. Did you cock up your toes right after you were born or something? The angel’s response made Gabe miss a step, which earned him a startled glance from Nan. Clearly you’re a stranger to scripture, my friend. I was never born. God created me as an angel, and I’ve never been anything else. That made absolutely no sense to Gabe. How could somebody become an angel if he’d never lived on earth to be tested and prove that he was holy?

  “You’
ve never had sex?” Gabe blurted aloud.

  Nan jerked as if he’d jabbed her with one of those long hat pins he’d seen in her shop. “I most certainly have not, sir,” she snapped back, “and hereafter, I would greatly appreciate any attempt on your part to speak in politer terms!”

  Gabe couldn’t admit that he had been addressing someone else. He could just imagine her reaction if he told her he was conversing with an invisible angel who had not only arranged their marriage but had also told Gabe her ring size. And, damn, did that mean proper ladies like Nan didn’t refer to the activities behind closed doors as having sex? If not, what the hell did they call it? Intercourse? Physical intimacy? Before he could stop to think it through, he blurted, “Well, if not sex, what the hell do you call it then?”

  The words no sooner passed his lips than Gabriel, his inconstant adviser, yelped, “Don’t ask her that!”

  Nan stopped dead in her tracks at Gabe’s inquiry, causing him to jerk so hard on her arm that she staggered. He barely managed to catch her from falling. Then, with her body pressed so firmly against his, he could have sworn he felt the tips of her nipples burning their way through all the layers of her clothing and his as well. She peered up at him, looking nonplussed.

  “What do we—um—call it?” she echoed. Flicking the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, which made his manhood snap to attention, she added, “I . . . well, I honestly don’t know. It is not a topic ladies discuss.”

  I told you, the angel Gabriel said. Gabe was so dumbfounded by Nan’s response that he barely heard his golden-haired adviser. “Ladies never discuss it?” he asked incredulously.

  Nan’s fair brows snapped together. “Never,” she affirmed. Then, taut as a fiddle string and still pressed full-length against him, she added, “My mother, who might have discussed the subject with me, died before I was of an appropriate age, and the ladies who frequent my shop . . . Well, our conversations never stray to topics of such a personal nature.”