Nan’s stomach felt as knotted as a skein of kitten-tumbled yarn. She pretended to be intent on setting the table. “Well, since you apparently aren’t going to mention it, Gabriel, I suppose I will. It appears that I owe you a hundred dollars. Gloat all you like.” Please don’t. “It shan’t bother me.”
Laney gasped. “A hundred dollars? For what?”
Nan glanced up just then, and Gabriel winked at her. “That was a silly bet. I don’t expect you to pay up.”
“It wasn’t a silly bet to me.” Nan placed fresh napkins beside each bowl. “And I am a woman who honors her debts.”
“Okay, fine,” he volleyed back. “You can put it in the family pot. Now that we’re man and wife, what’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours. We can make bets any old time we want, and nobody ever really loses.”
Ha. As of Monday, all the money in Nan’s pot would be under the floorboard in her downstairs workroom. No way was he getting his hands on her precious hoard. It was all the security she and Laney had.
“I can’t believe Mama made a bet. She doesn’t believe in wagering!” Laney glanced back and forth at both adults. “What did you bet on?”
Gabriel grinned at the girl. “Whether or not you could stop talking for thirty seconds.”
Laney giggled and rolled her eyes. “No, sir. You’re fibbing. What did you really bet on?”
“That, young miss, is none of your business,” Gabriel replied. “Right, Nan?”
A rush of relief filled Nan. She truly didn’t wish to have her nightmares become a topic of breakfast conversation. There were things that Laney shouldn’t know—things that Nan had relentlessly endeavored to keep secret from her. As a result, Laney, while aware of the stark facts about what had occurred eight years ago in Manhattan, remained unaware of any lurid details. Little girls should remain innocent.
“Right,” she said, confirming Gabriel’s statement with an emphasis that made him turn to stare at her. “Now that I’m married, Laney, there will be some things Gabriel and I discuss only between ourselves.”
“How is that fair? I don’t like secrets!”
“Too bad,” Gabriel inserted. Then he distracted the girl by slapping a hot pad into her hand. “You can dish up the oatmeal while I get the toast out of the oven.”
Moments later, Nan was seated at the opposite end of the table from her husband, with Laney at her right. The blessing had been said, and now the child was laughing because Gabriel had tasted the porridge, closed his eyes, and was moaning as if his bowl were filled with ambrosia. Nan braced herself and took a taste. She nearly moaned, too. The stuff was almost as good as the pies had been. As for the cinnamon toast, she felt that the slices had been slathered with too much butter, but when she bit into her piece, she couldn’t quarrel with the results. Delicious.
Suddenly Nan felt unusually hungry. Normally she ate smallish portions and never had second servings of anything, but she quickly dispensed with her porridge, helped herself to a second piece of toast, because there were still three left on the platter, and then poured herself a glass of milk from the chilled pitcher. As she took a sip, she found her gaze locked with her husband’s over the rim of her tumbler. An odd shiver ran up her spine and radiated out over her shoulders, making her skin prickle. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, but it did take her by surprise. Good heavens. Was this how it felt to be attracted to a man? No wonder some women acted like morons, simpering and blushing and fanning their cheeks.
Nan would never allow herself to behave in such an unseemly way. It mattered little that Gabriel Valance was devilishly handsome when he grinned at her. She would not melt under the twinkling warmth in his coffee brown eyes. She averted her gaze and carefully set down her milk. A burning sensation crept over her cheeks. She filled her mouth with toast, chewed industriously, and nearly choked when she tried to swallow.
“I think that getting a good night’s rest agreed with you,” he commented. “Your color is better. Don’t you agree, Laney?”
Nan endured a long study from her much younger sister. Finally the child replied, “I do agree. Her cheeks are nearly as pink as my Sunday dress.”
• • •
Over the remainder of the holiday weekend, Nan tried her best to stick with her regular routine, which included any hand-stitching needed on garments in progress, and cleaning tasks too time-consuming to manage when the shop was open. Gabriel Valance insisted on helping, and when he decided to sweep, Nan watched in startled amazement as he put all his strength into each pass with the straw bristles, sending more dirt airborne than into the pile on the floor. She confiscated the broom at the first opportunity and suggested that her new husband dust the sitting room, her thought being that he couldn’t do much damage with feathers attached to the end of a handle. Wrong. He knocked over knickknacks, toppled a display of books, and used the tool so vigorously that bits of down soon decorated the upholstery. Despite his ineptitude, he took criticism from Laney with good grace, attempted to lighten his touch, and later collected all the feathers. Nan was incredulous that a man would turn his hand to household tasks, let alone take instruction from a twelve-year-old.
Gabriel continued to play the role of charming husband—ever patient, warmly accepting, and brimming with compliments. He was good at it. . . . She had to give him credit, but it constantly remained at the forefront of Nan’s mind that he was only putting on an act. And that act wore on Nan’s nerves so badly that she felt like an overwound clock with inner springs about to snap.
By Sunday, feeling extraordinarily well rested and having experienced four reasonably tolerable nights in bed with her husband, Nan was finding it increasingly difficult to hold fast to her determination to resist Gabriel’s allure. Was he real, this man with his crooked grin and playful sense of humor? Her lovely apartment, once so quiet, now rang with laughter. And her life, once so predictable, had become a moment-by-moment surprise.
Hoping for some time alone to sort out her chaotic thoughts and emotions, Nan went downstairs to work in her shop that afternoon. To her dismay, Gabriel and Laney soon joined her, and what might have been a peaceful and productive few hours for Nan became a stint of alternating amusement and frustration. While she dusted shelves and cataloged her new inventory, man and child engaged in a ludicrous game of dress-up. Laney started it by plopping a hat on her head and pretending to be a fastidious and difficult-to-satisfy customer. Gabriel followed the child’s lead, and the next thing Nan knew, her dark, intimidating gunslinger wore one of her more colorful headpieces, a mauve felt cap adorned with pink and green feathers and silk carnations nestled among sprigs of angel’s breath. He draped a knitted green shawl over his broad shoulders and hooked the handle of a beaded black handbag over his wrist.
If anyone on the street saw this performance, it would be all over town faster than a tumbleweed in a hurricane. Hurriedly Nan drew the curtains across the windows, muttering something about the light hurting her eyes.
Neither Gabriel nor Laney paid her much attention. Flapping one hand and placing his other on a cocked hip, Gabriel tried to speak in a high-pitched voice, but his natural baritone thrummed deeply in between squeaks. “I have my heart set on a hat with a dead bird perched on top, Mrs. Valance. I’m told you are a milliner of inestimable repute who happily works under the direction of her clients to create stunning originals.”
It was the first time Nan had been addressed as Mrs. Valance. It gave her a jolt, but she couldn’t very well protest. Like it or not, it was her name. She might have resented the reminder, but Gabriel looked so silly she couldn’t help but smile. Playing along, she said, “I’ve a broad inventory of stuffed critters in storage. What kind of bird are you yearning for?” She slanted him a wicked look. “Perhaps a hummingbird? Or a canary?”
“Not a hummingbird or a canary!” Laney cried. “They’re too little and sweet to suit him.” Her gray eyes danced with mischief.
“Do you have a big, black, ugly crow?”
“No, but I do have a vulture,” Nan said.
That set Laney to giggling so hard that she bent her knees and hugged her sides. Gabriel growled and, still in costume, snatched the girl off her feet and slung her over his shoulder. “A big, black, ugly crow? I’d much rather be a vulture and have you for supper.”
Laney squealed. “Help me, Mama! Help!”
Glancing at the window curtains to make sure no one outside could peek through a crack between the panels, Nan only smiled and shook her head, convinced that the child was in no imminent danger—unless, of course, Gabriel dropped her on her head. “Do take care,” she cautioned.
He grinned and set Laney back on her feet.
“A badger,” Laney suggested, straightening her skirt. “He should have a stuffed one on his head. They’re nearly as fearsome as he is.”
Nan was no longer certain Gabriel was as fearsome as his reputation painted him. The thought came into her mind from out of nowhere, and she didn’t welcome it. But once the sentiment took root, she found it difficult to dislodge. She knew her own reputation in town was that of a woman who did quality work and paid her bills on time, but was standoffish and made no friends. She’d even heard it said that she felt she was too good for the rest of the town. It wasn’t true, but people held fiercely to their own perceptions. Was Gabriel’s reputation as inaccurate as her own?
Before Nan could pursue that thought, a knock came at the door. Laney’s expression turned horrified. With a squeak, she stripped off her acting garb, grabbed Gabriel’s as he shed it, and then raced to hide the evidence of their foolishness in the storage closet. As Nan went to answer the summons, Laney was pretending to tidy shelves, and Gabriel was standing with one hip braced against the jewelry case, his dark eyes dancing with laughter.
Prudence James and Loretta Michaels, two of the worst gossips in town, stood on the threshold. As they hurriedly explained that they were in desperate need of red and green trim for a Christmas table runner they’d decided to make over the weekend, they craned their necks to peer past Nan into the shop.
“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” Prudence said. “We thought we had everything we needed, discovered that we didn’t, and want to finish our project today.”
Nan knew very well that they’d come to snoop, but she allowed them entry. “My till is counted down for the weekend. Anything you buy will have to be put on your bills.”
“Oh, no worries,” Loretta said with a flap of her hand as she swept past Nan with a rustle of her skirts. “We’ll settle with you tomorrow.” She jerked to a stop when she saw Gabriel and placed a splayed hand over her heart. “And who might you be? It’s not often I see a gentleman in Nan’s shop.”
Nan quickly made introductions. Gabriel grasped the fingertips of each woman’s proffered hand, and then engaged in polite small talk until Nan intervened by reminding the two busybodies that they’d come to buy trim. Gabriel took advantage of the distraction to go upstairs, leaving Nan to deal with her customers’ nosy questions. She kept her responses vague and was relieved when the two women finally left.
“They didn’t need trim!” Laney exclaimed. “All they wanted was to see Gabe up close. If he hadn’t been down here, they would have tried to wangle an invitation from you to go upstairs for tea.”
Nan couldn’t argue the point. “Gabriel handled it well, giving them no fuel for gossip.”
Laney snorted. “Those ladies lie, Mama. They don’t need a reason to say awful things about people.”
“True,” Nan agreed. “But looking on the bright side, if their story is intriguing enough, I may sell a lot of Christmas trim.”
Laney laughed. “Better yet, we could sell tickets! A nickel for a peek at the infamous gunslinger Gabriel Valance. We could get rich!”
• • •
The following morning, Nan dressed for the day, prepared breakfast, got Laney off to school, and then told Gabriel she had to walk over to the bank for one-dollar bills and coins to set up her cashbox for the week. Her new husband seemed to think nothing of it, and instead of offering to escort Nan to the bank, as she expected he might, he said he wanted to take a turn around town, get a breath of fresh air, and try to find a newspaper.
Nan was breathless and jumpy when she entered the bank. Simon White, as plump as his wife, Geneva, was thin, sat behind his desk off to the right. He had been attempting to grow a mustache over the last few weeks, and this morning, in the golden light coming through the barred, painted window, Nan saw that he’d tried to shape the bedraggled thing with pomade. It looked as if two fat gray mice were perched on his upper lip, noses touching in the center and their tails extended stiffly behind them.
“Mrs. Hoffman—er, Valance!” He struggled to his feet and came around his desk to greet her.
“Mr. White.” Nan offered her gloved hand, and the banker executed a half bow as he lightly grasped her fingers. “Lovely to see you,” she said, wondering as she spoke how Geneva could bear to kiss him with that bush sprouting beneath his nose. Nan would have much preferred kissing Gabriel, who kept his face clean-shaven. And where did that thought come from? “I trust Geneva is doing well after the rigors of the holiday.”
“Fit as a fiddle, and jabbering nonstop about the gown you’re going to design for her.” He arched a silver brow. “How may I assist you this fine morning?”
Nan smiled and gestured at the teller window, where Hank Mortimer, a pencil-thin man whose only outstanding features were a hawk nose that turned red when he smiled, and ears that stood out as if they were being blown from behind by a strong wind, stood ready to help her. “Nothing but a routine withdrawal,” she replied. “I’m sure Mr. Mortimer can handle it.”
Simon held on to her fingers. “I understand that congratulations are in order.”
For an instant, Nan couldn’t think what he meant. “Oh! On my marriage, you mean. Yes, indeed, and thank you.”
Tipping his head slightly back, Simon studied her with unabashed curiosity. “When, may I ask, did you come to meet Gabriel Valance? So far as I know, he arrived in town only last week. I never would have guessed you to be possessed of an impetuous nature.”
Nan kept her smile firmly in place. “I’m not, Mr. White. This isn’t Mr. Valance’s first visit to Random. He came once before at Christmas.”
Simon frowned. “Hmm. I don’t recall anyone ever mentioning that. A man of his ilk usually causes quite a stir when—” He released her hand to cover his mouth as he coughed. “Er—ah . . . ahem. My apologies. I seem to be catching a nasty cold.”
Nan took advantage of the break in conversation to say, “I really must hurry, Mr. White. I’ve left my shop unattended.” She turned toward the teller window. “Please give Geneva my regards.”
Ten minutes later, Nan ducked between two wagons to gain the opposite boardwalk. In one hand, she carried a satchel filled with all her life savings, except for one dollar, which she’d had to leave in the account to keep it open. Once inside her shop, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath, annoyed with herself for feeling apprehensive and slightly guilty. This was her money, earned honestly by the sweat of her brow. She had every right to withdraw it from the bank. If she chose to paper her sitting room walls with it, that would be no one’s business but hers.
Leaving the Closed sign up so passersby would know she wasn’t yet open for business, Nan hurried into her downstairs workroom, sorely wishing that she’d installed a door instead of merely hanging a curtain to separate this area from the front of the store. If Gabriel returned, only the drape of green cotton would conceal her activities from him.
Dropping the satchel on her project table, Nan swept off her cloak and tossed it over a chair. Then, grabbing the hammer she’d ferreted from the closet toolbox earlier, she went to work. Easy as making pumpkin pie oatmeal, she thought, as the plank gave
way with one pull of the claws. The satchel was a bit fat for the opening, but she managed to stuff it through. After replacing the board, she stuck the heads of three nails in her mouth and poised a fourth one on the wood, gingerly holding it as straight as possible while she took aim with the hammer. She swung and grinned with triumph when she hit her target. Men liked to pretend that this sort of thing was difficult, but Nan wasn’t finding it so. She pounded industriously, feeling certain that anyone with half a brain could take up carpentry.
Then she somehow missed the nail and hit her thumb. Ouch! She nearly broke her teeth biting down on the metal pegs in her mouth as pain shot up her arm. It hurt so much that for a few moments she actually saw black dots. A shriek was beyond her. Dropping the hammer, she grabbed the wrist of her injured hand and released a smothered humming sound as she rocked back and forth, squeezing her eyes shut against the agony.
“When you hit your thumb with a hammer, you’re supposed to throw the hammer, kick something, and then turn the air blue with curses,” a deep, silky, and all too familiar voice said from behind her.
Gabriel. Nan scrunched her eyelids together even more tightly, afraid to look at her injured digit for fear she would see bleeding pulp and shattered bone. She still didn’t think she could manage to speak, and what could she say, anyway?
She felt her husband grasp her forearm. “Let me see what you’ve done to yourself.” Her strength no match for his, Nan surrendered her hand to him. “Well, shit,” he muttered. “If you needed something nailed, why the hell didn’t you ask me to do it?”
“Is it bad?” Nan cracked open one eye, which she focused on the floor. Anywhere but the thumb. “I think I’ve broken it. Did I shatter the nail?” How could she do fine sewing with a hand out of commission?
“It isn’t that bad,” he assured her. “God made our thumbs to take a lot of punishment. It’s going to be sore for a few days, though.”
The pain had gone from mind-numbing to merely throbbing, and Nan opened both eyes. Her digit was red and slightly swollen, but it looked intact and wasn’t bleeding. “Well, that’s not fair,” she blurted. “Anything that hurts so much should at least look injured so a person can get some sympathy.”
Walking on Air Page 17