Gabriel's Atonement

by Vickie McDonough

  Lara was at her wit’s end. Nobody had rooms for rent, no houses were available, and no one had land to lease, either. Their only option was to leave town and try to find something somewhere else. Grandpa should be resting, not worrying about packing up their meager belongs, and Jo would be devastated because all of her friends lived here. Lara had lost touch with her old school buddies because she was always working and didn’t have time to attend quilting bees and other social functions. Nobody in Caldwell would miss her, except her mending clients, and even they would find someone to replace her easily enough.

  She entered the mercantile and gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting inside the building. The familiar scents of leather, coffee, spices, and the nearby pickle barrel gave the place a homey feel. Passing the counter, she went to the corner where the potbellied stove sat. On cold days, some of the older men in town gathered here to play checkers and gab, but on warm days they tended to congregate outside where the ever-present breeze could cool them. A section of the southern wall of the store was covered in cork, but the cork was concealed by a passel of notices and advertisements.

  She quickly scanned the mostly hand-printed and few typeset ads, hoping to find one that offered them the possibility of a place to stay. Nothing. Her hope sagged, like the soddy roof after a heavy rain, but she must keep trying. She wanted to believe, wanted to hope, but with so many bad things coming, one after another, she found it difficult. Grandpa’s stalwart faith and her family were the only things keeping her going these days.

  “Thanks for bringing in that bucket of milk earlier. I already sold it.” Mary McMann, the store clerk, smiled. “You want cash for it, or do you plan to make purchases today?”

  Lara returned the cheery woman’s smile. “I’ll use the credit now. I need a small bag of cornmeal, a half pound of coffee, and two pounds of flour.” As Mrs. McMann measured out the items, Lara counted the coins she’d made doing mending. She eyed the jars of penny candy on the shelves behind the counter, wishing she could purchase some for Michael and Jo.

  “Just let me wash out your bucket, and you’ll be all set.” Mary hurried into the back room, and Lara heard the door slam that led outside.

  A few minutes later, she gathered the packages, put them in the bucket, and exited the store. For a fleeting moment, she wished she’d brought the wagon. Carrying a bucket of supplies wasn’t as awkward as a pail of milk, but it was heavier, and she had to carry them over a mile. At least Jo had helped her lug the milk to town. With them both holding the end of an old broom handle, the bucket had swung gently between them. But Jo and the broom handle were no longer in sight. Her sister needed time with her friends on occasion, and Lara supposed Jo had gone visiting. Unlike Lara, Jo needed to be with other people to feel complete and content.

  Lara smiled at the old men sitting in front of the store, not surprised to hear them still jawing on about the land run, then she glanced at the long line at the land office, wondering if all those people were registering. She passed by the chatty crowd and continued down Main Street. It was time to tell Grandpa the news about having to move. She couldn’t do it yesterday, but today he was better, thanks to the quinine tablets. When she left for town he’d said that he and Michael were going fishing in hopes of catching something for their lunch.

  As she neared the end of town, the sound of music from the church’s pump organ drew her. She stopped beside an old oak tree and leaned against it, her eyes closed. The music ministered to her aching spirit as the words ran through her mind. My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.

  A sharp pang of guilt stabbed her as if her chest had been pierced by an Indian’s arrow. When had she shifted to relying on herself and on Grandpa’s faith instead of trusting in the Lord?

  The song’s refrain wove itself through her mind like the cool spring breeze fingering its way through her hair. On Christ the solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.

  No wonder things had been so bad lately. She’d been trying to claw her way through the sinking sand, with each new problem pulling her down, deeper and deeper. Grandpa was right, but she’d been too stubborn, too set on making everything work out, that she’d stopped clinging to God. Her foundation had shifted from the solid Rock to quicksand.

  Lara lifted her gaze heavenward, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Father. It’s my nature to try to solve everyone’s problems, but I can’t do it all on my own. I’m so tired, Lord. I need Your help. We desperately need a place to live.”

  She closed her eyes again and listened to the music, mixed with the chirps of birds singing and chattering in the branches above her and the distant murmur of countless people. For the first time in a long while she felt peaceful. She didn’t have to carry her burden alone.

  As the music transitioned into another song, Lara thought of all the work waiting for her at home. Behind her, she heard the thud of feet running on the hard ground.

  “Come back here, boy!” a masculine voice shouted. “Stop!”

  Her curiosity got the best of her, and she pushed away from the rough tree trunk and turned to her right, holding the heavy bucket in front of her with both hands.

  “Look out!”

  A lithe body slammed into the bucket, sending it flying out of Lara’s hands. Shoved hard, she fell backward, grappling at the trunk as she tried to keep from falling. Her fingernails clawed the uneven bark, but she couldn’t gain hold and fell to the ground. Pain radiated from her fingertips to her hip, which had landed hard on a gnarly root. The boy who’d knocked her down raced away without even a glance over his shoulder.

  Footsteps hurried toward her, and then a shadow darkened the ground, just before Gabe Coulter stepped into view and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

  Lara sucked in several deep breaths, trying to push the sharp burning sensation away. Lifting her hand, she stared at her bleeding fingertips. One nail was ripped almost in half, and she dreaded having to pull it off the rest of the way. Numb, she stared at the man who always seemed to appear at her side whenever she came to town.

  “Mrs. Talbot, are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

  “No, please. No doctor.” She couldn’t afford the doctor, even if she may need his services. She had no way to pay for them.

  “Here, let me help you up, if you’re ready to rise.”

  He reached his hand toward hers, and Lara grimaced. She didn’t want to stick her dirty, callused palm in his neatly manicured hand, but with one hand injured, she had no other choice. She raised her arm, but he slipped around behind her, placed his hands on her waist, and gently lifted her. Lara held her breath against the pain swirling through her as she stood. She tested her limbs, relieved that other than her hand, she would probably only be bruised, thanks to the bulkiness of her skirt and petticoats, which had padded her fall. Mr. Coulter took her wounded hand by the wrist, and his mouth quirked.

  “You need a doctor.”

  “I need to get home.” Lara carefully extracted her hand from his, trying not to wince. She glanced on the ground for her bucket. “No—” Closing her mouth, she held back her angst at seeing her packages broken open and spilling onto the ground. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t cry in front of this man.

  “This is all my fault.” He grabbed the bucket and sifted through her food supplies. With a semi-victorious smile, he held up the still-intact package of coffee. “Be happy for small victories.”

  Lara nodded. She could have done without the coffee but not the flour and cornmeal. What would she feed her family all week? She held her injured fingers in front of her, cradling them in her other hand. At least the bucket wouldn’t be so heavy now.

  Mr. Coulter sorted through the flour and cornmeal then shook his head, his lips pursed. “Sorry, but these are ruined. I’ll replace them for you after the doctor tends your hand.”

  She shook her head. “That isn’t
necessary.”

  He lifted his palm as if to halt her objections. “I insist. It’s partially my fault that you were injured.” He looped the bucket over one arm then gently took hold of her elbow and steered her away from the church. “I was paying the clerk at the store for a purchase. The boy who knocked you down had been standing by the counter, looking as if he wanted to buy something. But the second I laid my money down, the kid grabbed it and tore out of the store at a dead run. So, you see this is my fault. If I hadn’t chased him, he wouldn’t have run into you and knocked you down.”

  Lara allowed him to guide her back into town simply because she didn’t have the strength to resist him. She glanced down at her dirty, faded skirt then over at his clean, stylish suit. Suddenly he stopped and met her gaze. A boyish gleam twinkled in his eyes and a smile tugged at his mouth, making Lara’s insides tingle. In spite of his citified dress and fair complexion, he wasn’t a bad-looking man.

  “I just realized that I don’t know where the doctor’s office is.”

  The irony of the situation tickled her, and she smiled in spite of her aches. Here she was, allowing him to lead her, and he had no idea where he was going.

  The blind leading the blind.

  She swallowed at the unwarranted thought and waggled one finger westward. “It’s the second door past the sheriff’s office. But really, it’s not necessary.”

  He gave her a mock glare then propelled her forward. “Guess that’s handy at times.”

  Confused, she glanced up as he guided her down the street. “What do you mean?”

  He flashed her a wicked grin. “Oh, you know, having the doctor’s office so close to the jail. I imagine the sheriff has need of the doctor on occasion.”

  She supposed so, though Caldwell was normally a sleepy little town except when the cowboys from the area ranches came into town after riding herd on cattle for a month.

  A short while later, they exited the doctor’s office. Lara’s hand still stung from his removing the torn nail and putting some smelly, burning medicine on her fingers. How would she get any work done with her hand bandaged?

  She must be getting used to Mr. Coulter’s assistance because she looked up to discover herself being escorted into the mercantile. She didn’t like the man’s bossiness but couldn’t help enjoying the feel of someone caring for her for a change.

  “We need ten pounds of flour, five pounds of cornmeal, and three pounds of sugar.”

  “What? No, that’s too much.” Her gaze darted to his. “I didn’t have any sugar.”

  “I insist.” He held up his palm to halt her objections. “I realize it’s more than you originally purchased, but I hope the difference will make up for the pain and trouble I’ve caused.”

  Mrs. McMann glanced curiously at them but turned aside and starting filling bags, obviously happy for the sale.

  Embarrassed to be caught in Mr. Coulter’s intense gaze, Lara slid hers to the window and studied a frenzied fly struggling futilely to get outside. Mr. Gabe Coulter was just as insistent as that fly. “It wasn’t your fault that boy ran into me.”

  He pressed his lips together and looked patronizingly at her, his dark brown eyes serious. “As I said earlier, he wouldn’t have done so if I hadn’t been chasing him.”

  Lara had no argument for that. She peeked around the store, thankful that no one else would witness her humiliation at having someone buy supplies for her. The townsfolk still considered her a married woman, and having this man so new to town doing things for her was sure to raise questions. She needed to get away from him as soon as she could, even though she was more than grateful to him for helping her and replacing the supplies.

  “So did you catch that little thief?” Mrs. McMann thunked the heavy bags onto the counter, sending up a puff of flour.

  “No. The rascal got away.”

  “It’s a crying shame.” Mrs. McMann shook her head as she wiped her hands on her apron. “We never had this problem until all them Boomers swarmed into town, bent on getting free land. Probably less than half of them will get a claim. I hate to think what will happen to all of the others. Anything else you folks need?”

  He looked around, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Give me two pounds of coffee and a dime’s worth of those peppermint sticks.”

  Lara wondered what he needed with coffee and a whole ten-cent bag of candy. Surely if he was only in town on business he’d be staying at one of the hotels in town and wouldn’t need a stock of food.

  “What happened to your hand?” Mary McMann laid the package of coffee next to the other bags. “You only just left here a short while ago.”

  “I had a run-in with a tree.”

  Mrs. McMann quirked one eyebrow then selected ten peppermint sticks and dropped them into a small bag. Thankfully, she didn’t question Lara further, though she cut a quick, curious glance at Mr. Coulter. Peeking up at him, Lara caught him staring at her, a twinkle dancing in his eyes. He lifted both brows, as if to say, “A tree?” She shifted her gaze away from his intriguing eyes and studied the worn gray planks of the mercantile floor.

  “How are you going to carry all this home?” Mrs. McMann set the small bag next to the others.

  Lara shrugged. Even with both hands healthy, she wouldn’t have been able to carry so much all the way home.

  “I’ll see that she gets there.” Gabe reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of folded dollars.

  Heat rising to her face, Lara peeked up at the store clerk. “Mr. Coulter arrived right after that boy knocked me down and has been very kind to help me.”

  Mrs. McMann bent to tally their purchase. “It’s none of my business if he wants to be a Good Samaritan.”

  Shifting from foot to foot, Lara ached for escape. Mrs. McMann was generally kind, but the woman made it her business to know everyone else’s business. She could only hope that the clerk didn’t tell others about Mr. Coulter assisting her. It was highly improper for an unmarried man to aid a married woman—even if she wasn’t officially still married.

  Not nearly soon enough for Lara’s taste, Gabe touched the small of her back and guided her out of the store, under the probing stare of Mary McMann. Lara couldn’t begin to imagine what the woman thought, and prayed she wouldn’t begin any idle gossip.

  Mr. Coulter carried the bucket overflowing with all their purchases in one arm, as well as the sack of flour under his other. He barely touched her elbow. People she knew nodded their heads or cast inquisitive glances her way. Oh, why hadn’t she stayed home today?

  He stopped in front of the livery and set the bucket down. “If you’ll wait right here, I’ll get a buggy and drive you home.”

  Lara straightened and hiked her chin, hoping to maintain a minuscule shred of dignity. The pain from her fall must have dulled her senses for a short while. How else could she explain allowing a stranger to take such control over her life? “That isn’t necessary, Mr. Coulter. You’ve done more than enough already.”

  His wide, ornery smile made her stomach flip-flop. “I insist.” He strode past her before she could object further, sending a whiff of fragrant cologne in her direction.

  What a rascal!

  With her good hand, she tried to lift the heavy wooden bucket laden with supplies. As much as she hated to admit it, she was right in thinking she couldn’t carry it all the way home one-handed. Facing the town, she lifted the brim of her bonnet and searched the busy streets for her sister. Most likely Jo had gone to visit Alma Lou. She thought about asking Mr. Coulter to run by there, but she didn’t want to be beholden to him for anything else. And she didn’t particularly care to answer Jo’s questions about Mr. Coulter. She hadn’t even told her sister about Tom’s death yet.

  A horse whickered behind her, and Lara jumped at its nearness. The buggy creaked as Mr. Coulter stepped down right in front of her and gave a bow. “Your carriage awaits, madam.”

  Had she been a young schoolgirl, she would have been giddy at the charming ma
n’s attention, but she was a widow—one who should be in mourning and wearing widow’s weeds—not gallivanting all over town and the countryside with an alluring bachelor.

  Pushing aside her reservations because she had no other options, she allowed him to help her into the buggy. He retrieved the heavy bucket as if it weighed nothing and set it on the floorboard near her feet. The buggy creaked and tilted to her left as he climbed in and sat beside her. Ignoring his manly scent, she scooted as far to her right as she could, hoping the ride would be over with quickly.

  Chapter 7

  Payton Reeves flicked his cheroot to the ground and stamped the life out of it as he watched his nemesis escort Tom Talbot’s wife into the mercantile. A white swath of gauze covered her hand, and she cradled it as if in pain.

  He narrowed his gaze and pressed his palm on the handle of his pistol. What was going on?

  How did a gambler from Kansas City even know Lara Talbot? And what was his business with her?

  Besides that, what was Coulter doing in Caldwell? Payton rubbed his trigger finger against his thumb, thinking how he’d like nothing more than to pull out his 45 and blow that thieving snake away.

  The swell of people crowding the streets of Caldwell faded as he remembered that fateful day in Kansas City. Gabe Coulter had been playing cards at his usual table in the back of the Lucky Chance saloon when Payton and his younger brother, Judah, had come into town for some fun. They’d been herding cattle at the Double S Ranch all week, and Payton was thirsty and hankering to win a bundle of money. He’d talked Judah into coming with him, even though his brother had preferred to stay on the ranch. Judah was saving his money and planning to return home to his young wife at the end of the month, but Payton wanted his brother’s company.