Gabriel's Fate

by Craig, Emma

  Gabriel’s Fate

  By Alice Duncan

  Writing as Emma Craig

  Gabriel’s Fate

  Copyright © 2001 by Alice Duncan

  All rights reserved.

  Published 2001 by Dorchester Publishing Co.

  A Love Spell Book

  Smashwords edition September 1, 2009

  Visit aliceduncan.net

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter One

  Gabriel Caine’s eyebrows lifted when he caught sight of a tall blond woman striding toward the ticket counter, the handle of a large white wicker basket slung over her arm. Obviously a confident wench, she didn’t bother to hide her charms. Gabriel appreciated her for it, as her charms were considerable.

  Her boots made a hearty, satisfying clop against the weathered boards of the old train station. They seemed to announce her presence, like a drum beating out the entrance of a queen. No shrinking violet, she. The peeling walls of the train depot had probably been white once. They and the decrepit wooden benches stacked against them looked as though they belonged here. She didn’t. She was as out of place in Laredo, Texas, as a butterfly in a swamp full of mosquitoes. The woman was, in fact, a sight for Gabriel’s sore eyes.

  Although the weather was hot enough to melt wax, she didn’t show it. She held her chin high, and the flowers on her hat looked—perky was the only word Gabriel could think of, and it surprised him. He wasn’t used to thinking of things in terms of perky. Besides, that blond Juno was too large and lush for so flimsy a word as perky. The only concessions she made to the weather were the two moist patches of perspiration under her arms as she lifted them to set her wicker basket, very carefully, on the ticket counter.

  A small woman scuttled after the blond like a puppy afraid of being left behind. Her footsteps reminded Gabriel of the mice that used to dash back and forth in the attic above his head when he was a boy and they visited his grandma’s house. He remembered those mice fondly; they’d added an almost musical accompaniment to the rhythmic rise and fall of his father’s sonorous prayers.

  Juno’s companion was older than she, and a good five or six inches shorter. She too wore a flowered hat, but on her it didn’t seem at all out of place. Now she, Gabriel decided, could be perky without half trying. She had one hand clamped onto the brim of her hat, which tilted awry on her pretty graying hair. She grabbed at the sleeve of the blonde’s white shirtwaist with her other hand, delicately gloved in white kidskin. The gesture appeared timid. Gabriel got the impression no feeble sleeve twitching was going to deter the blonde from her purpose, whatever it was. The old lady had asset, rather vacuous face, although it carried a worried look on it at the moment.

  “But Sophie,” she said, her voice diffident. “There’s such an unpleasant aura about this whole business. Recollect that Nine of Swords, my dear. The cards don’t lie, Sophie.”

  Cards? The Nine of Swords? Intrigued, Gabriel edged his hat down to hide his eyes and sidled closer to the oddly matched pair, making sure they didn’t notice him. He liked the name Sophie for the blond. It fitted her somehow.

  Sophie wrinkled her nose and slanted a disdainful glance at the overflowing cuspidor standing beside her. “Nine of

  Swords, my foot. This is Texas, Aunt Juniper. What you sense is stale sweat and cow pies. And old tobacco juice and spit.”

  “Sophie, no! I mean it. The Nine of Swords and the Five of Pentacles are very telling. This is a perilous journey, my dear. Listen to me!”

  Plainly determined to do no such thing, Sophie smiled at the clerk, who gaped back. Gabriel didn’t blame him. Sophie was quite a work of God’s art. Her teeth were perfectly straight and as white as pearls; Gabriel could see them from where he stood. “Three tickets to Tucson, if you please.”

  “But Sophie, I don’t want to go to Tucson!” The older woman, though obviously timorous around her more dynamic relative, sounded vexed. Gabriel wouldn’t have been surprised to see her stamp her foot. Sophie continued to ignore her.

  Tucson. Gabriel didn’t go so far as to smile, but he was pleased to know he’d be able to observe this laudable specimen of nature’s craft for a while longer. He aimed to go to Tucson himself, and there was only one way to get therefrom here.

  The clerk pushed up his sleeve, snapped one of his suspenders, and shifted his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. He appreciated Sophie as much as Gabriel did; Gabriel could tell. “One way or round trip?”

  “One way, please.”

  The older woman tugged at her niece’s sleeve again.”Sophie! It wasn’t just the Nine of Swords and the Five of Pentacles. Recall the Devil, if you will.” Her whisper grated in the hot air and reminded Gabriel of the sound grasshoppers make when they swarmed.

  “In a minute, Aunt Juniper.”

  Sophie was adamant, and Gabriel wouldn’t have given a fig for Aunt Juniper’s chances of forestalling her, no matter how many minutes she managed to squeeze from Sophie’s schedule. He wasn’t accustomed to resolution in young females, except in pursuit of young males. They generally simpered and smirked around him. He twirled his black mustache at the thought. They did so to impress him, and he knew it. He was, after all, a very handsome man.

  Poor Aunt Juniper had taken to wringing her tiny, gloved hands. Gabriel decided it was time to slather on a little of his cultivated southern charm. He shoved his flat-brimmed black hat back on his head and pushed himself away from the wall. His boot heels sounded like thunder in the stifling afternoon air when he walked toward the two ladies.

  Aunt Juniper jumped at the sound. When she saw him coming, she looked scared for a moment, then gave him a shy smile.

  Not so Sophie. To Gabriel’s amusement, she glanced at him and frowned. Her eyebrows were much darker than her hair. He wondered for a second if she dyed her hair, then decided Sophie wasn’t the type to do anything calculated to attract a man’s attention. Her brows drew down into a sharp V over her nose. Because she fascinated him, he disregarded both her and her frown and tipped his hat to her aunt. He figured he’d have better luck in that direction.

  “Anything the problem, ma’am? Can I help you?”

  “Oh! Oh, my! Oh, I—”

  “No,” said Sophie, trampling over her aunt’s twitters like a longhorn on a June bug. Then she said, “Thank you,” sniffed imperiously, and turned back to the clerk, who almost swallowed his toothpick.

  “Are there any rules about taking pets aboard the train, my good man?”

  “Er—um—I—” The clerk scratched his chin and shifted his toothpick again. “Pets, ma’am?”

  “Yes,” said Sophie, glaring at the fellow as if she suspected him of being deliberately obtuse. “Pets.”

  Gabriel registered the sound of gentle snores emanating from the wicker basket. His interest in this pair increased tenfold.

  Juniper tweaked Sophie’s sleeve again and whispered, “Sophie!” The result she achieved this time was the same as it had ever been. Sophie didn’t indicate by so much as a flicker of an eyelid that she even knew her aunt was there. Aunt Juniper looked ready to sink through the dirty floorboards.

  Gabriel gave the woman a conspiratorial wink, which made her blush. He’d have thought such a reaction sweet if he weren’t so hardened a cynic. Hell, women had been blushing at him for twenty years or more; it didn
’t mean a damned thing except that they were experts in their own ways, as he was an expert in his.

  “I believe the lady has an animal she wishes to take on the train with her, Henry. You know: a pet. Like a puppy dog or a kitty cat.” Gabriel used his smoothest Virginia accent, just to see if he couldn’t ruffle Sophie’s pretty feathers.

  She gave him the same look she might use on a frog that had landed in her soup, and he was pleased to discover her feathers were not easily ruffled. His trip to Tucson might not be boring after all.

  “Oh,” said Henry around his toothpick. “You got yourself a kitty-cat, ma’am?” His grin was a work of frontier art, full of crooked, tobacco-stained teeth and huge gaping spaces.

  “A kitty-cat?”

  Gabriel wasn’t sure because he didn’t know her, but he didn’t expect Sophie could sound much more disgusted.

  Aunt Juniper, diverted from her attempts to get Sophie to alter her course—which seemed to Gabriel not unlike trying to change direction of the ocean’s tides—seemed merely confused.

  “Tybalt?” she said. Then, rather enigmatically to Gabriel’s mind, she repeated, “Tybalt?”

  Gabriel had no idea what the woman was talking about, but he did begin to wonder if Aunt Juniper might not be playing with a full deck.

  Without saying another word, Sophie reached into her big white wicker basket and withdrew the ugliest dog Gabriel had ever seen. The clerk behind the counter uttered a short curse and leapt back, as if he anticipated the thing’s attacking him. It didn’t look much like an attack animal to Gabriel. It looked like a very small pig, fawn-colored, black in the face, and with a tail that curled twice and lay flat against its haunch. It blinked at Sophie sleepily.

  With a ferocious scowl, Sophie said, “This is not a kitty-cat. This is my pet. His name is Tybalt, and he’s a Chinese pug.”

  Then she rubbed her nose against Tybalt’s, purred, “And what a sweet, sweet puppy-doggie he is, too,” and Gabriel lost his heart, a circumstance that perfectly astounded him since, until that moment, he’d been sure he no longer possessed such an article.

  Henry still looked scared. “That there thing’s a dawg, ma’am?”

  Sophie gave him a frosty look. Gabriel decided it was time for him to take over, considering interference in this instance in the nature of a benevolent act. Poor Henry might not survive an encounter with Sophie without assistance.

  He stepped up to the counter, therefore, presented Sophie with one of his most stunning smiles—which earned him another frown—and turned to Henry. “That is indeed a dog, Henry. A fancy one. And this lady and her aunt want to take it to Tucson with them.”

  As an expression of cunning crossed his face, Henry scratched his chin. “Ain’t no rules about dawgs goin’ to Tucson as I know about.”

  Gabriel had anticipated this obstructionist behavior from the phlegmatic and mercenary Henry. “Now, it seems to me that this pet of Miss—”

  He cocked an eyebrow at Sophie, asking silently for her name. She only glared at him and hugged her ugly dog. He got the impression she was daring him to make her tell him anything at all, and that he’d have to use torture before he’d wring her name out of her.

  Undefeated and not unamused, Gabriel transferred his look of inquiry to Aunt Juniper, who blushed again. He began to think of the two ladies as a challenge. Leaning close to Aunt Juniper, he whispered into her ear, which was so hot it glowed, “What is your niece’s name, ma’am? I’ll just tell the gentleman here.”

  Aunt Juniper jumped and squeaked out a frantic, “Oh!”Gabriel continued to smile at her as if she were the only female on earth. She whispered “Oh!” again, and pressed a hand to her bosom. He sighed.

  “My name is Sophie Madrigal,” announced the blond Juno, drawing Gabriel’s attention. He smiled at her again, and kept it up in the face of her fierceness. At least Tybalt seemed to like him. His curly tail wagged.

  “A musical name,” Gabriel murmured. Sophie continued to glare at him, but he knew he could wear her down if they spent enough time together. He wondered if a trip to Tucson would be long enough. Gabriel loved a challenge; especially if it looked like Sophie Madrigal. He’d always admired a well-grown female, and Sophie was built upon truly noble lines. He was also unused to being almost able to look one in the eye. Females generally came up to his collarbone. Sophie’s head reached his nose.

  He turned to Henry. “Miss Madrigal only wants to be sure that her pet has a place on the train, Henry. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

  Henry scratched his chin again before he disappeared from sight. Gabriel leaned over the counter, wondering if Henry’d fainted in the face of so much militant femininity. He hadn’t.

  He was scrabbling under the counter for a large volume, which he lifted and plopped on the counter. Dust fluffed up, making Tybalt sneeze. Sophie ceased frowning at Gabriel and resumed frowning at Henry.

  “Ain’t seen no rules about dawgs in this h’yere book.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’ll buy another passage if you’re worried about me cheating the railroad.” Indignation made Sophie’s bosom swell. Gabriel watched it with pleasure. Sophie Madrigal had herself quite a bosom.

  “Well now, ma’am, I don’t know as to how another passage will fix it. I got here rules for pigs and cows and sheep and chickens and goats, but I ain’t seen nothin’ coverin’ dawgs.” Henry’s dirty finger poked at a line in the open volume.

  “Pigs and cows and sheep and chickens are not in any way akin to pets.”

  “And goats,” Henry supplemented conscientiously.

  Sophie huffed.

  As much as he appreciated the color blooming in Sophie’s cheeks, Gabriel feared poor Aunt Juniper might be about to suffer a spasm. She uttered another, “Sophie!” and paled alarmingly. He guessed he’d better fix the situation for them.

  “Here, Henry. This should solve the problem.” He flipped a gold piece in the air. It winked amongst the dust motes and tumbled over and over, as if it were enjoying the scene, too. Henry caught it as deftly as a lizard snagging a fly.

  “Why, I do declare,” said Henry without so much as cracking a grin, “I see here where it says dawgs can travel with their owners on the train, no problem.” His finger stabbed at the page again. “Ain’t no problem a-tall.”

  Sophie snorted. “How convenient. Then we’ll need only three one-way tickets to Tucson.”

  “You still need three, ma’am?” Gabriel asked sweetly. She disregarded him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Henry, all cooperation now that Gabriel’s gold burned his palm. He held out three tickets and let go of them after she’d laid her cash on the counter. Sophie snatched up the tickets and stuffed Tybalt back into his wicker basket. Then she wheeled around, nearly upending her aunt who fluttered like a sparrow before she caught her balance and came to a palpitating rest. Sophie glowered ferociously as she dug into her reticule.

  “Here,” she barked, holding a gold coin in her gloved palm and thrusting it at Gabriel. “Thank you very much for your help.”

  From her tone, she might as well have told him to go outback and shoot himself. Gabriel grinned his appreciation and tipped his hat. He didn’t take the coin.

  “It’s nothing ma’am. Consider it a gift.”

  “I do not accept gifts from strangers, sir.”

  “And I don’t aim to take your money, ma’am, so it appears we’re at a standstill here.”

  “Sophie!” Aunt Juniper whimpered.

  Sophie grabbed Gabriel’s hand so quickly his smile didn’t even have a chance to vanish before she’d slapped the coin into his palm. “Here,” she snapped. “I don’t care what your aims are. I do not accept gifts from strangers.”

  Before Gabriel, in his astonishment, had thought of a suitably cutting rejoinder, a commotion from the door captured his attention. He felt his eyes widen when he beheld the smallest man he’d ever seen, walking like he had rheumatism in every single joint of his body, making his way across the fil
thy floor toward them. The fellow was clad in tan overalls and a cloth cap and reminded Gabriel of photograph she’d seen of people toiling in the turnip fields of Europe. The midget headed straight for Sophie, a circumstance that Gabriel discovered did not surprise him. He wondered if this strange trio belonged to a circus.

  “There you are, Dmitri. Here’s your ticket.”

  Dmitri—Gabriel decided his movements were akin to a mechanical man he’d once seen in a bawdy house in Dallas—took the ticket. “Thank you, Miss Sophie.”

  The fellow had a strange accent. Gabriel couldn’t place it. He also appeared morose and didn’t smile once.

  Sophie seemed to like him, though. Her severe expression softened.

  “You want I take Tybalt?”

  “No thank you, Dmitri. Just see that our bags are properly bestowed, and we’ll meet you on the train. Perhaps you can arrange a place for Tybalt to do his duty in the baggage compartment.”

  Dmitri apparently found nothing to object to in Sophie’s suggestion. He tugged at his cloth cap and departed without another word.

  “Come along, Aunt Juniper.” Sophie grabbed her aunt’s elbow and began to haul her toward the door.

  “But Sophie,” Aunt Juniper cried. “You must thank that nice gentleman for helping us.”

  Sophie snorted. Gabriel didn’t get his thanks.

  He did, however, board the train to Tucson with lightness in his heart and a keen sense of anticipation.

  * * * *

  Sophie glanced through the smudged train window and sighed when she beheld what appeared to be a sea of bone-dry desert, speckled here and there with oddly shaped plants, bleached bones, and hovered over by lazily circling buzzards. She’d heard those strange plants were some kind of cacti. They reminded her in an abstract way of men, from their thick torsos and bent arms to their long, painful-looking spines. Sophie did not admire men for the most part. Other than her father—and he only nominally—Dmitri, and one or two others, men had not been a benevolent factor in her life.