by Craig, Emma
Gabriel sensed Sophie didn’t need to confess to anything underhanded or criminal. He had a feeling that whatever she held inside wasn’t to her own detriment.
He wondered if this had something to do with Ivo Hardwick, and his eyes narrowed. Interesting possibility.
And who the hell was Joshua?
Because he felt the need to be of use to her whether she wanted him to be or not, he gently drew her away from the cushioned backrest and into his arm. He pressed her head onto his shoulder and held her closely. As he gently rocked her, he whispered sweet nothings into her ear.
“It’s all right, Sophie. We all have sorrows. Time generally heals them, at least on the surface. If the wounds cut deep, then we’ll always ache from them, but it won’t be this bad forever.”
“How would you know?” she asked with a hint of the old, fighting-spirited Sophie.
She couldn’t see his wry grimace because her eyes were shut. “Oh, I’ve endured my share of life’s slings and arrows, believe me.”
Returning no answer, Sophie continued to cry, in big, hiccupping sobs.
Gabriel took a big chance. “Um, who’s Joshua, Sophie?”
She jerked back as if he’d struck her a mortal blow. With her face blotchy and streaming with tears, she gaped at him, her eyes reminding Gabriel of emeralds under water. “Who—” She took a swipe at her eyes. “Who told you about Joshua? If Juniper told you anything, I’m going to—”
He tried to draw her to his chest again, but she resisted.”Cool down, Sophie. Juniper didn’t tell me anything except that they played ‘Amazing Grace’ at Joshua’s funeral. She didn’t tell me who Joshua was.”
Sophie glared at him with undisguised suspicion.
With a flash of intuition, Gabriel asked softly, “Was he a lover, Sophie? Your husband?”
Her lips, which she’d been pressing into a thin, tight line, quivered. She didn’t try to speak, but only shook her head.
Oh. Well, crap, what did that leave? A brother? A favorite cousin? An earlier edition of Tybalt, the Pug? Gabriel didn’t feel like playing a guessing game with her, even though he was impatient to learn who this Joshua character had been and why his passing had wounded Sophie so deeply.
Her strength gave out all of a sudden, and he was able to pull her close again. “It’s all right, Sophie,” he said, even though his curiosity had not abated an iota. “Just cry it out. You’ll feel better.”
“No, I won’t.” Her voice sounded as if it came to him through an ocean of salt water.
Not being his father, who’d had the knack of saying the one perfect thing in any situation, Gabriel could only cluck softly and rub her back with his big hand and wish he could help her.
He didn’t know how long they sat there, Sophie crying, he holding her and wishing, but after what seemed an eternity, Sophie spoke again. Her mouth was pressed against his shirt, and the words were muffled, but he heard her say, “Joshua was a little boy.”
“A little boy?”
She nodded. A little boy. Shoot. That opened up a whole new line of questions Gabriel wished he could ask. He knew better. It had taken a major emotional catastrophe on Sophie’s part to get her to admit this much. If he pressed the issue, she’d probably only get mad at him and never say another word.
Because he felt the need to say something, he said, “I’m sorry.”
A miserable sniffle answered him.
Damn, he wished he could ask. Maybe he should talk to Juniper. She was nowhere near as tight-lipped as Sophie.
But, no. That would be sneaky and devious, and Gabriel’s integrity, which could on occasional be a flexible asset, rebelled. He wanted to know every single thing there was to know about Sophie Madrigal—but he wanted her to be the one to divulge it. It wouldn’t be fair to get it from Juniper. Damn it. He always hated it when his conscience decided to emulate his father’s. An uncomfortable commodity, his father’s conscience. His own was seldom so picky, and Gabriel much preferred to take life the easy way.
In the case of Sophie Madrigal, though, he sensed that if he were ever to conquer her, it would have to be mano a mano, so to speak. Using intermediaries would be cheating.
After another eternity or two, Sophie’s tears began to subside. She pulled away from him—an unfortunate circumstance in Gabriel’s opinion—and said in a shaky voice, “I beg your pardon, Gabriel. You probably think I’m out of my mind.”
Her head was bowed, her fair hair had become undone, and he looked down upon a sea of tumbling blond curls. Because he couldn’t seem to help himself, he began smoothing them back from her face. “I know you’re not out of your mind, Sophie. You’re the sanest female I’ve ever met.”
“Ha.”
Gabriel wasn’t accustomed to pretty young women doubting his flirtatious words. As a rule, women liked to believe good things about themselves. Sophie’s doubt rankled. “You can disbelieve me if you want, but it’s the truth.”
She didn’t speak, but fumbled in her reticule, which still dangled from her wrist or she’d have lost it in her pell-mell flight through the train. After a moment, she drew out a handkerchief with which she began mopping her cheeks.
“Is there anything I can do, Sophie? Do you want to go back to the smoking carriage?”
She shook her head. “Thank you.”
Dammit, he wanted to do something for her. Anything. He didn’t want to leave her stewing in her grief. “May I bring you a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“A drink? They say brandy is good for whatever ails a person.”
“No, thank you.” This was accompanied by a shudder, from which Gabriel deduced Miss Sophie didn’t care for spirits.
“Coffee?”
“No!” Another shudder rattled her, and she drew in a deep breath. “I beg your pardon, Gabriel. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m upset.”
He grinned. “You must be. You’ve never apologized for being snappish before.”
She said, “Hmph,” rather thickly, and blew her nose.
“Let me at least bring you something, Sophie. Please? I—I feel like doing something for you.” Even if you won’t tell what’s wrong. Not having experienced altruistic urges—at least not since he was old enough to know a con when he met one—this one took him aback.
Evidently, Sophie didn’t think as ill of him as he did of himself, because she said merely, “Thank you, but—oh!”
Lifting her chin, she gave Gabriel a perfect view of her face, ravaged by misery and tears. His heart turned over and started aching for all it was worth. “Yes?” he said, amazed at the mildness of his tone. He experienced a violent impulse to leap on to a white charger and go forth to slay dragons for her. As if she, of all women, needed a knight in shining armor. Hell, her sharp tongue could bring down a dragon at fifty paces.
“Would you bring me Tybalt, please? I’m sorry to be such trouble.”
“You’re no trouble at all, sweetheart.” And she wasn’t.
Good God, when had this happened to him? He also discovered an almost insurmountable reluctance to leave her, even for so brief an errand. When had this happened to him? He was beginning to feel a little ill used, and by his own treacherous emotions. He hadn’t believed himself capable of such urges, passions, and longings as those he was experiencing right this very minute.
It was probably nothing and would pass off soon. “I’ll be right back.” It had better pass off soon, or Gabriel had a sinking notion he was a goner.
Juniper had put her knitting away and was feverishly dealing out the cards when Gabriel rejoined her. She looked up, and he read worry and fear in her expression.
“Oh, Mr. Caine, is Sophie all right?”
Was she all right? Gabriel didn’t know. He opted to tell the truth. “Well, Miss Juniper, she’s still pretty upset, but I think she’s getting better. She asked me to bring Tybalt to her.”
Juniper gnawed on her lower lip. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry this happened. It wasn’t your faul
t, you know. You couldn’t possibly understand what that hymn means to Sophie.”
He nodded and almost asked her to tell him. That would be cheating, though, and his internal barometer of self-interest held him back. If Sophie ever found out he’d questioned Juniper about her past, she’d never forgive him. And if Juniper slipped and told him, Sophie would never forgive Juniper, and that would be a flat tragedy. It seemed to Gabriel that these two had only each other in the big, ugly world, and if they ever became estranged, neither of them would ever be happy again.
Offhand, it didn’t appear to him as if Sophie aimed ever to be happy again anyway, but he didn’t dwell on it. He smiled at Juniper. “What do the cards say today?”
She heaved a sigh so big it nearly lifted her off her seat. “They’re predicting rocky times ahead, I fear.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips pinched. “I do wish Sophie would drop this quest of hers. It’s sure to lead to grief.”
Hmmm. Gabriel didn’t think it would be prying to ask, “You mean her quest to rid the world of Ivo Hardwick?”
She nodded sadly. “I hardly blame her, but it’s not good to seek vengeance. The Lord will take care of all of us eventually.”
Right. Gabriel felt guilty about the cynical twist his innards gave. “Eventually isn’t quick enough for some of us, I reckon.”
“I suppose not.”
He picked up Tybalt’s wicker basket and stood before Juniper with it slung over his arm for a moment. “You know,” he said, after clearing his throat, “I might be able to help, since I’ve been commissioned to bring Hardwick to justice in Abilene. If Sophie would leave the business to me, Hardwick would be punished, and she wouldn’t have to go to so much trouble. I mean, the authorities in Abilene are probably going to hang him for murder. It’s not as if he’s going to escape justice.”
Juniper’s smile was enchanting in its sadness and innocence. “Dear Mr. Caine. You’re so good to us. But it won’t work, you know. Sophie believes she needs to do this on her own.” She glanced down at the cards she’d just laid down and sighed again. “Oh, dear. There’s that pesky Ten of Swords again. And the Devil. My dear heaven, I pray so hard for her.” When she lifted her face to him again, Gabriel saw tears in her pretty blue eyes.
“That’s bad, is it?” The prediction Sophie had laid on him galloped back into his mind, and he sighed a sigh as deep as Juniper’s. “How can you get them to change?”
She lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “The cards only reflect one’s life, Mr. Caine. They can’t affect its outcome. If Sophie persists in this course of action, they predict nothing but more pain and heartache for her.”
“I see,” said he, although he didn’t. What the deuce good were the cards if they only told you what you already knew? He didn’t ask.
Juniper brightened a little. “But you, Mr. Caine, are on the road to clearing up a goodly number of uncertainties in your own life.”
“I am?” Gabriel blinked down at her.
“Oh, my, yes. Why, I did a reading on you right after you ran after Sophie. Your life is changing even as we speak.” She looked mighty happy about it.
“Oh,” he said. Then he said, “I see,” again.
Juniper lifted a hand and placed it on Gabriel’s wrist. The gesture touched something way down deep in him, although he couldn’t have said why.
“And, Mr. Caine, please don’t despair about Sophie and that silly prediction she made for you. Don’t forget, ever, that there are many, many ways in which one’s life can end. Often, it will begin again on a much happier note.”
Was that so? Gabriel didn’t think he’d better ask, or he might be in for a lecture on reincarnation or something. Juniper had never mentioned past lives before, but he wouldn’t put much of anything in the nature of the occult beyond her. Since, however, he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he lifted the basket, as if to show it to Juniper. “Guess I’d better get this back to Miss Sophie now. I reckon old Tybalt is a comfort to her.”
“Oh, yes. Tybalt is the only living being on earth that can give her comfort. At the moment.” She gave him such a significant look that Gabriel almost blushed. Devil take it, was Juniper playing matchmaker here?
The thought was too much to contemplate under the circumstances. He gave her a friendly smile, and took Tybalt back to Sophie, where she greeted him—Tybalt, not Gabriel—with open arms. Then she shut the door in his face—Gabriel’s, not Tybalt’s.
With a shrug and a sigh, Gabriel went back to the smoking car. He admired Sophie Madrigal more than he’d ever be likely to admit to a soul, but he really appreciated the uncomplicated Juniper, who liked him in spite of himself.
Chapter Eleven
Sophie hugged Tybalt to her bosom, stroking him into a state of abject bliss, and contemplated the nature of fate. Whatever constituted fate, it hadn’t been on her side up until now, and she thought it was about time for things to change.
For instance, she’d never experienced precognitive impulses until she’d met Gabriel Caine. But she was experiencing them now, in his presence. This was, perhaps, the unkindest cut of all, barring Joshua’s death, because it meant that the man who stood as her mortal enemy—oh, very well, perhaps not mortal, but an important enemy nonetheless—seemed to be her first and only conduit to the Other Side.
Disturbed and still reeling from her recent attack of the vapors, a condition she despised in other women, Sophie muttered to Tybalt, “Why couldn’t it be Juniper in whom resided the other half of myself?”
Tybalt returned no answer, but he did sigh soulfully, and Sophie appreciated him for it.
“It’s obvious that my life and Gabriel’s are entwined somehow,” she said glumly. “Even Dmitri would be better than Gabriel. Although,” she admitted with innate honesty, “I don’t think I’d like to have to work through a Russian midget. I’m beginning to agree with Juniper about Russians. They’re such a grim and oppressed lot.”
As Tybalt snuggled more closely to her, sticking his nose between her arm and her side to secure the most warmth from her body, Sophie stroked his chubby belly. “Or even you, Tybalt. I wouldn’t mind having you as a medium.” Tybalt never had and never would hurt her, and she knew it. She was nowhere near as sure of Gabriel Caine. In fact, she was pretty sure that if she gave in to his lures, she’d be thoroughly wretched. She’d been wretched too much already in her life.
Tybalt wagged his tail, a gesture Sophie interpreted as one of agreement. Perhaps even pleasure at the thought of serving his mistress thus.
She said, “I feel too close to him already, Tybalt. This is a very bad thing. I ought to have guarded myself better.
Sophie frowned at her pug, which was still wagging his curly tail happily. “Yes, I know, Tybalt. You like Gabriel Caine, don’t you?” Another wag greeted this question, and Sophie sighed. “It’s probably only because he gave you food.”
Sometimes Sophie wished she’d been born a domestic animal instead of a human being. Not the kind of abandoned cat or dog that lives in the streets of big cities, because their lives seemed even more uncertain and perilous than her own. No, what she wanted to be was a pampered house cat. Perhaps she could belong to some fantastically rich matron in New York City, who only fed her pets the best of foods and gave them beds of velvet upon which to sleep. How pleasant it must be to be free of responsibility and to be waited on hand and foot.
“But, no,” she said grimly. “I had to be born a female human being, cast into a family of tricksters, despised by the general populace, and responsible for all sorts of things I don’t want to be responsible for.”
She hadn’t minded being responsible for Joshua. Pain struck her so sharply and unexpectedly that she gasped and had to squeeze her eyes shut against it. “Oh, Tybalt, I don’t know how I can live much longer with this burden in my heart.”
Distressed by the tone of her voice, Tybalt withdrew his head from her armpit and nudged her hand with his squashy nose. To show how much he care
d, he whined softly.
“Thank you, Tybalt. I love you very much, and I truly do appreciate your condolences. I wish you could have known Joshua. You’d have loved him, and he’d have adored you.”
Wishing she hadn’t said that, because it engendered so many thoughts of things that could now never be, she stared through the dirty window at the scenery flying past. There didn’t seem to be much of it; mainly lumps of scrub brush, creosote bushes, and those huge saguaro cacti that reached for the sky as if they were praying or begging a boon from God.
Which notions didn’t solve anything. She still had to figure out what place Gabriel Caine was to play in her life. She couldn’t imagine allowing another man to become close to her; not after her experiences. In truth, she was surprised that she’d felt such intense passion when he’d held her in Tucson.
Desire hadn’t been present when he’d comforted her in her sleeping compartment, but as much as she hated to admit it, it had felt right when he’d held and tried to soothe her wounded spirits. Still, she didn’t want him in her life. She absolutely didn’t want to have to depend on him for anything. She knew from unfortunate experience that the men to whom she was attracted were unreliable and not to be depended upon. For anything. Ever.
Yet Gabriel belonged in her future somewhere, and there was no getting away from it. Blast it, if his only fate as regarded her was to stop her from killing Ivo Hardwick, she wouldn’t stand for it. To be sure, she didn’t know what she could do to prevent his interference, but she aimed to try.
“He certainly has a beautiful voice, doesn’t he, Tybalt?” The tune of “Amazing Grace” had been sliding around in her head ever since Gabriel had started singing it.
Oh, but that had hurt! To have been thrust unexpectedly back to that horrible, rainy day when those men had lowered the little coffin into the ground, had been a dreadful wrench. Every time she considered Joshua lying in the cold, dead earth, she wanted to scream. Or die.