Gabe swallowed hard against a tight knot of regret rising in his throat He knew the demon opposite him was right. Felt it in his bones. Maggie and Jake would go on with their lives whether he was a part of them or not. And when he was gone, he'd never see either of them again. Since he hoped to high heaven neither one of them would have the misfortune to spend eternity in the flames.
"Heaven?" the Devil said on a laugh, plucking that one word from his mind like taking an egg from beneath a setting hen. He threw his head back and let loose a roar of laughter that shoo the tub, making the cooling water tremble around Gabe. "Headed for Hell and hoping to Heaven?”
"A man's got a right to private thoughts," he snapped.
“Not anymore, you don't." The Devil strolled leisurely to the far corner again, dissolving into the shadows as if he'd never been. But as the last of him folded into emptiness, his voice whispered, “The clock is ticking, Gabriel, take care that you don't disappoint me."
Then Gabe was alone again and he knew there wasn't enough hot water in the world to ease the chill from his bones.
#
When dawn broke, Gabe was already awake and working on his second cup of coffee. Late-night chats with the Devil weren't exactly conducive to a sound sleep.
He leaned one elbow on the tabletop and cupped his head in the palm of his hand. His eyeballs felt like two marbles rolling around in sand. Rubbing his eyes with his fingertips, he tried to remind himself that he was dead and shouldn't be crying about a lost night of sleep, for God's Sake.
God.
That one word stopped him cold. He hadn't been inside a church since he was a boy and the only time he could remember saying the Lord's name out loud was when he was cussing. Which no doubt helped to explain why he was at the Devil's doorstep. Oh, yeah, he was the perfect man to guide a boy like Jake into manhood.
What the hell had he been thinking?
“Oh, my goodness!"
He jerked upright in his chair, startled at the abrupt end to the stillness of the morning. Half turning in his chair, he looked toward the staircase. Maggie came flying down the stairs like a disheveled whirlwind. Barefoot, hair free of her usual braid, she’d opened her eyes wide, and panic shone clearly from their depths.
"I can't believe this is happening," she muttered darkly she rushed across the room.
Instantly, Gabe went on the alert. What was happening? In the few days he'd known her, he'd seen her happy and furious, but he'd never seen her in such a blind panic before. He stood up so quickly, he tipped his chair over and it clattered on the floor behind him. She barely spared him a glance, while Gabe's gaze darted around the empty room, looking for the source of the danger.
“What is it?” he demanded. "What's wrong?"
She shook her head and ran straight for the pantry.
He heard her rummaging through her supplies and winced when something dropped and broke.
“Damn it, Maggie!” He looked toward the stairs again and wondered wildly if he should go up and check on Jake. Maybe she was hysterical. Maybe the place was on fire. Maybe…hell. He didn't know what.
"What's going on?” he yelled.
Poking her head around the corner, she glared at him.
"What're you shouting about? You'll wake up Jake."
"He's all right, then?"
She looked at him like he was out of his mind.
Strangely enough, that was just how he felt
"Of course he's all right, he's sleeping." Ducking back into the pantry, she continued in a furious whisper, "I'm the one in trouble."
"What kind of trouble, damn it?”
She stuck her head back out long enough to flash him a look that should have singed the soles of his shoes.
"Are you going to help me or not?"
"Help you what?” He came around the corner of the table, walked as far as the pantry, and stopped on the threshold. He watched as she gathered up a basket brimming with fresh eggs and a loaf of bread and then tried to grab the ham.
He saw the basket of eggs teeter precariously on her arm and he reached past her, snatched up the ham himself, then blocked the doorway when she would have left.
He waited for her to look up at him. Absently, he noted there were still small splotches of yellow dotting her skin like freckles, only brighter than the rest. Then he said, “Tell me what's goin' on and maybe I can help."
"There's no time," she muttered and shook her hair back. Immediately, it fell back down to hang on either side of her face again.
"Make time. You about gave me a heart attack running in here like the place was on fire."
“The stage," she told him as if that were explanation enough.
"It's here?" he asked.
"It is?” She fell back a pace, clearly horrified.
“You just said it was."
"No I didn't,” she argued.
"You just said—“
"I said it's coming. Why would I say it was here if it wasn't?"
Oh, it was way too early for this conversation. He pulled in a deep breath, forced a false calm into his voice, and said only, "Explain."
Hugging the loaf of bread to her chest, she looked at him for a long minute before saying quickly, "The morning stage will be here any minute. I have to feed the passengers. And nothing's ready.”
"Is that all?" The tight knot that had lodged in his chest the minute she raced downstairs finally dissolved.
Maggie shoved past him, sending him staggering backward. "Is that all?" Shaking her head, she hurried to the counter and set the bread and eggs down. "Don't you understand? You said yourself! I don't have any customers. If I lose the stage-stop contract, I won't be able to keep the restaurant open.”
"I wondered how you managed to keep going," he said, narrowing his gaze as she grabbed up a bowl and cracked three eggs into it He frowned when pieces of shell dropped into the mix and then stepped forward, taking the bowl from her. “Figured you must have a host of Saturday-night cowboys every week."
"I do,” she said, barely noticing that he was now breaking several more eggs into the bowl. Instead, she grabbed up the loaf of bread and started slicing. "But they're not enough to keep us going. I need the stage contract."
He heard the desperate edge in her voice and reacted to it. Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to pause long enough to meet his gaze. When he was sure he had her attention, he said softly, "Then you'll have it. Don't worry. The passengers will be fed."
She stared at him for a long minute. Seconds ticked past and it felt to Gabe as though the only things in the world were her eyes, looking up at him. Disbelief, hope, and then…trust glimmered in her eyes and Gabe was staggered by it. No one had ever looked at him the way she did. No one had ever counted on him to do anything except deal the next hand.
And for the first time in too many years, he worried about disappointing someone.
When, a heartbeat later, she moved back and out of his grasp, he rubbed his fingertips together to take the sting out of the loss of her.
"Maybe you haven't noticed this," she said and had to pause to clear the huskiness from her voice, "but I'm not much of a cook.”
Gabe chuckled. “I've noticed. But don't worry," he added. "I'm pretty damned good even if I do say so myself."
"You cook?" Stunned, she only stared up at him.
He broke two more eggs into the bowl, whipped them into a lemony froth, then grabbed up the ham and shaved chunks of meat into the mixture.
Nodding, he said, “My mother died when I was a kid, and my father was hopeless around a stove, it was either learn or starve." He winked at her. "I don't like being hungry."
Maggie looked from his eyes to his hands and back again. He wasn't kidding. He really did know how to cook. And she didn't know whether to feel grateful or humbled. Or both. “What can I do?” she finally asked.
Grinning now, he told her, "Put a pot of coffee on, hand me a skillet, then stand back."
She did just wha
t he said. From the corner of the kitchen, Maggie watched as her handyman whipped up what smelled like a delicious breakfast in less time than it would have taken her to figure out what to attempt to make.
Gabriel Donovan was an unusual man, she told herself. Though he'd irritated her beyond measure when he'd spouted advice about her son, he was now riding to her rescue atop a battered stove. He was still a stranger to her and yet just his touch was enough to start small fires in her blood. He'd slipped into the fabric of her life in a few short days and somehow had made things…easier, simply by being there.
And when the familiar sound of the stage's trace chains reached her, for the first time since taking over the restaurant…Maggie wasn't worried a bit.
Chapter Seven
The passengers left happy.
Maggie sighed and flopped down onto the nearest chair. From outside came the early morning Saturday sounds of Regret gearing up for a new day. Usually by this time, she was scrubbing blackened pots and telling herself that one more bad meal wouldn't ruin her.
Amazing what the right kind of help could do.
Reaching behind her head, she untied the string holding her hair into a long, loose tail then let her mind drift back over the last half hour. Snippets of images filled her brain and she smiled to herself. Gabe had been a charming host. He'd sweet-talked the elderly woman and then done some backslapping with the whiskey drummer. Even Jason, the coach driver, had shared a laugh or two with him. He'd fed them all a wonderful concoction of scrambled eggs and ham and kept them talking with a steady stream of conversation. Then he wooed them with a smile that could melt butter at fifty paces.
And he'd done it all effortlessly.
Quite a difference from the way she'd been doing things for the last couple of years. Sighing, she let her gaze slide across the empty room. In one half hour, Gabe had shown her plainly how ill-suited she was to the task of running a restaurant.
She'd hoped that with time her skills would improve.
But instead she seemed to be getting worse. Not only was she still a terrible cook, she couldn't make herself really care about the situation. Oh, she wanted the business to succeed for Jake's sake. She needed to belong here so that he would too. But there was still a part of her that longed to throw her skillet into the yard and walk off into the sunset.
She was a terrible person, she told herself. How could she even consider her own feelings when her son's future was at stake? It didn't matter that she hated trying to cook. It only mattered that she learn. But blast it, hadn't she been trying to do just that for two long, failure-laden years?
"Oh God, I'm hopeless," she said to herself, never noticing that Gabe had stepped back into the restaurant after waving the coach off on the next leg of its journey.
“No you're not," he said and she lifted her head to look at him.
That's what he thought. She laughed shortly. “Until today, I'd never seen a smile on Jason's face as he left here. Not once in the last year and a half that I've had the stage-route contract."
"You can learn how to cook, Maggie," he said softly.
"I don't think so," she said, then added quickly, "But even if I could, I can't learn how to do everything else you did."
“Like what?" he asked as he took a seat opposite her.
Looking at his expression, she could see confusion etched plainly into his features. Did he really not know? Wasn't he aware of how easily he charmed people? Maggie was always so busy worrying about saying the wrong thing that she never said the right thing and ended up saying pretty much nothing at all.
Shaking her head in admiration, she said, “It’s easy for you, isn't it?"
"What?” He looked puzzled.
"Being charming."
"Charming?” He cocked his head and gave her a half smile, and asked tentatively, “Is that a compliment?"
"Yes," she said and leaned both elbows on the table. Cupping her chin in her hands, she said, "You actually had that woman simpering at you like a young girl."
All right, now he looked uncomfortable.
“She wasn't simpering.”
"Yes she was," Maggie said. "And I don't mean that in a bad way. You made her happy. She enjoyed herself."
He shifted in his chair. "Look," he said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. "I was just trying to help.”
"And you did,” she said. "That's what I’m talking about. How good you were with those stage-coach passengers." She paused, straightened up, and folded her hands in front of her on the table. “And Jason will go back and tell the stage-route manager how well things went here today and he'll be happy too."
“That's good, isn't it?"
"That's wonderful," she said wistfully.
"So why don't you sound happy about that?”
"Because," she admitted, though it cost her some pride, "when you leave here in two months, everything will go back to the way it was. Passengers grumbling, route manager threatening to pull my contract, Jason grimacing as he chokes down one of my meals.”
Gabe smiled briefly and shook his head. “You're not that bad."
"Oh, yes I am,” she countered. Lying to herself wouldn't change anything. She was the world's worst cook who owned a restaurant that people stayed away from in droves.
"I can teach you to cook," he offered and Maggie smiled at him.
“Thank you," she said. "I'll take you up on that offer." Because it was imperative that she keep her business alive and well, in spite of how much she loathed cooking. But there was more to running a successful restaurant than simply being a good cook and she knew it.
If that was all she needed, she could hire a cook, assuming that she ever had enough business to make the money required to pay someone.
No. She needed help. Not just any help, either. She needed someone who knew how to talk to people. Someone who could bring in customers and then convince them to stay. In short, as she'd learned so completely just a while ago, she needed Gabe.
"I'd like you to think about something," she said softly and clasped her hands more tightly together.
“What?"
"Now don't say anything yet, just think about it.”
"Maggie…”
Refusal colored his tone and she plunged ahead. "Wait. Let me at least say this.” She shook her head, lifted her chin, and looked him dead in the eye as she started speaking again. "I'd like us to work together."
"We already do," he pointed out.
"No," she corrected him quietly. "Now, you work for me. I'd like you to work with me."
"What are you saying?” he asked and she noticed that his features had tightened.
“I'm offering you a partnership," she blurted and the minute she said it aloud, she knew it was the right thing to do. Every instinct she possessed was telling her to listen. To take a chance on Gabe.
For some unknown reason, the Fates had sent her the very man she needed to ensure her business's success.
With him, the restaurant would become a paying proposition. With his help, she could build a solid foundation for her son to grow on. All she had to do was convince him to make his temporary job here a permanent one.
"Maggie," he said, already shaking his head, "I told you that I'd be leaving in—“
"Two months," she finished for him. "I know. All I’m saying is that I want you to think about that. To reconsider."
If she didn't pressure him for a decision right now, maybe in time he'd come to see things her way.
Still shaking his head, he smiled sadly and said, “I’m not a merchant, Maggie. I don’t know the first thing about running a business.”
She waved her arms to encompass the empty room around them. "Take a good look, Gabe," she said “Do you think I do?” Then she let her hands drop to the tabletop. “This morning, you did what I've been trying to do unsuccessfully for two years."
"What's that?”
"Send customers away with smiles on their faces," she admitted bleakly.
"You’re learning."
"You could teach me more quickly than I could learn on my own."
“No."
Why wouldn't he at least listen to her? Hear her out and then take the blasted time to consider her proposition.
"Damn it, don't say that yet."
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Damn?”
She smiled ruefully. "Aren't you the one who told me to say it when I meant it?”
“You shouldn't take advice from me," he said with a shake of his head. "Believe me. I can't stay, Maggie, I already told you that.”
“Why not?” she demanded and fought down a swell of disappointment rising inside her.
"I told you I have an appointment to keep."
"So come back when your business is finished."
He snorted a choked-off laugh, pulled himself to his feet in one languid movement, then half turned from her. "Wish I could," he said under his breath.
"Then do it."
Spinning back around, he looked into her eyes. "It's not that easy."
"It could be," she said stubbornly, "if you wanted it to be."
"Wanting and getting are two different things," he ground out tightly.
"Just think about it," she said, still determined not to give up. Couldn't he see that this arrangement would be perfect for both of them? When she'd hired him, he'd asked her not to hold his past against him. Well, she figured that he was no longer interested in being a gambler. So why couldn't he see that this would be a fresh start for him?
"Maggie…"
She stood up, too, and reached out one hand to lay on his forearm. The instant she did, she felt a jagged spear of heat lance up her arm, rocket around inside her chest, and shimmer around her heart. Instantly, she pulled her hand back, as if by doing so she could pretend that flash of warmth had never happened.
She needed Gabe to help her with the restaurant, she scolded herself. There was no reason for her body to go all limp and rag-dolly on her just because she touched him. And if she did convince him to stay, she'd have to remember to keep a safe distance between them. Because no matter what her insides told her, she wasn't about to let a man into her heart again.
Catch a Fallen Angel Page 8