Gabriel's Atonement (7 page)

Gabe stood off to the side, watching Lara Talbot. Homer had been right in saying she was quite a beauty. The first time he encountered those pale green eyes at the train depot, he was stunned speechless. Now he realized they reminded him of some light green crystals that a man had tried to gamble away one night. At least today he'd been able to gather his composure when he nearly collided with her at the hotel.

She'd seemed taken off guard by his sudden dinner invitation. He was unaccustomed to women turning him down. There was a sadness in her eyes, probably from so recently losing her husband. He watched her as she stood on the edge of the crowd, as if waiting for someone. She intrigued him, but he couldn't say why. Maybe it was the way her rebellious curls framed her face. Or her tattered dignity. He regretted her refusal to dine with him and would have enjoyed spending time getting to know the lovely
Mrs
. Talbot.

She didn't know he was the one responsible for making her a widow. What would she say if she knew the truth? Or if he walked up and handed her the money he'd won from her husband?

He ought to do just that, but he'd learned in town that she was a proud woman—a hard worker who wouldn't accept charity. No, giving her the money wasn't the answer. But somehow, he'd find a way to help Mrs. Talbot and her son—and atone for Tom Talbot's death. He had to, for his own peace of mind.

Gabe watched her tuck several wayward strands of goldenbrown hair behind her ear as she stared at the bulletin posted on the newspaper facade. Deciding to risk talking to her again, he crossed the dusty street. He couldn't explain it, but as if a rope were tied from his waist to hers, he felt pulled to her. For some reason, he wanted to protect her. Both times he'd been close to her, an awareness unlike anything he'd ever experienced before had surged through him. Maybe it was because she needed him.

He squeezed his way through the growing crowd and sidled up beside her. “So, are you thinking about riding in the big race?”

“What?” She turned her confused gaze upon him, but when she recognized him, her full lips tilted down in a frown.

Wounded pride needled him for a moment, but he shoved it away and pointed to the sign. “Are you going to ride in the land run?”

She pressed her lips together, and her brows dipped down. “I haven't decided yet.”

“Sounds like a great opportunity. I might even take a gamble and ride myself.”

A sad smile tugged at her intriguing mouth. “You'll most likely do well ridin' that fine horse of yours.”

“Yes, Tempest sure does like to run.” He lifted his hat, smoothed his hair, then set his derby back on his head. “You ought to go ahead and register if you're serious about it.”

She shrugged her too-thin shoulders. “It's not that simple.”

“Tell me about it.”

“If 'n you two's gonna yammer all day, could you do it somewhere else?” A thin man scowled at them then stood on his tiptoes, trying to see around Gabe to read the announcement.

A blush tinged her cheeks. “Sorry, sir.” Mrs. Talbot sidled past the man and hurried away.

Gabe pushed through the large crowd, not quite ready to let her go yet. He caught up and settled into step with her. “So, why isn't it simple?”

She glanced sideways, looking both cautious and curious. “Why do you want to know?”

“Why not?” He flashed her the smile that made other women swoon.

She scowled. “I don't know you, so why would you be interested in my business?”

“What's not to know? I'm charming, handsome, interesting…”

“You sound like a snake oil salesman hawking his wares.”

Gabe slowed his steps, slightly insulted by her comment. He'd never known a woman immune to his charms—and it intrigued him even more.

“I still think you ought to register if you're serious about riding. It doesn't cost anything. And besides”—he waved his hand in the air—“people are surging into town. The line will only get longer if you wait until closer to the race.”

She seemed to be considering his comment and stepped back to allow an elderly couple to pass between them. “I'll think about it.”

A sudden thought pummeled Gabe. Was she even old enough to ride? Now that he considered it, she barely looked eighteen, much less the twenty-one-year minimum required to race.

“We don't have a horse.” She bit her lip as if she'd just confessed a deep family secret. “Just an old mule that only has one speed—sluggish.” Then as if she'd revealed too much, she waved her hand in the air. “I really should go. Good day, Mr. Coulter.”

Gabe watched her scurry away in her faded dress. He had the ability to make her life so much easier, but if he offered her the money, then he'd have to explain his part in her husband's death. He couldn't stand the thought of seeing censure in her lovely eyes. Still, there had to be something he could do to help. His mind swirled with ideas, until suddenly—Gabe snapped his fingers in the air.

Yes sirree, he'd act on the idea that just popped into his mind—and just maybe he'd find some peace in helping the Widow Talbot and her son.

Maybe then he'd sleep at night.

F
eeling only slightly guilty for having sneaked off again, Jo hid behind Caldwell's livery until Lara disappeared from view on the trail toward home. Lara was always giving her chores to do or telling her to keep an eye on Michael. Her work-minded sister had forgotten that a young woman needed time to visit her friends and to just have fun.

As Jo stepped out from behind the building and walked toward Main Street, she studied the striking dandy who stood on the corner staring off in the direction her sister had gone. He looked to be deep in thought.

She'd seen him talking to Lara as the two had strolled along the boardwalk. Who was he? And what did he want with a poor, married woman like her sister?

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers and turned. Jo ducked back, lest she be caught staring, but she couldn't help admiring his handsome, citified appearance. His stylish three-piece suit looked as if it had been made to fit him by a trained tailor rather than homemade, like her two faded dresses. She ran her hand down her patched calico, wondering what it would feel like to wear clothes tailor-made just for her. Jo peered around the side of the building, watching the dandy again as he strode with long-legged confidence along the boardwalk and into the telegraph office.

She walked down the street, amazed at how many people had swarmed into Caldwell since the last time she'd been in town. Must be land seekers, all hoping for a chance to get a claim. Excitement swirled in her stomach. She knew Grandpa could get land if only Lara would register him. By the time he recovered enough from his swamp fever bout to come to town, it could be too late.

She slowed her steps and peered at her reflection in the mercantile window, twisting her head sideways as she tried to see her profile out the corner of her eye. Could she pass for twenty-one?

Standing straighter, she wrapped her long braid into a knot at her nape and held it there with one hand as she examined her reflection. She heaved a sigh, knowing she still couldn't pass for the required minimum age. Riding in such a grand race would be so exhilarating.

She moseyed down to the telegraph office and slowed her steps. The dandy stood in the doorway, studying the sheet of paper in his hand with a big smile on his face. He looked even more dashing up close, but he was too old to interest her. Why, he had to be at least in his midtwenties, like Tom. The man rolled up the paper and smacked it against his palm with pleasing satisfaction.

The dandy looked up and noticed her. He smiled then tipped his hat to her and walked across the street. Jo caught a faint whiff of some kind of musky fragrance and closed her eyes. She ought to be insulted that he'd barely glanced at her, well…she would have been if she hadn't already deemed him nearly a codger. Someone bumped her shoulder as they passed by and jolted her back to her senses. She moved to the edge of the boardwalk, looped her arm around a post, and watched the fine-smelling dandy disappear into the hotel.

Leaning her head against the post, she studied the activity of Caldwell. Riders on horses and long-eared mules pulling wagons headed down the dirt road—one of the main streets of Caldwell. Fragrant aromas of café food blended with the familiar smells of dust, animals, and leather.

Across the street, a woman in a lovely lavender gown exited the hotel on the arm of an older man in a fancy suit. Jo sighed as she dreamed of what she might look like in that dress, dining on a five-course meal in the hotel. What would it be like to live in a town and wear nice clothes and shoes every day? Or to even stay in a clean room in a boardinghouse with beds that had frames and feather pillows and a café that served hot, belly-tingling meals? Where other folks did the chores and waited on you as if you were a queen or someone grand?

Her stomach gurgled in response, and Jo laid her hand across it. She was sick of eating squirrel meat and other things most people would turn up their noses at.

Security was what she longed for. A nice house to live in with wooden floors, glass in the windows, and a roof that didn't let in rain or critters while she slept.

Was that too much to ask for?

Oh, why had she been born into a poor family?

If only she had some money. What she needed was a job. She pushed away from the post and looked at the various stores and places of business. Caldwell wasn't a huge town, but there was a variety of different shops. Maybe one of them could use some help. She was a good worker, even if Lara didn't think so.

Jo tossed her braid over her shoulder, smoothed the hair around her face, and proceeded down the boardwalk. The buzz of unfamiliar voices filled her ears—voices all talking about the land rush. On the other side of the street a crowd had gathered in front of the newspaper office, and they were staring at something on the wall. Lifting her skirt a little, she jogged across the street and leaped over a pile of fresh manure.

She squeezed her way to the front of the crowd and read the information about the land run. One hundred and sixty acres. This was the answer to all her problems, she just knew it. Somehow, she had to get Lara to register. Maybe they could get a claim in one of the new towns being plotted out by the land-run officials, find work, and build a clapboard house. Or maybe they could start their own business.

Even though she knew the age requirements, she checked them again to make sure she hadn't misread them, and blew out a frustrated sigh. Horse feathers! She missed being old enough to ride in the race by five years.

Why was she was always too old or too young? Never just the right age—whatever that was.

Making her way out of the crowd, she spied her best friend coming out of the dressmaker's shop. “Alma Lou!”

Her friend glanced around the crowded streets then peered over her shoulder. When she caught sight of Jo, she waved and turned in her direction.

“What brings you to town?” Alma Lou carried a thick package wrapped in paper and tied with twine. “Did your sister finally give you a day off?”

Jo snorted. “Not likely. Lara put Michael down for a nap, and Grandpa was resting, so I snuck into town after Lara headed here.”

Alma Lou looped her free arm through Jo's. “I miss seeing you. It seems I hardly ever get to visit with you now that we're no longer attending school. So, you want a Hires Root Beer?”

Jo glanced sideways at Alma Lou. “Are you serious? You know I don't have any money.”

Her friend shrugged a shoulder. “Daddy gave me enough money to buy a bottle of root beer and some candy, but I'm getting too old for childish things like candy. C'mon.” She tugged Jo back into the dirt street toward the general store.

“Then I'd love one. I've never had root beer before.” Though Jo eagerly anticipated her first soft drink, she didn't think she'd ever get too old to enjoy the sweet taste of candy.

Alma Lou had grown up since the last time Jo had seen her about a month ago. Her trademark braids were now rolled into a tight bun at her nape, and the dress she wore looked more matronly than Jo would have expected to see on someone her age. Alma Lou even wore the new style of lace-up shoes, but then she always did have the prettiest clothing of anyone in their school.

Over the years Jo had fought hard not to be jealous of Alma Lou and her wealthy father, who owned the hotel. Her friend always had nicer clothes and better food to eat at lunchtime, but because of Alma Lou's generous nature, Jo never felt inferior—until now. With her free hand, she tried to hold her skirt out so that it hid her bare feet.

Ten minutes later, they sat in two rockers in front of the mercantile, drinking their soft drinks.

Alma Lou took a ladylike sip, wiped her mouth with a lace handkerchief, and looked at Jo. “I have some thrilling news.” Her brown eyes danced with excitement.

Jo took a long swig, savoring the sweet-tasting drink, thinking she'd never had anything so delicious. A man and woman passed in front of them, casting their shadow on Alma Lou and then Jo. Their shoes tapped softly against the dry wood of the boardwalk. The woman leaned over to the man and whispered something in his ear then giggled. Jo sighed. Would she ever have a beau to cuddle with and whisper sweet words of love to?

Oh, there were plenty of silly boys back in school who had eyed her golden hair and wanted to claim her as their own, but there'd never been a man in her life. Her thoughts flew back to the handsome dandy.

Alma Lou shoved her, jostling her soda bottle so that Jo had to tighten her grasp to keep from dropping it. “I'm telling you the most important thing in my life, and you're not even listening.”

“Sorry. I was thinking about something.” Jo pulled her gaze back to her friend. “So…what's the news?”

“Oh, it's so exciting I can hardly stand it.” She squeezed her soda bottle with both hands, her face beaming. “Jeremiah Watson has been courting me and has asked me to marry him.”