Nan’s gaze clung to his. “Will you share it with me?”
“Share what with you?”
Her throat convulsed in a hard swallow before she replied, “The gift your mother left you—the ability to laugh at silly things.”
Gabe’s heart caught at the yearning in her expression. “Honey, laughing is the simplest thing in the world. You just let go and do it.”
She shook her head. “No, first you have to see the humor in something.” The corner of her mouth quivered, and in her attempt to suppress that, she flashed the dimple at him again. “I’m blind to those things, so bent on everything being done properly and having order in my life that I’m stifling Laney’s ability to be carefree. Save her from that, Gabriel. Save me from that. If she grows up to be a killjoy like me, I’ll never forgive myself.”
It was Gabe’s turn to swallow hard. “You’re not a killjoy, Nan. You’re just a little too serious about stuff.” Way too serious, mostly. But not for anything would Gabe have hurt her feelings by saying so. “Relax a little bit, and laughing will just come naturally.”
“I need help.” She turned up her palms where they rested on her lap and stared at them. “I’ve heard we all have a life line and a love line. Do you suppose I was born with a serious line?”
“Nobody’s born with a serious line,” he refuted. “You’re going to be fine. You’re already a great mother. Let up on yourself. It’s hard to improve on damned near perfect.”
“That’s the problem, don’t you see, my penchant for perfection.” She bent her head, fell quiet for a moment, and then stood. “Your answer is no, isn’t it?”
“It’s not that, Nan. I just don’t like to make promises I’m not sure I can keep. I’ll try. How’s that sound?”
She nodded. “That’s all that can be asked of anyone.” She gestured toward the building. “Supper is in the warmer. I hope you’ll leave off chopping wood and come upstairs before everything ruins.”
Gabe watched her walk away: shoulders straight, head high, each step precisely measured. At the narrow alleyway, she stopped and turned her golden head to say, “Don’t forget the satchel of money. It may not seem like much to you, but I worked hard for every cent.”
After she vanished into the shadowy chasm, Gabe sat and stared at the dusky gray sky. He could almost hear the angel Gabriel whispering, You see? You are not down there wasting your time.
With a frustrated sigh, Gabe softly said, “You crazy sons of bitches. Is that why you sent me here, to teach the poor woman how to laugh?” No answer. Not that he expected one.
He swore, swung off the stump to grab the satchel, and followed Nan. If he meant to help her develop a sense of humor before his time here ended, he’d best get started.
• • •
Gabriel. That very night, he taught Nan a lesson she would never be likely to forget. After supper, she’d gone to her bedchamber to synchronize the alarm clock and her bodice watch, which had been off by one minute’s difference the other morning. Gabriel found her muttering under her breath in frustration.
“What is it?” he asked, coming to stand over her where she sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned slightly in and sideways to see the faces of both timepieces. “Is one broken?”
“Not broken, really. They simply aren’t keeping the same time. One insists on being a minute ahead of the other, or perhaps it’s the other way around. It makes me crazy when clocks don’t show the same time. Never being late is important, you know.”
“And you think one measly minute matters that much?”
Nan glanced up at him. “Of course it matters. One minute, ten minutes—it’s very important to know the right time of day.” She fiddled with her bodice watch. “It’s a simple matter of getting the second hands synchronized, I think. Only, when I’m setting one, the other one is ticking ahead.”
Gabe reached down and caught her wrists, startling her so that she jerked and then gaped at him.
“Stop it,” he said. “Remember what you asked me earlier, to teach you how to laugh? The first thing you have to learn is that a little thing like two clocks being a minute apart doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t.”
“Perhaps not to you, but it does to me.”
“And there in a nutshell is your whole problem.” He released her hands and sat beside her on the bed. “Go ahead. Keep messing with both timepieces until your nerves are frazzled.”
Nan twisted the stem of her bodice watch. “Thank you. I will. Both Laney and I must live by the clock. Not all of us are so fortunate as to be millionaires.”
He started to laugh, tipping back his head and releasing deep guffaws. Nan had no doubt that he was making fun of her, and she began to feel more than a little cross.
“What, precisely, is so funny?”
He waved a hand before his face and shook his head, apparently so overcome with mirth that he couldn’t speak. Nan waited until it passed. He finally sighed and rubbed his side as if it ached.
“It’s just . . .” He smiled that crooked, wonderful smile that she was beginning to anticipate. “Fair question, okay? How do you know which timepiece is correct?”
“Well, I—” Nan broke off to stare down at both clocks, and a strange suffocating sensation crawled up her throat. “I, um . . . I don’t, actually.”
“So you’re going to spend half your evening struggling to set both clocks to the incorrect time?”
A shaky squeak erupted from Nan, and the next thing she knew, she was helplessly giggling. What had seemed so important to her only seconds before now suddenly struck her as being absolutely trivial.
Gabriel joined in, and they laughed until they were so weak they flopped onto their backs on the bed, both of them holding their stomachs. Nan decided she would never try to synchronize her clocks again. If they gained a minute or lost one, she no longer cared.
Because a minute in time was only just that, a silly minute.
• • •
Gabriel. Time spun forward for Nan like a winding path gilded with gold. He filled her and Laney’s world with so many precious gifts, laughter being only one of them. Morning or night, and anywhere in between, Nan never knew what might happen next. One evening, Laney got out her violin, which she’d become very accomplished at playing, and the first thing Nan knew, Gabriel had swept her up from her chair into a waltz around the kitchen. Nan had danced with many men back in Manhattan, but never had she been held so close, her body braced against ironlike muscle, her feet barely touching the ground. In his arms, she felt as if she were floating. Laney, delighted, moved from one melody to another, allowing Nan to enjoy the feeling for several minutes. She was breathless when the waltzing finally ended, and her heart caught when she realized that Gabriel still held her close, his cheek pressed against the top of her head.
“Ah, Nan,” he whispered for her ears only. “You’re killing me, you know.”
Startled, she reared back to stare up at his face. “How? What? Did I tromp your toes?”
He started to laugh, that deep, warm, vibrant rumble of humor that she was quickly coming to adore. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he winked at her. “You are priceless.”
Nan held that comment close to her heart. Priceless. She wasn’t certain what had prompted him to say it, but it meant the world to her.
Most evenings while Nan labored over tedious sewing tasks she couldn’t do on her machine, Gabriel spent his time with Laney, either helping her with homework or playing games. Nan tried to put her foot down when he decided to teach the girl how to play poker, but Gabriel forestalled her.
“Every female should know how to play poker,” he insisted. “Even you.” He grabbed Nan’s sewing and set it aside on another chair. “It isn’t just a game; it’s a wagering game. And by learning how to be good at it, you learn how to read men. That ability could save your bacon someday.” He looked
at Laney. “Especially yours, young miss. You’re going to be a beauty just like your mama, and the time is fast coming when young men are going to be sniffing after your skirts.”
“Gabriel!” Nan admonished. Laney giggled and rolled her eyes at him, obviously enjoying the idea.
“That’s not inappropriate,” he informed Nan. “It’s just a saying, and trust me, it’s also a fact of life. Men sniff after a woman’s skirts. You may know that, Nan, but Laney doesn’t, and trying to shield her from the facts of life is no kindness. You want her to get her bloomers charmed off by some lying, no-good scoundrel?”
“Gabriel!” Her voice shot upward again in reproof.
“Don’t ‘Gabriel’ me,” he shot back. “Ninety-nine percent of the men outside this building are scoundrels.”
“I thought you said most of them were—”
“Forget what I said that night. I was speaking about the character of most men then, and the fact is, when it comes to skirt sniffing, the character of most males leaks out through the bottoms of their boots. That doesn’t mean all of them are terrible people, only that . . . well, their brains can play second fiddle to their urges, that’s all. Laney should learn how to tell if a young man is honest and decent, or if he’s lying through his teeth to charm her, and playing poker is a grand teacher.”
“That’s absurd,” Nan protested.
Gabriel shuffled the cards with an expert flourish. “You think so? Listen up, darlin’. There are two things in this world that fire a man up enough to make him forget his principles: skirt sniffing and laying his money on a table.” He slapped the deck down, asked Nan to make the cut, and then began dividing the red beans at his elbow into three separate piles. After pushing one mound toward Laney, he shoved one at Nan. Then he dealt each of them and himself five cards, hands moving at dizzying speed.
“The first game I’m going to teach you is five-card stud.”
He quickly explained the rules, most of which Nan promptly forgot. Her knowledge of poker ran to sayings she’d heard about it—someone holding the trump card or all of the aces. She didn’t know how those things figured into an actual game.
“It’s pretty simple, all in all.” After they’d studied their hands, he said, “Ante up.” At their bewildered looks, he said, “That means put out some money, in this case however many beans you want to risk. You’re betting on the odds that you’ve either got a better hand than everyone else, or you’ve got good base cards that you may be able to win with if you draw the right cards to go with them. It’s called anteing up at most gambling houses.”
Nan put out one bean. Gabriel sent her a glance rife with amusement. “We’ve got a cautious better at the table, Laney. You can match her, or you can raise her.” He leaned forward, giving the child an imploring look. “Please raise her. It’s only beans. Put at least five out there, or this is going to be plumb boring.”
Laney grinned, shoving out six beans. “I put out five more than you, Mama.”
“Just say, ‘Raise you by five,’” Gabriel corrected. And then to Nan, he said, “That means you have to put out five more beans to stay in the game. Later, I’ll tell you about folding, but that’s pretty much unheard-of when players first look at their hands, the rare exception being when some poor fellow sees his wife peeking over the bat-wing doors, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.”
“No lady would ever approach the bat-wing doors of a saloon or gambling establishment,” Nan told him.
“She will if her husband is gambling with money she needs to buy food for her children.”
“You see, Laney?” Nan sent the child a meaningful look. “It’s an evil game that drives men to deprive their children of necessities.”
“The game itself isn’t evil,” Gabriel countered. “It’s the evil things some men will do in order to play—and the even eviler things they’ll do to win.” He examined his cards and rearranged them. Nan followed his example.
“Are two jacks good?” she asked.
Gabriel huffed out a breath that stirred the gleaming black hair on his forehead. “You shouldn’t tell us what you’ve got, Nan.”
“But we’re just learning. Fine, fine.” Nan wrinkled her nose.
Gabriel chuckled. “Two jacks aren’t bad for the first deal. Throw the other cards down now and tell me to hit you with three, because I need to deal the draw.”
“Hit me with three.” Nan picked up her draw and studied her hand. She now had three jacks. She decided that if two were good, three had to be better. “Do I bet again now?”
“Yep,” Gabriel replied with a grin. “Look at you, playing like a sharp already.”
Nan pushed out three beans, and the raising process began again. When it came Gabriel’s turn, he pushed out twenty beans. “Twenty?” Nan cried. “You must have something really good.”
Both she and Laney matched his bet. “Now comes the face reading,” he told Laney. “Do I have a pat hand, or am I bluffing?”
“You raised us as if you had something wonderful!” Laney accused.
Gabriel grinned. “Exactly. But do I have something wonderful? If I can make you both believe I’ve got a winning hand, you may fold and let me have the whole pot.” He settled back on his chair to rearrange his cards. “I’ve been told I give myself away when I bluff, so watch my face. See if I’m playing straight or trying to clean you out of beans.”
Nan saw nothing different; it was the same devilishly handsome countenance that she feared was becoming branded on her heart. Laney stared so hard at Gabe’s face that she nearly squinted. “Your eyebrow!” she shouted. “It twitches!”
“Very good,” Gabriel said with a laugh. “Before you know it, you’ll be able to read a man so easily, it’ll be second nature. Always remember, there are mainly two things that will make a fellow play dirty: a strong attraction to a young lady, or money. And never trust a man who won’t look you dead in the eye.”
As the game continued, Nan found herself laughing so hard that tears ran from her eyes. Both Laney and Gabriel said that a spot on the tip of her nose turned bright pink when she bluffed. After that, Nan tried holding her cards high to hide her face, but her opponents called her on it.
“There are all kinds of warning signs to watch for when a man’s lying or bluffing,” Gabriel told them. “Some fellows tug on their ears or rub beside their noses. I’ve seen lots of temple scratchers in my day as well. You have to be careful with nervous gestures, though, because sometimes a straight shooter will do things like that if he’s really tense.” He looked directly at Laney. “Like, say some young fellow decides he loves you so much that he can’t live without you and asks you to marry him. If he truly loves you, he may be so nervous waiting for your answer that he’ll rub his nose plumb off.”
Toward the evening’s end, Nan decided that playing the evil game of poker was actually stimulating and fun. Laney brought the hilarity to an end with a question for Gabriel. “So how do I know for sure if a young man is lying when he says he loves me?”
Gabriel laid down his cards and rested his arms on the table to give Laney a solemn look. “I care very deeply for you, Laney. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I care so much that I’d take a bullet to protect you.” He let his words hang in the air for a long moment. Then he asked the girl, “Am I lying or telling you the truth, straight from my heart?”
Laney stared hard at his face. “Your eyebrow isn’t twitching.”
“Nope,” Gabriel said with a crooked smile. “What else?”
“You aren’t shifty eyed.”
“Nope.” His larynx bobbed as he swallowed. “The most important thing, cupcake, is to listen to your own heart. When you look into my eyes, do you believe me?”
Laney’s gaze went misty. “I do,” she whispered. “I think you truly mean it.”
Gabriel reached across the table and chucked the child under th
e chin. “You’re right; I do. So keep your sweet little self out of harm’s way so I don’t get shot trying to keep you safe.” He began gathering the cards. “We’ll play again tomorrow night. But now I’m afraid it’s bedtime. You’ve got school in the morning, and Nan has to open the shop.”
Laney planted a good-night kiss on Nan’s cheek. Then she glanced hesitantly at Gabriel before suddenly circling Nan’s chair to throw her thin arms around his neck. “I love you, too, Gabe. I really do.”
Nan saw Gabriel squeeze his eyes closed as he hugged the girl against him. “I know you do, honey. But thanks for telling me so.”
A few minutes later, when Gabriel joined Nan in bed, she rolled onto her side to face him. In the darkness, he was limned by soft moonlight coming through the window. Nan’s throat felt tight. He truly did love her little sister in an avuncular way, deeply enough to lay down his life to protect her. Nan had seen the truth of that in his eyes when he’d said the words.
It was a wonderful thing to know that Laney now had a strong male protector. Nan wouldn’t have changed that for the world. All the same, she felt sad. She wasn’t certain why, but there was no denying the ache at the base of her throat. Perhaps, she decided, it was merely that she felt set aside. Laney had never loved anyone else but Nan.
Yes, that was it. Nan clung to the explanation like a drowning woman might a log. But even as she did, a little voice in the back of her mind taunted her. You want him to say those words to you! That’s the truth of it. It’s not sadness that you feel; you’re green with jealousy. And of your own little sister, no less. What kind of person are you?
Walking on Air Page 20
