She sighed, relieved that she didn’t have to face him right then. When he did show up, she intended to be the very picture of serenity. Never would she reveal to him how deep his rejection had pierced. Never would she let him see that he’d broken her heart.
• • •
After returning to the livery, Gabe spent nearly an hour grooming Brownie, not because the horse actually required that amount of attention, but because Gabe needed time to think before he faced Nan. If the angels had kept their promise and she didn’t remember him, he at least had to learn where she’d tucked the Pinkerton Agency report. She’d probably think he was a lunatic if he began searching her shop, but he absolutely had to find the document and then place it where Nan would be sure to come across it later. The Pinkerton investigation had set her free from her past. No dead fiancé, no murder charge. The angels could erase every other memory of Gabe from Nan’s mind, but Gabe wouldn’t allow that information to be taken from her.
Apart from that, Gabe would accept what came. With no recollection of him, she would revert back to the Nan he’d first met, a fussy spinster who fretted over her clocks, rigidly adhered to the rules of propriety, and rarely laughed. Even if she happened upon the roses he’d ordered from Denver and planned to leave atop a fence post behind the woodpile right before he walked up Main on Christmas morning, she wouldn’t recall their conversation about Santa and wouldn’t know the flowers were from him.
On the other hand, if she did remember him, Gabe had a heap of explaining to do, and when he went over the story in his mind, he had a bad feeling that Nan probably wouldn’t believe it. If someone had told him the same story, he sure as shooting wouldn’t.
After puttering as long as he could, Gabe set off up Main Street, his gaze fixed on Nan’s illuminated shop windows. So, she was downstairs. Working, probably. Whether she remembered the earlier bedchamber debacle or not, she’d have her hands busy. It was how she held unpleasantness at bay.
Gabe was just passing in front of the hotel when a voice called out behind him. “Valance!” a youngish male voice hollered. “Turn around.”
Incredulous, Gabe froze. This was not supposed to happen. He’d lived through this month. He’d lived through this very night, in fact. He slowly turned to face his challenger, feeling so weary of it all that he nearly sighed.
In the squares of light cast by the street-side hotel windows, a kid stood about twenty feet away, feet spread, one hand poised over his gun holster. Gabe doubted he was much older than seventeen—tall, skinny as a well-gnawed chicken bone—and quivering with either excitement or fear. Gabe guessed it was the latter. It was scary the first time you faced a man in the street. All kinds of thoughts went through your mind, first and foremost being that if you went for your gun, the other fellow would shoot back.
Well, not this time. Gabe had only three more days left to live. He didn’t really give a shit if he had to check out early, and he saw no point in taking a boy along with him. He’d died the first time regretting that he’d killed Pete Raintree, and he wasn’t a man who liked making the same mistake twice, even though he’d done precisely that often enough. “Out to make a name for yourself, son?” Gabe asked.
“I ain’t standin’ here to talk, Valance. Draw. What’s the matter? You turnin’ yellow?”
Gabe nearly smiled. “Nope, I’m turning my back.” He pivoted on his heel, resuming his walk toward the shop. “Go ahead. Just be sure of your aim. I don’t want a slug in my kidney.”
“Turn back around!” the kid yelled. “I mean it! Come back here! Or I’ll kill you dead!”
Technically Gabe was already dead. And because he’d already died once, he wasn’t afraid to go through it again. Pretty simple stuff, actually. Even so, he flinched when he heard the hammer of the kid’s gun cock. “You ever known a back shooter who got congratulated and patted on the shoulder?” Gabe called out. “Is that the reputation you’re aiming to get, son? You’ll be talked about in saloons from here to Frisco, all right, but not for your bravery or your skill with a gun.”
“I ain’t no back shooter! I wanna face you, fair and square.”
Gabe kept walking.
“You crazy or somethin’?” the boy hollered. “I gotta bead dead center on your spine!”
“Then shoot,” Gabe suggested. “Either that or holster your weapon and go home. There’s nothing worse than a man who talks it to death and never does anything.”
Gabe angled left and gained the boardwalk. He knew then that the boy wouldn’t pull the trigger. He strode purposefully to Nan’s shop door, started to walk in, and then thought better of it. He angled a glance over his shoulder to be sure the kid had skedaddled. The last thing he wanted was for Nan to catch a stray bullet. When Gabe saw no one in the street, he rapped his knuckles against the glass. Watching through the door window, he saw Nan emerge from her downstairs workroom. As always, she looked beautiful, and moved across the room with precisely measured steps. She wore the same pretty blue dress that he’d yearned to tear from her body only hours ago.
He braced himself as she drew open the door, uncertain which Nan he’d be facing: the one he’d first met or the one he’d left that afternoon.
Hand still grasping the doorknob, she stared up at him for an endlessly long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, in a flat voice, she said, “Gabriel.”
He wasn’t sure if that pleased him or did quite the opposite. “So you remember me.”
His words rattled her composure. He saw her shoulders tense and glimpsed a flash of bewilderment in her eyes. “Well, of course I remember you. It’s been only a few hours since I, um, saw you.”
She spun to retrace her steps to the workroom, leaving the door open wide. Over her shoulder, she said, “Your things are upstairs, right where you left them. I’m quite busy, so I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d vacate the premises with as little fuss and bother as possible.”
Gabe had rehearsed what he would say if she remembered him, but now every single word eluded him. “I love you, Nan.” He paused to swallow the cotton in his throat. “I know I hurt you this afternoon by taking off the way I did, but it wasn’t because I don’t love you and want you.”
She stopped in her tracks and spun to face him. “You . . . you love me?” Her eyes went bright with tears. “I think you made your feelings quite clear this afternoon. Get your things and get out, Gabriel. I’m not interested in hearing anything more that you have to say.”
Gabe closed the door and followed her into her work area. She shot him a fulminating glare. “What are you doing?” she cried. “I politely asked you to leave.”
“Not so politely,” he replied. “And as you can see, I’m not going to oblige you.”
She folded her arms and began tapping her toe, a habit of hers when she grew agitated. Oh, how he wished in that moment that the angels had erased her memory of him. He’d hurt her in ways that might never heal. She clung to her self-control by a thread. In her eyes, he saw the supreme effort it cost her. The rigidity of her posture was also a telltale sign to someone who knew her so well.
“So say what you must and then leave.”
There were two chairs at the table, one for Nan and one for a customer. Geneva White spent a goodly part of each morning in here, supervising the creation of her gown, which was becoming the worst eyesore Gabe had ever seen.
Gabe gestured for Nan to take a seat. She fidgeted for a moment, clearly not enthused about sitting across from him. But being the intelligent and practical woman she was, she finally gathered her skirts and perched on the seat, reminding him of a small bird prepared for quick flight. Recalling his manners, Gabe reached to remove his Stetson, then realized that he hadn’t grabbed it on his way out.
He sighed as he sat down. When he braced his crossed arms on the table, Nan drew back slightly. Gabe wished . . . Well, he wasn’t sure what. His not making love to her this
afternoon had wounded her, but he couldn’t honestly say that he’d do things differently. A woman like Nan didn’t give her body lightly, and Gabe wasn’t the lucky chap who had a right to accept that gift unless she knew the whole truth about him first. Only how could he explain it to her? Gabe wasn’t sure where to start.
So he plunged in with, “That first morning when I came into your shop, I didn’t just suddenly up and decide that marrying you was a great idea. I was sent here by two angels.”
Nan rolled her eyes and puffed air into her cheeks, releasing it in a huff that said more clearly than words that she’d never heard such bunkum. “Have you been drinking?” she asked. Her tone was done to a crisp.
“It’s true!” Gabe insisted.
He began to tell her the whole story, beginning with leaving an upstairs room of the brothel, seeing the boy under the staircase, and then walking farther up Main later, drawn by the candlelight in Nan’s shop window. He left nothing out, not even the less-than-complimentary remarks the angels had made about his miserable failures to be a decent person. He even related all that he’d seen through the parting of the clouds as he was shown the three souls he could choose from to save: Tyke Baden, the abandoned boy, and Nan. Her expression hadn’t changed from the instant he started explaining, and that expression wasn’t encouraging.
“I chose to save you in exchange for being granted eternal salvation,” he told her, his voice going thick. “And, yes, I picked you for all the wrong reasons. You were so damned beautiful, and I figured I might as well enjoy myself while I was down here. That’s all.”
Nan’s gray eyes began to smolder with anger. “Is that the best explanation you could come up with during all those hours since you slammed out of here? Do you honestly expect me to believe all this poppycock about angels and visitations and damnation? I am not and never was a lost soul!”
• • •
Fury licked through Nan, and even though she abhorred physical violence, she yearned to punch Gabriel Valance right on the nose. How dared he sit there and spin a pack of lies that insulted both her faith and her intelligence? Even worse, how could he possibly expect her to believe them? She started to rise from the chair, but his voice, throbbing with urgency, made her freeze.
“Don’t leave, Nan. I know it all sounds crazy. But I swear to God it’s true, every word of it. Do you honestly think I couldn’t come up with a better tale than this? Hell, I could dream up two dozen better stories that would be a lot easier for you to swallow.”
The earnestness in his dark eyes made her feel vulnerable, and she crossed her arms over her breasts. “Then you’d better talk fast, because I certainly don’t swallow this one,” she snapped.
“And lie to you? Is that really what you want from me, a bunch of lies? That’s one thing I can tell you, Nan. During all of this, except for a couple of white lies, I only ever lied to you by omission. As for your not being a lost soul, you’re absolutely right—in a sense. I have no doubt that when you die, you’ll be instantly welcomed into the presence of God. I wasn’t sent to save you from living a life of sin. I was sent because you were so very lost in other ways—fearful of marriage, harboring a disgust of men, and holding yourself apart from others.” His gaze, aching with appeal, held hers. “Remember asking me to teach you how to laugh? And realizing that you were so wrapped up in all the responsibilities of life that you couldn’t let go and enjoy its small pleasures?”
Nan did remember that, and she hated him—hated him—for reminding her. He’d sung her a lovely tune, and she’d danced for him like a marionette. She’d revealed her deepest emotions and insecurities to him, and this was her reward.
He leaned closer, still holding her gaze. “You were unhappy, and you were missing out on all the joyful stuff—falling in love, getting married, raising a passel of kids with a wonderful man. You deserve to have all of those things, and it was my assignment to help you reach out for them.”
Oh, but he was a clever liar. And he knew exactly which strings to tug. It was true that she’d always yearned for the life he described—way down deep, she’d wanted to love and be loved, to hold her own baby in her arms, to live in a real house that rang with the voices of a family. And for a brief time, she’d believed she might have all of that with this man. Now she knew that had been the height of idiocy. Gabriel Valance was not only a spinner of beautiful dreams, but also a spinner of cruel lies. He’d created that world for her, and it was all an illusion. And, oh, how she wanted to hurt him as he’d hurt her.
“So,” she said softly, “you’re to die in the street on Christmas morning just before dawn.”
He nodded.
Nan curved her lips in a smile that she hoped sliced him clear to the bone. “Well, then, Mr. Valance, I shall make a point to attend your funeral and leave a bouquet of artificial flowers on your coffin. They’ll be as real as our relationship is. Was.”
He flinched as if she’d slapped him, and Nan took satisfaction in having delivered the blow. He was a liar and a stealer of hearts. He deserved no tears from her. Once he left this building—and hopefully that would occur soon—she would never allow herself to think of him again. But now pain throbbed all through her, and it made her strike again.
“You may tell those imaginary angels of yours that I will welcome having my memory erased,” she went on, keeping her voice level with an enormous effort. “I’ll liken it to emptying out the trash.” She forced herself to look him straight in the eye. “You’ve told me absolutely nothing that you couldn’t have somehow learned in a completely worldly way. I know for a fact that you hired investigators to prove that Barclay lived. You probably hired them to dig into my past as well.”
“No investigators could have discovered all the things I know, Nan. Think. How could they have learned what happened between you and Barclay?”
He had Nan there. But she shrugged it off. “You’re a clever man. You took a lucky guess and I—very helpfully, I might add—told you all the rest.”
He sighed and hung his head for a moment. When he looked back up at her, she was startled to see tears glistening in his eyes. Real, or fake, like everything else he’d offered her? “All right. We’ll leave it there, then. It won’t really matter in the end whether you believe my story or not. But will you at least try to believe one thing?”
“What is that?” she asked, hating the quaver in her voice. God help her, but even now, knowing him for the despicable person he was, she still had feelings for him. Under the bend of her left arm, she clenched her right hand into a fist so hard that her nails cut into her flesh. Hang on, Nan. He’ll be out of here soon. You can fall apart then. But not now. Not in front of him.
“It was never my plan to fall in love with you,” he said, his voice gravelly. “But I did. Head over heels, irrevocably, I’m in love with you.” He pushed to his feet, his shoulders slumped with apparent weariness. “Until the angels wipe your memory clean, believe in at least that. The only reason I called a halt to what we were doing in the bedroom this afternoon—the one and only reason—was because I realized how much I care for you, and I couldn’t make love to you with a lie between us. It was one of the requirements, a part of the tasks assigned to me by the angels—to show you how beautiful lovemaking can be—but in the end, I couldn’t do that to a woman I love, not even to save my own ass.”
Nan refused to be moved. “Are you finished?”
“Not quite. Where did you put the Pinkerton report?”
“I put it back on the top shelf where you had it. It’s not something I want lying around where a customer might see it. My father would pay a great deal of money to learn of Laney’s whereabouts.”
Gabriel reached up to get the envelope and tossed it onto the table. “Put it someplace where you’ll be sure to come across it after your memory is erased. I don’t want you to live out the rest of your days believing you killed Barclay.”
; Nan couldn’t look away from his dark face. His eyebrow wasn’t twitching, she realized, and he’d looked her directly in the eye when he said he loved her. She remembered what he’d told Laney: that the most important thing for her to do when a man professed his love was to search deep within her heart and decide whether or not she believed him.
Nan felt as if the floor turned to water beneath her chair. Gabriel reached for the curtain. In an instant, he would step out of this small room and then out of her life. And if his story was true, he’d die just before dawn on Christmas believing that she detested him.
“Gabriel?”
He flinched, stood with his back to her for a long moment, and then finally angled her a look over his shoulder. “What, Nan?”
“Give me something,” she whispered shakily. “Just one little tidbit of information no one could possibly know about me—unless he watched me from heaven through a parting in the clouds.”
His eyes searched hers. “I do have a tidbit of information no one could possibly know about you, Nan, but if I give it to you, I’ll be buying your faith in me. I’m not real experienced in matters of the heart, but it seems to me that if you love me—I mean really and truly love me—you should know, way deep where reason holds no sway, that I’d never come in here and tell you a pack of lies.”
Nan shot to her feet. “You’re asking me to set aside all rational thought and believe a story that is incredible. To take a . . . a mindless leap of faith!”
He smiled sadly. “You’re right. I guess that is what I’m asking. If you take a mindless leap of faith, where do you think you’ll land? Right in my arms, that’s where. If you don’t feel that’s a bad place to be, then leap, honey. I’ll catch you.”
Walking on Air Page 27
