He knew Gabe was a professional gambler, but he’d never seen a luckier man. Coulter won all but five hands that night, including the last three games, and had taken every last dollar he and Judah had.
Payton ground his back teeth together as he remembered his brother’s desperation. At the end of the month, Judah went home to his pregnant wife, but when he turned up nearly empty-handed, she left him and went back to her parents’ home. No amount of pleading and begging on Judah’s part could change her mind. Finally, Judah sold his little house, sent the money to his wife in Topeka, and rode off. Payton had tried to stop him, begged him to stay, but Judah was determined to leave.
His gaze focused, and he looked toward the livery where Coulter was settling Mrs. Talbot into a rented buggy. He snorted a laugh. I wonder if Tom Talbot knows his wife is two-timing him. Not that Talbot had a right to say anything after the time he spent with the trollops above the saloon. Still, it didn’t sit well with a man to know his wife was spending time with another man. It was different somehow. Wrong.
If Payton had time, he’d ride back to that ranch up near Kansas City where he’d worked with Talbot for close to a year and see if the man was still there. See if he would partner up with him in taking down Gabriel Coulter, but he didn’t want to lose Coulter’s trail now that he’d found him. He needed his revenge, although he wasn’t exactly sure the best way to get it. Merely shooting Coulter was too simple—unless maybe he did the deed when they were far from town. He could take that pretty horse of Gabe’s and leave the man gut-shot and dying. It would be a long, painful death—unless a wolf or some other critter found him first.
He pushed away from the wall outside of the saloon and jumped off the boardwalk into the street, feeling vengeance within his grasp. A cloud of dust covered his already dirty boots. A fire burned in his gut, aching to be quenched. He climbed on his horse, wondering if he’d ever see his brother again.
Judah had never even laid eyes on his own son, born five months after he left town.
Somebody had to pay for all the pain his family had endured.
Gabe jiggled the reins and made a kissing sound at the horses. Lara Talbot’s surprised crystal-green gaze zipped his way, as if he’d tried to sneak a smooch. A reddish tinge stained her cheeks, and she quickly looked away.
He smiled and held back a chuckle. The young widow was as edgy as a newly captured mustang. She made it quite obvious that she didn’t want his help, but the problem was…she needed his help. Evidently that didn’t sit well with her.
He couldn’t help wondering if her aloof attitude had to do with him being nearly a stranger to her or if she was merely highly independent.
Either way, she intrigued him more than any woman he’d ever met. He was surprised to learn he enjoyed doing things for Lara Talbot and making her life easier. He would have bought half the store if he thought she would have accepted his gift.
His attraction to her didn’t make sense. He cut a glance Lara’s way, remembering the roughness of her hands when he’d helped her into the buggy. Glancing at his palm, he rubbed his thumb over his smooth fingertips. A shaft of guilt choked its way down his throat and lodged in his gut at the imbalance of it all. He was a man. He should be the one with callused hands and clothes dirty from hard work. There was a time when they had been.
The continual clip-clop of the horse’s hooves lulled him into a relaxed state. The swishing of the tall prairie grass against the sides of the buggy reminded him of when his little brother, Stephen, and he had sat in the back of the family buckboard and dangled their feet in the grass, hoping to catch some grasshoppers to use for fishing bait. The years he’d lived on the farm with his mother and stepfather came into focus in his mind. They were the best—and the worst—years of his life.
Six years younger, Stephen always wanted to do whatever Gabe was doing. He’d enjoyed his brother’s admiration but also found Stephen a pest at times. Then they both came down with the measles. A week later, Stephen died but Gabe lived, and the guilt of it had nearly been too much for him. He could still feel his mother’s arm around him as they both cried and comforted each other.
Gabe realized he was clenching his teeth, and he forced himself to relax. He glanced at Mrs. Talbot, but she seemed deep in her own thoughts. With nothing but the boring prairie or the horse’s rump to stare at, he allowed his mind to drift back again.
Stephen had been Gabe’s stepfather’s only blood heir. And Elliott Jarvis had grieved hard, taking out his enormous pain on his stepson. Gabe cringed. He’d lost count of how many times Elliott had questioned why Stephen had died instead of Gabe.
His life changed after Stephen’s death. Elliott had never been overly warm to Gabe, but he’d never hit him before, either. The whippings began the day his brother was buried—the same day Gabe turned eleven.
He tightened his hold on the reins. Every little thing he’d done wrong had incurred his stepfather’s wrath. Elliott had worked him like a slave, making him care for all the animals, labor in the fields, and tend the barn, while Elliott softened his pain with liquor—precisely why Gabe never indulged in drinking whiskey.
Around Gabe’s ma, Elliott never touched him. He remembered his stepfather’s warning that if he ever tattled to his mother, the beatings would get worse. So while his mother tried to work through the grief of losing her youngest son, she was oblivious that her remaining family was being torn apart.
How could a quiet, hardworking man crack so suddenly and become such a harsh taskmaster? Gabe shook his head, still not understanding it even after so many years.
His mother had died when he was fourteen, ripping out his heart. The next day, she was buried beside Stephen, and that night, Gabe slipped away in the dark to begin life on his own. He determined then that he’d never endure a lickin’ again.
A horse’s whinny pulled Gabe away from his troubling past. He looked around, realizing that he had no idea where he was going. He’d followed the road out of town that Mrs. Talbot had pointed out to him and figured she would have told him if they were going the wrong way. He peeked at her, noticing she held her injured hand carefully in her lap. He’d not heard her holler out when the doctor was in the other room tending her injuries, but when he went to the back room to retrieve the widow, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She might look soft, cuddly, and needy, but Lara Talbot had a backbone to her.
The cool spring breeze lifted a wavy strand of wheat-colored hair that had come loose from her bun. It flittered around her cheek like a hummingbird exploring a flower. His fingers twitched. He wanted to reach over and tuck that wayward strand behind her ear—or better yet, rub it between his fingers to see if it was as soft as he imagined.
Sighing, he turned his attention back to the road. He could look but not touch. What he’d really like was a taste of those slightly full lips of hers, too often pursed together as Lara was deep in thought. And he wanted to see her smile—see those lovely eyes sparkle with delight.
Gabe shook his head, wishing there was a creek nearby where he could douse his head. What in the world was wrong with him?
He glanced sideways and caught Lara staring at him with those pale green eyes. Had he unconsciously muttered something out loud?
She cleared her throat. “You’ll need to take the trail that veers to the right, the other side of the next hill.”
Turn right. Good. That gave him something to concentrate on besides his intriguing companion.
He couldn’t deny that she attracted him in ways the saloon gals never had. In time she might be interested in pursuing a relationship with him, but women needed to mourn after losing a spouse. He’d noticed she wasn’t wearing black, and for some reason that made him happy. He didn’t want to see her in such a gloomy-colored dress. She needed bright colors…a flowery yellow or green to match her eyes. How could he get her to accept some new clothes?
And where was her son? Gabe thought about asking after the boy, but he didn’t want to tip his hand that
he knew so much about her.
He gritted his teeth, suddenly angry with Tom Talbot. Why had the crazy fool been gambling when his family so obviously needed the money he earned?
Like most men who gambled, Talbot had probably hoped to double his purse and return home with a pouch full of coins to please his wife.
That rarely ever happened, though, when a weekend cowboy gambler took on a professional.
For the first time, Gabe got a glimpse of how his occupation as a gambler hurt the innocent. A shiver ran through him as the buggy hit a rut and dipped down. Lara bumped his shoulder, but she quickly grabbed the side of the buggy and pulled herself back to her half of the seat.
Shame charged through Gabe at the trouble he’d caused her, but just as suddenly, anger followed on its trail. He never forced anyone to gamble with him, and if Tom Talbot hadn’t gambled at his table, the man would have sat down at someone else’s. And he was certain his fellow gamblers wouldn’t have bothered to help Talbot’s widow in the least. So, why was he? To mollify his guilt over killing the man?
Gabe worked his jaw, irritated with Talbot for challenging him in that dark alley. If only the man had gone back to the ranch where he worked, he’d be broke but still alive. He stared at the monotonous landscape. Why was he getting so melancholy? Caring for Lara Talbot wasn’t his job.
Still, deep down, Gabe knew aiding the needy woman helped to soothe his guilty conscience. Like an angry hornet that continued to pester him, Tom Talbot’s lifeless body, lying in that dirty alley, invaded his mind. Gabe hadn’t meant to kill the man. He was merely defending himself.
He’d like to just hand the money he’d won from Talbot over to his wife. Then he could be on the first train back to Kansas City—or Texas—before he had a change of heart and needed to find a new career—one that his ma would be proud of. But Lara Talbot would never accept the money, no matter how badly she needed it.
He stared out at the prairie grass dancing in the light breeze. If he was clever enough, he could find other ways to pay it back, like he had today with buying the extra supplies. His ma had always said not to let the left hand know what the right hand was doing where giving was concerned. He’d never understood that phrase as a child, but now it made perfect sense.
Mrs. Talbot waved her hand to the right as a faint trail appeared. He tugged on the reins, and after a moment of resistance, the horse turned down the grassy path. Waist-high prairie grass whispered along the sides of the buggy, sending up debris from the snapped off tops of the tall stalks. A small grasshopper landed on Mrs. Talbot’s dingy skirt. She jumped but then casually flicked it away. A scissortail flycatcher and a pair of purple martins hovered nearby, swooping down every so often to snatch a flying insect. A small smile tugged at his passenger’s lips as she watched the circus act of birds snagging their prey. Her son would have enjoyed seeing this. Where was the boy? Had Mrs. Talbot left him with a neighbor? The long walk would be tiring for a young child.
Thinking of the fatherless child, he shook his head. Buying a few provisions didn’t begin to atone for killing this woman’s husband, but it was a step in the right direction. If he had his way, Lara Talbot and her son would be living in a fine house with all the food she could eat and everything she ever needed.
Maybe then his guilt would be assuaged.
“You can let me off here.” Her soft, sweet voice broke the peaceful quiet of the prairie.
Gabe glanced around, but when he didn’t see a cabin or house, he turned her direction in the seat and lifted one eyebrow.
She blushed, making her cheeks look sun-kissed. Gabe-kissed—that’s what he wanted. Clenching his jaw, he faced forward again. He was acting like a schoolboy with his first crush.
“Where’s your home?”
She cleared her throat and pointed ahead. “Just over that hill. Really, it’s not far.”
“I’ll take you. That bucket is too heavy for you to carry with your injured hand.”
“I’m sure I could manage, if you’d just remove your items.”
He cut her a quick peek, wondering what she was talking about. Clucking to the horse, he jiggled the reins, moving the animal forward.
“Please, just let me out here.”
Curiosity got the best of him, and he ignored her. She fidgeted in her seat. What was she trying to hide? The buggy crested the hill, and Gabe noticed a small, well-tended garden, but as his gaze traveled past that, it landed on a disheveled grass soddy leaning to one side. A pungent odor assaulted his nose, and a trio of goats, raising a ruckus, drew his attention to a pen on the far side of a tilting soddy. His gaze jerked back to the pitiful hovel where Mrs. Talbot and her son lived, and it took great effort not to shake his head. The awful place needed to be torn down before it fell down.
As he helped her out of the buggy, he thought of his fine hotel suite in Kansas City and of all the luxuries that he indulged in at the expense of women like Lara Talbot. His mouth dried, and an iron blanket of guilt pressed down on him. He set the bucket of supplies on the ground, tipped his hat to her, then hopped up in the buggy. Making a smooching sound at the horse, he guided the animal in a half circle and then headed away from the source of his guilt. If only he could shake her from his mind. But her circumstances were far worse than he could have imagined.
Behind him he heard Mrs. Talbot’s thank-you then her cry, “You forgot your groceries.”
He pretended not to hear her and snapped the reins against the horse’s back, urging him to go faster. He’d bought those supplies for Mrs. Talbot and her son. They’d both enjoy the candy sticks, he hoped.
He was certain it would be a long while before he enjoyed anything again.
Chapter 8
Lara stared at the bucket overflowing with supplies. Had Mr. Coulter forgotten the items he bought, or had he meant them as a gift for what he’d called her “pain and trouble”? He’d said that in the store, but she was so numb at the time, she didn’t believe him.
Since he’d unloaded the bucket from the buggy for her, she felt safe in assuming he meant for her to have them. Using her good hand, she wrangled the bag of flour off the top of the bucket, carried it into the soddy, then returned for the coffee and sugar. Oh what a blessing! Months had passed since she’d been able to purchase sugar. Excitement trickled through her as she thought of all the treats she could make for her family.
She stepped out of the stuffy grass house and shaded her eyes with her hand, looking toward the creek. Grandpa and Michael were probably still fishing. Glancing back up the trail, she wondered how many hours would pass before Jo would wander home. She couldn’t help feeling a bit anxious for her little sister. With all the people coming into town, there were bound to be some unsavory types.
Would she be safe walking alone?
Worrying over Jo’s well-being and knowing that she’d need her assistance in preparing dinner, Lara couldn’t help wishing now that she’d asked Mr. Coulter to go by Alma Lou’s house so she could get Jo and bring her home.
But it was too late for that.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head up to the warm sun. What she needed to do was to talk to Grandpa while Jo wasn’t around. Her sister would be terribly upset to learn they would be moving. And Lara could no longer prolong talking to Grandpa about Tom. He would hug her and take it in stride, just as he always did, but she hated to burden him more. Although, now that she thought about it, Grandpa would most likely be relieved that Tom was out of her life for good.
When she reached the creek, she looked both ways but didn’t see her grandfather or her son. Michael would be intrigued and curious about the bandage on her hand. Grandpa would be concerned.
She knew Grandpa didn’t like being a burden on her, but they were family, and family cared for one another. Besides, how could she ever make it through the day without his gentle encouragement, which always turned her to God?
Frogs croaked and birds chirped as they flitted from branch to branch. The soothing sounds
of water bubbling over rocks made Lara want to sit down in the warm sun and take a nap, forgetting all about her troubles for a time. But naps were for sick folks and children, and she was certain her feisty little boy needed one by now.
She heard a squeal and jerked her head toward the sound as her heart jolted. Grandpa and Michael were standing side by side at their favorite fishing hole, leaning over a fish one of them had caught. Michael glanced up, saw her, and waved. He smiled and ran in her direction.
“Mama! I caughted three fishes.” His fervent smile warmed her insides, turning them to mush.
Cautious of her wounded hand, she knelt down and engulfed him in a hug, relishing the feel of his skinny arms around her neck and his sweaty boy scent.
He pushed away, all too soon, his eyes dancing. “Can we have shushpuppies wif the fishes?”
Lara smiled. “If we can get the chickens to cooperate and lay us an egg or two, I can make some hush puppies tonight. I got flour and cornmeal in town today.”
Michael bounced up and down then yawned as he looked at his great-grandpa. Lara captured his hand.
“I’m taking Michael back home for his nap.”
Grandpa nodded. “We got enough fish already, so I’ll clean them and then mosey back.” When his gaze landed on her bandaged hand, his fuzzy gray brows dipped into a V. He gave her a glance that said they’d talk later.
“But I don’t want no nap.” Michael tugged and jerked, trying to get loose. “I gots to help Grandpa.”
Lara tightened her grip, gritting her teeth at the pain Michael’s flopping caused her injured hand. “Michael, stop. You’re hurting me.”
He halted his movements and stared at her bandage, his blue-green eyes widening. “How come you gots your hand wrapped up?”
She took advantage of his distraction to tug him toward the soddy as she explained what happened. His darling little brows dipped with concern for her, making her want to cuddle him and keep him small forever.
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