“Pots, canned goods, and paraphernalia of all kinds. If you want it, I’ve got it!” the skinny panhandler cried out. He caught Lara’s eye and gestured to her. “C’mon and have a look. Don’t cost nuthin’ to look.”
He was right. Looking didn’t cost her anything. She eyed the colorful bolts of calico then forced her gaze away. Lusting wasn’t good and wouldn’t accomplish anything. She paused to finger a blue ribbon that matched Jo’s eyes, when she heard a familiar voice.
Surely not.
She turned, and there, standing in a group of men, was Gabe. He leaned back his head and laughed at something another man said.
Her heart galloped. She swiveled to face the wagon and moved down to look at a pair of brushes at the end then thanked the peddler and hurried away. Gabe was the last person she’d wanted to run into today.
Gabe chuckled at the stranger’s joke. He looked past the group of men he’d been talking to and saw a woman walking away from a panhandler’s wagon. Lara! He’d recognize her slim form and that ugly faded dress anywhere.
“Thank you, gents, for a nice conversation, but I see someone I need to talk to.” The men nodded their good-byes, as did Gabe, and he rushed off, determined not to lose Lara in the crowd.
He jogged past the peddler’s wagon, ignoring the man as he tried to hawk a silver cigar case. That was the last thing he needed. He searched for Lara among the other wagoners selling wares but didn’t see her. His pulse pumped faster. How could he have lost her so quickly?
He stopped. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the campsites, looking for someone moving away from him. There! She darted around a gold-fringed surrey and rushed on. What was her hurry?
Gabe broke into a lope, quickly closing the gap with his long legs. “Lara!”
She stopped suddenly, stood there, then slowly turned with her arms crossed over her chest, as if talking to him was the last thing she wanted to do. He slowed his pace and walked the final steps, sending her a smile that he hoped would charm her.
But it didn’t.
What had happened? And where was her son?
“Is everything all right?” He swooped off his hat and held it in front of him, rolling the brim. He knew the answer to that already, but he had no idea what the problem was.
“Everything is fine. Thank you.”
“So where’s your son today?”
“He’s taking a nap.”
Gabe blinked. “You didn’t go off and leave him alone, did you?”
Her nostrils flared. “Of course not. A woman in a neighboring campsite is watching him, but I’ve been gone long enough. I really should go.” She spun around, but Gabe stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Lara, what’s the matter? Please, tell me.”
She turned, arms again crossed across her middle, as if she needed a shield. “All right. Since you insist. Is it true that you’re a gambler?”
Gabe’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a quick breath. How in the world had she discovered that? “Yes, it’s true that I’ve made a living as a gambler, but I’m hoping to change professions.”
She lifted a skeptical brow. “To a farmer? I find that hard to believe.”
“Why? Is a man not allowed to make a radical change in his life if he wants to?”
She wilted a bit. “Of course. It’s just been my experience that gamblers rarely change.”
Her husband. That’s who she referred to, but he couldn’t let on that he knew. “I’m guessing someone in your life lived off the cuff?”
She relaxed a smidgen more. “My husband, Tom. He was fond of visiting the saloons and trying to multiply his monthly pay at the gaming tables, but he never did.”
And she was the one who paid the price. “I was a good gambler. Won much more than I lost.”
Lara lifted her head, her expression pained. “Did you ever once stop to think about how you were hurting the families of those men whose money you won? Women and children went hungry so that you could line your pockets or buy another fancy suit. Did you ever think about that as you walked home at night, gloating over your winnings?”
“To be honest, I didn’t. But my eyes have recently been opened, and that’s one reason I’d like to change professions.”
“It would be good if you could, but have you ever farmed before?”
“Actually, I was raised on one, but I don’t intend to farm. I want to raise horses.”
Her tense posture softened. “I love horses. My grandfather raised them before—” She cleared her throat. “Riding was often the highlight of my day.”
So she might actually have a chance then, when she rode in the race. He enjoyed the fact that they had some common ground. “I’ve always liked them, too. We had stock horses on the farm, and my stepfather had a riding horse, but I never had my own until I left home.”
“Might I ask, if you were raised on a farm, how did you become a gambler?”
His jaw tightened as he thought of his stepfather’s cruel treatment. “It’s not something I like to talk about.”
“I see. Well, I probably should get back and check if Michael is awake.”
“Mind if I walk with you?”
She shot him a look that said she did, but he fell into step with her.
“So, are you ready for tomorrow?”
She lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.
He paused and turned her toward him. He gazed into her pretty green eyes, which today looked almost lifeless. Because of him? Or was something else bothering her? “Tomorrow is one of the most exciting days in the history of this nation. How can you not be excited?”
She inhaled a long breath and then blew it out. “Because I worry about the thousands of people who will be brokenhearted in thirty hours because they didn’t get land.” She turned and stared off in the distance. “I worry about my family.”
He didn’t like the thought of her losing. He hadn’t even thought that much about the horde of people who would be devastated tomorrow evening because they failed. “I guess they’ll go back to wherever they were before they came here. I imagine most folks have family they can live with.”
“Most, maybe, but not all.”
She was talking about herself again. He thought back to that tiny soddy she’d been living in. That was no decent place to raise a boy. Even in his worst days, he always had a solid roof over his head. He’d thought life was so hard then, but he’d never lived in poverty. Well, maybe his first year or two after he left the farm and before he became a gambler, but even then, he stayed in the supply room of the saloon, sleeping on a cot. What had she endured?
He wanted to help her. See that she got the house she deserved, but her stubborn pride wouldn’t allow her to accept a home even if he gave her one. He’d been more than a little lucky that Homer had discovered her husband’s horse at the Kansas City livery and brought it to her. Gabe was willing to buy her one, but she wouldn’t have as easily accepted it as she had her husband’s buckskin.
Behind her, a man tuned his fiddle. A small crowd sat around a cold campfire. The man tuned up his fiddle then started a jaunty song. Toes tapped and people clapped. A couple stood, and the gent bowed to the woman and she curtsied. They began sashaying to the lively music.
Lara turned to watch. Gabe noticed her index finger tapping against her arm in time with the music. He grinned and stepped in front of her. “Madam, may I have the honor of this dance?”
She shot him a glance that said he was loco and shook her head.
He leaned in closer. “Please.”
“It’s Sunday. Easter Sunday, at that.”
“True, but it’s not an ordinary Sunday. You need to catch the spirit, Lara. The excitement that comes with tomorrow’s sunrise. Dance with me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Ignoring her objection, he grabbed her hand and placed his other hand on her tiny waist. “I beg to differ.”
“Let me go, Gabe.”
He grinned. “Nope
. Not until you dance with me.”
She dropped her gaze, her cheeks blazing red. “I don’t know how to dance.”
Gabe blinked, not a little bit stunned. Had she never attended a social when she was young? How had a pretty gal like her grown up not knowing how to dance? Not to be swayed, he smiled. “No time like the present to learn. Just follow me.”
“Gabe—”
He tugged her close and moved his feet in time with the music, all but dragging her along. Though he rarely danced, he wasn’t used to unwilling partners, but Lara was smart, and he knew she’d catch on. And she did.
She joined him in a makeshift polka, keeping time to the fast music. He enjoyed holding her hand and waist and being close to her. He had no idea how it had happened, but the independent woman had stolen a chunk of his heart. He didn’t want to let her go, but he knew that he would have to. When the dance ended, far too soon for his pleasure, he smiled down at Lara. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Her cheeks were flushed, and the sparkle had returned to her lovely eyes. “I suppose not, but I really must go.”
“All right, but I’d like to ask you to ride with me tomorrow.”
Her brows dipped. “Why?”
“For protection, of course. Things will be chaotic tomorrow. Once the race starts, it will be every man—or woman—for himself.” He waved his hand in the air. “All this camaraderie, this festive spirit, will be a thing of the past, and it will be dog-eat-dog.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed, but she lifted her chin. “I can take care of myself. But I do thank you for the warning.” She turned but then paused. “I still have your Homesteader’s Handbook.”
“Keep it. I got the information from it that I needed.”
She nodded as her gaze roamed across his face, then she held out her hand—uncharacteristically for a woman. “Thank you for all the kindnesses you’ve shown me, but this is good-bye, Gabe.”
A numbness settled in his brain. Her good-bye sounded so final. “What do you mean?”
She lowered her hand. “It means that I don’t expect I’ll see you after the race. You’ll go your way, and I’ll go mine. Things will be crazy tomorrow, as you said. And if I don’t get land…” She shrugged, nibbling her lip in a way that made him want to pull her into his arms and kiss away all her fears.
He didn’t want her to go. “Lara, give me a chance. Please. I can help you. I want to help.”
She pinned him with a glare. “Why?”
Because I killed your husband and made you a widow. Because I’ve come to admire your spunk. Because I care….
He couldn’t tell her that. So he did the only thing he knew to show her how he felt—he tugged her into his arms and kissed her.
Lara stood stiff in his arms, but as he plied his lips to hers, a bit harsh at first but then softer, she relaxed. Not as much as he’d like, but she didn’t fight him.
The fiddle music faded, and in its place hoots and cheers. Lara jerked away—fast. Her cheeks flamed. Her lips still damp from his kisses. The look in her eyes shifted from pleasingly sated to angry, and she reached up and slapped him. Loud. Hard.
Chuckles sounded all around as Lara marched away.
Used to being in the limelight somewhat, Gabe turned, yanked off his hat, and offered the crowd a gentlemanly bow. Then he took a final look at Lara’s retreating backside and strode away, smiling. The woman might have slapped him to regain her honor in the face of the crowd, but she’d kissed him back, whether she’d admit it or not, and that small detail gave him hope.
Later that night, as he walked through the crowds, pondering how to get Lara to ride beside him, he overheard something that chilled his bones. He paused on the far side of a wagon and looked around. All was dark, and most folks were already sleeping.
“It’s true,” a deep voice stated. “There are women riding alone in the race.”
Someone else chuckled. “Wouldn’t be hard at all to follow one and steal her claim if ’n she gets one.”
“Yep. Although what if she didn’t?” a third, alto voice said. “Then you’d’a wasted your chance to get land. I say ride for yourself. You’re better off doin’ that than chasing after a skirt and hopin’ she gets a claim.”
“No, I think I’m’a gonna follow a skirt. That way I’ll get land and a woman.”
Gabe froze at the tone of the man’s voice.
“You’re a fool, Leo.”
A ruckus ensued as Gabe imagined the deep-voiced man pummeling the other fellow, and Gabe made his getaway. There was no doubt now that he had to ride with Lara. Maybe not with her exactly, but at least right on her tail. He smiled as he wove his way back to his camp. Yes sir, that’s just what he’d do.
It was the only way he knew to protect the stubborn woman who was quickly stealing his heart.
Lara lay in the tent beside Jo and Michael, listening to their soft breaths of sleep. The ground vibrated from the wheels of Boomers just arriving. A cow mooed, and someone in the distance laughed.
She wished she’d told Gabe the truth—that she wasn’t riding tomorrow, Grandpa was. But as far as she could remember, she’d never told him about Grandpa or Jo. She wasn’t sure why she’d held back that information, but then she really didn’t know the man very well.
And yet, she’d kissed him.
Well, truth be told, he’d kissed her, but instead of insisting he release her immediately, she’d allowed herself to enjoy the moment of being held and feeling special to someone. And she’d kissed him back.
Oh dear.
She’d never kissed anyone other than Tom before.
What had she done? More was the question, why had she enjoyed it so much? Yes, she was attracted to Gabe, and yes, he’d sneaked in and claimed a portion of her heart before she’d even known it was happening, but she would never—never!—get in a relationship with another wastrel, much less a cardsharp. She prayed Gabe would get land and could change his ways, but she wouldn’t be around to watch. Grandpa would ride tomorrow, and God willing, he’d stake a claim, and they’d finally have a place to call home—far away from Gabe’s claim. She couldn’t bear to think what would happen if Grandpa wasn’t successful. God, please. We need land. We need a home.
She felt God saying He would provide. But she thought of how they’d struggled the past few years since Grandpa lost his homestead. Was that dirty soddy God’s provision? Yes, it was better than sleeping in a tent as she was now, but still… Couldn’t God provide a real house for her family? He owned the cattle on a thousand hills, but how could she reconcile the simplistic way they’d lived in the past with God’s favor? Maybe she’d done something that caused Him to remove His favor from their lives. Was that even possible?
Gabriel’s help had been a true blessing. Had God sent him to her to help her family?
She rolled onto her side, contemplating that possibility. She knew a person often never recognized when God had come to their aid, and that aid often came through others.
Why did life have to be so complicated?
Why couldn’t it be simple for once?
Please, Lord, help us.
Outside her tent, she heard a cough. Grandpa?
She sat up, listening. He’d seemed overly tired today, but she thought it was because of their three days of travel. He tried to do so much to ease her burden. Had he overtaxed himself? She’d have to watch him more closely.
“Lara…”
His weak call pushed her into motion, and she hiked up her gown then crawled out of the tent, taking care not to knock it down in the process. She hurried to the wagon, which he was sleeping under, and kneeled beside it. “Grandpa, are you all right?”
“S–sick. Need m–my quinine. B–blanket. C–cold.”
No! What about tomorrow? What about the race? “I’ll get it. Hang on.”
At the front of the tent, she rustled through the crate that held his medicine. Jo tossed for a moment and then sat up. “Is something wrong?”
&n
bsp; Lara swallowed the lump building in her throat. “It’s Grandpa. He’s having an episode.”
Jo gasped. “What about the race?”
Lara shook her head. “I can’t think about that right now. I have to care for Grandpa.” Her hand folded around the precious bottle, and she extracted one pill. She tugged on her quilt and started to back away, but Jo grabbed her arm.
“Lara, you have to ride. You’re the only one who can now.”
She stared at her sister, not wanting to accept the truth. Grandpa’s episodes lasted for days. The timing couldn’t be any worse. There was no chance that he’d be well enough to ride tomorrow. The burden of getting land had fallen on her shoulders.
Chapter 17
Lara awoke to the sound of talking, goats bleating, and the stomach-tingling aroma of bacon. She stretched then bolted upright. Today was the day! And Grandpa. How had he fared the rest of the night?
Jo had awakened Lara sometime in the middle of the night and told her to go back to bed and she would attend their grandfather. Lara hadn’t wanted to leave his side, but since she had a long, hard ride today, she acquiesced. What time was it now?
She quickly dressed and then crawled out of the tent. Michael spied her and came running.
“Mama, Grandpa’s sick again. Aunt Jo made breakfuss’.” He frowned. “I like your food better.”
“I heard that,” Jo hollered.
Michael’s eyes widened, but then he grinned and fell forward, wrapping his arms around her neck. “You sleeped late.”
“I was up part of the night caring for your great-grandpa.” Lara gave him another squeeze then stood and gazed up at the sun. Midmorning had already passed. She needed to hustle if she was going to be ready to ride at noon.
The two nanny goats bleated and wailed, calling to be milked. She walked to her sister’s side where Jo was washing the bowls she and Michael had used for breakfast. “Why haven’t they been milked?”
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