Gabriel's Gift

by London, Cait

  Gabriel nodded and leaned back in the booth, a tall broad-shouldered man, one long leg stretched outside the enclosure. The rich tone of his weathered skin reflected his Native American ancestry. The rough cut of his hair rested on the collar of his dark red sweater, those jarring fierce features locked into an unreadable mask. He’d dressed carefully, his jeans new and pressed into a sharp crease. His big hands framed the café’s coffee cup, making the thick porcelain appear delicate. “I am not offering you a fancy resort in which to rest, Miranda. I built my home with few luxuries. You eat little. You can’t grow strong without good food. You should eat what Gwyneth and Kylie bring you.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Her stomach ached now, unused to the warm, nourishing “blue plate special” of roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans. In front of her, a wedge of Willa’s famed apple pie stood untouched.

  “Are you going to eat that?” he asked and when she shook her head Gabriel ate her serving. “I like to eat with someone,” he said quietly. “Do you?”

  She shrugged and glanced at Willa, the owner of the café, who was eyeing Luigi of the Pasta Palace down the street. Luigi had once burst into an emotional Italian song that clearly marked his intentions to court Willa, a seasoned widow of many years. Luigi’s huge drooping moustache was twitching as he smiled at Willa, his teeth gleaming whitely.

  Following Miranda’s look, Gabriel noted, “He’s got her on the run.”

  “That’s what people will say about you and me, Gabriel.” Miranda’s tone was hushed and fierce. She didn’t want his kindness; she wanted to retreat. “This is all a sham. They’ll think you want me. I don’t feel right about this—my mother believed in the traditional courting customs here. I shouldn’t have agreed to the lie about my life. I’ve managed so far without your protection.”

  Bitter? Ungrateful? She was all of that and guilty, too. Gabriel didn’t deserve her harsh tirade. “I’m not exactly a likable person now. I’m sorry.”

  “Anna understood a great many things when it came to surviving. She’d understand you need to heal. She’d understand that I am made a certain way and that we have reached a compromise…. Want you?” He lifted an eyebrow, his black eyes challenging her. “We’ll know differently, won’t we?”

  She looked away out into the bright January sunlight, to Mr. Collier carefully helping his pregnant forty-year-old wife across street. The child was their first and both were glowing.

  Gabriel was right; she wasn’t ready to face life just yet, to see Gwyneth’s body rounding with a baby. At times, Miranda’s grief slipped beyond her tethers and revealed more than she wished. Tanner was too careful not to speak of his joy and hurt her. Michael and Kylie were bursting with excitement, quickly shielded when Miranda was near—she expected that they had their own news of a baby and the ache within her grew. She couldn’t bear casting a shadow upon her brother’s and sister’s happiness. She couldn’t bear living in her mother’s empty house.

  “Only for a time, Miranda. Until you feel better.”

  She rubbed her throbbing headache. Every part of her now wanted to agree to Gabriel’s offer, to take shelter away from everything. “You’re pushing me, and I don’t like it.”

  “The offer is mine. The choice is yours.” Gabriel looked away as if they weren’t discussing the deep traditions of Freedom Valley, where a man declared his intentions in front of the Women’s Council.

  Miranda traced the rim of her water glass. “I’m in pieces,” she said finally. “Not at all like myself, and you know it.”

  He nodded solemnly, those straight black lashes shielding his gaze. The sunlight passing through the window caught the dark tone of his skin, the angle of his high cheekbones. He seemed timeless as the mountains, his aura that of a man who spent his life outdoors amid the pine and clear water. “I think that your heart is wounded and that you are tired. You will be strong again.”

  Long moments passed and then Miranda gave way to the need running within her to escape. “Okay,” she whispered bleakly. “I’d like to get away from everything for a while, and if it’s necessary for you to present this deception—a trial marriage—I guess that’s okay.”

  The smile lurking around his lips matched the tone of his deep voice. “Ah, the gracious acceptance of the doomed. Do you think you can ride in another week?”

  “I don’t feel like—” Then she caught that hard, straight look. The Deerhorns obeyed their own traditions. “You’re coming for me in the old way, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. It is important to me. But if you prefer—”

  “What am I worth?” she couldn’t help asking, slightly surprised by her own humor.

  He shrugged, a gesture that said little and yet everything. That black gaze slid down her gray sweater, woolen slacks and boots. “You’re scrawny. Two horses maybe. Not my best ones.”

  She smiled at that. Gabriel used to tease her in the same way. “You’ll get them back. This is only for a time.”

  He was trying to help her, but there were concessions to Gabriel’s traditional-based honor. “I’ll manage. Thank you, Gabriel.”

  At the cash register, Willa glared at him and stared pointedly at a jar filled with wrapped roses. Gabriel nodded and selected a tiny perfect yellow bloom. While Willa watched approvingly, he tore off the long stem and slid the rose into Miranda’s hair.

  His hand rested warm and hard and callused against her cheek. She wondered why his gaze was so soft and seeking on her; she wondered why it called forth a tenderness she hadn’t expected.

  She wondered why, at times, he spoke to her in that careful, proper way, his deep voice curling intimately around her.

  Later, she would see that Gabriel had not taken the baby blanket, and her senses told her that he was uneasy with returned gifts, especially gifts between women.

  In his way, Gabriel was a very traditional man. He was also known to be very private, and Miranda knew it was no light matter for him to open his home to her.

  A week later, the blinding morning sun danced across the crust of the snow. Tethered behind him, Gabriel’s six best Appaloosa snorted steam into the frigid air. Three horses were his offering for Miranda; the one with the saddle was for her, one was to act as a pack horse, and another for him to ride on the return journey. He glanced at his four-wheeler, parked and ready for use, but today he was bringing Miranda to his home and nothing but the old-fashioned way would settle his heart. He’d cleared the narrow winding road to his home with the blade attached to his vehicle, because he wanted Miranda’s journey to be safe. “As the crow flies,” his home was not far from Anna’s, yet it was over ten road miles. Intermittent horseback trails, passing through woods that a vehicle could not maneuver, closed the distance to five. Clumps of snow fell from the pines bordering the road to his mountain home, making muffled sounds as it hit. Branches cracked beneath the snow’s weight and Gabriel’s experienced eyes traced the paw prints of a big wolf, running alone and free. The wolves would mate for life and perhaps that was his nature, too, because he’d never wanted another woman. Chiding himself for the traditional ways that had always been within him, springing now to life, Gabriel led his best Appaloosa to Tanner and Gwyneth’s ranch.

  Miranda was right—he was pushing her. He was hungry for the sight of her, for the sound of her voice. When the wind stirred her hair, sending the blue-black silk swirling around her too pale face, Gabriel wondered about shaman’s spells, for he was so enchanted. His hand gripped the saddlehorn and he realized that he had never been nervous of a woman before, except teenage Miranda.

  Two days ago, Fidelity Moore’s cane had hit the floor at the Women’s Council meeting. Her high-pitched voice had run above the women’s gossiping. “I want to hear what the boy has to say for himself. You’ve come here with Tanner Bennett, Miranda’s brother, at your side. He approves of the situation? That you’ve finally decided to do right by Miranda? Well, speak, Mr. Gabriel Deerhorn. It is no light matter to ask for a bride before this Council. W
e want assurances that you are a rightful candidate for Miranda’s future husband. Speak.”

  In the bright January morning, Gabriel glanced at the cows mulling around the huge round bail of hay in the field. Freedom Valley was warmer than his mountain ranch, and his horses—except for the six with him—were staying at his father’s place.

  He thought of the women’s faces, the Council earnest and fiercely protective of Anna’s eldest daughter. Uncomfortable with opening his heart, he had spoken truthfully, simply. When he’d finished, he did not understand why the women’s eyes shimmered with tears or why they hugged him. It had been no easy matter to tear away the shields of his heart, to speak to the women. Before he spoke, they had lashed at him for not courting Miranda, for giving her his child without wedlock. Yet as he’d finished, they listened intently. The words were true—how he had waited for Miranda to come back to him, how he would cherish her and make her safe, how she filled his life and that the years without her had been too empty. He’d been approved and the week of preparing his house for a woman startled Gabriel—the furnishings were plain and serviceable and probably not appealing to a woman.

  At nineteen, he’d cut the timber for his log home, furiously planing it with his stormy emotions, his anger at himself for hurting Miranda. He’d tried to concentrate on the building of the cabin, not on the college girl who had taken part of his heart. He’d worked with ranchers until he dropped, then pushed himself home and worked more, so that he wouldn’t dream of her, wouldn’t miss her, wouldn’t think of her sharing his home.

  The newspaper had listed the college’s honor students and Gabriel took pride in Miranda’s achievements. But pride was little comfort when he ached for that slanted, mysterious green look as she considered him, the warmth of her body against his. He was a dreamer, of course, longing for what was not meant for him.

  And now he had to protect her as she fought against life’s hardships.

  Did she still love the man who was no man?—the father of her lost baby.

  Gabriel rubbed his leather glove over his chest, unfamiliar with the tightness there, the uncertainty of how Miranda-the-woman would greet him, and if she would like his home. Would she stay? Would her lover come for her? It was only because of his past with Miranda, he told himself. It was only because Anna’s daughter needed his protection that he would take her to his home.

  A hawk soared high in the sky as Gabriel told himself that he would protect his heart. Could he? Could he remain detached, unhurt when Miranda left once more? But then, how could he protect his heart against Miranda?

  Tanner took the horses solemnly and handed Gabriel a small, soft thermal basket. “Gwyneth’s warm milk and hot stew for the trip. When this is over—and I hope it works because Miranda is tearing the life out of herself—the horses are yours again. You’re a man who keeps his traditions. I know this bridal price is important to you, even in this sham to help Miranda. Take care of my sister,” Tanner said as, heavily clad in a long quilted coat, Gwyneth came to loop her arm around him.

  “I will honor and treasure her, just as I told the Women’s Council.” Gabriel nodded and changed his saddle to another horse, swinging up on it. He reined the fresh horse toward the field separating Tanner and Gwyneth’s land from Anna’s.

  Gabriel had barely tethered the horses when Miranda came from the house. “I’m ready,” she said, as Gabriel took her small suitcase from her.

  Dressed in a red down coat with thick insulated pants and winter boots, she looked like a child, her eyes shadowed beneath the red knit cap. She seemed too vulnerable and he’d taken advantage of her—Gabriel didn’t like the panic surging through him, and tightened his lips to avoid saying too much. Miranda studied him. “What is it? Have you changed your mind?”

  Gabriel nodded to the extra horses, one with an empty saddle, the other with a small canvas pack and dragging two long poles. He was suddenly nervous of her, afraid that she would turn away from his simple life. He had not exposed himself to another woman and he wasn’t certain how to handle his fear that she might still reject him—his plan. “Does it look like it?”

  His words were too sharp in the crisp freezing air and he tried to soften the impact. “You should take something of your mother’s home, Miranda.”

  She shook her head and Gabriel eased that enticing wisp of black hair back from her cheek. The need to hold her close and soft ruled him, but she loved another man, defended a man who ran from marriage and children. Pushing away the thought, he concerned himself now only with Miranda’s recovery. Then he moved into the house, wanting some of Anna’s gentleness to help his barren home. He quickly folded a crocheted afghan from the couch, and moved into Miranda’s feminine room.

  When he returned, her arms were tight around his horse, her face pressed to the warmth. Gabriel ached to hold her, to warm her, but placing his arms around her would be too much of a declaration and he couldn’t trust his heart—or his anger—then. What man could not want her as she carried his child, a beautiful gift? Why would he not want to give her his name?

  She shook her head at the hope chest he carried, the afghan and Anna’s daintily stitched patchwork quilt tucked beneath his chin.

  “You would come to me without Freedom Valley’s required hope chest?” he asked teasing her just a little to lessen the tension. When the familiar shadow crossed her expression, he added, “I removed the baby things.”

  “We can’t take all that.” When the travois, quickly fashioned by the two long poles behind the horse and wrapped in canvas was finished, she said, “I guess we can.”

  Two hours later, Gabriel swung down from his horse and walked back to Miranda. Through her sunglasses, used to cut the blinding glare of the sun on the snow, his expression was grim. “You are tired. This is too much for you. My tradition costs you. I was foolish in my honor and pride.”

  “I’m fine. You’ve been moving more slowly than you probably would without me. I know you’re trying to be very careful of my…weakened condition. But I’m enjoying—” Miranda held her breath as Gabriel reached for her and swung her into his arms. He carried her back to his horse and carefully placed her sideways on the saddle. He tucked her long quilted coat around her legs, then swung up behind her. Gabriel’s arms were around her, tugging her back against him, arranging her coat’s hood over her knitted cap.

  Drained by the day and her emotions, she closed her eyes and gave way to the warmth of his throat against her face, the familiar scents of a boy who had become a man. Snug and warm against him, she gave way to her memories of Gabriel—fishing, laughing, teasing her as Tanner’s little “tagalong” sister. At sixteen, she’d had her crush on Michael Cusack, Kylie’s new husband, or rather Michael’s powerful motorcycle. Then Gabriel had given her wildflowers—

  “I can’t even remember what Scott looks like,” she whispered suddenly, startling herself. Gabriel’s body tensed, and against her cheek, his chest did not rise and fall for just that moment. She glanced up at him and found his grim expression, that flat, closed-in look. But she could feel his anger vibrating around her. “Scott was weak, not bad, Gabriel. He was as surprised as I was to find that he couldn’t bear the thought of children, or marriage.”

  Gabriel looked off into the woods. A muscle crossing his jaw contracted and released. His next words were a statement, not an accusation. “He suited you. You lived with him.”

  “I’m thirty-five now, Gabriel. I wanted a home and children. I seemed so buried in my career and working overtime, that there was no time for anything else. I made time for a life and Scott had come from the same family-oriented background as myself. When Mother died, something happened inside me and I wanted a baby, a little part of her to carry on. Until then, my thoughts of children and a family were only passing—one of those ‘some days.’ My biological ticking clock started in fast forward—I can’t explain it, really. It just happened and I was terribly happy. But until then, Scott seemed to be a logical choice.”

  �
��Ah. The statistical analysis of backgrounds for the selection of a mate.”

  Miranda sat up, away from his strength. The blinding harsh light was no worse than her realization of how smug she’d been, how certain and clinical. “You’re mocking me. Isn’t that what you did all those years ago? Decided that statistics were against us?”

  She hated lashing out at him; it wasn’t like her to dredge up the past, to wallow in it, but the old anger and frustration burst into the dapple sunlight.

  Gabriel’s hard mouth softened slightly. “You feel like fighting? That’s good. I’ve been worried that you’d lost your bristles. You’re not going to slap me again, are you?”

  The image of teenage Miranda hurled through the adult woman. She’d been hurt and blinded by tears at Gabriel’s choice to separate, striking out at him. Tall and lanky, already packing on muscle from hard ranch work, he’d stood under her mother’s backyard tree. The summer night had been sweet around them as he accepted her verbal blows and then the final hard slap to his face.

  “Snob,” the adult Miranda muttered now. “You could have gone to college with me. That ‘our life paths are different’ stuff was just because you didn’t want to try.”

  “Could be. That was a long time ago. Now shut up and get some rest,” he murmured easily, tugging her back against him. His chin fitted over her head and his arm curled securely around her again.

  “You’re wallowing in this big macho protective male role, aren’t you?”

  “And you like the last word, don’t you?”

  Miranda caught his gentle tone and asked, “Are we going to get along, tearing at each other?”

  “Sure. You need to tear at something, don’t you? It might as well be me.” He nodded at the bark torn away from a tree. “Bear.”

  Gabriel was right. She didn’t like her weakness, her vulnerability, nor her uncertain mood now, and she didn’t like the dark anger stirring in her. The bear had only marked his territory, yet Miranda wanted to claw and fight and forget. “I don’t know what I need. I don’t want to feel anything for a long time….”