Obviously surprised at the question, she shrugged and said, "I suppose so, if you think it's a good idea.”
Had no one ever told her how talented she was? How beautiful her paintings were? Probably not, he decided, or she wouldn't be spending so much time trying to deny the very gifts he so admired.
"I do," he said with a smile he hoped would erase any lingering hard feelings. "We'll even put up a sign out front with the restaurant's new name."
"It's never had a name before," she said.
"As of right now," he told her, "it does. We'll call it Twilight."
Slowly, a smile curved her mouth and pride shone in her eyes. Pleased that he'd given her at least that much, he smiled in return and felt a warmth he'd never known before slide through him. And before he could really enjoy it, he warned himself silently that there was no reason to get used to such feelings.
"Thank you,” she said and, after a moment, added, ”partner.”
Damn. That smile of hers hit him low and hard and he almost staggered from the unexpected blow. When had Maggie’s feelings become so important to him?
When had her smiles come to mean so much?
And why would he find the woman he might have loved when he was already dead?
#
That night, for the first time since arriving in Regret, Gabe went to the saloon.
What he needed, he told himself, was some perspective. He needed to be surrounded by his world again. By the kind of people he'd lived his life with. He needed to remember exactly why he'd come to Regret. Why he'd met Maggie and why he couldn't let this… attachment to her get any stronger.
He walked through the batwing doors and stepped into a noisy, smoke-filled room that should have welcomed him. Always before, he'd felt right at home in a good saloon. Usually, the jingle of coins, the click of poker chips, and the scent of cheap, flowery perfume was enough to ease his soul like a lullaby soothed a fretting infant.
But not tonight.
Tonight, it was just a crowded, noisy place where he wouldn't have to think. Glancing around him, Gabe let his gaze stray to the poker tables, where cowboys sat losing their money to professional dealers who strove to keep satisfied grins off their faces. Three or four girls wandered through the crowd in dresses short enough and tight enough to feed any man's fantasies.
But strangely enough, the sight of their featherdecorated flesh did nothing for Gabe. Instead, his mind filled with images of freckle-dusted noses and gingham dresses. Scowling, he moved determinedly through the mob of men to the front of the saloon where he leaned his elbows on the bartop and studied the array of bottles lined up in front of a huge mirror reflecting the rest of the room.
“What'll you have?” a voice asked and Gabe slid his gaze toward the bartender, a big man with a completely bald head, a barrel chest, and forearms the size of ham shanks.
Ordinarily, Gabe limited himself to one beer. It didn't pay a gambler to have a foggy head while trying to deal. But tonight was different He wasn't here to play poker. He was here to try to forget everything Maggie was making him feel. And to do that, he’d need a sight more than one lousy beer.
“Whiskey," he said, "and not the rotgut stuff.”
The bartender grinned at him, reached below the counter and grabbed a brown bottle. As he yanked out the cork and poured some of the amber liquid into a shot glass, Gabe told him, "Leave the bottle."
The man's eyebrows lifted slightly.
Reaching into his pocket, Gabe pulled out a handful of coins and tossed them on the bat. "Paid in advance.”
The bartender nodded, scooped up the money, and tucked it away. Then he leaned his elbows on the bar, looked at Gabe as he tossed the first drink down his throat and asked, “Thinkin' drinkin', or forgettin' drinkin'?"
Gabe grimaced and poured another. "A little of both."
"You work for Maggie, don't you?"
His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. Jesus. Even bartenders gossiped.
"Yeah.”
The bartender laughed and shook his head. "Relax, mister. I like Maggie. Always have."
"Known her long?"
He huffed out a breath. “Most all her life, I guess."
He held out one hand “Name's Deke Conroy.”
Gabe shook hands with the man, then threw his second drink back. "Gabe. Gabe Donovan."
He nodded and picked up a bar towel. "Seen you around some. Been meaning to come have a talk with you."
"About what?” Gabe slanted a look at the man and figured that if he had to fight this fella, he was surely going to come out the loser.
The big man shrugged and his shoulders looked like a mountain range shifting in an earthquake. "Her pa ain't around much, so I look out for her. Wanted you to know that."
Gabe wondered if Maggie knew she had a protector looking out for her. “Consider me told," he said and took another drink.
"Fair enough." Deke said and dried another glass before setting it in place beside the others.
"Where is her father?" Gabe asked, more to make conversation than anything else. Still, you'd think the man would stick around and help out his daughter. Surely he had to know how Maggie's business was suffering.
But the big man's features closed down and a shutter dropped over his eyes. “Out of town," he said flatly in a tone that invited no more questions.
One more drink and Gabe might have pushed the subject, if he’d had the chance.
Instead, though, Deke looked up, saw something he didn't like, and muttered thickly, "Damn the man, can't he stay home for once?"
“Hmm?” Half turning, Gabe followed Deke's gaze to the front door, where a man stood alone just over the threshold. His ruddy features were drawn into a ferocious scowl.
"Every damn week," Deke complained, more to himself than to Gabe. "He comes in here and busts up the place."
"Tell him to get out," Gabe suggested as the stranger waded into the crowd, shoving man after man out of his way with an eagerness that bespoke a willingness to fight.
"I do," Deke said, "every damn week."
"Why's he keep coming back?”
"For the fights," the barman grumbled just before adding, "Here we go."
Just then, one of the men who'd been shoved jumped up off the floor and drove his fist into the ruddy faced man's stomach. He bent over, gasped, then came up swinging.
In seconds, the saloon was in an uproar.
This place was no different than any other watering hole. A fight spread quicker than cholera.
Tables flipped over, bottles smashed, and m after man paired up with the opponent of his choice. The piano player ducked behind his instrument, covering his head with his hands. The dance-hall girls ran behind the bar and kept low.
Deke clambered over the bar and sauntered into the crowd, throwing people out of his way as he passed, headed for the main troublemaker. And Gabe, feeling a dark need to release some of the pent-up emotions crowding too close lately, was right behind him.
Chapter Nine
She heard the crash of breaking glass first.
Maggie looked out her upstairs window in time to see a man land on the boardwalk atop a carpet of jagged shards of glass. Another fight, she thought in disgust and almost dropped the curtain back into place. She stopped when she recognized the man crawling to his feet.
Gabe?
Pulling the curtains back farther to give herself a better view, Maggie stared down as her "partner” staggered a little, dusted himself off, then raced back into the saloon. Her jaw dropped. Was he out of his mind?
She pulled the window sash up and instantly a rush of noise filled the room. Men shouting, chairs breaking, glass shattering. At least once a week, there was a fight big enough to warrant the sheriff's wandering out of his office to break it up. And it looked as though tonight was the night.
And Gabe was right in the middle of it.
Up and down the street, windows opened and heads poked out into the darkness, trying to get a good look at the goings-on.
&
nbsp; But none of them were as interested as Maggie.
"Mom?” Jake called from the next room. "Is everything all right?”
"Everything's fine, honey," she assured him. “Go back to sleep."
Fine, she thought as she turned back to the window. Gabe was in the middle of a brawl, he'd already been thrown through a window and was probably, right now, getting his head bashed in. Just fine.
But why should she care what he did? she asked herself. She didn't, she thought in her own defense. All she was interested in was making sure her partner wasn't so beaten up that he couldn't do his share of the work.
But not even she believed that lie.
Whirling around, she ran for the door and the stairs beyond. If he survived, she just might kill him.
#
Gabe felt as though tiny knives of glass were working their way through his clothes to scratch at his skin. And it felt damn good, he thought. At least here, he knew what he was doing. Throw a punch, then duck. Hit your opponent before he could hit you.
Simple.
Much easier than trying to do battle with Maggie.
Damn it, here in this smoke-filled, violent saloon, he was at home. This was his place, among the thieves, liars, and whores. Here, he knew what was expected of him and he delivered. In Maggie's world, he was a fish out of water. Lost. And he didn't like it one damn bit.
Someone slugged him on the chin and he saw stars. Reacting instantly, he threw a short, hard punch to the other man's midsection and watched him double over before moving on to his next target. Over and over again, Gabe waded into the fight, relishing every punch thrown and taken. At least for these brief, painful minutes, he felt alive again. And in control of his surroundings. Here, all he had to worry about was physical pain. With Maggie, the danger was to his heart and his already claimed soul.
And then two gunshots rang out and the whole saloon full of men came to a sudden standstill.
Wobbling on his feet, Gabe looked blearily toward the door and saw a man wearing a badge. The sheriff, a man about sixty, gave the crowd a disgusted look then announced, “Party's over, gents." His gaze wandered over the faces before finding the bartender. “Deke, close the place up. That's it for tonight."
Once the sheriff had disappeared back into the night, the crowd sullenly made their way to the door. A few grumbles of complaint lifted into the air as the piano player and the girls came out of hiding. Gabe didn't move, though. He wasn't ready to stop. He still had too many demons riding his soul. And he hadn't had enough time to drown them or beat them into submission.
"You fight pretty good for a gambler," Deke said from behind him.
Gabe turned slowly, trying to focus with one eye, because the other was already swelling shut. The big man looked a little blurry, but Gabe figured he was just going blind. "How'd you know I was a gambler?" he asked and winced as his apparently split lip sent shivers of pain right down to the soles of his feet.
The bartender laughed. "You been in business as long as I have, you notice things."
Gabe snorted. “Then you should have noticed the secret to keeping your place in one piece is to keep that man out."
"True, true,” Deke muttered and looked about him at the wreckage.
His problem, Gabe told himself and slowly started across the room. He stepped gingerly over fallen men and busted chairs and kept moving until he was on the boardwalk, his boots crunching the glass pieces into dust.
Absently, he noted that the glass sparkled just like Maggie’s ceiling.
"You told me not to hold your past against you."
Gabe winced at the familiar voice and looked up to see Maggie, standing at the foot of the steps, staring up at him.
Those whiskeys he'd had were just starting to make themselves felt. And between the liquor and the jabs to the head, he was in no shape for another go-around with Maggie. Especially when just the sight of her sent his body on a wild ride of desire and his mind into turmoil.
But one blurry look at her told him he didn't have much choice. He started down the steps, trying to keep from staggering, which wasn't easy under the circumstances.
She was hoppin' mad and damned if she didn't look even prettier than usual. Didn't seem right somehow, a woman to get prettier when she was mad at a man. Put the fella at a disadvantage. Just when he wanted to be arguing his case, he ended up thinking about kissing her senseless.
And right now, he could almost taste her.
"We just talked about the gossips in this town,” she reminded him.
"So we did," he agreed, feeling as though he were doing an excellent job of holding up his end of the conversation, considering.
"And what's the first thing you do?" she demanded.
He opened his mouth to answer, but she jumped in ahead of him.
"You get into a saloon brawl."
He shook his head and wondered idly why his brain felt like it was sliding from side to side. Didn't seem like that was a healthy thing. "Not exactly,” he said. 'The first thing I did was have a few drinks."
She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. "More than a few, by the smell of you."
He took a good sniff himself, frowned, then ran the flat of his hand down his jacket, finding the material soaking wet. "Hell, someone must have spilled on me during the fight."
"Uh-huh.”
The doors behind him opened and a man, helped by a shove from the bartender, started for home.
"Evenin', Maggie," Deke said politely.
"Deke," she said and waited until he'd gone back inside to face her partner. "The whole town will be talking about this tomorrow," she said then, lowering her voice into a hiss of sound that seemed to strike at his aching head like a snake.
Still, he couldn’t quite contain a snort of laughter. "Hell, Maggie, most of the town was in that fight."
She didn't look amused.
Ah, well. Gabe scrubbed one hand over his face, trying to avoid all of the sore spots.
"Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
"We talk about it now."
"Jesus," he muttered again and tried to focus his one good eye.
"Make a choice," she said, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him.
"A choice?" Hell, couldn't she tell by looking at him that he was in no shape to be choosing anything?
"I'm not going to give the gossips even more to talk about, so decide,” she said. "Right now."
"Decide what?" Aft, sweet heaven, he needed a place to lie down.
“You either work for me, or you're a gambler. You can't do both."
“I wasn't gambling," he felt obliged to tell her.
"Doesn't matter," she snapped and took a step closer to him. "It's either the restaurant or the saloon.”
The pale shaft of lamplight streaming from the saloon gilded her hair and her skin and made her eyes shine so that Gabe had all he could do not to reach out and grab hold of her. Damned he was and damned he would stay, but this woman touched something in him that the Devil would never claim.
The heart he would have bet money he didn’t have. "Well?" she prodded.
"I choose you," he said, realizing that for the first time in his life, he was choosing light over the dark. Did she know what she'd done to him? Did she have any idea how unusual this was for him? Hell, he was turning his back on the one place that he'd ever felt comfortable. For her. His gaze moved over her features and lingered on her too wide mouth before drifting back up to her eyes.
"Good," she said softly then stepped close and wrapped her arm around his waist. Lifting his left arm, she draped it around her shoulders and looked up at him.
"Now, let's get you home before the rest of Regret sees you.”
God, she felt good close up. Every one of her curves imprinted itself on his body and fed the inner flames the liquor hadn't come close to extinguishing. And she was taking him home.
"Home," he repeated, and even in his whiskey-hazed mind that word sounded out loud and clear. He hadn't had a
home since he was a boy and now that it was too late to stake a claim, he'd found one.
He'd found her.
At the edge of the steps leading up to the restaurant, Gabe stopped dead and turned toward her.
“What is it?" she asked.
He shook his head, ignoring the tiny stabs of pain and lifted one hand to cup her cheek. His thumb traced gently across her cheekbone, and when she tried to pull her head back, he held her still beneath his touch. He studied her eyes and read confusion along with a trace of the same desire he felt swamping him.
And though he knew he shouldn't, Gabe also knew he couldn't let her go, not without at least a taste of her.
"I've gotta do this before I sober up," he muttered.
“Gabe,” she said as he lowered his head toward hers.
"Hush, Maggie," he whispered, looking deeply into her eyes. "Just this once, hush."
And then his lips came down on hers, gently, tenderly, as he explored the mouth that had fueled his dreams. His split lip ached but he ignored the pain in favor of the almost overwhelming pleasure rushing through him.
A second passed, then two, as she held perfectly still, allowing but not participating in the kiss. And still, he kissed her, because she wasn't refusing him. She hadn't pulled away and asked him to stop. Slowly, he sensed the change in her. Her body shifted closer to his. Her arms slid up to encircle his neck and she tilted her head to one side as if silently asking for more. She kissed him back, then, giving as good as she got, and when he parted her lips with his tongue, hers was there, waiting for him.
Touching, tasting, their mouths mated as the world around them stood still. Yesterdays and tomorrows disappeared and now became all that mattered.
Her breath dusted his cheek and Gabe groaned from deep in his chest. He held her tighter, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her flush against him.
And Maggie knew she wasn't close enough. Her breasts flattened against his chest. She felt his heartbeat thundering in time with her own. Sensation flooded her body and every inch of her skin seemed to suddenly spring into life.
Somewhere deep inside her, Maggie had always known this moment would come. From her first sight of Gabe, a part of her had recognized him as the one man who could breach her defenses. And even as she gave herself up to the glory of being held again…kissed again…after so many years of loneliness, she wondered if she was doing the right thing.
Catch a Fallen Angel Page 11
