Chapter Eleven

Nan spent an hour working the floorboard loose. Gabriel had not only nailed the silly thing down, but apparently glued it into place as well. Sweat trickled down her spine and dripped from her nose before she finished. Then she pulled, tugged, and finally braced her feet on the floor to pull the stupid satchel up through the opening. When the bag finally popped free, Nan was unprepared for the sudden give and lost her balance, staggering backward into shelving. Ouch. It was her second injury of the day. Now in addition to a tender thumb, she had an aching shoulder blade. And both injuries were her own fault for doubting Gabriel Valence.

No sooner had Nan regained her balance than she heard Geneva out front, calling, “Na-an? Na-an, dear, where are you?”

Usually Geneva’s habit of giving her name two syllables amused Nan, but today it irked her. She didn’t feel like dealing with a demanding customer right then, but she set the satchel on her project table and pushed aside the curtain anyway. “Well, hello, Geneva. How lovely to see you.” Please, God, don’t let her insist on another stuffed canary. “I spoke with Mr. White early this morning, and he mentioned that you’ve been talking nonstop about your new gown. I can’t wait to hear your ideas.”

Geneva, who considered herself to be up-to-date on all the latest Parisian fashions, having as a cherished possession a six-year-old copy of a French ladies magazine, swept off her luxurious wool cape, an eye-popping blue one today, and hung it on a hook by the door. “I do, Nan. And I am eager to share them.” She fluttered her fingertips over her puffed sleeves, which were hopelessly passé, and then swatted her bustle, which ballooned behind her, giving the viewer a general impression of a ship approaching at full sail. Though Nan had tried at least a dozen times to tell the woman that subtler bustles were now in style, Geneva had turned a deaf ear. Laney called it selective deafness. Pressing her palms together as if she were at prayer, Geneva cried, “I have the most beautiful gown pictured in my mind! It is going to be astounding!”

It would be astounding, all right, Nan thought grimly. Just then Prudence and Loretta swanned into the shop to pay for their trim, and before Nan could collect their money, three other ladies walked in. Nan felt like a curiosity on display in a traveling circus. Sometimes she had browsers in her establishment, but seldom five women at once. Perhaps Laney had it right, and Nan should sell tickets. Problem: Her husband, the main attraction, had vanished.

Four hours later, after finally clearing her shop of customers, Nan had a brutal headache, felt sick to her stomach, and yearned to lie down before she had to start supper. Geneva’s gown would be memorable, but not in the way the fool woman intended. Silver and red sequins on a black day gown? Nan shuddered at the very thought.

After closing the shop, she went upstairs and settled for dabbing lavender water at her temples. Glancing at her bodice watch, she determined that Gabriel had been gone now for more than five hours. She gazed solemnly at her bed. Even though she’d tidied the covers and drawn up the coverlet that morning, she could almost see him lying there, naked from the waist up, his muscular arms folded behind his head. He’d slept beside her for five nights running, and he’d yet to touch her in any improper way. Not that she was complaining.

She sank onto the edge of the bed and rested her forehead on the heels of her hands. Oh, how she wished he would return before Laney came in from school. Nan needed to apologize to him, and she preferred to do it in private. Ten thousand dollars. The man was wealthy beyond most people’s measure, yet all he owned was a horse, a saddle, a bedroll, and clothing. From the moment he had appeared in her shop last Wednesday, Nan had believed he was after her worldly possessions. Or her person. Yet he’d laid claim to neither one, had made her the sole beneficiary in his will, and now . . . well, now she no longer knew what to think. She still wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t after her person, but she’d had irrefutable proof that he wasn’t after her money.

His appearance in her life made no sense to her. Absolutely none. Unless, of course . . . Oh, no, not that. It couldn’t be.

Deep in her heart, Nan had always believed that her heavenly Father looked after her. Thinking back over her life, she couldn’t count the times, using all her fingers and toes, when divine intervention had either saved her from a dastardly fate, sent precisely the right person to help her, or led her directly where she needed to go. But Gabriel Valance? He was completely wrong for her, as well as for Laney, more of a catastrophic visitation than a blessing.

All the same, Nan couldn’t deny how many times she’d failed to recognize a blessing in disguise until months or even years later. Barclay’s attack on her, for instance. At the time, Nan had felt that it was the most terrible thing that could possibly have happened to her, but in retrospect, she knew the assault and Barclay’s consequential death had been the catalysts that had given her the courage to grab Laney and run. A horrific occurrence, yes, and it haunted her to this day. But Nan knew, beyond a doubt, that if not for the events of that night, she would have been forced to wed Horace Barclay and would now be his desperately unhappy, browbeaten, physically abused broodmare. And Laney, raised by Martin Sullivan, would now be nearing a marriageable age and possibly even be already betrothed to a man she detested. Nan couldn’t help but feel that they’d both escaped a dire future and landed in a far better place.

As for landing where they had, here in Random? Nan’s decision to stay in this town had not come about because she’d wanted to live in a tiny community off the beaten track, but because Laney had sickened with pneumonia during their journey west. Nan had rented a room at the Random Hotel and sent for the doctor, nursed Laney back to wellness, and then decided to remain for a few more days to let the child regain her strength. It had been turning spring at the time, and as happened in Colorado, the cold, stormy weather suddenly gave way to a delightfully warm day, enabling Nan to take her sister outside for a little walk. During that outing, Nan had spied the For Sale sign on a milliner’s shop. For an amazingly low price, the considerable inventory would go with the building, and the place had been in ready-to-open condition.

According to the notice posted on the shop window, the elderly Mrs. Barker, who owned the shop, had taken sick and never recovered enough to resume her entrepreneurial duties. She’d decided to sell and had moved to the edge of town to live with her daughter. Nevertheless, she loved her store and came in weekly to dust and polish, keeping everything in excellent shape. Nan remembered how her heart had leaped with excitement when she’d peered through the windows. Then she’d pooh-poohed the idea, laughing at herself for being so ludicrous. She couldn’t become a milliner. She didn’t know the first thing about making hats.

The thought had no sooner settled in her mind than a crackly voice behind her said, “Ah, interested, are you?” And Nan turned to see a bent lady with snow-white hair who just happened to be Mrs. Barker, the shop owner. She had taken an instant liking to Nan, encouraged her to buy the business, and then had come every single day to teach Nan her trade. Eight years later, Nan couldn’t say she’d gotten rich being a milliner-cum-seamstress, but she had managed to build a good life for herself and her sister. Random and this shop had become their salvation, something Nan never would have predicted when she first clapped eyes on this dusty little town.

And now there was Gabriel Valance, who’d blackmailed Nan into marrying him. Only, for what reason? He didn’t want her money, and if he wanted her body, he was taking his own sweet time in availing himself of her favors. So, why, why, why? If he’d suddenly decided he wanted to get married and any woman would do, then why pick her? Was Gabriel himself even clear on his reasons for being here?

Nan knew only that he’d somehow worked his way past all the barriers she had erected around her heart, and he was making her feel things she’d been determined all her life never to feel. Though her instincts told her not to trust him, she was coming to consider now that her instincts weren’t instincts at all, but learned reactions, taught to her by her father. Was it possible that Gabriel was right, and not all men were like Martin Sullivan? Taking that one step further, was it possible that Gabriel was everything he seemed to be: a wonderful, caring man whose exterior had been tempered to steel by a horrible childhood and an even sadder adulthood? My first real Thanksgiving.

Tears burned at the backs of Nan’s eyes. She sighed and sat erect, so confused and upset that she could barely sort her thoughts. Gabriel. He was like a storm in her life, turning everything topsy-turvy. Nan had always liked order—in her home and in her shop—and there was nothing wrong with that, really, but being around Gabriel was starting to make her realize that she’d become so focused on being responsible that she’d forgotten how to laugh and enjoy life. Or, even more troubling, Nan wondered if she’d ever learned how to do either in the first place. She’d been raised in a singularly somber and unpleasant home.

Was it any wonder Laney seemed so much happier now that Gabriel brightened their lives? Her sister had laughed more in the past few days than she’d done in the last few years.

Nan wasn’t ready to concede, even to herself, that Gabriel’s invasion of her world might have been divine intervention. Divine intervention and blackmail didn’t mix, at least not in her view. But she was coming to believe that he intended no harm to either her or Laney. So why did it matter why he was here? For once in her life, could she not simply go with the flow and see where the current led?

Nan collected the stuffed satchel from the foot of her bed and put it in a drawer. She had a lot of sorting out to do, and not the kind one did with one’s hands.

•   •   •

Despite the chill breeze, Gabe’s brow beaded with sweat, and his shirt, damp from toil, filmed his skin like wet flour glue. He’d lost track of how many times he’d swung Nan’s ax. He knew only that he’d split a mountain of logs and now had a huge pile of wood to stack. As he attacked each piece, he thought, “Dammit, Gabriel, where are you?” But his heavenly namesake refused to answer him.

Gabe needed to talk to the angel and get a few things straightened out, first and foremost that this plan wasn’t working. He wasn’t saving Nan. Instead he was upsetting her constantly. To add frosting to the cake, he’d gotten angry with her this morning and acted like a total ass over something that he never should have held against her. She’d known him for less than a week, for God’s sake. Who could blame her for drawing all her money out of the bank and trying to hide it from him? She’d been watching out for herself and her sister. There was no crime in that. Gabe had been guarding his own back since childhood. So why had it pissed him off that she’d tried to do the same?

Bottom line, he was wasting his time down here, still miles from the goal the archangels had set for him. Even worse, today when he’d been walking off his ire, he’d seen that boy again huddling under the whorehouse staircase, cold, hungry, and alone. The kid’s mother would never come back, and the good people of Random were turning a blind eye to the child’s plight. It gnawed at Gabe deep in his gut. He’d met the boy prior to dying, and he’d meant to help him. So why would it be held against him in the final accounting if he helped now?

It made no sense to Gabe. And after being around Nan for five days, he was sick to death of rules that made no sense. The angel Gabriel needed to come down here and take a good hard look at the realities. It wasn’t only humans who were suffering. Gabe’s meandering walk had taken him out behind Lizzy’s Café, where he had come across a half-grown pup huddled in a lean-to on a piece of wet blanket. The poor thing obviously stayed there hoping to get scraps of food, but apparently Lizzy, the owner of the place, didn’t have a generous soul. The animal was nothing but yellow fur and bones, and it had gone against everything in Gabe’s nature to turn his back and walk away.

But he’d done it, because helping the dog was against the damned rules he’d been told he had to follow. Gabe understood that he couldn’t be turned loose down here with advance knowledge of future events and the ability to alter history. If a person was supposed to die, it wasn’t up to Gabe to stop it from happening. But how about being free to practice common decency? It wouldn’t alter the course of world events if he saved a dog from starvation.

“Gabriel?”

In the middle of a swing, Gabe gave such a start at the sound of Nan’s voice that he nearly nailed his boot instead of the log. “Dammit! Don’t call me that. Okay? My namesake is a fellow I don’t much like at the moment.” He tossed the ax aside and turned to face her. “I prefer plain old Gabe. It may not be fancy enough to suit you, but it sure as hell suits me just fine.”

The words no sooner erupted from Gabe than he winced. He’d spent half the afternoon wondering how to tell this woman he was sorry for his contemptible behavior that morning, and now he was biting her head off.

The wind picked up just then, whipping her dark green skirt to twist it around her legs. Her hair, always so perfectly arranged, tore loose in places from the pins and fluttered around her head like curlicues of spun gold. But as beautiful as she looked to his hungry eyes, it was the expression in hers that caught and held his attention.

I never cry, she’d told him once. And Gabe believed it. Nan was a woman who guarded her feelings and revealed them to no one. At least, that was how she’d been before meeting him. Now her eyes were swimming with tears, again, and it was all his fault.

“I’m so sorry,” she said shakily. A gust caught her words and flung them away, but he caught the faint ring of each one. “I don’t know what else to say, only that I’m very, very sorry.”

Well, hell. This was a new one. Here he’d been trying to figure out a way to apologize to her, and she’d beaten him to the draw. That didn’t happen often. He already felt bad enough about the whole stupid mess.

“Don’t,” Gabe pushed out. “It’s me who should be saying I’m sorry. You did nothing this morning that any sane woman in the same situation wouldn’t have done, and I acted like a total ass.”

She brushed at her cheeks with her free hand. In the other, he finally noticed that she held the satchel. He almost groaned. She’d actually pried up that damned board, and he’d been so mad when he pounded in the nails, he knew he’d driven them deep. Loosening them had to have been an arduous task for a slightly built woman.

She stepped toward him, extending the bag. “I want you to have this, every dime of it. And with it, I extend my abject apologies. I misjudged you from the start, and I’ve—” She broke off and swallowed. “Though I’ve tried to make you feel welcome in many ways, I’ve withheld my trust. I’d like to rectify that.”

Only Nan could turn a heartfelt apology into a formal speech. But Gabe knew it truly was heartfelt. He saw that in every taut line of her body and also in her eyes. She laid the bag at his feet and walked over to the chopping block to sit down. That surprised him. He doubted she often sat on anything but a straight-backed chair, and he’d sure never seen her spine come into contact with one. He suspected she was afraid a slump in her posture might snap her vertebrae.

“Would you mind joining me for a moment?” she asked, patting the blade-scarred surface of the stump next to her hip. “I have a few things I’d like to say.”

Gabe was so exhausted from cutting wood that the thought of sitting for a few minutes held some appeal. He took a seat beside her, careful not to crowd her. Fortunately it was a huge block, the lower end of a monstrous ponderosa pine that had met up with a saw years ago, judging by the grayed hue of its grain.

“Shoot,” he said.

She smiled slightly. Then she released a shaky breath and leaned her head back to look up at the darkening winter sky. After an endlessly long moment, she finally said, “Do you know what I realized about myself this afternoon?” She licked her bottom lip and turned that quicksilver gaze on him. “I never learned how to laugh.” The dimple in her cheek flashed, not with a genuine smile, but more a sad twist of her lips. “There was no real laughter in my childhood home. Once the guests left, there was none at all, in fact. My mother—her name was Helena—was a beautiful woman, born into a wealthy family, and thinking back, I can’t recall seeing her smile. Not real smiles, anyway, only the polite kind, which are for show and not heartfelt. I wonder now if she wasn’t raised in much the same fashion that I was, with a father who expected daughters to be decorative ornaments of barter, not living, breathing people.”

Gabe felt something shift in his chest. He couldn’t say it hurt, but it didn’t feel particularly good, either.

“You love to laugh,” she observed softly. “I don’t know who taught you how, but whoever it was gave you a priceless gift.”

Gabe followed her lead and stared up at the sky for a long while. “My mother,” he finally revealed. “It was my mother who taught me how to laugh.”

“Will you tell me about her? She must have been wonderful.”

Startled by the request, Gabe gave her a curious study. “Nan, my mother was a—” He couldn’t push the word whore past his lips. Not now, with his memories of Mary Susan Miller resurfacing in a painful yet sweet rush. “She was . . .”

“An unfortunate?” Nan offered.

“Yes, an unfortunate, and no, I won’t tell you about her.” Gabe’s memories of his mother were precious and intensely personal. He’d never shared them with anyone, and he didn’t intend to start now. “Sorry.”

“But I shared so much with you about my father—and other things. How is that fair?”

“You needed to share those memories.”

“Well, as defensive as you are, perhaps you need to share yours, too!”

“You don’t see me not sleeping for fear of bad dreams. Since I got you to talk, you’ve slept like a baby.”

She lifted her hands, conveying bewilderment. “I didn’t ask to hear bad things, only about what she was like and how she taught you to laugh.”

“Everything about her was bad, Nan. At least, you’d think so. I’m not about to tell you about my mother so you can look down your ladylike nose at her. I loved her with all my heart, and I still love my memories of her.”

“You think I would do that? Look down on her, I mean?”

Gabe gave a bitter laugh. “Yes. How could you not? For you, the whole world turns around propriety. A lady does this, and a lady does that. Well, cupcake, my mama was no lady, not by your standards anyway.”

“But by yours she was?”

“Damn straight, the finest lady who ever walked.”

Nan puffed air into her cheeks and went back to sky watching. After a second, she softly said, “So you think it impossible for me to comprehend how life can back one into a corner and make one do unthinkable things. Me, Nan Sullivan, who murdered a man.”

That was another thing Gabe meant to discuss with the angels if he ever got another audience. It wasn’t right that Nan still scourged herself for killing a man who was actually alive and well. Being responsible for another person’s death . . . Well, Gabe knew from firsthand experience how heavy a burden that was.

“All right,” he heard himself say. “I’ll tell you a little about my mother, but God as my witness, if you criticize her, by word, action, or a noise in your throat, I’ll leave you to sit here on your stump throne and never tell you anything else.”

To his surprise, she replied, “You shan’t hear a word of criticism from me or see any sign of it. I promise.”

Gabe had been so bent on not talking about his mother that he had to collect his thoughts and invite the memories back again. “I don’t know what she found to laugh about. She had a horrible life from start to finish. Well, maybe not horrible. A better word might be difficult, at least when she was young and still at home. The horrible parts didn’t come until later.” Memories unfurled inside Gabe’s mind, nearly too sweet and precious for words. “Like your mother, she was pretty. Beautiful, in fact, with merry blue eyes and long, curly brown hair that shone like she gave it a good polish every morning.”

“She probably gave it a hundred strokes with a brush every night before she went to bed. I used to do that before you came.”

“You’re right. She did brush her hair at night.” Gabe recalled that now. “That was how I first learned to count, while she brushed her hair.” He settled a questioning regard on Nan. “Why’d you stop brushing yours when I came?”

She shrugged. “It’s a bedtime ritual, and it seemed improper to do it in front of you.”

Gabe chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. “Brushing your hair?” He shook his head. “We’ve got a whole different idea of proper, apparently.”

“Enough about me,” she said. “I want to hear about your mother.”

Gabe settled his elbows on his knees, more comfortable talking when he leaned forward slightly. That way, if Nan stuck her nose in the air, maybe he wouldn’t notice. “She came from poor folks, the oldest of fourteen kids. Only nine of them survived infancy, so by the time she turned fifteen, she’d loved and lost three baby sisters and two brothers. Her father was a farmer with a hurt back. After having so many babies and laboring to raise the ones who lived, her mama grew old before her time.”

“I’m sure the grief aged her as well,” Nan observed solemnly. “Imagine the pain of losing five babies.”

“Yeah, well, they couldn’t afford to send for the doctor, so home remedies were all they had. Given the conditions, it’s probably amazing that nine of the fourteen kids survived. Babies sicken more often than not when they’re born into poverty. Food was scarce. My grandmother probably never got enough nourishment when she was carrying them.”

“Oh, Gabriel, not enough food? How awful. It makes me feel terrible for whining about my own childhood. At least there was always plenty to eat.”

Hearing the sincere ring in Nan’s voice, Gabe started to relax. Maybe he’d misjudged her, and she truly wouldn’t grow condescending. “At fifteen, my mother felt it was up to her to save her family, so she packed a knapsack and walked barefoot all the way to Kansas City to get a job so she could send money home to keep food on the table.”

“Oh, my stars. I doubt I’d have that kind of courage even now.”

“It was courageous, all right. Sadly, being brave of heart isn’t always enough. She quickly learned that there were no jobs worth having for a girl her age, with the exception of one: selling her body to men. So that’s what she did.” Gabe waited, but he heard no muffled snort to indicate a negative reaction. “And somewhere along the trail, she met my father, a fancy gambling man with a lot of money and no heart. She went to work in one of his establishments, and he took a temporary liking to her, insisting that she service only him.”

Gabe paused, trying to recall where he’d come by all this information. He knew his mother had told him some of it—about her family and how she’d ended up in Kansas City. But he couldn’t picture her telling a little boy the rest of it. He guessed he’d ferreted out most of the story as a grown man, after he’d found his father and confronted him. What a shocker that had been. Gabe had learned during the meeting that he was the spitting image of his sire, and even now, the resemblance didn’t sit well with him. Luther Valance had been a conscienceless, greedy, and viciously cruel man who’d used other people like ladder rungs to reach the top. Gabe had no doubt that he had illegitimate half brothers and sisters scattered helter-skelter across four states, but Luther had chosen to acknowledge only his firstborn when he died.

“Anyway, she got pregnant with me, and when my father found out that he’d put a bun in her oven, he tossed her out on the street. I was born in a seedy Kansas City brothel. I don’t know what she did with a baby while she worked. Maybe the other whores helped her out by taking turns looking after me.” Gabe shrugged. “When I was old enough, I hid out under the brothel staircase until the men stopped tapping on my mother’s door. Then I got to go up to her room.” He smiled at the memory. “She could make a feast out of one cookie and a cup of tea. She’d pretend to nibble while I ate most everything. We didn’t have plenty, like you, so when we got something, she always made sure I got the lion’s share. We’d sit cross-legged on her bed. It was the only furniture in the room besides a dresser. But it was home to me—the only one I ever really had. We had good times there, really good times. She’d tell me stories. I remember the ring of her laughter and how she was always ruffling my hair. Somehow, no matter how rotten her work that night may have been, she always found something to laugh about.”

“And you thought I might feel moral indignation? A woman who could laugh in the face of desperation and heartbreak, and give love and laughter to her little boy despite horrific circumstances, deserves honor and respect, not condemnation. Despite her circumstances, she tried to be a good mother.”

Gabe felt relieved to hear her say that. “Better than that. She was a good mother. The best she could be, anyway. Believe it or not, I was a fairly happy kid.” He shrugged. “I know the way we lived must sound horrible to you, but it was all I knew, and she made what little we had seem special. Not to say there weren’t some awful moments.” He remembered the night he’d tried to defend his mother against an abusive client and been tossed down a steep stairway for his trouble, but he hesitated mentioning something like that to Nan. “Mostly my memories, vague as they’ve become over the years, are good ones. Then Mama got sick. I was five, maybe six. When there is no adult around to remind a kid, he loses track of how old he is until he’s mature enough to do some digging to learn his birth date. I don’t know what took my mother, but she up and died on me, and from that point forward, I grew up on the streets.” Gabe sighed. “I guess you’re right, though. She gave me a great gift by teaching me to laugh. In this nasty old world, if we don’t laugh, what can we do but cry?”

Nan’s gaze clung to his. “Will you share it with me?”

“Share what with you?”

Her throat convulsed in a hard swallow before she replied, “The gift your mother left you—the ability to laugh at silly things.”

Gabe’s heart caught at the yearning in her expression. “Honey, laughing is the simplest thing in the world. You just let go and do it.”

She shook her head. “No, first you have to see the humor in something.” The corner of her mouth quivered, and in her attempt to suppress that, she flashed the dimple at him again. “I’m blind to those things, so bent on everything being done properly and having order in my life that I’m stifling Laney’s ability to be carefree. Save her from that, Gabriel. Save me from that. If she grows up to be a killjoy like me, I’ll never forgive myself.”

It was Gabe’s turn to swallow hard. “You’re not a killjoy, Nan. You’re just a little too serious about stuff.” Way too serious, mostly. But not for anything would Gabe have hurt her feelings by saying so. “Relax a little bit, and laughing will just come naturally.”

“I need help.” She turned up her palms where they rested on her lap and stared at them. “I’ve heard we all have a life line and a love line. Do you suppose I was born with a serious line?”

“Nobody’s born with a serious line,” he refuted. “You’re going to be fine. You’re already a great mother. Let up on yourself. It’s hard to improve on damned near perfect.”

“That’s the problem, don’t you see, my penchant for perfection.” She bent her head, fell quiet for a moment, and then stood. “Your answer is no, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that, Nan. I just don’t like to make promises I’m not sure I can keep. I’ll try. How’s that sound?”

She nodded. “That’s all that can be asked of anyone.” She gestured toward the building. “Supper is in the warmer. I hope you’ll leave off chopping wood and come upstairs before everything ruins.”

Gabe watched her walk away: shoulders straight, head high, each step precisely measured. At the narrow alleyway, she stopped and turned her golden head to say, “Don’t forget the satchel of money. It may not seem like much to you, but I worked hard for every cent.”

After she vanished into the shadowy chasm, Gabe sat and stared at the dusky gray sky. He could almost hear the angel Gabriel whispering, You see? You are not down there wasting your time.

With a frustrated sigh, Gabe softly said, “You crazy sons of bitches. Is that why you sent me here, to teach the poor woman how to laugh?” No answer. Not that he expected one.

He swore, swung off the stump to grab the satchel, and followed Nan. If he meant to help her develop a sense of humor before his time here ended, he’d best get started.

•   •   •

Gabriel. That very night, he taught Nan a lesson she would never be likely to forget. After supper, she’d gone to her bedchamber to synchronize the alarm clock and her bodice watch, which had been off by one minute’s difference the other morning. Gabriel found her muttering under her breath in frustration.

“What is it?” he asked, coming to stand over her where she sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned slightly in and sideways to see the faces of both timepieces. “Is one broken?”

“Not broken, really. They simply aren’t keeping the same time. One insists on being a minute ahead of the other, or perhaps it’s the other way around. It makes me crazy when clocks don’t show the same time. Never being late is important, you know.”

“And you think one measly minute matters that much?”

Nan glanced up at him. “Of course it matters. One minute, ten minutes—it’s very important to know the right time of day.” She fiddled with her bodice watch. “It’s a simple matter of getting the second hands synchronized, I think. Only, when I’m setting one, the other one is ticking ahead.”

Gabe reached down and caught her wrists, startling her so that she jerked and then gaped at him.

“Stop it,” he said. “Remember what you asked me earlier, to teach you how to laugh? The first thing you have to learn is that a little thing like two clocks being a minute apart doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t.”

“Perhaps not to you, but it does to me.”

“And there in a nutshell is your whole problem.” He released her hands and sat beside her on the bed. “Go ahead. Keep messing with both timepieces until your nerves are frazzled.”

Nan twisted the stem of her bodice watch. “Thank you. I will. Both Laney and I must live by the clock. Not all of us are so fortunate as to be millionaires.”

He started to laugh, tipping back his head and releasing deep guffaws. Nan had no doubt that he was making fun of her, and she began to feel more than a little cross.

“What, precisely, is so funny?”

He waved a hand before his face and shook his head, apparently so overcome with mirth that he couldn’t speak. Nan waited until it passed. He finally sighed and rubbed his side as if it ached.

“It’s just . . .” He smiled that crooked, wonderful smile that she was beginning to anticipate. “Fair question, okay? How do you know which timepiece is correct?”

“Well, I—” Nan broke off to stare down at both clocks, and a strange suffocating sensation crawled up her throat. “I, um . . . I don’t, actually.”

“So you’re going to spend half your evening struggling to set both clocks to the incorrect time?”

A shaky squeak erupted from Nan, and the next thing she knew, she was helplessly giggling. What had seemed so important to her only seconds before now suddenly struck her as being absolutely trivial.

Gabriel joined in, and they laughed until they were so weak they flopped onto their backs on the bed, both of them holding their stomachs. Nan decided she would never try to synchronize her clocks again. If they gained a minute or lost one, she no longer cared.

Because a minute in time was only just that, a silly minute.

•   •   •

Gabriel. Time spun forward for Nan like a winding path gilded with gold. He filled her and Laney’s world with so many precious gifts, laughter being only one of them. Morning or night, and anywhere in between, Nan never knew what might happen next. One evening, Laney got out her violin, which she’d become very accomplished at playing, and the first thing Nan knew, Gabriel had swept her up from her chair into a waltz around the kitchen. Nan had danced with many men back in Manhattan, but never had she been held so close, her body braced against ironlike muscle, her feet barely touching the ground. In his arms, she felt as if she were floating. Laney, delighted, moved from one melody to another, allowing Nan to enjoy the feeling for several minutes. She was breathless when the waltzing finally ended, and her heart caught when she realized that Gabriel still held her close, his cheek pressed against the top of her head.

“Ah, Nan,” he whispered for her ears only. “You’re killing me, you know.”

Startled, she reared back to stare up at his face. “How? What? Did I tromp your toes?”

He started to laugh, that deep, warm, vibrant rumble of humor that she was quickly coming to adore. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he winked at her. “You are priceless.”

Nan held that comment close to her heart. Priceless. She wasn’t certain what had prompted him to say it, but it meant the world to her.

Most evenings while Nan labored over tedious sewing tasks she couldn’t do on her machine, Gabriel spent his time with Laney, either helping her with homework or playing games. Nan tried to put her foot down when he decided to teach the girl how to play poker, but Gabriel forestalled her.

“Every female should know how to play poker,” he insisted. “Even you.” He grabbed Nan’s sewing and set it aside on another chair. “It isn’t just a game; it’s a wagering game. And by learning how to be good at it, you learn how to read men. That ability could save your bacon someday.” He looked at Laney. “Especially yours, young miss. You’re going to be a beauty just like your mama, and the time is fast coming when young men are going to be sniffing after your skirts.”

“Gabriel!” Nan admonished. Laney giggled and rolled her eyes at him, obviously enjoying the idea.

“That’s not inappropriate,” he informed Nan. “It’s just a saying, and trust me, it’s also a fact of life. Men sniff after a woman’s skirts. You may know that, Nan, but Laney doesn’t, and trying to shield her from the facts of life is no kindness. You want her to get her bloomers charmed off by some lying, no-good scoundrel?”

“Gabriel!” Her voice shot upward again in reproof.

“Don’t ‘Gabriel’ me,” he shot back. “Ninety-nine percent of the men outside this building are scoundrels.”

“I thought you said most of them were—”

“Forget what I said that night. I was speaking about the character of most men then, and the fact is, when it comes to skirt sniffing, the character of most males leaks out through the bottoms of their boots. That doesn’t mean all of them are terrible people, only that . . . well, their brains can play second fiddle to their urges, that’s all. Laney should learn how to tell if a young man is honest and decent, or if he’s lying through his teeth to charm her, and playing poker is a grand teacher.”

“That’s absurd,” Nan protested.

Gabriel shuffled the cards with an expert flourish. “You think so? Listen up, darlin’. There are two things in this world that fire a man up enough to make him forget his principles: skirt sniffing and laying his money on a table.” He slapped the deck down, asked Nan to make the cut, and then began dividing the red beans at his elbow into three separate piles. After pushing one mound toward Laney, he shoved one at Nan. Then he dealt each of them and himself five cards, hands moving at dizzying speed.

“The first game I’m going to teach you is five-card stud.”

He quickly explained the rules, most of which Nan promptly forgot. Her knowledge of poker ran to sayings she’d heard about it—someone holding the trump card or all of the aces. She didn’t know how those things figured into an actual game.

“It’s pretty simple, all in all.” After they’d studied their hands, he said, “Ante up.” At their bewildered looks, he said, “That means put out some money, in this case however many beans you want to risk. You’re betting on the odds that you’ve either got a better hand than everyone else, or you’ve got good base cards that you may be able to win with if you draw the right cards to go with them. It’s called anteing up at most gambling houses.”

Nan put out one bean. Gabriel sent her a glance rife with amusement. “We’ve got a cautious better at the table, Laney. You can match her, or you can raise her.” He leaned forward, giving the child an imploring look. “Please raise her. It’s only beans. Put at least five out there, or this is going to be plumb boring.”

Laney grinned, shoving out six beans. “I put out five more than you, Mama.”

“Just say, ‘Raise you by five,’” Gabriel corrected. And then to Nan, he said, “That means you have to put out five more beans to stay in the game. Later, I’ll tell you about folding, but that’s pretty much unheard-of when players first look at their hands, the rare exception being when some poor fellow sees his wife peeking over the bat-wing doors, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.”

“No lady would ever approach the bat-wing doors of a saloon or gambling establishment,” Nan told him.

“She will if her husband is gambling with money she needs to buy food for her children.”

“You see, Laney?” Nan sent the child a meaningful look. “It’s an evil game that drives men to deprive their children of necessities.”

“The game itself isn’t evil,” Gabriel countered. “It’s the evil things some men will do in order to play—and the even eviler things they’ll do to win.” He examined his cards and rearranged them. Nan followed his example.

“Are two jacks good?” she asked.

Gabriel huffed out a breath that stirred the gleaming black hair on his forehead. “You shouldn’t tell us what you’ve got, Nan.”

“But we’re just learning. Fine, fine.” Nan wrinkled her nose.

Gabriel chuckled. “Two jacks aren’t bad for the first deal. Throw the other cards down now and tell me to hit you with three, because I need to deal the draw.”

“Hit me with three.” Nan picked up her draw and studied her hand. She now had three jacks. She decided that if two were good, three had to be better. “Do I bet again now?”

“Yep,” Gabriel replied with a grin. “Look at you, playing like a sharp already.”

Nan pushed out three beans, and the raising process began again. When it came Gabriel’s turn, he pushed out twenty beans. “Twenty?” Nan cried. “You must have something really good.”

Both she and Laney matched his bet. “Now comes the face reading,” he told Laney. “Do I have a pat hand, or am I bluffing?”

“You raised us as if you had something wonderful!” Laney accused.

Gabriel grinned. “Exactly. But do I have something wonderful? If I can make you both believe I’ve got a winning hand, you may fold and let me have the whole pot.” He settled back on his chair to rearrange his cards. “I’ve been told I give myself away when I bluff, so watch my face. See if I’m playing straight or trying to clean you out of beans.”

Nan saw nothing different; it was the same devilishly handsome countenance that she feared was becoming branded on her heart. Laney stared so hard at Gabe’s face that she nearly squinted. “Your eyebrow!” she shouted. “It twitches!”

“Very good,” Gabriel said with a laugh. “Before you know it, you’ll be able to read a man so easily, it’ll be second nature. Always remember, there are mainly two things that will make a fellow play dirty: a strong attraction to a young lady, or money. And never trust a man who won’t look you dead in the eye.”

As the game continued, Nan found herself laughing so hard that tears ran from her eyes. Both Laney and Gabriel said that a spot on the tip of her nose turned bright pink when she bluffed. After that, Nan tried holding her cards high to hide her face, but her opponents called her on it.

“There are all kinds of warning signs to watch for when a man’s lying or bluffing,” Gabriel told them. “Some fellows tug on their ears or rub beside their noses. I’ve seen lots of temple scratchers in my day as well. You have to be careful with nervous gestures, though, because sometimes a straight shooter will do things like that if he’s really tense.” He looked directly at Laney. “Like, say some young fellow decides he loves you so much that he can’t live without you and asks you to marry him. If he truly loves you, he may be so nervous waiting for your answer that he’ll rub his nose plumb off.”

Toward the evening’s end, Nan decided that playing the evil game of poker was actually stimulating and fun. Laney brought the hilarity to an end with a question for Gabriel. “So how do I know for sure if a young man is lying when he says he loves me?”

Gabriel laid down his cards and rested his arms on the table to give Laney a solemn look. “I care very deeply for you, Laney. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I care so much that I’d take a bullet to protect you.” He let his words hang in the air for a long moment. Then he asked the girl, “Am I lying or telling you the truth, straight from my heart?”

Laney stared hard at his face. “Your eyebrow isn’t twitching.”

“Nope,” Gabriel said with a crooked smile. “What else?”

“You aren’t shifty eyed.”

“Nope.” His larynx bobbed as he swallowed. “The most important thing, cupcake, is to listen to your own heart. When you look into my eyes, do you believe me?”

Laney’s gaze went misty. “I do,” she whispered. “I think you truly mean it.”

Gabriel reached across the table and chucked the child under the chin. “You’re right; I do. So keep your sweet little self out of harm’s way so I don’t get shot trying to keep you safe.” He began gathering the cards. “We’ll play again tomorrow night. But now I’m afraid it’s bedtime. You’ve got school in the morning, and Nan has to open the shop.”

Laney planted a good-night kiss on Nan’s cheek. Then she glanced hesitantly at Gabriel before suddenly circling Nan’s chair to throw her thin arms around his neck. “I love you, too, Gabe. I really do.”

Nan saw Gabriel squeeze his eyes closed as he hugged the girl against him. “I know you do, honey. But thanks for telling me so.”

A few minutes later, when Gabriel joined Nan in bed, she rolled onto her side to face him. In the darkness, he was limned by soft moonlight coming through the window. Nan’s throat felt tight. He truly did love her little sister in an avuncular way, deeply enough to lay down his life to protect her. Nan had seen the truth of that in his eyes when he’d said the words.

It was a wonderful thing to know that Laney now had a strong male protector. Nan wouldn’t have changed that for the world. All the same, she felt sad. She wasn’t certain why, but there was no denying the ache at the base of her throat. Perhaps, she decided, it was merely that she felt set aside. Laney had never loved anyone else but Nan.

Yes, that was it. Nan clung to the explanation like a drowning woman might a log. But even as she did, a little voice in the back of her mind taunted her. You want him to say those words to you! That’s the truth of it. It’s not sadness that you feel; you’re green with jealousy. And of your own little sister, no less. What kind of person are you?

Nan flipped onto her back to glare at a ceiling she couldn’t even see. She felt Gabriel stir beside her. “You okay over there?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Nan said, almost too quickly. She’d never been a good liar. Thank goodness he couldn’t see her nose.

The truthful answer would have been that she wasn’t okay and wasn’t sure she’d ever be truly okay again. She’d gone and let herself make one of the stupidest mistakes of her life: She was falling head over heels in love with Gabriel Valance.