Chapter Sixteen

Gabriel’s parting words hung in Nan’s mind much like a song played on one of those newfangled phonographs, only the tune was hauntingly sad. If I let that child die, I won’t be in heaven. I’ll be in a hell of my own making. And though Nan wanted to cling to her own opinion and stop her husband from doing something so dreadfully misguided and at such a cost to himself, she also had to admit, deep in her heart, that she understood exactly what he’d been trying to tell her.

All during her morning ablutions, Nan thought about that, asking herself what she would do if she were in Gabriel’s position. What if it was Laney who was about to die? Nan wrestled with that question, wondering if she would still ask Gabriel to stay away from the doctor’s office and not intervene if her little sister’s life were the one at stake. And in the end, Nan couldn’t honestly say one way or the other. She adored Laney, but she also deeply loved her husband. He was a wonderful, caring, intensely thoughtful man who deserved a heavenly reward, not eternal suffering.

He was also far too young to die. Nan left the bedroom with a racing heart. Right now Gabriel was still very much alive. If he could alter events simply because he had foreknowledge of them, why couldn’t Nan try to do the same? No angels had whispered in her ear, but she did have knowledge of what would happen to her husband just before dawn on Christmas morning.

In the kitchen, Nan decided that she and Laney could breakfast on bread and cheese. Nan had more important things to do besides cook. She took a pencil and a piece of stationery from the secretary in the sitting room and then sat at the long table to draft a letter to her sister. According to Gabriel, the angels could see and hear everything, but Nan doubted that they were watching over her just now. And she wanted to keep it that way. No word could be spoken between her and Laney that might draw attention. Not even so much as a whisper could be uttered.

Nan had just finished writing the missive and folding the paper when she heard Laney’s footfalls coming up the stairs. The girl burst into the room, her cheeks as pink as the artificial tulips Nan had on a shelf downstairs. She tossed her satchel on the floor next to the door and beamed a smile at Nan.

“I had the best time, Mama! Melody’s father got the family a phonograph for Christmas! He took the stage clear to Denver to buy it!” Laney spun in a circle, her skirt whirling at midcalf around her white stockings. “We danced, and we sang! It was so much fun!”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” Nan said with a smile. “Have you had any breakfast?”

“Melody’s mother made all of us girls battered toast and eggs. We had maple syrup, too! I’m stuffed!”

Nan started to tell the child that young ladies said, “I am more than sufficiently satisfied,” but all of the rules suddenly seemed trivial. “Mmm, maple syrup. I need to buy some for our table.”

Laney bent to hug Nan’s neck and kiss her cheek. Then she fetched her satchel and dashed to her bedroom. A few minutes later, when the child had finished unpacking and returned to the kitchen, Nan laid a finger over her lips, signaling silence, and pushed the letter across the table.

Laney frowned in bewilderment. “What?”

Nan waved her hand, signaled for silence again, and tapped the paper with her finger, gesturing for Laney to read. The girl gave her another puzzled look, but she obediently sat down and opened the letter. Nan watched the child’s gray eyes shift from left to right as she assimilated the message in its entirety. When finished reading, Laney glanced toward the ceiling and then leaned toward Nan to whisper, “Champion idea!”

Minutes later, both Nan and Laney, garbed in their winter cloaks, left the shop. Nan’s task was to visit every business along the far boardwalk of Main. Laney was to work the opposite side. Together they walked to one end of the street, where they parted company to begin their mission. Nan could only hope that her plan worked. If she dared to pray for that, the angels would surely get wind of what she and Laney were up to, and Gabriel would be lost for certain.

•   •   •

By eleven o’clock, Gabe had convinced himself at least a hundred times to hightail it to Nan’s shop and forget his lofty intention to sacrifice himself to save a small child. It was crazy to knowingly embrace eternal damnation. It wasn’t his place to intervene. One man couldn’t save the whole world.

Only, every time Gabe started to abandon his post in front of Peterson’s office, he couldn’t quite make his feet move. He wasn’t trying to save everyone, dammit, only one small person in a tiny Colorado town. Maybe his sacrifice today wouldn’t make a hill of beans’ difference, but at least he would die the second time knowing that he had tried. He didn’t want to lie in the street again, with black spots veiling his vision and the breath slowly leaving his body, knowing that his passing would be considered by others to be more a blessing than a tragedy. Not that the little girl would understand the magnitude of what Gabe was doing. Hell, as far as that went, her mother wouldn’t grasp it either.

But I’ll know, he assured himself, and whatever happens later, I’ll feel a hell of a lot better about my time here on earth.

When Rose Wilson rounded the corner onto Oak Street with her daughter in hand, Gabe swallowed hard a couple of times. Damned if he didn’t feel nearly as scared as he had during his first shoot-out. All his instincts told him to run like a scalded dog. But he managed not to budge.

Rose Wilson gave him wary looks as she approached Peterson’s office door. Fearing that she might dash inside the building to avoid him, Gabe stepped between the woman and the doorway. She jerked to a startled stop and pinned a frightened blue gaze on him. Blue eyes, very like her daughter’s. It pleased Gabe to note the resemblance. It gave him a picture to hold in his mind of what little Charity might look like when she grew up and had babies of her own.

“Mrs. Wilson, there’s—”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “I don’t know you, sir, and you’re blocking our way. My little girl has an appointment with the physician, and we’re running late.”

“It’s an appointment you shouldn’t keep,” Gabe told her. “You and I haven’t met, but Doc told me to wait out here to waylay you before you went inside.” It was yet another lie for Gabe, who had seldom uttered falsehoods during his first try at life. Shit. Maybe instead of becoming a better person, he was trading one set of bad habits for another. “There’s a contagion going around. It’s hitting the little ones and the elderly really hard, and because of your daughter’s weak heart, Doc thinks it’s a bad idea for her to be exposed. He says he’ll drop by your house as soon as he can. That way Charity won’t be around all those people”—Gabe gestured toward the waiting room—“inside who are sick. Doc has no proof of it, but he believes that contact with sick people spreads this kind of illness.”

Rose Wilson retreated a step and flicked a worried glance at the closed door. “Dr. Peterson told you this?” She looked up at Gabe. “I don’t get out very much. My husband mentioned that a contagion was going around, but he never indicated that I should skip Charity’s weekly exam with Dr. Peterson because of it.”

Gabe was just happy that his lie had eased the woman’s mind. Apparently, however much he felt that he’d changed on the inside over the last month, he still looked meaner than a snake on the outside. The little girl peered wide-eyed up at him, and he smiled down at her. She pressed her head against her mother’s coat, peeked at him again, and giggled. Gabe’s smile widened into a genuine grin.

“Maybe your husband didn’t think about it. A write-up about the contagion was on the front page of this week’s paper, a headline in bold type so it really stood out. I guess maybe you missed it?”

“We don’t buy the paper,” she replied.

Judging by her worn cloak and the faded hem of her dress, Gabe guessed the Wilsons couldn’t spare the coin. “Well, it’s lucky that Doc asked me to wait out here for you then,” Gabe replied. “If you take Charity inside, he’s afraid she’ll come down sick with this ailment, and it’s a dangerous one.”

“My husband mentioned that a couple of old people died.”

“More than a couple,” Gabe corrected. “Even Mrs. Barker, the lady who used to own the milliner’s shop, is dead.”

Rose Wilson retreated another step, tugging her daughter along with her. “I’m sorry to hear that, and thank you for the warning,” she said. “It was good of you to wait out here, especially in this cold without a coat.” She turned to go and then stopped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name, sir.”

Gabe tipped his hat. “Gabriel Valance, ma’am, and pardon me for my lack of good manners. I should have introduced myself.”

She smiled shyly. “I shall tell my husband of your kindness, Mr. Valance. He stocks shelves for Mr. Redmond at the general store. If you stop by there tomorrow, perhaps he can arrange for you to receive a small discount on a purchase.”

“No need for that,” Gabe assured her. “I’m pleased to have been of help.”

Gabe watched as Rose Wilson scurried along the boardwalk with her daughter. He felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted off his chest. He took a deep breath of the crisp, cold air. What is it about women and coats? He shook his head, wondering at the differences between males and females. Then he turned to enter the physician’s waiting room.

The place was packed with sick people, standing room only. Gabe wove his way through the throng, fleetingly worried about getting sick himself, and then silently laughed at the irony. If he caught the contagion, it would have to work fast to beat the bullet he was destined for. A harried, gray-haired woman in a brown dress stood before the closed door of what Gabe guessed was the treatment room. She looked to be about Doc’s age. In one hand she held a small writing board, and in the other a pencil poised over the paper. Head bent, she went over a list, scratching things out and adding at the bottom. Gabe assumed she was the doctor’s wife and that she was keeping track of which patient’s turn it was.

“Mrs. Peterson?”

Her gold-rimmed spectacles had slipped to the end of her nose, so when she glanced up, she stared at him myopically. “Yes?”

“My name’s Gabriel Valance. I’m married to Nan over at the hat shop.”

Mrs. Peterson smiled wearily. “Ah, Mr. Valance. The good doctor mentioned meeting you. He came away with a high opinion of you, I must say.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Gabe replied. “Listen, I didn’t drop in to pester you when you’re clearly so busy. I just happened to run into Rose Wilson outside. She was about to bring Charity in for her weekly appointment. Given the girl’s weak heart, I didn’t think Doc would want her in here with all these sick folks, so I warned Mrs. Wilson away. Doc told me that he believes illness is spread from person to person and that this sickness is hitting the little ones and the old people really hard. Charity is probably frailer than most children her age.”

Mrs. Peterson winced. “Oh, dear, how right you are, Mr. Valance! My husband wouldn’t wish for Charity to be here. She’s so very fragile! I should have thought to get a message over to Rose myself, but I’ve been . . . well, extremely busy, and I just didn’t think of it.” She seemed to wilt before Gabe’s eyes, like a picked flower left too long in the sun. “It’s my job to keep track and make other arrangements for patients like Charity.” She pressed the hand holding the pencil over her heart. “It’s just that so many are sick. I’ve barely had time to think. I’m so glad you warned Rose away. If something were to happen to that precious child because I failed to . . . Well, I’d simply never forgive myself.”

“Can you ask Doc to stop by the Wilson place when he has a chance?” Gabe asked.

Mrs. Peterson jotted a note to one side of the patient list. “I certainly shall.” She sent Gabe another strained smile. “It is God’s work that you did out there. It settles in the chest, you know. My husband keeps telling people to stay home, or if they must go out, to wash their hands thoroughly after shopping, but very few listen. His belief about how illnesses are spread hasn’t been proven, and most people think he’s gone a little dotty.”

Gabe left the waiting room feeling as if he were walking on air. And, he thought with wry amusement, he was one of the few people on earth who actually knew how that felt. God’s work. As he strode along Oak Street toward Main, he grinned broadly. Maybe in hell he’d get to perch on a fire-warmed rock and wouldn’t have to stand with his feet in the flames. At the corner, he stopped to pull his watch from his pocket. Not yet noon. Maybe he’d be home in time to help Nan and Laney make cookies.

As he passed the saloon, Gabe was picturing how gorgeous the tree would look tonight with lighted candles on it. He felt as excited as he imagined a small child might. Christmas. It was such a special time of year, and he was about to experience it firsthand. Well, not all of it. He’d miss Christmas Day. But he damned sure meant to enjoy the bits that he could.

His feet dragged to a stop in front of the brothel stairway. His chest tightened. Then he thought, Why the hell not? In for a penny, in for a pound. He took a sharp left and ducked under the stairs.

The boy huddled in the corner. Gabe saw that he now wore new boots, compliments of Nan, but from the ankles up, the kid was a sorry sight. He shrank into the corner formed by the two exterior walls. Nan’s pretty quilts, which he’d been keeping warm with, were now even dirtier than he was.

“If you’re gonna shoot me, take careful aim,” the youth said loudly. “I don’t want no slug in my kidney, either.”

Gabe realized that the boy had witnessed his confrontation in the street with the aspiring gunslinger. That led Gabe to wonder what other awful things he had seen. He was hiding right in the middle of the devil’s playground, and what he hadn’t actually witnessed, he’d probably overheard.

“I’ve never shot anybody who didn’t try to shoot me first.” Gabe sat with his back to the clapboard siding, about three feet from the kid. He said nothing for a moment, and when he did speak, he weighed his words carefully. “You know that nice lady who brings you food and bought you the boots?”

“Your wife, she said.”

“That’s right; she’s my wife.” Gabe repositioned his hat, nudging up the brim to make his face more visible. “She’s a good woman with a gentle heart.”

“Fussy as can be, though. She likes usin’ big words and actin’ fancy. I don’t understand what she’s talkin’ about half the time.”

“A really good cook, though.”

The boy nodded. “True enough. I never ate meat as tender as what she puts in my sandwiches. She makes ’em so thick I can hardly open my mouth wide enough to sink my chompers into ’em.”

“She doesn’t want you going hungry.” Gabe rubbed behind his ear. “She wants to take you in, give you a real home, and raise you like you were her own, you know. I told her absolutely not.”

The kid shot Gabe a glare. “Why? You figure I’m not good enough to be around her kind?”

“Pretty much. I bet you’d squeal like a stuck pig if she told you to take a bath.”

“I would not!” The boy pushed at his hair. “My mama made me take baths regular-like, at least once every two weeks, and in between I took whore’s baths.”

Gabe deliberately winced. “There, you see? You talk like a guttersnipe. I was right to tell her no. She’s a lady, and she’s trying to raise her daughter to be one. She can’t have some rough-talking kid in her home. You’d be a bad influence on Laney, for sure.”

“Laney. Is that the fussy little snot with ribbons on her pigtails?”

Gabe almost grinned. “That’d be Laney, only she’s not a snot. Fussy, maybe. Most females are.”

“My mama wasn’t.”

“My mama wasn’t, either. But ladies of the night, like your mama and mine, don’t have much chance to be particular, do they? They lead hard lives, and it’s a challenge just to keep food in their bellies.” Gabe gazed out at the street, watching a couple of wagons pass by. “Somebody in this town ought to start a whore-saving place, some nice building where women like your mama could stay, and even be given money so they could leave this town and try to make a new start. That way they wouldn’t feel the need to take off with some sweet-talking cowpoke and end up in a world of hurt somewhere along the trail.”

“Ha.” The youth shifted and hugged his bony knees. “You go on and do it, mister. All the highfalutin folks in this town would tar and feather you up, then run you out on a rail.”

Gabe chuckled. “Random doesn’t have any rails. I reckon they could tie my ankles to the back of a stagecoach and drag me out of town, though.”

“I doubt it. They’d be afraid of gettin’ shot for their trouble.”

Gabe couldn’t argue the point. Not many people felt inclined to take Gabe on.

“You reckon that’s what happened to my ma? That she ran into a world of hurt?”

The boy’s voice rang with dread, but Gabe also heard a note of resignation. The kid knew his mother would never come back. He was still clinging to a fragile hope because that was all he had. “I’m afraid so, son, though I’m sorry to think it.”

“That cowpoke—he wasn’t no good. He told Mama he loved her. He promised her the moon. Even said once they got settled somewhere, she could come back for me. I tried to tell her he was a lyin’ bastard, but she believed him and went.”

“So what do you plan to do now?” Gabe asked.

The boy rested his chin on his knees. “I haven’t got past waitin’ for her yet. Mama loves me. She’ll come back if she can.” He slanted a look at Gabe. “She’s a good mother. You probably think no whore can be, but if you do, you’re wrong. When she got pregnant with me, the madam where she worked told her to get rid of me before I got born or else she’d lose her job. Mama kept me and ended up on the street.”

Gabe’s heart gave a painful twist. “What’s your name, son?”

“Christopher.”

“Well, Chris, I—”

“It ain’t Chris. You got bad hearin’ or somethin’? My mother named me Christopher, and she held real tight to that. Said it was a proper name, one for me to be proud of.”

“It’s a very proper name,” Gabe agreed. “It has a real important ring. Does it come with a surname?”

“Broderick. That came from my mama. She didn’t know for sure who my daddy was.”

“Christopher Broderick,” Gabe mused aloud. “That’s real fine. If I were to invite you to come home with me and spend Christmas with my family, do you think you could clean your mouth up, take a bath, suffer through a haircut, and condescend to wear some new clothes for a few days?”

Christopher favored Gabe with a disgusted look. “That your idea of doin’ a good deed for Christmas? What happens after? Do I get tossed back on the street in my holey clothes to stay under this staircase again until my mama comes back?”

“That would depend on you,” Gabe replied. “I won’t countenance any foul language in the presence of my ladies. Absolutely none, and if you’re inclined to pitch fits, hurting others in the process, I don’t countenance that, either. And if you steal so much as a penny from my wife’s cash drawer, I’ll skin you alive and hang your hide over the back line to dry. Are we pretty clear on what I expect?”

“What, exactly, do you count as foul language?”

Gabe met the boy’s questioning stare. “If you say ‘shit,’ I’ll serve you some on a spoon and make you eat it. If you say ‘hell,’ you’ll think you’re there for a nasty visit. If you say ‘damn,’ I’ll kick your behind so hard your tonsils will ache. Is that exact enough for you?” Gabe waited a beat. “And no calling my daughter a fussy snot, either. You can call her fussy if you’re inclined, but watch out for her right hook.”

Christopher grinned. “Are you really gonna take me home with you?”

“Only if you agree to my terms. And if something happens that I’m no longer around, I want your word, as Christopher Broderick, that you’ll continue to abide by my rules until your mother shows up.”

“Hot damn, what’re we waitin’ for?” The kid scrambled to his feet so fast his head came into contact with the bottom of the staircase. He barely seemed to notice. “You . . . I mean, this is for real? You mean it?”

Gabe wondered if he was about to make the worst mistake of his life. Well, not the worst, maybe, but close enough to call it a first-ring bull’s-eye. “We’re waiting for you to give me your word.”

“You got it.”

“Say it.”

“You’ve got my word as Christopher Broderick.”

Gabe gave him a long, measuring stare. “Is your word as good as your name, Christopher?”

“I’ll try my best to make it be.”

Gabe figured that was all that could be asked of anyone. He pushed to his feet and dusted off the seat of his jeans. “We’ve got a heap of shopping to do, then. I can’t take you home to my wife without some decent clothing for you to wear. She’ll want you in the bathtub lickety-split, and what you’re wearing will go in the fire. Even standing upwind of you, my nose is twitching.”

“You’d stink, too, if you went as long as I have without a bath. Last rain we had, I wet a piece of sheet in a mud puddle to wash up. People around here get real upset if I borrow from their rain barrels. One man took after me with a shotgun loaded with rock salt. My ass was on fire for days.”

“Ass,” Gabe echoed. “There’s another word I don’t want you saying in front of the ladies.”

“If not ass, what do ladies call it, then?”

Gabe led the way across the street toward the general store. “I don’t rightly know. Now that I come to think about it, my wife pretty much pretends she isn’t in possession of one.”

•   •   •

Nan had just taken her big green mixing bowl from the cupboard when she heard the sound of boots coming up the stairs. She pasted a bright smile on her face and turned to greet her husband as the door opened, hoping that their disagreement that morning could go unmentioned and be put behind them. Arms laden with string-tied brown paper packages, Gabriel stepped into the room, wiggled his eyebrows at her, and said, “Nan, I brought home a guest.”

Nan smelled the boy before she saw him. The staircase acted as a funnel, bringing the unpleasant bouquet of an unwashed body into the room in a rush. “How lovely! And who might our guest be?”

Still on the stairs two steps below, the boy peeked around Gabriel’s lean hip. In the good light from the kitchen lamps, his shaggy, oily, and knotted hair was a sight to behold. “It’s me, ma’am.”

Nan had wished several times to bring the boy home, but Gabriel had adamantly said no. She tried to hide her surprise at her husband’s sudden change of heart. Apparently, after saving the little girl, he’d decided to rescue the boy as well.

“I’m on a roll,” he offered by way of explanation. Then, arms still filled with bundles, he stepped farther into the room to allow the child entry. “Nan, allow me to introduce you properly to Christopher Broderick. Christopher, this is my wife, Mrs. Valance. If she chooses to allow you the liberty, you may call her Nan.”

“Oh, most certainly! Nan is fine. Please do come in, Christopher. I was about to start making Christmas cookies.” She glanced at the child’s hands, which clasped yet more packages to his thin chest. Not only were his fingers brown with grime, but the undersides of his nails were black. “Perhaps, um, you’d like to . . . help.”

Gabriel saved the day. “He needs a good scrub first. Can you postpone cookie making to put some water on to heat?”

“The reservoir is full, and the water is piping hot. I just built up the fire to get the oven ready for baking.”

Gabriel deposited the packages he carried on the table and motioned for the boy to do the same. “He’s going to need a little extra. One tubful for washing and another for rinsing.”

Nan kept her large pots under the sink. She hurried over to fetch them. The sooner that child got neck-deep in water, the better. As it was, she’d have to dab vanilla all over the house to sweeten the air. Christopher. What a nice, solid name, with a ring to it that was similar to Gabriel. Perhaps, she thought disjointedly, soiled doves chose particularly impressive names for their children to draw attention away from the fact that they were bastards. Dear God. How had that word popped into her brain? Keeping company with Gabriel had tampered with her thinking, and if she wasn’t cautious, she’d soon be talking as he did, without a care in the world for propriety.

•   •   •

To Gabe, the remainder of the day and that evening ranked as the best he’d ever enjoyed. Well, if he discounted last night with Nan, anyhow. Making love with her had been purely glorious and inexplicably sweet. He’d never in his life wanted a woman so much, and he counted himself truly blessed to have had the experience. If he could figure out how to do so with two kids in the apartment, he meant to feel blessed again before bedtime. Maybe after the children went to sleep, he could spirit Nan downstairs and make love with her in a hidey-hole.

For reasons beyond him, she seemed to be completely over their quarrel that morning. In fact, she appeared to be happy beyond measure, and if she had a care in the world, she didn’t reveal it. Gabe was pleased. He didn’t want the time he had left to be ruined by gloomy thoughts.

After Christopher emerged from the water closet, transformed from a street urchin into a handsome youngster, Nan commandeered everyone to help in the kitchen. Laney, a difficult one to predict at times, surprised Gabe by befriending the boy in a relaxed, offhanded manner, almost as if she sensed that a bunch of ado would make Christopher uncomfortable.

“Here, Christopher,” she said as she handed him a bowl of dough. “You can help me roll and cut. Mama says those who don’t help aren’t allowed to eat.” Laney smiled impishly. “Unless you want me devouring all the cookies, you’d better fold back your shirtsleeves.”

Gabe would have bet a thousand dollars that Christopher had never even seen raw cookie dough, but the kid managed well enough by taking his cues from Laney. Soon he worked with the rolling pin while Laney came in behind him to industriously cut circular shapes with a floured tin can that was just the right size for sugar cookies. Nan got out flat, rectangular baking pans, and before he knew it, the wonderful smells he’d imagined that morning wafted through the kitchen, which was dusted with flour on nearly every surface. Nan, ever tidy, didn’t seem to be bothered by the mess. Instead of wiping counters and fussing, she stood at the stove, stirring a pot of cocoa fudge, a treat Gabe had never tasted. He had a hunch that Christopher hadn’t either.

Gabe went to stand at his wife’s elbow. Leaning in close, he asked, “Have I told you today how beautiful and sweet you are?”

Her cheek dimpled. “No, I don’t believe you have, Mr. Valance.”

Pitching his voice to a husky, suggestive whisper, he murmured, “That’s a mighty proper form of address. I hope it doesn’t mean that you plan to stand on formalities all evening.”

She flashed him a smile. “We’ve big ears about. Do you have a devious plan up your sleeve?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She giggled, and her cheeks turned a pretty pink. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

“No need to be. Your concerns were legitimate.”

She shrugged and deepened her smile. “Yes, but so were yours. I thought about it, and I came to understand how you feel.” She had paused in her stirring. In a hushed voice, she said, “Thank you so much for bringing Christopher here. It’s the decent thing for us to do.”

At that moment, Gabe’s thoughts were far from decent. He couldn’t wait to get her downstairs alone later. “Don’t scorch our fudge,” he warned.

•   •   •

After a quick supper of meat gravy over mashed potatoes, everyone joined in to help tidy the kitchen. Gabe was pleased by Christopher’s eagerness to lend a hand, even though the kid had no idea what to do. When everything shone per Nan’s rigid standards, Gabe went downstairs to bring up the tree, and then they gathered in the sitting room, where the small tables were now laden with treat-filled plates. They had brown-sugar brittle, squares of cocoa fudge, and two kinds of cookies, one a plain sugar cookie, the other containing nuts and brown-sugar crystals.

Lighted lanterns cast a warm golden glow over the room. Gabe stood back to admire the tree, which he’d placed in front of the window that looked over Main. “I think it’s perfect just as it is. Why trim it with anything?”

Laney squeaked in dismay. “Nuh-uh. We have strings of dried berries and little ornaments Mama and I made with things from her shop. Plus we’ve saved candle stubs all year just for this!”

Christopher stared at the pine boughs with a rapt expression on his face. Gabe knew the feeling. It was a very special thing to have a tree inside the house. Even the smell of it was divine.

With Gabe’s and Christopher’s help, Nan brought two boxes of ornaments upstairs, and the tree-trimming party officially began. Laney and Christopher prepared and served mugs of hot milk cocoa, so everyone could sip and nibble as the tree was draped with strings of dried holly berries. The hot chocolate was as good as Gabriel had imagined, and judging from the rapt expression on Christopher’s face when he took a sip, the kid agreed.

“Up a little,” Gabe was instructed as he adorned the higher boughs with garland. Then, “No, that’s not right. Down just a bit.”

Tree trimming, he discovered, was an arduous and exacting task.

“You can’t simply throw things on a tree,” Nan said more than once. And Laney always rejoined with, “Absolutely not!”

Gabe and Christopher shared a couple of long stares, sending silent, purely male sentiments back and forth. Fussy. And, oh, how the ladies did fuss. From the boxes, Nan unearthed frilly little things—ribbons tied into bows, several hand-fashioned Santa Claus and angel figures, and miniature Christmas trees of beaded green felt, all of which were hung from the tree boughs with bent hairpins. Then it came time to position the candle stubs.

“How the hell are we gonna make ’em sit straight?” Christopher asked.

“Language,” Gabe said softly.

Christopher flashed an apologetic look at Nan. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I plumb forgot.”

Nan placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It may be difficult for you at first, but after a time, avoiding the use of certain words will become habit.” Then, as if the slip had never occurred, Nan added, “And making the candles sit straight is easy. There’s a bit of a trick to it.”

The trick, as it turned out, was to light each stub, then tip the flame to melt wax onto the boughs. The blobs acted like a glue of sorts, affixing the candle to the needles.

When the tree stood finished, Gabe had to admit that all the fussing had been worth the effort. “Oh, that is pretty.”

“Wait until you see it with the candles lighted!” Laney cried.

“First, we need to bring out our socks and put them on the hearth, and then you children can set out the nativity scene on the top shelf of my secretary.”

“All my socks are brand-spankin’-new,” Christopher blurted, his expression filled with dismay. “I’d like to wear ’em all before I use ’em for anything else. What do we need to put socks on the hearth for, anyhow?”

Laney grabbed Christopher’s hand. “Your sock won’t be damaged, so you can wear it all you like later. But we must put one out. Otherwise Santa Claus will have nowhere to leave us small gifts.”

Gabe knew precisely what Christopher was thinking: Santa had never bothered to bring him anything before, so he wasn’t likely to start now. To the boy’s credit, he went with Laney and soon returned with a new sock in his hand. Laney had an older one, which was far too large for either her or Nan.

“I bought a pair of men’s socks at the general store,” Nan explained. “Our stockings weren’t practical.”

Gabe saw her point. It would take a heap of gifts to fill a full-length stocking. Before he knew it, he was rifling through his saddlebags for a sock of his own. Nan had done wash, and much like Christopher, Gabe hated to use a clean sock for such nonsense. But he didn’t think his grabbing a stinky one would go over well with his wife.

“What’ll we put in them?” he asked Nan a few minutes later while the kids were preoccupied with setting out the nativity scene. “I’ve never had a sock filled.”

“Store-bought candies, toiletry items, just silly little things,” she whispered back. Glancing up to catch the bewildered look on Gabe’s face, she smiled and added, “It’s part of the Christmas magic, Gabriel. We can even put funny things in the socks so everyone laughs on Christmas morning.” Her face went suddenly taut, and shadows filled her eyes. Then, forcing her lips back into a curve, she quickly added, “Perhaps Santa will come on Christmas Eve this year.”

Gabe felt as if a fist had connected with his solar plexus. Nan had just remembered that he wouldn’t be around on Christmas morning, and her expression drove it home for him as well. For an instant, he felt weighed down with sadness. But when he looked at the tree, he shoved the gloom from his mind.

Nan finally lit the tree candles. Gabe stood behind her, encircled her waist with his arms, and rested his chin atop her head. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Almost as beautiful as you are.”

She sighed and relaxed her weight against him. “There’s nothing more beautiful than a Christmas tree.”

Gabe could have argued the point.

Laney brought out her violin, and the next half hour was spent singing Christmas carols. Gabe and Christopher didn’t know the words, so they only hummed along as Nan’s and Laney’s sweet voices trilled in the room with, “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” “The First Noel,” “I Saw Three Ships,” and finally “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” After that, Laney played some other tunes, giving Gabe an opportunity to once again waltz with his wife. Looking down at her, the flickering glow of the candlelight playing over her golden hair and lovely face, he decided he hadn’t been far wrong the first time he saw her. She truly was beautiful enough to be an angel.

Until Nan’s upstairs workroom could be transformed into a bedchamber, Christopher had to sleep on the settee. Nan fashioned him a comfortable resting place with sheets, quilts, and a pillow.

After getting both kids tucked away for the night, Gabe sat with his wife at the kitchen table, his ears pricked for a change in Christopher’s breathing to signal that he’d fallen asleep. The instant Gabe heard a snuffle, he spirited his wife downstairs.

Nan giggled in the darkness of the shop. “Gabriel, we can’t engage in the act down here. We’ve no bed.”

Gabe figured he could make love to Nan almost anywhere. But given her fastidious nature, he felt fairly certain she would feel more relaxed inside her work area with at least the curtain pulled for privacy. “We’ll use your project table, ma’am.” He grinned.

“What?” She started to protest but he caught her close, stopping the words with a kiss.

Nan’s project table, once divested of stuff, served Gabriel’s purpose quite well. And, Nan, though nervous about engaging in the act in so inappropriate a place, responded to him with gasping, quivering surrender. When it came Gabe’s turn for release, his pleasure was so intense and physically draining that he wondered how he’d ever carry his limp wife back upstairs.