Chapter Twenty

Everything is pretty much the same as last time, Gabe thought. Or was it? As he crossed the saloon to stand at the bar, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was slightly off somehow. Had there been so many men inside the establishment the last time? Gabe hadn’t taken a head count that first morning, but now several of the tables had a couple of fellows seated at them. Strange. It was just after four o’clock in the morning. Very few people were normally still drinking at this hour. They’d either passed out or they’d gone home to sleep. And to top it off, it was Christmas morning. Didn’t these fellows have families?

Gabe thought of his own family—Laney, Christopher, Tyke, Jasper, and Nan. Oh, God, his precious Nan. If he’d had his druthers, he sure as hell wouldn’t be standing in this saloon, about to knock back jiggers of rotgut. These men needed a couple of angels to give them a good, hard shake so they’d appreciate the people who waited for them at home.

When the barkeep came to take Gabe’s order, he smiled and nodded. That was definitely different. Last time, all Gabe had gotten was a stiff, “Merry Christmas.” He ordered a whole bottle, just as he had the last time, even though he knew that having it marked with his name was silly. He’d never be back to pour another measure from it.

At the end of the bar, Doc Peterson nursed a drink. This time around, Gabe didn’t have to guess at the doctor’s identity; he knew the man and liked him. The poor fellow’s thin gray hair was in a stir, and once again his gray suit looked as if he’d slept in it. Gabe knew the physician hadn’t been home recently to catch some sleep. His wife never would have let him leave the house with his necktie all crooked and escaping from the stickpin.

Gabe looked into the mirror behind the bar and met the doctor’s gaze. Doc’s larynx bobbed. He inclined his head in a silent greeting, which was another different thing. Either Gabe’s memory was faulty, or he guessed not every detail could be exactly the same this time around. He’d lived this last month so differently than he had the first time, and according to Nan, he’d collected some friends along the way. Knowing that felt damned good. At least this time when Raintree shot him, Gabe wouldn’t lie in the street feeling indescribably empty because no one would mourn his passing. Some people would feel a little sad when they learned of his death. And his family, he knew, would mourn him deeply.

Gabe just hoped Nan’s and Laney’s memories would be erased so they’d feel no grief. How would it be fair if they had to endure pain because he had failed so miserably at life the first time around that he’d needed to be sent back to take another shot at it? He had this sadness coming, but by God, they didn’t deserve it.

“You doing okay, Doc?” Gabe asked. He figured it’d be rude not to speak, and if that was breaking the damned rules, what the hell? He’d already broken so many that one more would hardly matter. “I sure hope the little Wilson girl isn’t sick.”

Doc shook his head. “No. Thanks to you, Charity is fine.” He smiled wearily. “I lost an old fellow tonight, though. The family is taking it pretty hard. In my business, you sometimes feel like a failure, and the only way to cheer up is to have a toddy.”

Gabe nodded. “Just don’t fall into the habit,” he warned. “You’ve got a mighty nice lady waiting at home for you, and there’s not a man alive who can save the whole world. You do your best. That’s all you can do.”

Doc lifted his glass. “Good luck, Gabriel. I think you’re due.”

Gabe frowned and knocked back the contents of his glass. Good luck? He couldn’t recall anyone ever having wished him that. No gunman worth his salt depended on luck. He counted on his instincts, his speed, and his accuracy—which was precisely why Gabe had left his weapons lying on Nan’s worktable. When he turned to face Pete Raintree, he didn’t want to react reflexively and slap leather. This time around, the kid would live to walk away. Whether he deserved to or not wasn’t the point.

Pouring himself one more jigger, just as he had the last time, Gabe smiled, albeit with a sting in his eyes. This time around, Christopher Broderick wasn’t outside under the brothel staircase, clutching his knees and wearing a ragged coat as his only defense against the cold. And when Gabe got drilled, he wouldn’t be missing an important breakfast date. Nope. This time the kid was safe at home, snug under a double layer of quilts on Nan’s settee. Gabe hoped the boy had taken a leap of faith to believe in Santa Claus tonight and was now dreaming about a jolly old elf filling his sock with sugarplums.

It’s time. Gabe wished he could ignore the seconds that ticked past in his head, but like he’d told Nan, he couldn’t hide from this, and he sure as hell couldn’t run from it. He drained his glass and set it back on the counter with a sharp click.

Doc stirred. “Hey, Gabriel.”

This sure as hell was different. Surprised, Gabe turned toward the physician. “What’s that, Doc?”

“If I never get another chance to say it, I want to say it now. Thank you for keeping Mrs. Wilson from taking her little daughter into my office this week. I don’t know what led you to be in that precise spot at that exact moment, but I’ll always thank God you were there and had the foresight to warn that woman away. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that you saved that child’s life.”

Gabe held that thought close as he pushed through the bat-wing doors and stepped out into the predawn darkness. His boots thumped on the boardwalk, making crisp yet hollow sounds. His senses were so sharp that his skin prickled. He’d told Nan he wasn’t afraid. But now he felt it—a cold, crawling fear that inched up his spine and turned his blood to ice. It wasn’t that he was afraid of dying. What terrified him was leaving Nan alone, and knowing that he would miss all the years they could have had together.

A snowflake drifted down, startling him. He thought he heard the plank walkway across the street creak under someone’s weight. Then he thought he saw movement in the thick shadows in front of the closed, dark-windowed shops.

Just nerves, he assured himself. And as he stepped out onto the street, he started to pray. If you’re listening, Lord, I still don’t have the words of your prayer memorized, so all I can do is talk to you inside my head, sort of like I’d talk to a friend. Gabe decided that sounded stupid and was glad he wasn’t saying it aloud. Nobody ever taught me to pray before I met Nan. Please watch over her for me. She’s the sweetest person I’ve ever known. I swear, she’s never had a mean thought or done a mean thing to anybody. As for me, well, I tried, but I guess you know by now that I can’t follow your rules even to save my own soul. Gabe let out a quivery breath. I’m sorry for that, but then again, not really sorry, so I won’t ask for forgiveness. Just know that I tried hard to think about things this time and do what I thought was right, even though the angels said different. Gabe kept putting one foot in front of the other despite a faint voice at the back of his mind that kept screaming for him to dive and roll. Any second now, Pete Raintree would shout his name. I guess that’s all, Lord. Except, if you have a second to spare, I could use a big dose of courage right now. It’s mighty hard to keep walking.

Gabe searched for the candlelight that should be shining from Nan’s shop window. All he saw was blackness. He took a few more steps, convinced that he wasn’t seeing right. She’d promised she’d stand at the glass. So where the hell was she? Why had she doused all the wicks?

“Valance! Gabriel Valance!”

The shout was followed by a gunshot that made Gabe jerk. He closed his eyes for an instant. He hadn’t been hit. Not yet. Then he slowly turned around. His hands ached to go for his guns, to shoot back and try to save himself. Only he already knew how that would end, and in a crazy way he was glad that he wasn’t wearing his Colts.

A male voice barked from somewhere off to Gabe’s left and nearly startled him out of his boots. “Drop it, Raintree!”

What the hell? This isn’t in the script. The next instant, Gabe saw men spilling from the saloon. Who were they? The movement in the shadows that Gabe believed he’d only imagined moments earlier materialized into men—shopkeepers, hired help—all of them with rifles aimed at Raintree and ready to fire.

“Drop the gun, mister!” someone else shouted. “One wrong move and we’ll fill you with so much lead, you’ll leak like a colander!”

“You heard him!” another voice warned. “Here in Random, we watch out for our own!”

It seemed to Gabe that men shouted warnings from nearly every direction. Doc’s tenor stood out from all the rest. “We folks in Random stand together, son. I don’t hold with killing, but I do shoot rattlesnakes, and right now, you’re looking like one to me.”

Stunned, Gabe couldn’t think, couldn’t move. This wasn’t happening. He shook his head and blinked, but nothing changed. Then his bewilderment turned to spine-chilling terror when a woman’s voice, thin and shaky, shrilled from behind him.

“I’ve got a gun on you, too, Raintree!”

Nan? Gabe couldn’t credit his ears.

“I’ll shoot you dead; I promise you. If you’ve got a brain in your head, you’ll drop that pistol to the ground!”

Oh, Lord. If Nan’s hands were shaking half as badly as her voice, she’d be the one to drop her weapon, and she probably had the damn thing cocked. What the Sam Hill was she thinking?

Pete Raintree, as tall and gangly as Gabe remembered, staggered in a full circle, clearly too panicked to think straight. Instead of dropping his weapon, he waved it around, saying, “Are you people crazy? This is a shoot-out. You ain’t s’posed to interfere!”

A new kind of fear filled Gabe. He couldn’t let that kid die just because he was too stupid or too scared to put down the weapon. Gabe threw up his arms. “Don’t shoot him! Please don’t shoot him! Raintree, drop the goddamned gun! They’re gonna drill your hide with holes if you don’t.” Gabe saw the younger man turn toward him. “Throw it down. Just throw it do—”

Gabe felt the punch of lead hit him in the chest before he heard the shot. He staggered back but didn’t fall. Then, as if a metal bar struck him across the bend of his legs, he went to his knees.

“Gabriel!” Nan screamed his name. Gabe heard the terror and anguish in that cry, but damned if he could turn his head to look at her. He felt numb all over. Go back, he wanted to yell, but he couldn’t make his vocal cords work. The darkness around him grew blacker. Bright little spots bounced in front of his eyes. Noise exploded against his eardrums, a staccato of weapon reports. “Gabriel!”

He felt her arms come around him. And for just an instant his vision cleared. Nan, my window angel. Only she wasn’t safe inside her shop; she was on her knees beside him in the street. What if she took a bullet with his name on it?

Gabe felt himself slumping sideways, felt Nan’s fingers clutching frantically at his shirt to hold him up. Then he hit the ground, shoulder first. He figured his head must have hit, too, but he was beyond registering anything. Blackness moved in. He knew how dying went. The only difference was, he didn’t feel so cold this time.

Because Nan’s arms were around him.

•   •   •

“No!” Nan screamed the word. She felt blood seeping from Gabriel’s chest, hot and sticky against her hand. “No! Please, God, no!”

This can’t be happening, she thought wildly. Nearly all the shopkeepers along Main had heeded her warning and had been waiting to protect her husband. Why, oh, why had Gabriel interfered, trying to save a no-account man who didn’t deserve to be saved?

Don’t shoot him! Gabriel had shouted. And then he’d raised his arms and walked toward Raintree, making a target of himself. No! She couldn’t understand. Why would God take such a wonderful man when he was needed here by so many? Laney needed him. Christopher needed him. Tyke Baden needed him. Even Jasper needed him. And so do I! He’s my life, my heart, every breath I take!

Hard male hands closed over Nan’s shoulders. She vised her arms around her husband, knowing that those hands meant to take him from her. She braced against the tugs. Then she shrieked and fought, blindly lashing out. “Leave him be. Don’t touch him! Leave us alone!”

But in the end, Nan’s strength was no match for that of the men, and they pried her husband from her arms. Dazed, robbed of comprehension, Nan knelt on the frozen earth with snow pelting her face. One thought kept circling stupidly in her brain, something Gabriel had told her: that nothing could interfere with the plans of the angels. I can’t hide from God.

Nan felt as if her heart were being ripped from her chest. She covered her face with her hands and began rocking back and forth. All for naught. All her efforts to save Gabriel’s life had been futile, the silly, desperate contrivances of a frantic wife to save a man already marked for death. Only why? She couldn’t understand it. Gabriel, so wonderful and good of heart, had been taken from her while hundreds, probably thousands of less deserving husbands still lived.

“Mama?”

Laney’s voice barely penetrated the fog. It seemed as if the girl called out to her from a great distance. She felt a grip on her arm and recognized Laney’s touch.

“Mama, they carried Gabe to Doc’s!” Nan felt Laney give her arm a yank. “Not to the undertaker’s, Mama. Do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Nan blinked. She was almost afraid to comprehend Laney’s words. It would kill her to be given false hope. “What?” She brushed at her cheeks. “What did you say?”

Laney knelt down to look Nan in the eyes. “I don’t think he’s dead, Mama. I know Raintree shot him in the chest again, but it didn’t kill him this time. At least, I don’t think it did.”

“He ain’t dead.” That was Christopher’s voice. “At least, not yet he ain’t. Dead men don’t get carried to Doc’s. They get took to the undertaker.”

Nan’s heart squeezed. Then, as the children’s words sank in, hope unfurled like a bud opening to the sun.

Nan scrambled to her feet. Flanking her, both children grabbed her arms to help get her steady on her feet. Not dead. Nan broke into a run. Not releasing their holds on her, both kids raced along beside her. When they hit the boardwalk at the corner of Oak and Main, their bare feet made loud thumps on the icy planks.

Men crowded the waiting room. Nan scanned the familiar faces of fellow business owners, but she could ascertain nothing from their stoic expressions. Lifting her chin, she tried to push through their ranks to reach the inner door, but Mr. Redmond caught her back. “You mustn’t go in there just yet! Doc’s working on them both right now. It’s no place for a lady.”

Nan realized that she stood before these fellows in nothing but her nightgown and wrapper, which hung open with the sash drooping uselessly at her hips. Lady? She no longer cared to be a lady; she wanted to be Gabriel’s wife. She planted a hand on Redmond’s chest. “Let go and get out of my way! I want to see my husband!”

“Mrs. Valance, I can’t allow—”

Allow. That single world set off white sparkles inside Nan’s head, and no one in the room ever found out what Burke Redmond couldn’t allow. Every bit of ladylike behavior Nan had ever learned fell away from her like a discarded cloak. This man was trying to prevent her from going to Gabriel. Reacting instinctively, she brought up her right knee forcefully and felt it connect. Redmond made a clogged sound, like a turkey whose feathers had been violently pulled, and released her at once, staggering against the wall. Nan spared him not a glance and stepped into the next room.

Doc glanced up from where he was working over Pete Raintree’s thigh. His spectacles rode low on his bony nose. Mrs. Peterson stood slightly behind him, holding surgical implements in her hand. The patient appeared to be unconscious, whether from near death or a pad soaked in chloroform, Nan didn’t know. Nor did she give a flip.

“Why on earth are you working on him when my husband needs you more?” she demanded.

Doc smiled wearily. “Don’t count me as a total fool. I worked on your husband first, and all he really needed was some flushing out and stitching up. He’s out cold, and he’s lost some blood, but he’s in no danger of dying unless infection sets in, and I don’t expect that to occur. The bullet hit a harmonica in his shirt pocket. Cracked the ivory, glanced off, and went in way to the left of his heart. Missed anything vital, thank God, and basically cut a trench through his underarm before it came out the back side. He’ll have a mighty sore chest and arm for a week or two, but it’s not a life-threatening wound. Should heal up just fine. But this young feller’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“But—” Nan broke off to drag in a bracing breath and moisten her dry lips. “It hit Gabriel right over his heart! And I felt the blood pouring out.”

“Bleeding hard is a good thing in this case. Cleans out the wound. He’ll be weak from it, but a strong man like him should bounce back pretty quick.” Doc inclined his head toward the other table. “Grab a chair. You can sit with him if you like. While I was stitching him up, he started to come around, so I had to put him back under. He’ll probably wake up madder than a badger tangled up in a briar patch. You’d better take a load off your feet while you can, because he’ll be a handful when you take him home.”

“Home?” Nan said the word as if it were one she’d never heard.

“Heck, yes, home.” Doc shook his head. “I’m not keeping him here. He’ll be hurt only enough to be pesky, and I’d a whole lot rather he pester you.”

Nan rushed over to the table where Gabriel lay covered to midchest by a white sheet. Tears stung her eyes when she saw the rise and fall of his breathing. He was alive. Pete Raintree’s bullet had missed its mark this time. She didn’t understand, but right then she didn’t care. Gabriel was alive.

Taking her husband’s limp hand in both of hers, Nan lifted it to her cheek. The warmth of his bent knuckles against her wet skin was the most wonderful thing she’d ever felt. Her plot to save Gabriel’s life had worked!

Only, even as that thought shot through Nan’s mind, she knew it wasn’t true. Despite all her contrivances, Raintree’s bullet had hit Gabe in the chest. The string of events leading up to that moment had all been altered because of her scheming, but even so, the ending had been exactly the same, except for one small detail: Gabriel had been carrying a gift of love in his shirt pocket, a small harmonica inlaid on both sides with carved ivory, given to him for Christmas by a young girl who’d come to worship the ground he walked on.

“It’s a miracle,” Nan whispered to her unaware husband. “God gave us a miracle.”

Clinging to Gabriel’s hand, Nan wept with joy and sent up silent prayers of thanks to a God she’d lost faith in for a short while. She would never make that mistake again. Wondrous things happened only through Him, and she’d been a complete goose.

•   •   •

Gabe jerked awake. He stared stupidly up at a cedar-plank ceiling. There was amber light, but he couldn’t tell where it came from. And, oh, man, his chest hurt like hell on a rampage. That sure hadn’t happened the first time around. He blinked to clear his vision. He was in a room, stretched out on his back on a hard, narrow bed. Definitely not in a shack this time, but he still saw no pearly gates.

“So, you’re finally awake.”

Gabe knew that voice, and it didn’t belong to any angel. “Doc?” he croaked. “What the hell . . . ? Are you . . . Where am I?”

“Gabriel!” Suddenly Nan’s pale face appeared above him. She looked like death warmed over as she cupped a cool hand to his cheek. “Oh, Gabriel, I thought you’d never come around.”

“What are you two doing here?” Gabe demanded. Despite the pain it caused him, he pushed up on his elbow. “Are you dead, too? Dammit. Those angels can’t get anything right! This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

Doc came over to push Gabe back down onto the bed. “Don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Valance. This happens sometimes after a dose of chloroform. A patient awakens agitated and a bit confused.”

“I’m not confu—” Gabe broke off. I’m not dead. He stared hard at Nan for a moment to be sure she was real. Then he shifted his gaze to Doc and looked past the physician at Mrs. Peterson. “Sorry, ma’am. I think I forgot myself and swore.”

Mrs. Peterson smiled and pushed her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose. “No worries at all, Mr. Valance. I’m pleased as punch to see that you’re rallying, just as my husband predicted.”

In a daze of disbelief, Gabe listened to a summary of what had happened a few hours ago on Main. He was particularly surprised to hear that Pete Raintree had survived and now occupied the other treatment table.

“Only a flesh wound in his thigh. Luckily, I’m a fairly good shot. The missus and I used to live in California, where rattlesnakes were thick, so I got a goodly amount of practice with my pistol.”

“You shot me?”

That was Raintree’s voice, Gabe realized, and he sounded hale and hearty. Well, not hale and hearty, exactly, but definitely alive and unhappy. Maybe even insulted.

“Ah, so you’re awake, too. I never time it exactly right with that blasted chloroform. I hoped you’d be out for a while longer.” Doc circled his wife to return to his other patient. “Yes, it was me who shot you, and you’d better be glad of it. My pistol holds small rounds, and I hit where I aim. The bullet did some damage, I confess, but you’d be dead if any of those men had taken you down with a rifle. Instead they just shot the ground all around you to make their point.”

“First you shoot me, and then you patch me up? The people in this town are plumb crazy.” Raintree sat up, bunching the sheet over his groin. “Shit, I’m buck nekked and there’s females in here. Where are my pants? I’m gettin’ the hell out of here. It might be catchin’.”

Doc gestured toward his wife. “My lovely assistant gave them a quick mend, but you’ll be needing a clean pair before you leave town.”

“My stuff’s at the hotel.” Sheet now draped around his hips, the younger man slid off the table. “Ach! Jesus! That ain’t no little hole you put in me, Doc. I’m gonna be a gimp.”

“No. But you will be sore for a few weeks. It’ll take some time for that thigh muscle to heal.”

Raintree snatched his pants from Mrs. Peterson and hobbled into what Gabe presumed was a dressing closet. Gabe didn’t envy the other man the life he would have if he didn’t mend his ways, but he was jealous as hell that he wasn’t the one dressing to leave.

“How long do I have to stay here?” he asked Doc.

“As soon as your head feels clear, you can go on home. It’s Christmas, after all, and I think Mrs. Valance is perfectly capable of seeing to your needs, few as they will be.” The physician assumed his professional mien. “Lots of fluids, plenty of rest, and no lifting anything over ten pounds with the injured arm for at least six weeks. You got off very lucky. It’s mostly only a flesh wound, but your ribs took a hard hit, and your chest muscles were scored by the bullet. They need time to completely heal.”

“My head’s clear.” Actually it was anything but. Gabe didn’t feel woozy, just a little dizzy, but he felt an urgent need to be outside breathing fresh air. As for his head being clear, right now he was confused as hell. He was glad to see he still wore his britches, but his shirt and boots had vanished. “Where are my duds?”

Nan helped Gabe put on his boots. Then she produced one of his black shirts. “Christopher brought it over. Your Christmas shirt is ruined, I’m afraid.”

Gabe’s chest was wrapped, but his left arm hadn’t been anchored to his side. He winced as he slipped on the shirt, then stood still while Nan buttoned it for him. Moments later, they stood outside on a snow-covered boardwalk. Old footprints were already filling with fresh flakes, Gabe noticed. He dragged in a deep breath and looked incredulously toward Main, where he’d been destined to die a second time. He was so tired his legs felt wobbly, but from someplace deep within him, a desperate energy radiated up through his belly and into his chest. He yearned to shout and laugh. Only, what if this was only temporary, and the angels could show up at any moment to fetch him?

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he said softly.

Nan hugged his right arm and pressed her cheek against his sleeve. “Oh, yes, you are,” she murmured. She looked up at Gabe with those beautiful silver eyes that never failed to make his heart quicken. “In fact, you are precisely where you are supposed to be, Gabriel: here with me.”

“But—”

“No buts.” She produced his Christmas harmonica from her cloak pocket. “There was a last-minute change of plan in heaven, I think. It was decided that you needed to remain here with all the people who need you. I wholeheartedly approve of that choice. Perhaps you are still only on loan to me, but the same holds true for everyone we love. We should take for granted not a single moment.”

Gabe accepted the badly dented harmonica with his right hand, turning it this way and that. The story of what had occurred was forever chiseled in the beautiful ivory. Laney’s gift to him had stopped the bullet that should have killed him. A tingling sensation worked its way up his spine. He tipped his head back to stare up at the sky. Snowflakes drifted into his eyes and melted on his cheeks. The crisp air was laced with wonderful smells coming from kitchens all over town. It was Christmas Day, and he was still alive.

Weak from blood loss and almighty sore in his chest and arm, Gabe had to walk slowly toward home and pause often. Second-story windows popped open along Main Street, and familiar faces grinned down at him and Nan.

“Merry Christmas!” was the repeated refrain. “Good to see you on your feet, Valance!”

Nan waved and returned the good wishes. Gabe had only enough strength to smile. When he felt better, he would visit every business owner to express his gratitude for their unfathomable support and loyalty during one of the darkest minutes of his life.

Pausing to rest again just across the street from Nan’s shop, Gabe directed his gaze to the upstairs sitting room window. He wasn’t surprised to see Tyke, Laney, and Christopher pressed in next to the tree, all waving madly at him.

“You know what just occurred to me?” Gabe whispered to Nan.

She nuzzled his arm with her cheek. “No, what?”

“I wasn’t sent back to save you—or Christopher—or Tyke.”

Nan leaned back slightly to search his face. “Why, then? You definitely wrought wondrous changes in my life.”

Gabe closed his eyes, enjoying the fabulous sensations of the snowflakes landing on his skin and the warmth of his wife pressed to his side. “It was me. All along, I was supposed to save myself, Nan.” He turned to take in her sweet, precious face. “I was the lost soul.” The truth of that sank deep into Gabe’s heart. “They didn’t tell me that, because it was a lesson I needed to learn by myself. Those stupid mandates? No wonder I questioned the rightness of them. All along, the angels wanted me to break the rules and put myself at risk. It was a test, and I damned near failed it!”

Ah, but you didn’t fail, a deep voice whispered in Gabe’s ear. You did well, Gabe. We are very pleased.

Gabe jerked. Nan flashed him a startled look.

“It’s a fine time for you to finally show up again!” Gabe said loudly.

“What?” Nan cried.

The angel Gabriel laughed softly. God be with you, Gabe. Enjoy your life, but live it well this time. I’ll give you only one last bit of advice: Always listen to your heart.

Gabe looked down at Nan, who frowned up at him. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Did I hear what?”

Gabe sighed. “I figured you’d say that.” He listened for a moment to be sure nothing more would be whispered; the angel Gabriel tended to be something of a chatterbox. When he heard nothing, he encircled his wife’s shoulders with his uninjured arm and stepped off the boardwalk. “Come on, sweetheart. We’ve got a family waiting and the rest of Christmas to celebrate.”

“You’re going to go straight to bed, Gabriel Valance. Don’t bother to argue. Burke Redmond will tell you I’m a woman to be reckoned with when I make up my mind.”

“Huh? Redmond? What did you do to him?” He remembered seeing Redmond on the street just before Raintree shot him. “Hell’s blazes, Nan, you didn’t accidentally shoot him, did you?”

She giggled. “No, but I think he wishes I had. He tried to keep me from entering Doc’s treatment room.” She giggled again, louder this time. “He didn’t succeed.”

“So what happened?”

She told him. Gabe felt his eyes bulge.

“You actually kneed him? You?”

“Once during a poker game, you told me and Laney how to take a man down, and I followed your advice. At the time, I wore only my nightgown and wrapper, which had come untied, so all my usual concerns about ladylike behavior flew out the window. I must say, I found it rather liberating. So I suggest you obey orders. Bed rest. At least for several hours.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Gabe grinned, deciding on the spot that he absolutely would not miss out on what remained of his first real Christmas. “Would it be possible for me to rest on the settee, propped up with pillows, so I can visit with everyone?”

“Champion idea!”

And as they walked together toward home, Gabe smiled. No heavenly mistake had been made. God had guided Gabe’s hand to slip that ivory harmonica into his shirt pocket.

As they stepped onto the boardwalk in front of Nan’s shop, Gabe remembered something important. “Did you ever go out back to find your Santa present?”

Nan looked blank for a moment. Then she laughed. “Good grief, no. I finally had the presence of mind to have Laney bring my clothing and shoes to the doctor’s office, but the last thing I thought of was Christmas gifts.”

“We can’t have that. I have it on good authority that Santa left you something extraordinarily special.”

Gabe drew her into the narrow alley that led to the back dooryard. As they closed in on the woodpile, Nan cried, “Oh!” Then she broke away from Gabriel to fetch the bouquet of hothouse red roses from atop a fence post, where he’d left them for her that morning. A huge pink bow with trailing ribbon held the stems together. “How on earth did you slip these past me?”

He chuckled. “I hid them in the alleyway.” Gabe glanced at the long, slender box resting on a lower rung of the woodpile. There was no reason for Nan to read the letter inside now. Gabe would ask Christopher to fetch the container later and toss it on their sitting room fire. “The instructions say to keep them cool until they’re in water. They’ve held up well. I’m surprised they aren’t ruined from being out in the open for so many hours.”

“It’s thirty-eight degrees, a perfect temperature for snow, and flowers as well, I’m guessing.” Nan held the blossoms to her nose and breathed in deeply of their scent. “Oh, Gabriel, roses in December. I can’t believe it.” She fixed him with a bedazzled gaze. “You’ve gone and done it now. I think Santa truly exists, and I shall expect him to bring me roses for Christmas every year for the rest of my life. They’re magical.”

“You’ll have them, and anything else I can get for you, sweetheart.”

Gabe walked closer to smell the unfurling blossoms. He started to bend down to kiss the woman who’d so completely stolen his heart. She saw him wince and stepped up on the pile of logs until their faces were level. He leaned forward, and their lips met in a featherlight kiss that went all through him.

If he could live out the rest of his days trying his damnedest to make her smile, he’d die the second time a very happy man.