Gabriel's Atonement (3 page)

She hoisted the mending bundle over her shoulder and then reclaimed her son's hand. Together they tramped down the trail, leaving Mr. Jones alone to figure out how to remount his horse.

It was a strong statement about her marriage that all she felt was relief now that she knew Tom was gone. And guilt, because she wasn't grieving.

Tom had been so charming when she'd first met him when she was fifteen. He was so unlike the solemn, hardworking men she'd known before him. He'd made her laugh, and spending time with him helped her get through her tough days that held far too much burden and responsibility. Lara's papa and mama had died four years before she met Tom, and her grandma died just ten months after her parents, leaving Lara as cook and housekeeper on her grandpa's small horse ranch at only eleven years old. Maintaining the home while watching her troublesome sister was more than a little difficult. Her older brother Jack's anger and talk of leaving tore out her heart, and then he left, too. On top of everything, she'd had to cheer up Grandpa and help him see he still had a reason to live—she and Jo needed him desperately.

She clenched the mending bag tighter. Life seemed unbearable for a time. And then she met Tom at a town festival. And he gave her a reason to smile. At least for a short while.

“You've got to be the prettiest gal in all of Kansas,” he'd said the first time they met.

She'd worn a faded calico and had just walked two miles in the scorching August heat. Lara knew she had all the appeal of a split tomato, but Tom still seemed enamored with her.

Once he turned the full power of his charm on her, she'd fallen fast for him. And look where it got her.

At least Tom would no longer be incurring debts that she was obligated to pay, nor would he show up out of the blue, expecting her to act like a loving wife who'd been pining for her husband.

A shiver charged through her. As hard as she'd tried, in their five years of marriage, she'd never been able to get Tom to give his heart to God. Just like her younger sister, Joline, Tom craved adventure. He was always running off, searching for the next way to get rich fast. The remorse she felt was for a lost soul—for the man she had once loved so much that she'd gone against her grandfather's counsel to marry him. And most of the time since then, she'd regretted her decision.

She glanced up at the bright blue sky, hoping in Tom's final moments he'd cried out to the Savior. Birds chirped in the few trees along the trail. Prairie grass swished on the morning breeze, and the poppy mallows and prairie violets turned their colorful faces to the sun. God's world still looked the same, but hers had changed. At just twenty-one years of age, she was now a widow.

But then, hadn't she been living as a widow for a very long time?

Kansas City, Kansas

April 4, 1889

G
abe slammed his fist down on his desk, rattling his coffee cup. “What do you mean she wouldn't come?”

Homer shrugged one shoulder in his typical noncommittal way. “Said she don't b'lieve that no-account man of hers left behind enough money to make it worth travelin' all the way here.”

The chair squealed as Gabe pushed back from his desk and stood. He padded across the thick Persian carpet to the window and stared down on the streets of Kansas City. People ambled about their business, and a tired horse tethered to a rail across the street drooped its head and swished flies with its tail. A wagon pulled by a team of mules moseyed down the road as its driver waved to a man on the boardwalk.

Gabe rolled his head from side to side, trying to relieve the tension knotting his neck. Why hadn't the woman been reasonable? Surely she needed the money.

He'd tried to do something good for someone else for once…. Now what?

Leaning his palms against the windowsill, Gabe rested his forehead on the cool glass. “Did she ask about the circumstances surrounding his death?”

“No, and I didn't say nuthin'. She didn't seem too overly upset about it, neither.” Homer wheezed a raspy chuckle. “You shoulda seen her swinging that branch at me like it was a club. Don't know that I coulda overpowered her if 'n I had to.”

Gabe turned and lounged against the windowsill, wondering what kind of woman wouldn't be upset over her husband's death. There were few respectable jobs for women, especially one with a child, so life was surely going to be more difficult for Mrs. Talbot. Any woman who would turn down a hundred dollars in gold coin intrigued him, especially a spunky one. But then she didn't know how much he planned to give her. Talbot only lost his twenty-dollar monthly pay, but adding Gabe's own funds to the kitty would help the widow more and ease his guilt over killing her husband. He still woke up most nights in a cold sweat when he dreamed of the shoot-out.

“She's a purty little thang.” Homer ran his hand over his thick stubble, making a scratching sound. “Got the most unusual pale green eyes I ever did see.”

Green. The sad eyes that had haunted his dreams since the ambush in the alley were light green. An unusual color for sure. “Her hair?”

“Golden brown, like a glass of fine whiskey held up to the light—and curly, just like that boy of hers.”

“Boy?” So the babe in the photo was Talbot's son.

“Cute little feller.” Homer yawned then smacked his lips. “Sure looked like they coulda used that money. Neither of 'em had on shoes, and their clothes was ragged. Found out Mizz Talbot's been doin' mending for some of the townfolk.”

Gabe sighed. He couldn't stand the thought of a child going without basic needs. It was only April, and the ground still held a chill. Neither mother nor son should be going without shoes so early in the year.

“You got somethin' else you want me to do, Mr. Coulter?” Homer Jones wiped his nose with his sleeve.

Gabe could barely abide the uncouth man, but Homer was loyal and did as he was told for the meager pay doled out to him.

“That's all for now.” Gabe pulled two dollars from his pocket, tossed it to Jones, then turned to face the window.

“You gonna be playing poker at the saloon tonight?”

“Where else would I be?”

“Now that I've got some money, maybe I'll get in on the game myself.” The door latch clicked as Homer left the room.

Gabe shook his head and chuckled. Likely, those two bucks would be back in his pocket before long. Homer ought to know better than to gamble with a professional.

Gabe flopped down in his chair and stared at the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk. Next month he'd be twenty-five. The deathbed promises he'd made to his mother plagued him like a bad bout of influenza. He hadn't been able to keep his first promise. “Read the Bible every day, Gabriel,” she'd said. “And become an honorable man like your father was.”

Too late for that. His dear mother would be so disappointed with how he'd turned out. But perhaps it wasn't too late to keep the second promise. Was there any hope a gambler could become an honorable man? He snorted and shook his head. Not likely.

He glanced across the room to the framed picture of his mother and real father on their wedding day. They'd been younger than he was now.

It was odd that he could love his ma and her memory but still resent her for making him promise those things. Knowing he'd committed to both read his Bible and become an honorable man had kept him from growing truly comfortable in his choice of career. And the closer he got to turning twenty-five, the edgier he grew.

Ma had no idea how badly his stepfather had mistreated him. He'd hidden all but the worst of the beatings he'd taken from the man he hated, and had explained the injuries away as falling off a horse or some other accident. But they'd taken their toll and had left him as crushed both emotionally and physically as a man who'd been run down by a herd of stampeding cattle.

He pulled the drawer open and stared at his mother's aged Bible. He touched the decorative leather cover then slammed the drawer closed with his boot, hoping to shut out the haunting memories.

Now what? His plans to soothe his befuddled soul by doing something noble had included seeing that the Widow Talbot received the money her husband left behind. Money Tom Talbot lost fair and square.

Gabe leaned his head back and closed his eyes, exhausted from the lack of sleep. Every time he tried to rest, he saw Tom Talbot's stunned expression as life quickly ebbed from the man's body. Talbot couldn't have been much older than he was.

And now the man was dead.

And a little boy was fatherless.

Sighing, he stared up at the decorative tin ceiling. Maybe the boy's mother would remarry—but having a stepfather could be far worse than having no father at all.

He looked around the classy hotel suite he lived in, with its stylish wallpaper and top-of-the-line furnishings he'd purchased. He had all a man could desire as far as fancy things and good food. So why did he feel so unsettled lately?

Was it because of the promises he'd made to his ma?

Or the blank look in Talbot's lifeless eyes?

He shook his head, trying to replace the image of Talbot with that of the man's wife. He pulled the photo out of his jacket pocket. A lean, pretty face stared back, albeit melancholy. Homer hadn't mentioned if she was tall or short. Those eyes haunted Gabe's dreams. And now they had color.

Lara Talbot sounded like a good woman, not swayed by money and ready to fight if need be to protect her son. His mother was the only truly good woman he'd ever known. If Mrs. Talbot was anything like his ma, he owed it to himself to make her acquaintance and to make restitution—if it was possible to make reparation for the life of Mrs. Talbot's husband.

This was a good time to get away. Other than to exercise the fine horse he'd won a few months back, he hadn't left Kansas City since he'd arrived ten years ago as a determined boy.

The town of Caldwell, on the southern Kansas border, wasn't all that far away. He could take the train, deliver the pouch of coins to Talbot's wife and son, and for once, be proud of something he'd done. He'd won Talbot's twenty dollars honestly, but it was blood money, and he needed to be rid of it.

Maybe after he made things right with the man's widow, he could journey down to Texas for his birthday. He'd always had a hankering to see the great state and to visit the Alamo.

He rose and walked to the window, his gut swirling with uneasiness. He couldn't forever put off the promise he'd made to his ma. His God-fearing mother was the only woman he'd ever loved, and he aimed to keep his word—just not yet. She wouldn't be happy knowing he made his living as a gambler in a fancy saloon. He could see her finger wagging in his face as she lectured him on the woes of gambling.

He blew out a loud breath.

Ma was long dead. She'd never know if he didn't keep his word.

But he would.

First he'd find this green-eyed widow and hand over the money. Then he'd see about reforming his life.

For the first time in years, excitement surged through him.

As Lara approached the sod shack that sat on the acre of rented land where her family lived, she slowed her steps. Her trio of nanny goats bleated to her and stuck their heads over the short fence, hoping for a handout. Michael plucked a dandelion and stuck it out, giggling when the billy goat snatched it with his big teeth.

She had kept the information she'd learned yesterday a secret while she examined her feelings and tried to comprehend that she'd never see her husband again.

How would the news affect her grandfather? Would he share her relief, mixed with the sadness of a life snuffed out at such a young age—a mostly wasted life?

Five years ago, she'd been so eager to get help for her grandfather that she had gone against his wishes and married Tom with the hope that having another man around would ease her grandpa's workload. But they'd lost the ranch after Tom went off searching for riches and adventure. Many times over, she'd regretted marrying him. Lara remembered something a woman at church once muttered when a local farm girl ran off with a traveling peddler.
“Marry in haste, repent at leisure.”

Lara sighed. That sure was the truth.

The sun glistened off the top of Joline's head as her sister ducked down and stepped through the low doorway of the soddy. Jo looked up, and her blue eyes sparked when she saw Lara.

“Where were you?” Jo glared at her.

“Out pickin' greens.”

“Well, it's about time you got back. Grandpa's had another of his swamp fever attacks.”

Lara closed her eyes and allowed the news to wash over her. “How bad is it?”

“Better than some, worse than others.” Jo stooped down to hug Michael and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Eww! You're all sticky.”

He giggled and tried to touch her with his dirty hands.

Jo jumped up and stepped back. “Oh, no you don't.”