Walking on Air (13 page)

Nan had suspected what was coming then—if only briefly. She had assured herself that not even her father would do something so vile. Though she’d been protesting the marriage, she hadn’t yet been openly defiant. She’d given her father no reason to sic Barclay on her.

Remembering the particulars of that evening once again brought tears to Nan’s eyes and a quiver to her knees. She went to sit on the edge of her bed, trying frantically to drive the images from her mind. But it was no use. Gabriel Valance had opened the thick black curtain in her mind, allowing the memories to escape. It was as if she were trapped in one of her nightmares, only she was wide-awake.

Her father had poured Barclay a snifter of brandy. Then, rubbing his hands together, Martin Sullivan had said, “I think I’ll retire to my study for a bit and give you two a chance to grow better acquainted.”

“But, Papa!” Nan had protested. “That isn’t proper. Until the marriage, I should be chaperoned at all times when I’m in Mr. Barclay’s company.”

“Oh, poppycock,” Martin had said with a smile—the cold, well-practiced, calculating smile that always put her on guard. “No one is in the house to carry tales, and the fact that you still refuse to address your fiancé by his given name proves my point: that the two of you need to become better acquainted.”

Nan quickly learned what
better acquainted
meant in the language of men. Barclay had wasted no time on pleasantries before pouncing. When Nan realized his intent, she’d screamed for her father’s help, but of course Martin hadn’t come, even though Nan knew he had heard her cries.

How could Gabriel Valance possibly know about that? It was, for Nan, such a dark, terrible truth that during her waking hours she refused to let herself think about it, let alone speak of it to anyone, not even Laney. And of the other two people in the house that night, one was dead, leaving only Martin Sullivan to have blabbed the story, and he was far too protective of his sterling reputation ever to admit that he’d committed a deed so foul.

Nan tossed her hairpins onto the table and thoughtfully ran her fingers through her loosened tresses. No matter how she circled it, she could think of no way Gabriel could have ascertained that particular bit of information about her past, so she was left with only two probable explanations: that he was either clairvoyant or a very good guesser. Either way, he’d destroyed her composure by throwing the truth in her face. She’d been caught completely off guard. It shamed her to recall weeping in front of him. Even more humiliating, she had allowed him to hold her on his lap, rocking slightly as if to comfort a child. It made her feel like a fool—and she greatly feared that Valance might now have the impression that she was weak.

The weak became victims. If an animal rolled onto its back during a fight, its opponent ripped open its belly. It was no different with human beings. The strong ruled the world, and the namby-pambies got kicked in the teeth.

Nan thought she heard a hall floorboard squeak. Fearful that her unwanted bedmate would return at any moment, she hurriedly threw back the covers, slipped between the sheets, and then huddled as close to the edge of the bed as possible, blankets and spread clutched under her chin. Was Valance a man of his word? Did he truly have no intention of touching her? His voice rang in her mind.
I swear
. He’d sounded sincere, but Nan had learned long ago that promises uttered by men meant nothing.

When he tapped on the door to enter, she could barely manage to say, “Come in.”

As he stepped into the room, the lantern light threw his shadow across the wall behind him, making him seem even larger than he actually was. She wanted to squeeze her eyes closed and not look at him, but her lids seemed to be frozen open. He strode over to turn off the lamp. The device hissed and sputtered, still giving off an amber radiance for several seconds before the wick finally went out. She could see nothing until her eyes adjusted, and even then, all she could make out was his silhouette as he circled the foot of the bed. Lying there with her back to him, she tried to guess where he was in the room and what he was up to. Being unable to watch him made her skin crawl, but if she turned over, she might catch him undressing.

His boots made soft thumps as he toed them off. Then she heard cloth rustle. She imagined him doffing his shirt. A floorboard creaked once more under his weight. She sensed rather than heard him approach at the opposite side of the bed.

“If it’s all right with you, I’ll hang my gun belt over the headboard on my side. I—um—can’t sleep without my Colts near at hand.”

Nan understood that in a way she never before could have. Right then, though she’d never owned or even touched a firearm, she wished she had a gun in the drawer of her bedside table. If so, she’d grab it and hide it under her pillow for protection. His professed intentions were merely words, as insubstantial as dandelion fluff. The only thing a smart woman counted on from a man was that he’d take advantage of her every chance he got.

Oh,
God
. She remembered the brutal dig of Barclay’s fingers into her flesh, how he’d panted and torn at her bodice, trying to bare her breasts. And he’d succeeded. To this day, recalling the touch of his pudgy, moist hand on her skin made bile surge up the back of her throat. She couldn’t bear to endure that again. Everything within her recoiled at the thought.

The blankets shifted, letting in a draft of cool air to lick at her back. Then the mattress sank under him, and she felt the warmth of his body radiating under the canopied sheet to curl around her. Judging by the sounds he made and all the jiggling, he was settling onto his back. Frightened, she rolled over to face him, taking care not to close any of the scant distance between them. Faint moonlight bathed his face and glistened on his hair, making the strands that fell loosely over his high forehead look bluish black. He’d folded his arms beneath his head, and to her dismay, his upper body wasn’t covered. Most men wore one-piece knitted underwear that covered them from throat to ankle. At least, she’d always surmised that they did.

Until now, Nan had only been able to imagine the bulging muscles in Gabriel’s shoulders, chest, and arms. Without the black shirt to cover him, she realized that her imagination had done him a grave injustice. His was a body that had been tempered by hard work to a steely strength. That frightened and fascinated her, both at once.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Nan wasn’t sure if she’d ever be really okay again. In a voice that rang flat even to her, she replied, “I’m fine.”

He stifled a yawn. “Been a long day, and tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. Do you and Laney have any special plans?”

The question had Nan’s thoughts circling.
Thanksgiving.
How was she supposed to focus on the holiday at a moment like this? She’d forgotten all about it. Finally, she collected her composure enough to say, “Just a quiet meal here.”

“No invites to join other families in their homes for dinner?”

“I don’t often go calling.”

“Why is that?” he asked.

Nan considered for a long moment before answering. “Given my past, which must remain a secret, I’ve avoided forming friendships. If I get too relaxed around anyone, I may slip up and say something I shouldn’t.”

He sighed, sounding weary beyond measure. “And Laney? What keeps her from slipping up?”

Relaxing slightly because he’d thus far made no move to grab her, Nan considered the question. “For Laney, it’s different. She remembers nothing from before. In her mind, life began here in Random. The shop and our living quarters are her world. From the very first, I taught her to call me Mama, even when we were alone. This is her only reality.”

“But it isn’t your only reality.”

“You know very well that it isn’t. Until Laney’s tenth birthday, nearly a full six years after we came here, I lived in fear that someone might learn of my whereabouts. Some days while working in the shop, I jumped at my own shadow. When the doorbell jangled, my heart would leap into my throat. I constantly felt as if I were treading on thin ice, waiting for it to crack and swallow me whole.”

He sighed again. “That’s no way to live.”

“I had no choice, and then today, after two years of feeling confident I’d never be found, you walked into my shop.”

“I’ll never go back on my word and turn you in,” he said, his voice going coarse again.

“If you grow bored with this situation—”

“Then I’ll scat. I mean you no harm, Nan. Try to believe that.”

Nan thought to herself that the word
harm
had many definitions. Even if Gabriel Valance never revealed her true identity to the marshal, he’d single-handedly managed to turn her whole life topsy-turvy.

He shifted to get more comfortable, and her heart jerked. He must have felt her stiffen, for he said, “I’m not going to force myself on you, honey. You can take that promise to the bank.”

With that, he let his eyes fall closed. A moment later he emitted a soft rumble, and she realized he’d fallen asleep. She felt a crazy indignation, which baffled her no end. She should be glad he’d drifted off. What was wrong with her? She stared at his sharply chiseled profile until her eyes burned with exhaustion, and still she couldn’t lower her lashes. A miserable night awaited her. She felt certain, absolutely certain, that she’d still be wide-awake when dawn broke and sunlight first bathed the window.

S
omething coarse and fluttery tickled Nan’s nose, and a lovely blend of scents—a faint muskiness, a hint of cologne, and traces of piney bath soap—teased her sleep-numbed senses and beckoned her from the dark dregs of dreamless oblivion.
How odd
, she thought drowsily. The layered blankets on her bed kept her cozy even on the coldest of winter nights, but as she drifted slowly toward wakefulness, she became aware of radiant heat enveloping her, almost as if she’d curled up against an oversize bed warmer. She struggled to open her eyes, squinted a moment until her pupils adjusted to the morning light, and then stared in bewilderment at a bare male chest only inches from her face. It was sparsely furred with black hair and was the delightful color of café au lait, her favorite kind of coffee.

Nan blinked. Memories came storming back, most of them alarming and the rest unacceptable. This man was her
husband
. As if dashed in the face with cold water, she came instantly alert and smothered a moan of abject dismay. Her nose was buried in Gabriel Valance’s armpit. It was his hair tickling her nostrils.

Nan stopped breathing, acutely conscious that Gabriel still lay on his back with his folded arms pillowing his head. It was not
he
who had moved toward
her
. She had closed the distance between their bodies in her sleep. And, oh, sweet
Lord
, she’d curled her left arm over his bare waist. Even worse, she’d propped a bent knee on his denim-sheathed thigh. She was snuggled full-length against him with certain very
private
parts of her body in unnervingly close contact with his.

Fully awake now, Nan tried to think what to do. If she moved quickly away, she’d startle him from slumber, and she absolutely did not want that. He’d kept his promise and not touched her. He would undoubtedly find it highly humorous if he opened his eyes to find her lying nearly on top of him.

Very carefully Nan drew her arm back, then focused intently on ever so slowly moving her knee off his leg. She nearly parted company with the mattress when his voice rumbled near her ear.

“I’m already awake. I was afraid to move for fear of startling you.”

“Consternation!” Nan rolled quickly away from him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened.”

“You were asleep. I reckon you got a little cold and just moved close to get warm.”

Close
didn’t say it by half. Now Nan understood why some people claimed they’d nearly died of embarrassment at certain moments of their lives. She wanted to cover her head with her pillow and never have to look him in the eye again. Instead, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. When the bare pads of her feet touched the floor, she felt no chill, but shivered as if she did.

“I didn’t mean to—um—crowd you,” she managed to say.
What must he think?
Undoubtedly that she was a wanton hiding behind a facade of propriety. “The last I remember, I was on my own side of the bed.”

“You weren’t crowding me. It was nice, actually. You have a very cute little snore.” The smile she heard in his voice made her wince.

“Snore?”
Nan cast him an incredulous glance over her shoulder. “Ladies do not snore.”

He chuckled and sat up to rake his fingers through his hair. “It’s a very
ladylike
snore.” His dark eyes, twinkling with laugher, met hers. “Soft, sort of whispery.” After studying her for a moment, he seemed to sense her dismay. With a shrug, he added, “Maybe you’re right, and I really shouldn’t call it a snore. The sound is definitely nothing like what some men make when they sleep. Over the years, I’ve heard some real wall shakers.”

Nan had moved past the snoring issue to a new concern: How could she get up and move about in front of him without being decently clad? She cast a glance at the armoire, where her wrapper hung inside on a door hook, and wished she’d had the forethought last night to drape it across the foot of the bed. Even though her gown was made of heavy cotton, it would provide her with precious little cover if she got between him and the sunlight that slanted over the half curtains at the window. She couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing her naked, even if only in silhouette.

“Is something wrong?” Gabriel asked. She felt the mattress jiggle as he swung off the bed. “You’re staring at the armoire as if it holds a bucket of gold nuggets.”

Nan turned slightly to look at him. “My wrapper’s in there. I forgot to get it last night.”

“Wrapper?” he echoed, his tone implying bewilderment. He rubbed one well-muscled shoulder as if to get the cricks out and stifled a yawn. Nan noted how the furring of hair across his chest narrowed into a diminishing dark line that descended to the waistband of his black jeans and then disappeared. A blush seared her cheeks when he caught her looking. He studied her, his brow pleating in a thoughtful scowl. Then, startling her, he snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes, your
wrapper
. Of course! Every proper lady wears a wrapper.” He drew open the armoire doors and fisted his hand over the deep pink robe. “This it?”

“Yes.” The garment looked effete in his big hand. When he stepped toward her, proffering it, Nan took it and said, “Thank you. It’s—um . . . The air has quite a nip in it this morning.” Curling the fingers of one hand over the cuff of her sleeve to anchor it at her wrist, she thrust her arm into the wrapper. “I’ll be warmer now.”

His firm mouth quirked at one corner. She half expected him to call her on the lie. She wasn’t really cold, after all. Instead, he went to collect his shirt, which he’d tossed over the back of a chair. As he shoved his arms through the sleeves and began fastening the buttons, he said, “I’ll go add wood to the fires. I don’t want you or Laney taking a chill.”

He sat behind her at the opposite side of the bed to pull on his boots. Then, circling around to face her, he tucked in his shirttails, apparently oblivious to the fact that a gentleman would never do such a thing. Nan sighed inwardly. She’d been so focused on all the physical aspects of this union that she hadn’t stopped to think how difficult it might be to teach this man some proper manners.

He started for the door, then stopped dead. “My guns. I can’t believe I almost forgot them.”

He retraced his steps to collect his weapons. Why he felt he needed to wear them this morning, she didn’t know. But she refrained from asking, mostly because she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer.

Once armed, with the plain leather holsters anchored snugly to his muscular thighs, he left the room, softly closing the door behind him. The starch drained from Nan’s spine, and her shoulders slumped. Though she knew she’d slept deeply, she didn’t feel rested and dreaded the day ahead.

The door popped back open and Gabriel poked his raven head in through the crack. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said with a grin that flashed strong, even white teeth.

It was a charming smile, Nan thought. A little
too
charming for her taste. It hinted of long practice. And she wasn’t about to be fooled by it. “Happy Thanksgiving,” she replied stiffly.

“I’m excited about it,” he told her. “It’ll be my first.”

She didn’t understand. “Your first . . . ? Your first what?”

“My first real Thanksgiving.”

Long after the door closed again, Nan sat on the bed, staring blankly at nothing.
My first real Thanksgiving.
Surely he’d been joking.

But something told her he hadn’t been.

•   •   •

After performing her morning ablutions behind a locked door in the water closet, Nan emerged into the hallway properly attired for the day. She’d chosen a rust-colored gown trimmed with brown—autumn colors appropriate for the holiday. After checking on Laney, who was still fast asleep, Nan crossed the sitting room and entered the kitchen, expecting to find Gabriel sitting at the table, waiting for her to make coffee and breakfast, expecting, as most men did, to be waited on as if he were a king. Instead the coffeepot was already set to boil atop the woodstove and her new husband was nowhere to be seen. She’d put away her nightclothes, so she knew he wasn’t in the bedroom.

“Mr. Valance?” she called. “Gabriel?”

“Back here!”

Nan followed the deep ring of his voice down the short hallway and stopped in the open doorway of her workroom. On his knees, her husband was scooping up handfuls of beads and returning them to the wooden box on the floor beside him. The sight was so astonishing that for a moment she was speechless.

“That’s my mess to clean up,” she told him when she found her voice. “There’s no need for you to do it. I’ll make fast work of it after breakfast with my broom and dustpan.”

He shook his head. “If you sweep them up, dirt from the floor will get in the box and all over the other beads.”

Nan couldn’t argue the point. She tried to keep a tidy home, but it was impossible to sweep even well-waxed floorboards perfectly clean. She wanted to thank him for being so thoughtful and willing to help, but a lifetime of bitterness toward men held her tongue. She would not be taken in by his pleasant demeanor. Nor would she lower her guard. Sooner or later, he would show his true colors. All of them eventually did.

Nan would be ready when that happened. Colorado had been a state now for more than four years, but women still weren’t allowed the right to vote, and Nan had little faith that the male populace was in any hurry to rectify that. Until women here were granted suffrage, they would remain lesser citizens without a voice, and in the interim, the men controlled everything. Nan had seen few overt demonstrations of dominance in Random, but the public demeanor of men in no way reflected what actually occurred in their homes behind closed doors.

She wasn’t sure what Colorado’s laws were in regards to a woman’s financial wealth after she married. In some states, the new husband automatically took possession of all his bride’s assets. In others, a wife could retain possession and control. Nan only knew that she wasn’t going to take any chances. She’d worked too hard and scrimped too long to save what little she had, and there was no way she would allow Gabriel Valance to take a single dime of it.

On Monday morning right after the bank opened, she’d slip across the street and empty her savings account before Gabriel thought to visit the bank himself. A floor plank in her downstairs workroom had started to work loose. With the claws of a hammer, she could easily pry it up, slip her money into the crawl space, and then nail the board back into place. It would be a perfect hiding spot. When Gabriel Valance grew weary of acting nice and started trying to rule her every word and action, she would be ready to act. She was certainly no stranger to packing everything she could carry in pillowcases and vanishing.

At her silence, Gabriel glanced up. “If my doing this upsets you, Nan, I can stop. I only wanted to get it cleaned up before someone else took a tumble.”

“No, no.” Nan forced a smile that stretched her stiff cheek muscles. It wasn’t only men who could hide behind a charming facade. She would pretend to accept this marriage. For the duration of the holiday weekend, she would be sweetness itself. After Monday came and went, and she had her money safely tucked away, she’d figure out an escape plan that she could execute in short order. Then she’d simply bide her time. If all went well, she’d be pleasantly surprised and more than willing to admit, if only to herself, that she’d misjudged this man. If all didn’t go well, she would spirit Laney away from this town and never look back. It would be difficult, and both she and Laney would feel sad, but in the end they would both be better off without a man ruling their lives. “I appreciate the help, actually,” she continued. “After throwing together a quick breakfast, I have to make bread and put it aside to rise while I make pies. It’ll be a very busy morning and early afternoon for me.”

“Pies?” He sat back on a boot heel and grinned from ear to ear. “You’re a pie maker?”

Weren’t all women? He made it sound as if making pies were the equivalent of roping the moon or plucking stars from the sky. Nan could almost see him salivating, and this time her smile wasn’t forced. “Ah, so you like pies, do you?”

“Like ’em? I
love
’em. Even the bad ones at restaurants taste good to me.”

Nan folded her arms. “What’s your favorite?”

“No favorite. Apple, peach, rhubarb, any kind of berry.”

“How about pumpkin?”

“You’ve got a pumpkin? Where? I’ll gut it if you’ll make some pies with it.”

Nan grinned. She couldn’t help herself. “It’s a deal. I bought a pumpkin on Tuesday from Burke Redmond at the general store. It’s in the cabinet under the sink. Last Thanksgiving I cut myself trying to stab a knife through a pumpkin shell. I’ve no wish to repeat the experience.”

He tossed some beads into the box. “Not too handy with knives, I take it.”

Nan tapped the toe of her boot, a nervous habit she’d never been able to break. “My talent runs more to knitting needles.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” He chuckled and bent to his task again. “Don’t overdo on breakfast. If pies are on the menu, I don’t want to waste much room on everyday fare.”

“I was thinking of oatmeal porridge and toast. That’ll be quick and filling.”

“Sounds grand to me.”

•   •   •

Twenty minutes later, Nan was about to put breakfast on the table when Laney emerged from her bedroom. Still in her nightgown with her hair loose and astir from her pillow, the girl tottered across the sitting room into the kitchen, stifling a yawn with her hand.

“Good morning, dear heart,” Nan said. “I hope you’re hungry. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Laney rubbed her eyes with both fists. “What are we having?”

Nan glanced at the child’s attire. Wearing only a nightgown had been okay before, but now that there was a man in the house, the child needed to change her habits. “Oatmeal porridge and cinnamon toast. While I’m setting the table, run get your wrapper on, sweetie. Now that we have a gentleman in the house, it’s important that we not parade around half-dressed.”

Gabriel appeared behind Laney in the sitting room archway. He’d apparently overheard Nan’s edict, for he swept a measuring look over the girl’s gown, arched a winged brow, and then met Nan’s gaze with a question in his own. Nan knew precisely what he was thinking: namely that the child was already decently covered. To Nan, that was beside the point. It was her job to teach Laney how to comport herself as a lady, and ladies did
not
keep company with men while en dishabille.