Walking on Air (17 page)

That set Laney to giggling so hard that she bent her knees and hugged her sides. Gabriel growled and, still in costume, snatched the girl off her feet and slung her over his shoulder. “A big, black,
ugly
crow? I’d much rather be a vulture and have you for supper.”

Laney squealed. “Help me, Mama! Help!”

Glancing at the window curtains to make sure no one outside could peek through a crack between the panels, Nan only smiled and shook her head, convinced that the child was in no imminent danger—unless, of course, Gabriel dropped her on her head. “Do take care,” she cautioned.

He grinned and set Laney back on her feet.

“A badger,” Laney suggested, straightening her skirt. “He should have a stuffed one on his head. They’re nearly as fearsome as he is.”

Nan was no longer certain Gabriel was as fearsome as his reputation painted him. The thought came into her mind from out of nowhere, and she didn’t welcome it. But once the sentiment took root, she found it difficult to dislodge. She knew her own reputation in town was that of a woman who did quality work and paid her bills on time, but was standoffish and made no friends. She’d even heard it said that she felt she was too good for the rest of the town. It wasn’t true, but people held fiercely to their own perceptions. Was Gabriel’s reputation as inaccurate as her own?

Before Nan could pursue that thought, a knock came at the door. Laney’s expression turned horrified. With a squeak, she stripped off her acting garb, grabbed Gabriel’s as he shed it, and then raced to hide the evidence of their foolishness in the storage closet. As Nan went to answer the summons, Laney was pretending to tidy shelves, and Gabriel was standing with one hip braced against the jewelry case, his dark eyes dancing with laughter.

Prudence James and Loretta Michaels, two of the worst gossips in town, stood on the threshold. As they hurriedly explained that they were in desperate need of red and green trim for a Christmas table runner they’d decided to make over the weekend, they craned their necks to peer past Nan into the shop.

“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” Prudence said. “We thought we had everything we needed, discovered that we didn’t, and want to finish our project today.”

Nan knew very well that they’d come to snoop, but she allowed them entry. “My till is counted down for the weekend. Anything you buy will have to be put on your bills.”

“Oh, no worries,” Loretta said with a flap of her hand as she swept past Nan with a rustle of her skirts. “We’ll settle with you tomorrow.” She jerked to a stop when she saw Gabriel and placed a splayed hand over her heart. “And who might you be? It’s not often I see a gentleman in Nan’s shop.”

Nan quickly made introductions. Gabriel grasped the fingertips of each woman’s proffered hand, and then engaged in polite small talk until Nan intervened by reminding the two busybodies that they’d come to buy trim. Gabriel took advantage of the distraction to go upstairs, leaving Nan to deal with her customers’ nosy questions. She kept her responses vague and was relieved when the two women finally left.

“They didn’t need trim!” Laney exclaimed. “All they wanted was to see Gabe up close. If he hadn’t been down here, they would have tried to wangle an invitation from you to go upstairs for tea.”

Nan couldn’t argue the point. “Gabriel handled it well, giving them no fuel for gossip.”

Laney snorted. “Those ladies lie, Mama. They don’t need a reason to say awful things about people.”

“True,” Nan agreed. “But looking on the bright side, if their story is intriguing enough, I may sell a lot of Christmas trim.”

Laney laughed. “Better yet, we could sell tickets! A nickel for a peek at the infamous gunslinger Gabriel Valance. We could get rich!”

•   •   •

The following morning, Nan dressed for the day, prepared breakfast, got Laney off to school, and then told Gabriel she had to walk over to the bank for one-dollar bills and coins to set up her cashbox for the week. Her new husband seemed to think nothing of it, and instead of offering to escort Nan to the bank, as she expected he might, he said he wanted to take a turn around town, get a breath of fresh air, and try to find a newspaper.

Nan was breathless and jumpy when she entered the bank. Simon White, as plump as his wife, Geneva, was thin, sat behind his desk off to the right. He had been attempting to grow a mustache over the last few weeks, and this morning, in the golden light coming through the barred, painted window, Nan saw that he’d tried to shape the bedraggled thing with pomade. It looked as if two fat gray mice were perched on his upper lip, noses touching in the center and their tails extended stiffly behind them.

“Mrs. Hoffman—er, Valance!” He struggled to his feet and came around his desk to greet her.

“Mr. White.” Nan offered her gloved hand, and the banker executed a half bow as he lightly grasped her fingers. “Lovely to see you,” she said, wondering as she spoke how Geneva could bear to kiss him with that bush sprouting beneath his nose. Nan would have much preferred kissing Gabriel, who kept his face clean-shaven.
And where did that thought come from?
“I trust Geneva is doing well after the rigors of the holiday.”

“Fit as a fiddle, and jabbering nonstop about the gown you’re going to design for her.” He arched a silver brow. “How may I assist you this fine morning?”

Nan smiled and gestured at the teller window, where Hank Mortimer, a pencil-thin man whose only outstanding features were a hawk nose that turned red when he smiled, and ears that stood out as if they were being blown from behind by a strong wind, stood ready to help her. “Nothing but a routine withdrawal,” she replied. “I’m sure Mr. Mortimer can handle it.”

Simon held on to her fingers. “I understand that congratulations are in order.”

For an instant, Nan couldn’t think what he meant. “Oh! On my marriage, you mean. Yes, indeed, and thank you.”

Tipping his head slightly back, Simon studied her with unabashed curiosity. “When, may I ask, did you come to meet Gabriel Valance? So far as I know, he arrived in town only last week. I never would have guessed you to be possessed of an impetuous nature.”

Nan kept her smile firmly in place. “I’m not, Mr. White. This isn’t Mr. Valance’s first visit to Random. He came once before at Christmas.”

Simon frowned. “Hmm. I don’t recall anyone ever mentioning that. A man of his ilk usually causes quite a stir when—” He released her hand to cover his mouth as he coughed. “Er—ah . . . ahem. My apologies. I seem to be catching a nasty cold.”

Nan took advantage of the break in conversation to say, “I really must hurry, Mr. White. I’ve left my shop unattended.” She turned toward the teller window. “Please give Geneva my regards.”

Ten minutes later, Nan ducked between two wagons to gain the opposite boardwalk. In one hand, she carried a satchel filled with all her life savings, except for one dollar, which she’d had to leave in the account to keep it open. Once inside her shop, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath, annoyed with herself for feeling apprehensive and slightly guilty. This was
her
money, earned honestly by the sweat of her brow. She had every right to withdraw it from the bank. If she chose to paper her sitting room walls with it, that would be no one’s business but hers.

Leaving the Closed sign up so passersby would know she wasn’t yet open for business, Nan hurried into her downstairs workroom, sorely wishing that she’d installed a door instead of merely hanging a curtain to separate this area from the front of the store. If Gabriel returned, only the drape of green cotton would conceal her activities from him.

Dropping the satchel on her project table, Nan swept off her cloak and tossed it over a chair. Then, grabbing the hammer she’d ferreted from the closet toolbox earlier, she went to work.
Easy as making pumpkin pie oatmeal
, she thought, as the plank gave way with one pull of the claws. The satchel was a bit fat for the opening, but she managed to stuff it through. After replacing the board, she stuck the heads of three nails in her mouth and poised a fourth one on the wood, gingerly holding it as straight as possible while she took aim with the hammer. She swung and grinned with triumph when she hit her target. Men liked to pretend that this sort of thing was difficult, but Nan wasn’t finding it so. She pounded industriously, feeling certain that anyone with half a brain could take up carpentry.

Then she somehow missed the nail and hit her thumb.
Ouch!
She nearly broke her teeth biting down on the metal pegs in her mouth as pain shot up her arm. It hurt so much that for a few moments she actually saw black dots. A shriek was beyond her. Dropping the hammer, she grabbed the wrist of her injured hand and released a smothered humming sound as she rocked back and forth, squeezing her eyes shut against the agony.

“When you hit your thumb with a hammer, you’re supposed to throw the hammer, kick something, and then turn the air blue with curses,” a deep, silky, and all too familiar voice said from behind her.

Gabriel.
Nan scrunched her eyelids together even more tightly, afraid to look at her injured digit for fear she would see bleeding pulp and shattered bone. She still didn’t think she could manage to speak, and what could she say, anyway?

She felt her husband grasp her forearm. “Let me see what you’ve done to yourself.” Her strength no match for his, Nan surrendered her hand to him. “Well, shit,” he muttered. “If you needed something nailed, why the hell didn’t you ask me to do it?”

“Is it bad?” Nan cracked open one eye, which she focused on the floor. Anywhere but the thumb. “I think I’ve broken it. Did I shatter the nail?” How could she do fine sewing with a hand out of commission?

“It isn’t
that
bad,” he assured her. “God made our thumbs to take a lot of punishment. It’s going to be sore for a few days, though.”

The pain had gone from mind-numbing to merely throbbing, and Nan opened both eyes. Her digit was red and slightly swollen, but it looked intact and wasn’t bleeding. “Well, that’s not fair,” she blurted. “Anything that hurts so much should at least
look
injured so a person can get some sympathy.”

Gabriel chuckled and lifted her hand. She watched in stunned amazement as he drew her thumb into his mouth. It felt as if warm, wet silk had gloved her flesh. She jerked her hand, but he held tight. As he sucked, she felt the pulsating pain give way to a dull ache. She also felt a hot, drizzly sensation low in her belly that made her want to gather her skirts, leap to her feet, and run for her life. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

When he finally stopped his ministrations, he smiled and said, “Next time, after you kick something and curse, pop the injured part in your mouth. Works every time.”

Shaken by the unwanted arousal coursing through her, Nan managed to say, “Apparently you’ve hit your own thumb a number of times.”

“A few. Once you get your swing perfected, you don’t miss as often.” Weight balanced on the heel of one boot, he shifted to glance over her shoulder. “A loose board, huh? I’ll fix that for you lickety-split.” He reached for the hammer. Nan’s good hand shot out and grabbed it first.

“I can do it!”

He closed his fingers over hers and came away with the tool. “Judging by the way that nail’s bent almost double, I don’t think so.”

Oh, no.
Heart in her throat, Nan watched as he located the nails she’d spit out, found another on the tabletop, and then knelt on one knee, hammer in hand, to pry the board loose again. Muscle rippled in his shoulders and across his back as he put his strength into the job. She knew he was bound to see the satchel when the board popped free, and for the life of her, she couldn’t think what she should say.

“Well, now, what have we here?” he asked when the inevitable occurred. He reached through the crack and lifted the bag out. With a quick twist of his fingers, he opened the catch and stared at the money. Nan’s face went hot when he directed a questioning look at her. “Do you really think this is necessary?”

“It’s mine,” she cried. The words came unbidden. “I won’t let you claim it. I won’t. I worked hard to earn every cent. Do you think I’m stupid enough to leave it in the bank so you can take it away from me?”

Never in her life had she seen anyone’s expression change so fast. His face so grim that it frightened her, he closed the satchel, returned it to its hiding place, and nailed the plank down with hard, precise swings that filled the shop with deafening reports. She wondered if he was wishing he was hammering her instead of the nails. When finished, he straightened, tossed the hammer on her desk, and thrust her cloak at her. Nan flinched every time he moved. His anger was so intense that she could almost feel its heat.

“Come with me,” he said.

It was an order. Nan, who’d been liberated from masculine rule for eight years, protested. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve a child to support and a business to run.”

His dark eyes had gone as black and flat as smut in a stovepipe. “Oh, yes, you are, Nan,” he said with soft menace. “Either you put on your cloak and come with me willingly, right now, or I’m going to throw you over my shoulder and carry you. Given your love of propriety, I don’t think you want that to happen. Everyone on both boardwalks will see you riding my shoulder with your fanny pointed skyward. And if you think I won’t do it—try me.”

Five minutes later, Nan was sitting beside her husband in front of Walter Hamm’s desk. In stunned silence and not quite trusting her ears, she attended the conversation between the two men. Gabriel instructed the attorney to draw up an affidavit stating that he, Gabriel Valance, Nan’s lawfully wedded husband, relinquished all rights to his wife’s assets. The title to her shop would remain solely in her name, and her husband would have no access to her bank accounts. After two copies were signed and notarized, Gabriel took one, folded it neatly, and slipped it into his shirt pocket. The other copy would be filed as a public record.

Nan shrank in her chair, feeling . . . Oh, she couldn’t find words for how she felt. Numb, definitely. A little like the time she’d fallen off a horse, hit her head, and felt disconnected after regaining consciousness. And also ashamed. She’d badly misjudged Gabriel, and her actions had hurt him. She’d made him bleed way deep inside where no one could see—in that secret place where he cried over events in his past that could never be changed or erased. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew. Certainly his face didn’t give it away. Those strong features looked carved out of granite.