Something Blue

Chapter 33

"Ma?" Isobel's chatter had been almost ceaseless once Katherine had told her they were leaving. Where are we going? Are we taking the horses? Are we going to Texas? Are we bringing Rebecca? What dress do I wear? "Can I ride on the horse by myself?"

"I don't know, sweetie," she said, turning her daughter around and giving her a pat on the rump. "Mister Josh is in the kitchen. Why don't you go ask him?"

She had appreciated Isobel's constant barrage of questions throughout most of the day. It had kept her mind off the twin burdens pressing down on her shoulders—her fear and her guilt. In the rare moments of silence, her last conversation with Gabe had filtered into her mind unbidden. Every time she blinked she saw the heavy resignation in his eyes and knew that he was right.

She would never choose him.

She hadn't even thought of him in those glorious moments with Josh and Amelia at the kitchen table, as she finally felt her soul slot back into its spot inside her chest. She'd been herself again, albeit scarred. She'd felt the niggle of adventure at the back of her mind and that old, familiar tautness of the muscles around her backbone. Her mind had churned with plans and strategies—how to protect Isobel, how to escape, how to take Jacob's eye off the Tucker ranch. Not once in that heavenly maelstrom of returning power had she thought of Gabe.

Later, of course, she did, when Isobel ran into the room with her little compass around her neck, her spyglass in one hand, and her notebook in the other. Her heart had seized with guilt and longing. A desperate longing, so intense she wondered if perhaps the reason she hadn't yet thought of him was because she knew how much it would hurt once she finally did so.

He couldn't come.

Despite what he had told her, the choice wasn't hers. It had never been hers. Or his, for that matter. They had both been picked up and swept away by the currents of fate, placed in positions where obligation trumped desire. Her obligation—to Jacob, to God, to her father—had been lifted by years of torment. His obligation—to the saloon, to the girls, to his mother's mission—still hung heavy over his head.

She couldn't ask him to make such a sacrifice for her. If he left with her and Isobel, he would leave behind the honor that made him so strong and the loyalty that made him, in spite of all he claimed, so pure. She loved him too much to ask that of him.

Katherine startled, realizing she had sunk onto the edge of the bed beside the half-packed bag, and had been staring absently at the shirt in her hands for several long minutes. His shirt. She couldn't remember when she'd come into it. Perhaps she'd brought it with her when she came here, or perhaps he had left it behind on one of his visits. She lifted it to her nose, but it smelled like the harsh lye soap she and Melissa used to do the laundry. There was no trace of him, and tears sprang into her eyes when she realized she might have nothing more than his gifts to remember him, and was leaving him nothing more than heartbreak and war to remember her.

"Katherine?"

She looked up and saw Melissa standing in the doorway. "It's about dinner time," her friend said, nodding toward the kitchen. "Figured one more nice, hearty meal would do you good before you leave."

She nodded, clenching her jaw until her back teeth yelped in protest, willing the tears to soak back into her eyes before they fell. If she lifted a hand to swipe at them, Melissa would ask her what was wrong, and if Melissa asked her what was wrong, she would burst into tears and never stop weeping.

"What's wrong?"

Drat that healer's spirit.

Biting her lip until she tasted blood, Katherine shook her head and shot to her feet, turning her back on her friend and stuffing the shirt into the bag. She'd wear it as nightclothes. Maybe it would smell like him once the lye smell wore off.