Something Borrowed

Chapter 21

Gabe

"Patricia, Caroline, and Sally will stay at the boarding house," his mother said, tapping her pen on the paper. "Mrs. Daniels agreed to let them stay there and look after them until they recover."

If they recover, Gabe thought to himself, fighting to keep his anger in check and focus to the plan. They needed to hurry and get the girls moved before the Mr. Roberts kicked them out of the store. How in the hell Josh's wife had managed to convince him to help at all was beyond him. The stodgy old storekeeper hated Gabe's mother and her girls almost as much as he loved to stumble in black-out drunk once a month and use them.

"They should be ready to move soon," he told his mother, and she nodded. "What about the others?"

She sighed, looking disturbingly like the middle-aged woman she was, and he wanted to take the pen and paper out of her hand and usher her off to get some rest. But he knew she wouldn't rest until each and every one of her employees was safe, warm, and cared for. She was the fairest, kindest employer on the devil's black earth. How anyone could hate her was an agonizing mystery to him.

"Josh has two rooms at the hotel," she said, rubbing at her brow. "He made a deal with the manager to extend his stay out for a week so the ones with minor injuries can stay there. We have... how many are hurt? Not including Patty, Caro, and Sally?"

"Five," he said through gritted teeth. Lindy, Christina, Amanda, Beth, and Daniella. If it wasn't for him, they'd be fine. If he'd kept his priorities straight he'd have been there to stop it and they wouldn't be injured at all.

"Gabriel..."

"What?" he snapped, jerking his head up to look at her. She sat on an upturned bucket beside the pile of smoldering rubble that had been their home for almost two decades. Though the chill in the air was deep, the embers warmed them as they sat together and worked out how to survive-- how to rebuild-- within the confines of a community that hated them.

Hated them, and poured money into their pockets like they had gold to spare.

"Don't do what you're doing," she snapped back, just as stern and strong as he was. Gabe had no idea who his father might be, and didn't care. It was his mother who taught him to be strong, how to run a business, and how to fight for what was his. "This wasn't your fault."

"I should have been here," he told her, holding her gaze. He wanted her condemnation. If she hated him for it, maybe he could stop.

"You can't be here every moment of every day," she said, placing a hand on his arm as she shook her head. "You have a life to live, angel."

"I have a job to do," he bit back, lowering his head and staring at his hands-- blackened with soot. Hands that had been tangled in silky hair, stroking satin skin while he should have been standing guard over his mother's girls. His girls.

His mother sighed, squeezing his arm. "She needs you as much as we do. Maybe more," she said sadly, and her patient understanding made him want to scream. He was so damned tired of being yanked in two directions at once. Torn by indecision. He wanted all his responsibilities under one godforsaken roof so he could just stand guard over one door without feeling guilty for leaving another one vulnerable.

"What are we going to do?" he asked, shaking his head at the ground.

"We're going to take care of our girls," his mother said firmly. "We're going to make sure the injured are cared for. We're going to find a temporary home for the rest. We're going to get some sleep ourselves. And then we're going to pick ourselves up and find ourselves a new home. We're not destitute. We have money, and we have a clientele here."