Katherine
Ten days.
Katherine sat on a rocking chair on the porch, staring at the sloping hill up to the house she shared with her daughter and Melissa. A cool, damp breeze toyed with her hair, and a lumpy gray haze blotted the clean line of the horizon. Rain was coming. Cold rain, but it would nonetheless leave pockmarks in the layer of crusty snow that covered the earth. It would gather and pool and dig murky trenches through the white expanse as it ran down the hills toward the rivers.
An early spring and a muddy one.
Her fingers clenched involuntarily around the ceramic mug in her hands, and she stared down into the pale, doctored coffee.
Ten days since one of Josh's men had witnessed a murder in the street outside the bank. Ten days since that man had hightailed it back to the ranch and Josh had subsequently hightailed it out to this house. Ten days since she'd let the Tuckers convince her not to go to him.
It's not safe.
Think of Isobel.
The last thing he needs right now is to worry about your safety.
She shouldn't have let them change her mind, because now ten days had passed and she had neither seen nor heard from him. Josh had gone to town to pay his respects, but he brought no worthwhile news home.
"He's getting by. The girls need him right now, Katherine. They're afraid."
Of course they were afraid! And he must be too. Afraid and grieving, and all she could do was sit here on this rocking chair, staring at the hill and waiting for him to come to her. She was worse than useless. She was a burden. An errand for him to run when he was already overwhelmed with responsibility.
Ten days had passed since she had convinced herself not to bother him with anything more than a perfunctory note. A silly, trite little gesture with none of the depth of feeling she truly wished to convey. She hadn't even dared to sign her name or add the I love you she so desperately wanted to convey, for fear the note would fall into the wrong hands. She hadn't asked him to visit, for fear he would feel some obligation and go out of his way at a time when he should be focusing on himself and the girls. She hadn't shared her own genuine sadness over the loss of such a strong woman, for fear that she was misappropriating his grief and the grief of the girls Vivian had rescued.
Gabe,
I'm so incredibly sorry for your loss. You and the girls are on all of our minds.
That was it.
...Worthless.
She nibbled her lip and took a small sip of coffee, wishing the sky would just open up and unleash. Her mood was not suited to clear skies, but those clouds in the distance were still building and slow moving, and the dome overhead was still the dark, troubled blue of early spring.
Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she was on her feet before her mind had truly processed the advancing rider. Lukewarm coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup and she abandoned the dripping mug on the porch rail, dashing down the stairs and across the yard. Her boots sank deep into the slush, and the minor exertion created a prickly heat along her spine in the uncommon warmth.
She slowed as Gabe drew his stomping horse to a stop, and for a second she merely stood at the horse's side, staring up at the rider just as he stared down at her. He wasn't wearing a hat, and his hair was wind-swept, his face a touch ruddy from the chill. She saw the shadow of a grayish-green bruise beneath the skin beside his eye, and an ugly scab marred his eyebrow, half-healed but still grisly to look at.
"Gabe?" she said tentatively when he made no move to dismount, merely sitting there with slumped shoulders and a distant look in his eyes. "Are you alright?"
He didn't answer, but shifted his weight in the saddle and she stepped back on instinct, giving him room to swing down. Again, they froze. He stood with the reins held loosely in one hand, his breath slow but deep, like he was out of breath but didn't want to show it.
"Are you alright?" she asked again, daring to step closer and lay her palm lightly against the wall of his chest.
A muscle feathered beside his ear and his nostrils flared, and for a flickering second she saw pure, unfiltered, undistilled anguish in his eyes. Then he blinked. His chest stilled beneath her hand. His fingers closed around her wrist and her heart shattered, no matter how gently he removed her touch—what little comfort she could offer.
"I'm fine," he said, his grip lingering around her wrist as his face contorting into a strained facsimile of a smile. "I'm sorry it's been so long. Was Isobel upset?"
Of course their daughter was upset, but the last thing Katherine wanted to do was add to his burdens.
"She's alright. We explained that you had an emergency."
He frowned and his hand dropped away from her wrist, the flickering life that always glowed in his eyes gone cold and dull. "You didn't tell her what happened?"
"No," Katherine frowned. "I thought it was something we might do together." In her mind, waiting for Gabe had made perfect sense. He had already missed so many pivotal moments in Isobel's life. She couldn't bring herself to cut him out of more, even the ugly ones.
Now, she felt powerfully stupid. All the burdens he was carrying, and now she'd gone and dropped another on his shoulders.
"I'm sorry," she said, lowering her face and scuffing at the snow with the toe of her boot. An uneven seam of dark dampness stained the cracked leather, and her toes were going numb. "It felt like the right thing to do. Now I realize I've just gone and given you another thing to stress about. It was silly and--"
"Katherine." Her name was a sigh and she raised her gaze, waiting for more. He always quieted her runaway thoughts, but today he only watched her with weary entreaty.
"You're right," she said, giving a brisk nod and battling back the rambling insecurity. "We'll talk about this later. Maybe your next visit. There's no reason to worry about it today. Why don't you head inside and say hello to Isobel? I'll take care of Reaper for you."
She held out her hand for the reins, but he shook his head. "He's in a snit, today," he said, his words teasing but his tone as dry as pale, heat-cracked earth. "I'll put him away."
"Do you want help?" she pleaded, clenching her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him again.
"No. I'll be quick."
Gnawing on her lip and fighting tears, Katherine walked back to the house. Isobel was playing in the sitting room, dressing up her doll in an adventuring outfit Melissa had sewed and taking the poor toy on a trek across the jagged peaks and sprawling plains of the sitting room furniture.
Katherine left her daughter and went to the kitchen, brewing coffee that she knew Gabe wouldn't drink, solely to keep her hands busy. While Isobel played make-believe that she was on a grand adventure, Katherine played make-believe that she had utility. That there was anything at all she could do to help the man she loved. That she had the strength to carry him through his nightmare the way he carried her through hers.
When Gabe arrived at the house, he disappeared beneath the storm of affection, excitement, and petulant annoyance that was their daughter. He held the little girl in his arms as if she would float into the sky without his anchoring grasp, smiling indulgently as she scolded him for his absence. Katherine watched-- an actor just off-stage, yearning for a cue to bring her forward. None came, so she remained an observer, unsure if it hurt her or brought her unspeakable joy to watch Isobel's antics bring little sparks back into Gabe's shadowed eyes. Sparks that she herself was unable to summon.
She sipped the coffee she had made for Gabe, listening from the kitchen as they crafted tales together and took Isobel's beleaguered doll on a fraught journey from the damp green denseness of the Amazon to the high, thin glaciers of the Himalayas. She closed her eyes and imagined it was real. Watched Gabe use a machete to hack away at creeping vines, and laughed to herself as Isobel bravely rescued her doll and her father from a falling serpent. She stifled tears as they stood on the prow of a ship and watched dolphins dance in the waves; with every second that ticked by, Gabe's little injects into Isobel's storytelling sounded more like fantasy and less like hope.
This was the problem with Gabe, and always had been. He was too caring. Too self-sacrificial. He was never going to go where he wanted to go. He was never going to pick the life that he wanted to live. The question was never one of his own happiness but of who needed him the most.
Who needed him the most, now? Katherine, who had healed and found her feet and no longer lost the ability to breathe at the slightest provocation? Isobel, who in spite of growing up in Jacob's shadow had blossomed into a gregarious, brave, resilient little girl? Did they truly need him?
No.
They wanted him, but they didn't need him. Josh and Amelia had already expressed a desire to accompany them on their journey south. "The ranch is doing well, and it will be a fun adventure!" Amelia had said. "Rebecca wants to see the desert."
They wouldn't be alone for the journey, and Katherine knew in the marrow of her bones that with a new name, in a new town, she could make a life for herself and her daughter. A safe, comfortable life of her own creation.
She wanted him desperately, but she didn't need him. Not nearly as much as those girls needed him. They must already be so frightened, to have lost their leader, a woman of such undeniable strength. To take Gabe from them as well? How cruel could she ask herself to be, for the sake of her heart?
Playtime dwindled, and the ratio of Isobel's high-pitched chatter to Gabe's gritty drawl swapped as storytime commenced. Although she wanted to give them space, Katherine couldn't help but slip into the room, as quietly as possible. Her visions of the future were dissolving away like sugar in hot water, her intrusion into the sitting room an answer to her heart's desperate cry for memories. She needed little mental portraits such as this, of the three of them together, calm and happy, to carry her through however many years she would have to live without him.
When he chose to stay. When, once again, he chose duty over his own happiness.
She sat with her coffee in her hand, the mug half full of milky sludge gone cold from neglect, and watched and listened as the guardian of her heart read softly to the center of her universe. Isobel tucked herself as cozily as ever into the crook of Gabe's arm, her head on his chest, and Katherine envied the girl. She remembered resting with her head pillowed on his chest, listening to his heart thump a steady rhythm and feeling his voice vibrate through her until even her toes tingled with it.
Weighed down by a dark cloud of melancholy, Katherine supervised as Gabe closed the book and stood. She leaned her shoulder against the wall, too weary to stand upright, and watched the cheerful farewell.
"Don't be a long time, again!" Isobel demanded, slapping her small hands on either side of his bristly face as he picked her up for her customary goodbye hug. Her demand earned her a lopsided grin and a peck on the cheek.
"Three days," he promised, squeezing her one last time before setting her on the ground.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Satisfied, Isobel gave a little wave and dashed off to find Melissa, leaving Katherine and Gabe alone for their own customary, private farewell.
"I'll walk you out to the barn," Katherine suggested, watching as the stubborn light of happiness drained out of him with Isobel's departure. A surge of hurt clamped like a fist around her heart and stole her breath as she watched him physically sag, his shoulders slumping and the smile lines beside his eyes smoothing out. She had no right to dwell on her own pain when he was in the midst of so much suffering, but it wounded her deeper than breaks and bruises to watch him wall her off.
They walked in silence out to the barn, and the emptiness between them grew more stifling as they left the stirring, restless spring air behind for the musty shadows of the barn.
Gabe abandoned her by the door, wordlessly setting about saddling his horse, which stood fidgeting and snorting in the stall. An invisible, silent clock ticked away the seconds as she watched him draw closer and closer to leaving her. Leaving her without ever having spoken more than a polite word to her. Without ever confiding his grief or fear in the woman he claimed to love, to trust, to see himself with unto death.
"Gabe?" she said, his name spilling out just seconds before her time ran out. She hated the timidity and fear that colored her voice, harkening back to the worthless, cowering woman who had cringed beneath Jacob's fist, and the comparison clearly wasn't lost on Gabe, either. He cinched the last strap down and then stood up straight, coming to the door of the stall and leaning his arms on the top, a frown twisting the stony hardness of his face.
"What's the matter, Katherine?" he asked, his head cocked to the side, a flare of worry passing through his eyes.
"Nothing," she lied, stepping forward and daring to rest her hand over his where it curled over the top of the stall door. His knuckles bore fresh pink scars, and she wished with all her heart that she had been there when they were still bleeding. More than anything, she wanted life to stop hurting him. But if it wouldn't, she wished that at least she could be there when it did. She was so tired of watching new scars appear on his body and soul, and knowing that he had been without her love while they were fresh and bleeding.
"Don't lie to me, Katie," he said, dislodging her hand when he raised his own to toy with a small lock of her hair. He twisted it around his finger and toyed with it for a moment, his attention a gentle tug on her scalp, before tucking the strands behind her ear and releasing them.
"I'm not."
"You are. What's the matter?"
"Gabe," she breathed his name on a sob of helpless frustration. "Nothing is the matter with me. I'm worried about you."
He frowned. "I'm fine, Katherine. I told you that."
She scowled, but couldn't bring herself to turn away. Her whole body was pressed against the rough wood of the stall door and she didn't dare break away. "Don't lie to me, Gabe," she begged, the words a feeble echo of his command.
He stared. She stared. Reaper snorted and butted his head against Gabe's shoulder.
"What do you want me to say?" Gabe asked finally, his voice hard.
"I want you to tell me the truth," she said, lifting her chin and wishing he'd kiss her. She imagined it rough, his passion holding all the pain he dared not put into words. "I don't need you to weep in my arms, Gabe, but I need you to tell me the truth. Tell me your heart is broken. Tell me you're frightened. Tell me... tell me whether you've changed your mind about coming with us to Texas."
His face blanched and he jerked back as if she'd slapped him. "What are you talking about?" he asked, the words a scrape of sandpaper against the grain. "Of course I'm coming with you."
"But do you want to?" she asked, and saw the answer in the lines of strain that flashed around his mouth and carved deep into his forehead. "If you come with us, will you be happy or will you hate yourself for leaving?"
"Katherine..." he bowed his head on a heavy sigh. "I can't fight with you, today."
With trembling hands, she reached across the partition and cradled his face, pressing until he raised his eyes to hers. "I don't want to fight with you," she said quietly, swallowing her pain and fear as she studied his face. "I want to put you first the way you've always put me first."
"By telling me not to come to Texas?" he spat, bitterness in his voice and nothing but emptiness in his eyes. "What changed, Katherine? I was always going to be leaving the girls to come with you. It was always going to be an impossible decision. Why is it suddenly not worth making?"
"Because you changed your mind!" she sobbed, her tears finally breaking loose and streaming down her face. For once, her anguish didn't seem to move him. He jerked his head out of her hold and stepped back into the shadows, glaring daggers that clattered to the straw-strewn wooden floor between them.
"Made that decision for me, did you?"
"No!"
"Read my mind?"
"No!"
"Then what, Katherine?" he snapped, uncharacteristic anger flashing out at her from the shadows that concealed his eyes. "What the hell did I do to make you think I've decided to stay? What did I say?" '
"It's what you didn't say," she said meekly, lowering her gaze to the floor, wanting to lash out and hit something for the hatred that surged through her. Hatred of this pathetic, sniveling shape of a woman into which she'd let Jacob beat her.
"What?"
"You won't talk to me," she said, grasping the stall door for balance as she battled instinct and forced her eyes up to meet his. "You're in pain, Gabe. You're grieving. You're scared, and torn, and overwhelmed. But you won't talk to me. You've been cold and distant this whole visit. You won't let me share the burden. What kind of partnership is that? We're supposed to take care of each other, Gabe! If we go to Texas—"
"If," he grated out, stepping forward and covering her hands with his, and she felt the roughness of his palms against her knuckles. "If we go to Texas together?" He shook his head, something akin to disgust in his eyes. "You've already made up your mind, haven't you?"
"What? No!"
"Am I coming with you to Texas, Katherine?" he asked, an ugly sneer twisting his expression. "Do I love you enough to learn a new trade, Katherine? Am I Isobel's father, Katherine? You're awfully adept at making these decisions for me."
"It's not the same!" she exclaimed, hurt that he would level that weapon at her and pull the trigger. He knew the weight of the guilt she carried over hiding Isobel from him.
"Isn't it?" he challenged, raising a dark eyebrow in mock puzzlement. "It sure feels the same to me, Kat. You've got this neat little picture of me all drawn up in your head, and you always have. You're so goddamned sure you know my mind better than I do. You've pegged me as distant for one goddamn visit and all of a sudden I'm backing out of our future together. Neglecting the child we created? Honey, I've been trying to take you away from here for decades. Yes, it'll hurt to leave the girls. Yes, it would have hurt to leave my mother. Yes, I am torn between caring for you and caring for them. But it was always you, Katherine. You always won."
"So you're coming?" Chastened, she flexed her fingers around the top of the door, the hard edges digging into her palms.
He shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Katherine. Am I?"
"I don't... you said—"
"I've always chosen you," he went on, cutting off her confusion. Confusion she chose, because she was afraid of the truth she already heard in his question. "Have you ever chosen me?"
"Always," she whispered, pressing her lips together to keep her chin from trembling.
"Bull," he snapped, his fingers tightening fractionally over hers as he glared down at her.
"Gabe..."
"Move."
"What?"
"Get out of the way," he said, reaching behind him to grab Reaper's reins, his voice dripping with venom she had never heard before. Pain shot through her chest and she stumbled back and to the side, hugging her arms around herself as he yanked the stall door open and walked out, his horse trailing behind him. She half expected him to stalk past her and out of the barn, but instead he drew to a stop, switching the reins into his left hand and raising his right to her cheek.
"I love you, Katherine," he said, all of the poison gone from his voice as he ran a gentle thumb beneath her eye, swiping away a tear. "I will always choose you. I will always choose Isobel."
"I know," she whimpered, raising a hand and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. She was a pitiful, selfish wretch for the way she needed this tenderness. She wasn't like Amelia or Melissa. She wasn't full of fire. She had no spine, and that was why his hurtful words were absolute, agonizing truth. She had never chosen him.
She had chosen her parents' approval over her best friend.
Then she had chosen her reputation over her first love.
Then Gabe had offered her his name, and she had chosen to take the security of Jacob's.
Then Gabe had offered her safety, and she had chosen loyalty to a corrupt version of God.
Then Gabe had waited for her, night after hopeless night, and night after wretched night, she had chosen to lock her door and extinguish her lamp and live another day with the devil.
Then she had run out of choices and straight into his arms, but as soon as another choice arose she had chosen the Tuckers.
Then his mother had been shot down in the street, and all she had wanted was to leap on a horse and ride through the darkness to be by his side when he needed her most, and still she hadn't chosen him. She had chosen safety. She had chosen Isobel. She had chosen not to inconvenience Josh by insisting that he escort her. She had chosen not to embarrass herself by writing to him and begging him to come to her. She had chosen any number of excuses, but she had not chosen him.
Maybe she never would. Gabe was a difficult man in a complicated world. Choosing him took strength, and strength wasn't something she had ever possessed.
"I'll be back in three days," he said, his grip shifting from her cheek to the back of her neck. She craned her face to his and swallowed a sob when his kiss bypassed her lips and brushed gently over her forehead "We'll talk then."
"About what?" she asked, praying he would be strong where she couldn't. Praying he would make the choice for them both, just one more time.
He smiled down at her, the expression genuine— full of love and devoid of hope. "It's time for you to choose, Kat," he said, his fingers combing through her hair as if savoring the sensation before he let his hand drop to his side.
Fear twisted her stomach and stopped her heart. It raised goosebumps on her skin, prickled along her spine, and turned her knees to pudding.
It's time for you to choose.
She watched him walk out of the barn, and stumbled on wooden legs to the doorway. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a breathless sob as he swung gracefully into the saddle, nudged Reaper with his heels, and left her alone without looking back. In tears, she watched until he disappeared over the crest of the hill, his words echoing in her head and a future of her making hovering somewhere beyond the roiling dark clouds on the horizon.
***
So listen.
I have this awful tendency of writing heroes that never do any wrong. They're flawed but their flaws somehow just make them better. Even when they fuck up, my monotonous ass manages to depict their mistakes as tragic acts of nobility gone awry.
That's all well and good but it's also a little tired, and I'm trying so, so very hard to make Gabe a little more human. Mostly as an experiment to see if I can do it. And bro... it's really hard. As I write, my inclination is to put all the fuck ups and CD on poor Katherine's shoulders, but that's lazy and I'm trying to be a less lazy writer.
So, if you're kinda confused and mad at Gabe in this chapter, that's good. You should be. He's being really fucking melodramatic and dumb, and unreasonable. Katherine tried to have a genuine conversation with him, and he twisted it into his own topic, because he is butthurt and pissed at her. He thought she'd find a way to come to him when he needed her, and she didn't, and now he's throwing a tantrum. It's silly and immature, and it's supposed to be. Throwing fits and manipulating conversations is what butthurt, angry humans do.
That's said, you're not NOT supposed to understand where he's coming from. He's reacting poorly, but he also kinda got left in the lurch. Katherine's whole arc in this book is getting her feet back under her and emerging from the fear that's held her captive for pretty much her whole life. She's come a long way, but she hasn't fully succeeded. The little bit in the beginning where she rambles over her decision not to tell Isobel is supposed to be indicative about how tenuous her grasp is on her strength. She should have found a way to go to Gabe when he needed her. I know this because the original draft of this chapter was her dressing in boy clothes and sneaking through the darkness to be with him. Oh and they were supposed to sleep together. It was gonna be a whole thing. I wrote it all. But it didn't feel right. She's just not there yet. She's still scared, and her fear still takes precedent over her feelings for Gabe. It won't always be that way, but it needs to be that way for at least another couple chapters.
... I guess it's not a good book if the writer has to explain all the characters' decisions. The story should stand for itself. But the beauty of this platform is that it's a place where writers can interact directly with their readers and receive feedback in real time. If the story I'm trying to tell isn't making sense, you can tell me! And I want you to. I guess that's the crux of this author's note. If you are vaguely annoyed, that's good. If Katherine and Gabe's behavior seems incongruous with their characters, that's bad.
So which one is it? The former or the latter? Please help...
Also, I'm sorry this chapter was a few days late. I spent the weekend in literal paradise. White sand beaches and sea anemones and pina coladas and all that crap. Which was neat, but also it kind of sucked. There was no wifi and it was hot as fuck and I got very sunburned, and as an introvert the nonstop partying morphed from pleasant escape to literal hell very quickly.
But I'm back now in my humble abode, and thus I return you to your regularly scheduled programing.
As always, thank you so very much for reading. Each and every one of you is a fucking hero for sticking with me.
Love,
Liz
***