Katherine
"Hey, ma?"
"Yeah, baby?" Katherine huffed, casting a quick glance at her daughter who sat on a log a safe distance away. She wore a little wool coat and white mittens, her blue knit cap slouching over the back of her head. Katherine, meanwhile, wore nothing but her blouse and skirt, her body burning with exertion. A mess of split firewood littered the ground around her.
"How come it gets cold in the winter?"
Katherine frowned, lining up her swing, drawing back, and letting the axe fly through the air with a swoosh. It landed on top of the balanced log with a sharp crack, and the log fell into halves. In truth, they didn't need firewood. Josh came by at least once a week and split enough to last them. But Katherine liked the chore. It made her feel strong and alive.
"I don't know, Izzy. Maybe because we are farther from the sun in the winter."
"Why are we farther from the sun?"
Bending, she balanced one of the split halves back on the log. "I don't know that either, sweetheart. Have you asked Aunt Mel?"
"Yeah. She says it's cuz the earth is on a lipsis. Why does it snow when it's cold?"
Swing, swoosh, crack. She picked up the cord of wood by her foot and tossed it toward the wood pile against the leeward wall of the house. Reached for a new log from the pile beside her. "Because the rain gets frozen on the way to the ground."
"Why does it rain?"
"Because the clouds get heavy and they can't hold all the water."
"How does the rain get in the clouds?"
Swing, swoosh, crack.
"Ma?"
"I don't know, Isobel. Because God puts it there."
"Why does God put rain in the clouds?"
"To water the plants."
"Why can't God just put the water right in the river?"
"Because that's not His will."
"Why?"
Swing, swoosh, crack. "Maybe because it's more interesting this way."
"Is that why God makes the winter? Cuz it's interesting?"
"Yes."
"Did God make snow so we can go sledding?"
"Maybe."
"Can we go sledding?"
Katherine leaned the axe head against the muddy ground and leaned on it, her heartbeat thrumming happily within her chest. Was she more exhausted by the chore, or by her daughter's inquisition?
Tough to tell.
"Soon, sweetheart. I told you, we have to wait for more snow."
Isobel sighed and leaned forward, scooping a small pile of snow together between her mittens.
"Izzy, stop that," Katherine scolded, setting the axe aside and striding over to her daughter. She dropped into a crouch and brushed the muddy snow off the soft, new buckskin mittens. "Those are brand new and they were a gift from Miss Amelia."
Isobel's shoulders sagged. "She said they're so I can play in the snow," she said woefully, staring at her hands. "Reb plays in the snow with her mittens."
"Is Rebecca my daughter?"
"No," Izzy huffed, crossing her arms.
"Then she doesn't have to follow my rules, now does she?"
Isobel sighed and turned her face away, gazing wistfully toward the mountains. The child could get away with murder with that pitiful expression.
"Come on, then," Katherine groused, tugging her daughter to her feet.
"Where are we going?"
"We're going to find you some fresh snow to test those mittens out instead of this muddy slush. Nobody ever said you couldn't get them wet. We just don't want to get them muddy, that's all."
Isobel uttered a happy giggle and took her hand. Movement caught Katherine's eye as they crossed the lawn, and her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the approaching rider. For a moment, panic bubbled in her gut and threw her heart against the wall of her chest once, twice, three times, with the force of a sledgehammer.
Then she recognized the horse.
The rider.
Melissa was away and it was only the two of them out here, safe in their isolation. She had been enjoying the solitude, the peace of a world that began and ended with Isobel. Drat him for bringing the world to her doorstep.
In spite of her selfish thoughts, her sledgehammer heart began to flutter in her chest as he drew nearer. In her mind she may be wary of him, but that caged bird inside her still chirped excitedly at the prospect of adventure. Love. Friendship.
"Mister Gabe!" Isobel howled, and Katherine caught her before she could run forward, hauling the child into her arms as the rider slowed to a walk in the yard. He swung down with a measure of grace that spoke of practice and confidence. His face was flushed with the chill air, his hair a disarray from the wind, and she had to bite the urge to scold him for not wearing a hat.
"Josh said you might be up for a visit today," he said as he closed the distance, leading the horse behind him. "If not, just say the word."
Isobel strained and wiggled to be free, but Gabe's eyes didn't stray from Katherine's as he waited for her answer. What was she supposed to say? No, get back on that horse and shatter this little girl's heart by leaving.
"Of course it's alright," she said, her cheeks aching with the effort to maintain her smile. "Why don't you go put your horse up in the barn and Izzy and I will go inside and start a pot of coffee."
Give me time to catch my breath.
"Sure," he said, starting up the shallow incline toward the barn, and Isobel's struggle intensified.
"I want to go with Mister Gabe!" she said, squirming. "I want to help him with Reaper. Ma, please!"
Gabe stopped and turned, his face twisting into a grimace as he glanced at Katherine.
I'm sorry.
"Isobel, it's probably best if you go in with your ma and--"
"It's okay," Katherine cut him off, swallowing the rest of the words when two pairs of dubious smoked amber eyes snapped toward her. What on earth had compelled her? She needed Isobel near her, always. She couldn't trust her with someone else. Anyone else.
Except she had. Not by choice, but for days she had lain helpless while Gabe looked after her daughter. Granted, he had failed miserably at silly things like combing her hair and she had distant, foggy memories of listening to him cajole her into forgetting a word he had accidentally taught her.
But he had cared for her all the same. Kept her safe and told her stories and made up little games for her to play so she wouldn't be bored. Sooner or later, Katherine was going to have to start letting Isobel stray from her side. Who better to break the ice than a man who would sooner chop off his arm than see harm come to either of them?
"You can go with Mister Gabe," she told Isobel, setting her on the ground but keeping a hand around her upper arm to keep her from running. She crouched, turning her daughter's face to meet her eyes and offering her sternest motherly scowl. "But you must listen to every word he says, do you understand? Horses are dangerous, especially big ones like Mister Gabe has."
Isobel rolled her eyes. "I know ma," she said, tugging at her grip. "Please, can I go?"
Let go, Katherine told her stubborn hand. One by one, she pried her fingers up by force of will. The second she released Isobel's arm the little girl flew across the snow toward Gabe, who darted forward and stopped her before she got too close to the horse's powerful legs. He sank to a knee, holding her arm as Katherine had done.
"Iz, what did I tell you about running at Reaper like that?" he admonished gently.
"Sorry, Mister Gabe," Isobel said, lowering her gaze to the snow. Then, all trace of contrition gone, she flung herself at his chest, wrapping small arms around his neck. Katherine felt forgotten as she stood in the snow, watching the reunion.
Oh good gracious, she thought, her emotions a muddled mix of love and disgruntled amusement. It's only been a week.
Gabe rose to his feet and gave Katherine an enigmatic smile, the confusing expression nonetheless more honest than any he'd gifted her in years. Then he took Isobel by the hand and the two turned toward the barn. Katherine watched them go, Isobel's hand drawn up, her arm nearly locked straight to reach his. They traipsed through the snow, matching dark hair and a matching fire burning inside them, and Katherine couldn't even last long enough to watch them disappear into the barn. Choking on a sob, she turned on her heel and fled across the lawn, flying up the stairs and throwing herself through the door, into the relative warmth of the entryway. The door shut with a heavy thud and she sank to the carved wooden bench, dropped her face into her hands, and wept.
* * *
"'My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious and excellent counsel against what he foresaw was my design. He called me one morning into his chamber, where he was confined by the gout, and expostulated very war--"
"Mister Gabe?" Isobel twisted around from where she sat in her captive's lap in the armchair by the fire. He held her with one arm, and the tattered Robinson Crusoe in his free hand. Both man and girl were still pink-cheeked and bright-eyed from a rousing snowball fight in the front yard.
"What, Iz?"
"What's esposholit?"
"Expostulate? Just means to talk a lot."
"How come he didn't just say that?"
"Reckon he wanted to sound smart since he was writing a book and all. You want me to keep reading?"
"Yeah," she said, settling back into the crook of his arm and leaning her head against his chest. "Keep apostilating, Mister Gabe."
He snorted out a laugh and Katherine bit her lip. Beyond the window, the sky was beginning to glow with the setting sun. Melissa would be home, soon, Gabe would leave, and Katherine found herself bereft at the thought. Despite the uncomfortable start, it had turned out to be a lovely afternoon. The awkwardness between the two adults was adequately squashed by Isobel's presence.
They had chatted amiably and comfortably as Katherine fixed coffee and a light meal, talking of nothing-- the weather and their life on the ranch. He spoke briefly and shallowly of life in town-- a new jeweller and a new teller at the bank. And maybe she had imagined it, but as they ate their snack she thought she felt the beginnings of a thaw in the strange wall of ice she had erected between them. She even felt a desire to join in the fun as she had stood on the porch, watching them attack each other with snowballs-- Gabe's volleys somewhat more tempered than Isobel's.
And now she sat curled in one corner of the couch with a blanket over her lap, transfixed by the picture of them sitting there together in the chair, voices mingling. She ought to have warned him that Isobel didn't set aside her questions just because it was storytime. Then again, he didn't seem to mind.
"'...not to play the young man, nor to precipitate myself into miseries which nature, and the station of life I was born in, seemed to have provided against.'"
"Mister, Gabe?"
"Hm?" He set the book down on the arm of the chair and reached for his coffee as she peered up at him.
"What's pesipitet missry?"
"Precipitate into misery. Here I s'pose he's just saying not to get himself into trouble."
"On purpose?"
He took a sip of the coffee and shrugged. "Guess so."
Isobel laughed. "How come he'd get in trouble on purpose? That's silly."
"Well, Iz, how come are you always running straight for Reaper's hooves even though I told you not to?"
Isobel scowled up at him and then slumped back into her place. "That's not on purpose, Mister Gabe. I forgot."
"Well, stop forgetting then, honey. You have to be safe."
"I shouldn't pesitate into missry?"
"No, you shouldn't precipitate yourself into misery."
Picking up the book, he picked up where she had cut him off and made it only a few more sentences before she interrupted again.
"Mister Gabe?"
"Yeah?" His tone was unbelievably mild. Even Katherine was getting peeved at the constant interruptions. She wanted to hear the story, darnit.
"Do you have any brothers?"
"No, honey."
"Do you have any sisters?"
"I... sort of."
"Sort of sisters?"
He sighed, a small crack appearing for the first time in his patience. He always grew a little snappy around the subject of his upbringing and the girls at the saloon. "Yeah, Iz. I don't have any brothers or sisters who came from my same ma and pa, but I had some girls who I grew up with when I was little like you."
"What are their names?"
Katherine waited for him to change the subject. To ask her if she wanted to hear the story or not. To rebuff her questions. She knew he wouldn't dare talk to Isobel about whores and his childhood in the brothel, but she wondered how he'd evade her.
"Well, there was Theresa, but I called her Reese. She didn't like that much. And Lindy. She was a couple years older than me."
"Can I meet them?"
"I don't suppose so, Iz. They live a far way from here."
"Where?"
"Down in the desert. In Texas."
"Texas," Isobel said in wonder, as if she had the faintest clue what the name meant. "What's that?"
"It's a state way down south, by Mexico."
"Mexico..." Uttered with the same awe. "What's Mexico?"
"It's another country."
"Can we go there?"
"It's pretty far away."
"Farther than Mrs. Flenderson's house? Pa let me come with him to Mrs. Flenderson's house when I was little. It was far."
"Yeah, Isobel. Farther than Mrs. Flenderson's house."
On and on they went. Sometimes Gabe managed to read whole pages of the book without interruption, and sometimes he and Isobel engaged in whole minutes of conversation without any mention of Mr. Crusoe. Katherine drifted in a half doze, more comfortable and content than she had been in months. In years.
Isobel was starting to nod off in Gabe's lap when his tone shifted.
"I think I oughta head out," he said, and she could hear the twang of reluctance hidden beneath the calm assertion in his voice.
"You can stay for supper," she said, her heart speaking while her mind still struggled to rouse itself from her happy stupor.
"Please stay for dinner, Mister Gabe," Isobel said, turning and clutching his shirt.
"I can't, Iz," he muttered, brushing a thumb over her cheek before lifting his gaze to Katherine. Their eyes met, and her gut roiled. "It's a kind offer, though, Katie. Don't think I'm not grateful."
"Maybe next time," she said, forcing her shoulder up and down in a shrug, as if she didn't care. She felt sick to her stomach at the prospect of him leaving. Or was she sick from having spent so much time beneath the weight of his company? She shook her head a little, dislodging the thoughts. "I'll go put some of those cookies in a tin for you. You can take them to your ma and the girls."
His smile made her stomach buck and she hurried out of the room and across the hallway to the kitchen, leaving him behind to say his farewells to Isobel. Strange, how mere hours had passed and now she didn't hesitate to leave the two of them alone. Her hands trembled as she layered a dozen sugar cookies into a worn tin for him to take home. She hoped he wouldn't give them to the girls. She wanted him to eat them himself, and she wanted him to think of her while he did.
Foolish.
The object of her confused thoughts appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame with Isobel at his side, clinging to his pant leg.
"Alright, Izzy, honey," she crooned, leaving the cookies on the table. "Why don't you go to our room and wait while I see Mister Gabe out."
"But ma--"
"No arguments, little miss. You have to let us adults visit for a little while, otherwise how will we decide when he's going to visit again?"
The little face lit up at that, and she craned her neck to look up at Gabe. "Are you going to come back soon?" she asked, hope spilling over her expression.
Gabe's eyes flicked to Katherine for a split second before he shrugged. "I'd like to. Gotta finish the book, right?"
"Yeah!" she exclaimed, releasing her grip on his pant leg to clap her hands together. "Okay, Mister Gabe. You have to talk to my ma but I'll see you soon." She reached up and, without hesitation, he bent and scooped her up into a hug. She giggled, returning the embrace, blatant adoration in her eyes as he set her back down. "Thank you for visiting," she said, and without another word she turned and scampered off down the hallway.
We're alone.
"I'll see you out," Katherine said, the air in the room suddenly too thick. It would be easier to breathe out in the open. She followed him down the hall, through the entryway, and out onto the porch, clutching her tin of cookies to her chest. The door shut behind them with a muffled thud, and for a long moment they simply stood there. The snowstrewn landscape at dusk was surely something to behold, but she was numb to it, too focused on him. He towered over her, the dark severity of his features a stark contrast to the uncertainty in his eyes. For the thousandth time, the image of the boy's face transposed itself over the man's-- ruddy cheeks and slush-caked hair and a trickle of ice-melt traveling along the line of his jaw. Uncertainty.
"Kiss me again!"
"Thank you for coming," she said, her throat tight, voice hoarse. She lowered her gaze to the wooden slats beneath their feet, unable to meet his gaze. Isobel's gaze. "It wasn't... I didn't... it was wonderful and I..."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
His question caught her off guard and she jerked her head up. He didn't sound angry, but his mouth was a firm line, his eyes carefully expressionless.
"What?"
He shook his head, grimacing, a flicker of doubt passing over his face before his resolve returned. "Josh said I shouldn't push you, but Katherine... how in the hell could you keep this from me? How could you lie about something like this?"
Keep what from you?
What are you talking about?
I'm confused...
Oh, who was she kidding?
"I'm sorry," she said, biting her lip and forcing her eyes to stay fixed with his. It was such a paltry offering, but she couldn't find any other words.
"You don't need to apologize." He shook his head. "But Katherine... five years, sweetheart. She... I... five years."
"I know," she choked out on a sob, shaking her head hard to dissuade the tendrils of guilt that wrapped themselves around her mind. "I know, Gabe. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, Katie. Just tell me why."
"I was frightened," she gasped, clutching the cookie tin tighter to her chest. "I am frightened, Gabe. I know it was stupid and selfish and... and cruel, and..." her thoughts dissolved as the tendrils tightened.
"Kat..." his voice barely fought its way over the roar in her ears. "Kat, please look at me."
Expecting further admonishment, deserved fury and incredulity, she raised her face. She may be a worthless coward, but she was no stranger to pain, and whatever punishment he meted out would be deserved. Perhaps if she suffered his anger she could leave behind some of the guilt that was consuming her.
"Katie, I hate it when you cry," he murmured, and she saw his hands twitch where they hung at his sides. He wanted to hold her, and she wished he would hit her. That pain would be easier to bear. "Please stop crying. I'm sorry. Josh was right, I shouldn't have brought it up."
"No!" She shook her head hard, swiping at the tears with the back of her hand as she swallowed her pain. "No, you should have. You should have, Gabe." She stepped forward, and he froze like the surface of the river in the deepest part of winter. She could see the current that ran, furious and unchecked, through him, but he held himself absolutely still as she reached up and brushed her thumb over his cheek. "I am sorry," she said firmly, wishing her fingers would stop trembling. Wishing she could stop seeing that boy with the flush of embarrassment crawling up his neck and claiming his ears.
"Kiss me again!"
"It's okay," he whispered, his lips barely moving. She wanted to touch them.
Dropping her hand to her side, she clenched it into a fist and stepped back. "It's not okay," she said, shaking her head. "I owe you an explanation. I owe you a whole conversation."
"You don't owe me anyth--"
"Please, Gabe," she admonished, frowning at him. "Let me finish." His lips hardened, brow wrinkling in contrite lines, and he bowed his head. "I owe you a conversation," she went on. "More than that, though, I want to have that conversation. I'm better now, and I want to move forward. I can't keep cowering from everything that happened in the past."
Silence descended, and they stared at each other in the fading light of the sunset. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing, and jerked his head toward the closed door.
"So I'm not seeing things? She's..."
"Yes," she said on a breath, and his face hardened into jagged edges and shadowed planes. She wasn't for a second fooled by the flat expression, though. She saw his shoulders rising and falling and could hear his heart join hers, galloping away across the hills. His eyes took on a sheen and he swallowed again, raising his chin.
"I suppose I'd like her well enough even if she wasn't," he said gruffly. "You did good, Kat."
She gasped out a ragged laugh, hugging the tin so hard it was digging grooves into her breast. "Yeah, she's really something," she managed, her lips quivering as she grasped for a smile. "I'm glad you know."
He stared at her, and then nodded slowly. "Yeah, me too."
"I'm glad you figured it out on your own. I was worried you were going blind." The tease startled her as it emerged, and by the laugh he barked out it startled him as well.
"I'm a little disgusted with myself that it took so long," he said, and she felt as if she'd shucked off the extra layers that had been dragging her down, down, into the inky black depths of some watery grave. For a moment she could swim again, and she shot toward the surface.
"I'm a little surprised the whole town doesn't know," she laughed, fresh tears burning her eyes at the absolute glory of the moment.
"They've always had their heads too far up their asses to see anything clearly," he grumbled.
"Good thing," she said on a giggle.
"Good thing," he echoed, his smirk so familiar it hurt her like a knife to the chest.
"When will you be back?" she asked, no longer afraid of the answer.
He lifted a shoulder and jerked his head in the direction of the ranch. "I'll be back to the ranch on Wednesday. I can swing by when I'm done working."
Confusion overtook her joy and she frowned up at him. "Working? Since when do you work here?"
Perhaps it was the glow of the setting sun, but she could swear a flush touched the very tips of his ears. "Just a couple days a week," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I always thought you and your ma did well," she said, puzzled.
"She does," he said quickly. "We do. It's not... it's not the money, Katherine."
"Then what is it? You just like shoveling cow manure?" she teased, bolstered by the easy banter they had fallen into.
He chuckled, the sound a pleasant rumble that warmed her in spite of the chilly breeze that toyed with her hair. "I'm just picking up some skills, that's all."
Her blood froze in her veins. "This a new thing?" she asked, not wanting to know the answer.
He grimaced and rubbed at the back of his neck again. "Few years."
"How many years, Gabe?"
He met her eye and broke her heart. "Eight, this spring."
Eight.
Eight years.
Eight years ago, they'd come together again. Started talking about going somewhere, making plans for a new life. Eight years ago he'd started working extra hours at a job he didn't need, just 'picking up some skills.' And five years ago...
"What kind of future can you offer us?"
Her own words hit her with the force of Jacob's fist, and she took a step back. Gabe's face contorted and he stepped forward, but she halted his progress by shoving the cookie tin out in front of her.
"These are for you," she said, her voice thick.
"Katie--"
"I know I said you should take them to the girls, but they're for you," she rambled, giving the tin a little shake. He took it and she folded her arms over her chest. "Don't share them," she pleaded. "They're for you."
His lips turned up in a tender smile and he nodded. "You don't have to twist my arm, sweetheart."
"What kind of future can you offer us?"
"We'll see you on Wednesday, then?" she asked, lifting her gaze. "After you're done working?"
"Just picking up some skills."
"On one condition," he said with a crooked grin, and she gulped down the lump of terror that formed in her throat.
"We have to tell Isobel the truth."
"You have to tell me everything."
"You have to promise not to leave with her."
"You have to let me back into your bed."
"What is it?" she squeaked, hugging herself tighter, and his grin faded to a sad smile.
"Izzy has a knack for inquisition, and she's too clever by half,"" he said gently, his tone encouraging, like he was coaxing an animal back out of a corner. "I have to make up half the answers I give her when she asks about words and weather and all that. I could some help with all her questions."
"Sure," she agreed, struggling to smile again. Those heavy layers had wrapped back around her. Guilt. Fear. Longing. Regret. She was sinking again, back down into the darkness... until he freed her. Stepping forward, transfering the cookie tin to his left hand, he reached for her. She watched his hand move through the space between them, slow but deliberate, and his fingers hovered a few inches from her cheek.
Kiss me again.
With a bravery she didn't know she possessed, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. At her tug, he closed the distance, and the feel of his rough hand against the sensitive skin of her jaw sent a wave of heat through her body. She wondered if he could sense her skin warming beneath his touch. She brushed her thumb over the inside of his wrist and his jaw clenched so hard she could see his heartbeat in his temple.
"You don't ever have to be afraid of me," he breathed, his own thumb feathering over the arch of her cheekbone, his eyes boring into hers. "You make the rules, Katie. All you have to do is draw the line and I'll toe it. I'd rather die than hurt either you or Isobel. You know that."
"I know," she whispered, a tear breaking loose and leaving a hot trail over her cheek. He brushed it away, his face twisting.
"All I ask is that you talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me the rules so I'm not sitting here wondering if I've broken them."
"Okay," she choked out, tightening her grip on his wrist. "Thank you."
"Katherine..." he trailed off on a wistful smile. "Sweetheart, you haven't ever got to thank me for anything, do you understand? You've given me more in this life than I ever had cause to expect, and now..." he gave his head a disbelieving little shake. "Just promise me you'll talk to me."
"I promise."
Kiss me again!
He kissed her. Slow enough for her to shove him away if she wanted, he drew her forward and bent and pressed his lips to her forehead. The touch was so light it could have been the breeze, but it wasn't the breeze and her eyes fluttered shut on a sigh. She imagined herself falling forward into the solid warmth of him, wrapping her arms around his steady breadth and sinking into memories. She could live in them forever. He would let her.
When his hand dropped away, she released her hold on his wrist and watched him step back. She cleared her throat and getured weakly at the cookie tin.
"Don't share them," she said feebly, and he smiled.
"I won't."
"Ride safe."
"I will."
"See you on Wednesday?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
***
Well... in the last two weeks I've cleared out my office, packed my apartment, moved my apartment to storage, and hit the road. It's been absolute insanity, something wrong at every turn, and it has completely erased the buffer I'd created for this story. Here's hoping the next couple weeks area little more laid back so I can build it back up.
I hope your life is a little calmer than mine, and that you are still enjoying the story! As always, thank you for reading <3
Liz
***