Gabe
Well...
If he had known how this visit was going to go, he wouldn't have wasted the last three days dreading it with such intensity. If he had known a silly little stab wound would inspire such a swift return of the Katherine he had fallen in love with, he'd have gone and goaded some poor sap into a knife fight a long time ago. If he had known that she would make it so impossible to tear himself away, he'd have sent someone else to tell her it was time for her and Isobel to leave.
Just once in his life, he'd like for things to be simple.
No, that was a lie. He didn't mind these kinds of complications at all. Her body was so real in his hold, so much more substantial than his dreams of her. So much more solid than the broken, feeble form he had carried through the woods while Isobel clung to his back.
He didn't dare make any untoward movements. Once, long ago, he'd have slid a hand up her chest and palmed one of the rounded swells, or perhaps snaked a hand around and dug his fingers into the soft curve of a buttock. But that was before, when he had known what she liked and what made her hiss at him in displeasure. Now...
Now, he'd be damned if he made a move to stop this miracle, so he let her lead and kept his hands in safe areas. His right was curled around her leg, his palm pressed to the outside of her thigh. He could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric of her dress. It warmed him everywhere they touched, banishing the unnatural chill that had gripped him since his encounter with Edward Crenshaw's favorite hunting knife.
His left hand was buried in the soft strands of her hair, his palm cradling the back of her head. He didn't dare shift his touch, but he was content for now to relish in the silkiness of her hair and the knowledge that she was giving herself freely.
And all that was to say nothing of the kiss. Her lips and hands had always been as brazen as her words and demeanor were chaste. She plundered his mouth with her tongue, and it was no hardship to let her do so. She tasted of blue skies and racing frothy waters. Of silly games and laughter that made his belly ache with strain. This close, he could smell the lavender touch to her hair. Did she remember?
Her hands moved across his body like she was a blind woman, trying to picture him with her fingers. They combed through his hair and kneaded his shoulders, the back of his neck. Flat palms ran down his chest, his arms, his sides. It wasn't frantic. Everything with Katherine had always been deliberate, even the moments of spontaneity. She never did a thing she didn't mean. Never committed an action she hadn't pondered on with God sitting on her shoulder. He still remembered the night she had given him her virginity.
"God is love," she had told him. "And I love you. This is a gift. Not a sin."
Sometimes it felt like both. Maybe God had never meant it to be simple.
Pinpricks of light were flashing against the backs of his eyelids. He needed to breathe, but he'd die before he broke away from her. With a gasp, she pulled away and hot puffs of air hit his cheek as she fought for air. He did the same, still holding her. She pressed her forehead to his, and he smelled the salt of her tears.
"Kat," he breathed, but when he pulled back she held him, one hand cupped around the back of his neck.
"I'm happy," she whispered, and her lips whispered over his in a gentle reassurance. "Happy tears. I missed you." She shifted, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her face to his shoulder. He felt the heat of her tears on his skin as her words became a litany. "I missed you, I missed you, I missed you..."
"I missed you too, sweetheart," he murmured into her hair.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
She pulled away, one hand clasping his shoulder as she smoothed the other over his cheek with a sad smile. "What are we going to do, Gabe?" she asked quietly, her smile turning to a frown as she studied his face. Cautiously, he ran his hand down her side and squeezed her hip.
"I don't know, Katie. I just know I want you girls as far away from here as I can get you."
"What about you, though? What about your mom? The girls? What about the Tuckers and the folks in town who haven't gone rotten? I can't leave you to fight a war alone."
"You have to leave, Katherine. For Isobel. If you leave, you can say... I don't know. You can say you're a widow. Isobel doesn't have to grow up with the stigma of illegitimacy. You don't have to fear judgment for infidelity or reprisal from Jacob's followers. You can be whoever you want to be."
"What if I want to be with you?"
Her words sliced through him. She had never, in all the years of their friendship, suggested that her future might braid itself with his. Yes, they had made up fantasies of make-believe lands where they could be together. Yes, she had said that she loved him. But he had begged her to run away with him. Pleaded with her to let him marry her before her father could give her away to Jacob. She had always turned him down for one reason or another. Her commitments to her family, her oath to Jacob, his lack of an honest trade.
Now she finally wanted what he was offering, and he couldn't give it to her...
"I'll take you," he said. "We'll find someplace for you to go, and I'll make sure you make it there safely. But I have to come back here, Katherine."
"For your mother?"
"And the girls..."
"And when it's over?"
He'd never lied to her, but the truth lodged itself in his throat. The truth would ruin everything.
"When it's over I'll come find you," he said, forcing his eyes not to leave her face. Her lips quirked in a sad smile, and he knew she didn't believe him. But he still couldn't say the truth-- that a dead man couldn't come find her. This road they were on had only one destination. Jacob Peters had to die, or nobody Gabe loved would be safe. The girls and his mother would be in danger. Katherine would have to live looking over her shoulder. Yes, Reverend Peters had to die, Gabe had to kill him, and the folks in town wouldn't let the good reverend go without demanding blood for blood. A life for a life. And no matter who killed the reverend, there was only one life that would satisfy their bloodlust.
"Where will we go?" she asked, her voice breaking as fresh tears made shiny, firelit tracks down her cheeks.
He shrugged, brushing the tears away with the pad of his thumb. "Like I said, maybe Texas? Or maybe Amelia has some friends in St. Louis. Where do you want to go?"
She sniffed, lowering her gaze, and he lifted her face with a finger beneath her chin. Tears gathered on her eyelashes, and he brought her close, pressing a kiss to each eye, tasting the salt of her sadness. "Where do you want to go, Katie?" he murmured again, trailing the backs of his fingers up the soft curve of her jaw.
"I want to go where you are," she answered, sticking her lower lip out in a little pout that made him laugh in spite of the futility of it all.
"You're as dramatic as our daughter," he teased, tracing the curve of her plump lower lip. "What happened to my pragmatic girl and her dream of a quiet, honest life?"
Well, damn. He hadn't meant to make her cry harder, but that was what happened. Her face scrunched and her hands pushed into his hair, and she showered his face in tears and kisses.
"I'm sorry," she wept, her words hushed but packed with vehemence. "I should have had faith."
"Katherine, stop." He couldn't let her blame herself for the way things had gone. He could have given her more reason to hope. What was more, he now understood the compulsion that had driven her on the night they parted ways. Nothing mattered but Isobel, and at the time she had thought the safest, most secure home for her daughter was with the reverend. Nevermind that she had been mistaken. He faced a similar impossible decision now. Send his girls away without him, or accompany them. Both options felt disastrous. "You were right, sweetheart. A brothel was no place to raise a child. It still isn't. I still haven't got prospects enough to support us."
"No," she murmured, hugging him close, her words a draught of warm air across his ear. "You would have found a way, Gabe. We both would have. We still can."
God, he hoped so.
"You think so?"
"Yes," she breathed, tightening her hold until all he knew was the sensation of her. Her warmth pressed against his side. Her arms, tight around his neck. The scent of her hair in his nose, and the whisper of her promise in his ear. "Yes. We can. We can be a family, Gabe. Let us be a family. Let Isobel have her father. God will see to Jacob's punishment, Gabe. Don't take His will into your hands."
"Okay."
She jerked up, her brow crinkling in a frown as she studied his face. "Okay?" she echoed. "Really? That easy?"
It hadn't been before, but all of a sudden it was. Maybe all he'd needed was to hear her vocalize her faith. Maybe Isobel was the difference. Maybe God intended for it to be simple after all. Whatever the reason, he was suddenly, agonizingly aware that he had lost his agency. He loved his mother and the women under her employ. He would die for them, but he couldn't abandon his daughter for them. Not even for them could he send Katherine into the world to create a new life after she had looked into his eyes and asked him to come with her. To be a father to their daughter.
"Yes," he whispered, capturing her mouth with his. Speaking to her during breaks for air as they drowned beneath cascading waves of returning passion. "Yes, it's simple," he breathed as he finally dared to stroke a hand over her backside, squeezing until she giggled. "I love you," he murmured as her own fingers dug into his chest. "I love Isobel," he said distractedly as he kissed a trail from her ear down the column of her neck. "I'd do anything to be with you," he half-choked as she dragged his mouth back to hers, her teeth nipping gently at his lip.
"Oh! Oh, I... oh, no. Come on, Iz, let's--"
"Ma? Mister Gabe?"
He felt like a campfire that had just collapsed beneath a bucket of water. Sizzling and steaming, but utterly dark. Katherine turned to stone beneath his hands. Slowly, like they risked shattering if they moved too fast, they both pulled back from the kiss. For a moment he studied Katherine. Her lips and chin were pink and raw, and he couldn't calm his own ragged breathing. Then he turned to the doorway.
Melissa stood silhouetted in the frame, her expression a confused mixture of delight and distress. She had a hand clapped over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock but crinkled at the edges.
And Isobel.
Oh, Christ. Isobel.
She looked like her birthday had come early.
"Ma?" she repeated, her grin so wide he could see the little gap where she had lost a back tooth the day before his last visit. "Mister Gabe?"
"Hi, Iz," Gabe answered, his voice hoarse and foreign to his ears.
"Mister Gabe, were you kissing Ma?" The little brow crinkled in a puzzled frown.
"I--"
"My pa said I shouldn't kiss boys," Isobel said, glancing at Katherine, who stared back helplessly. "He said I'm not ready yet. He said I have to marry a boy before I can kiss him, and he said I can only marry him if God says it's okay."
"That's, uh... that's good advice," he croaked. Katherine gave a little hiccup and covered her mouth with a hand.
"Did you marry Ma?"
"No, honey. She... I--"
"Did God say it's okay?"
No, but your mother did and that's all that has ever mattered. Katherine twitched as if preparing to leap from his lap, and he gave her hip a little squeeze. Stay with me? Her eyes caught his, wide and puzzled. Utterly trusting. She had meant what she'd said. It hadn't been a moment of passion, extinguished by the shock of Melissa and Isobel's presence. Even in the cold light of public scrutiny, she was willing to stand with him. She stilled, her body relaxing against his side.
"Come here, Isobel," he commanded, and the little girl scampered to obey. He caught a glimpse of Melissa's amused expression before the other woman made herself scarce. Then he was staring down at Isobel, who stood calmly before them, hands clasped behind her back.
"Hi, Mister Gabe," she said, twisting a little at the hips as she grinned up at him.
"Hi, Isobel."
"Were you kissing my ma, Mister Gabe?"
"I was."
"Did you marry her?"
"No, honey."
A little frown. A tiny crease between two small brows. "Is God mad at you, then? It's bad for God to be mad at you."
"What do you think, Iz?"
"Me?"
"Yeah. Do you think God is mad that I love your mother very much and I want to kiss her?"
The frown deepened. Katherine sucked in a breath, and he felt her chest press against his side as they watched their daughter ponder the simple complexity of the question.
"You love her?" she asked finally.
"I do."
"Do you love me?"
His heart cracked and bled love out into his chest. Into his arms and legs. For a moment his mind went to his mother. If she loved him even half as much as he loved this child, the very worst thing he could do for her would be to sacrifice love and happiness for loyalty to her. He would carve out his own heart if it would make his daughter happy. He would walk into a hail of bullets if it would keep her safe.
"Of course, honey."
She gave a sharp nod and grinned toothily up at them both. "I don't think God is mad," she said, and he released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Katherine laughed, reaching down to tug at one of Isobel's pigtails.
"I don't think so either," she whispered conspiratorially, then she straightened and turned to him. "What about you, Mister Gabe?" she teased, leaning in to brush a chaste kiss over his lips.
"No," he murmured, kissing one corner of her mouth and then the other. "I don't think he's mad at all."
***
So here's the deal.
Between the pre-trip stress and the writer's block and work drama and a host of other excuses, I managed to completely lose my buffer over the past couple weeks. What you're reading is effectively as far as I've written.
What's more, my internet over the next couple weeks is going to range from nonexistent to spotty.
The good news: I plan to spend this period of darkness getting my buffer back. I've downloaded everything to my desktop so I can write without wifi, and I've got my mojo back. So as soon as I get a few free moments to write I am going to make up the ground I've lost.
The bad news: unless a miracle occurs, I am going to miss next week's post. HOPEFULLY NOT. But it's a possibility.
I hope that since I'm leaving you in an upbeat place, you can forgive me. I really am sorry to have fallen behind. I was kinda proud of how consistent I had been with these updates and it kills me that I've fallen behind.
In the meantime: another plug for my Instagram (@lizptvorik). I will try to at least send up some updates there when/if I am able to get service. It's a private account, and if you follow it I promise not to post any NSFW stuff. It's mostly just photos of my dog.
Love to you all, and (as always) thank you for reading.
<3 <3 <3
Liz
***