Gabriel's Atonement (14 page)

The man behind her coughed, and the ghastly odor of his stale breath and rotting teeth made her want to retch. She covered her nose and mouth with her bandaged hand and stepped forward. Swallowing back the bile in her throat, she kept her feet still, knowing if she ran outside, she'd lose her place in line—and she was so close now. The stuffiness of the dim room mixed with the pungent odor of dirty men almost became too much.

She set her bucket down, pulled her handkerchief from under her cuff and fanned herself with it. Oh, what she wouldn't give for her hand fan, even if it did have an advertisement for a burial service on it. Just when she was certain she'd swoon, the man in front of her stepped away, revealing an aged clerk. His pale blue eyes twinkled with mirth. “I know it ain't right to ask a woman's age, but it's my job. Have ya reached twenty-one yet, missy?”

Lara nodded. “Yes, sir. I have.”

“Then just sign your John Henry, ma'am, right on that line.” He pointed at the ledger book then rattled off the same spiel he'd given every other person before her.

Lara signed her grandpa's name, Daniel Jensen, and started to leave. She glanced at the list, and when the old man turned his back, she added her own name. Picking up the bucket, she spun and hurried outside. She pushed her way through the line of waiting men, darted into the alley, and bent over, trying to catch her breath. What she needed was a cool glass of water. Maybe she could beg one off the doctor when she went there to buy Grandpa's quinine.

She gasped in several deep breaths then straightened, willing her blurred vision to clear. That had been a close call. Maybe skipping breakfast so that she could slip Michael and Grandpa her share of the johnnycakes hadn't been a good idea. Holding on to the side of the wall, she slowly made her way back to the boardwalk. Several men gave her curious stares, but no one offered their assistance, much to her relief.

Embarrassed by her display of womanly weakness, she stepped back into the shade of the boardwalk and wove her way through the crowd toward the doctor's office. The kind man gave her a drink of tepid water and a wet cloth for her face, then with two dozen quinine pills in a small bottle in her pocket, she stepped outside the doctor's office and ran smack into a solid body. The empty bucket went clanging to the ground. The man's hands quickly came out to steady her, and she anchored onto his arms as another wave of weakness washed over her.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Talbot?”

The doctor's door jingled shut behind her as Gabe Coulter guided her to sit down in the chair outside of the office. She took a moment to collect herself, knowing she was going to have to eat more to be able to function. If not for the abnormally hot April day and the foul odors in the land office, she probably would have been fine.

“I'm getting the doctor.” Gabe rose from his squat, but she grabbed the edge of his jacket in a very improper manner for a lady.

“No, please. I'm fine.” She had no money to pay the doctor and wasn't about to get into Mr. Coulter's debt further. “I just got overheated.”

He retrieved her bucket then eased down in the chair next to her, looking less than convinced. “Are you sure? Do you need some water?”

Lara shook her head. “Truly, I'm fine. I just need to sit for a few moments.”

The scent of fresh-baked bread wafted by on the warm breeze, making her empty stomach gurgle a protest. She covered her middle with her hand but feared Mr. Coulter had heard. With warm cheeks, she glanced up to see him smiling like a rogue.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Hungry, are we?”

Mortified, she looked away. Why was she always at her worst when he was around? Looking down, she noticed her dirty toes sticking out from under her dress and slid them beneath her frayed skirt. Could things get any worse?

“What were you doing in the doctor's office? Are you sicker than you're willing to admit?” His warm smile wilted, as if he was truly concerned about her welfare.

“I am not sick.”

“I suppose you came back so he could check your hand. How's it doing?”

She waved her freshly bandaged hand in the air. “Fine, but the doctor wants me to keep it covered for another day or two.”

“I'm glad you didn't break it.” His mouth pulled into a tightlipped smile, which made Lara wonder if he still felt responsible. He tugged a shiny gold watch from the pocket of his vest and cleared his throat. “I was just heading over to the café for lunch. I'd be delighted if you'd accompany me.” He held out his hand as if the decision had already been made.

She shook her head. “Thank you, but I can't.” She may be a widow, but nobody in Caldwell knew that yet. How would it look if she were to dine with a man other than her husband?

Her stomach growled again, and she sank lower in the chair.

With her bucket looped over one arm, Mr. Coulter took her hand and tugged her up. “I insist.” He stood so close that she caught a whiff of his spicy bay rum scent. She never knew a man could smell so refreshing. After the reeking, hairy hoard of grubby men in the land office, he smelled delightful. And she'd yet to see him dirty or unshaven. She admired a man who cared enough to tend to his daily ablutions. Suddenly feeling crowded by his closeness, she tried to step back, but the bench pressed against her calves.

He quirked a rascally grin, as if he knew her thoughts, then took her uninjured hand, looped it around his arm, and gently pulled her with him down the boardwalk. When she tried to tug her hand away, he applied enough pressure to hold her securely in place.

“Please, Mr. Coulter, it isn't proper for you to accompany me around town. I'm a widow, but most of the townsfolk don't know that. Besides, I'm in mourning.”

His gaze traveled the length of her faded dress, making her want to turn and run. “You don't appear to be in mourning. And call me Gabe.”

She wanted to slap that smug expression off his face but had no free hand to do so. She tried yanking away again, but he placed his left hand on her arm to hold her there. “I'll set you free after you've eaten a three-course meal. You are far too thin, Mrs. Talbot.”

“I can't. Please let me go. I've got to get back home.”

He stopped in front of the café door and looked at her. “You need to eat a decent meal. You're so weak you can hardly stand up straight. After we dine, I'll rent a buggy and drive you home, if your duties in town are completed.”

“You have no right to order me to eat.” Lara stopped suddenly, refusing to go another step as his prisoner. “Turn loose of me, you cad.”

She glared at him, but he just grinned back at her like she'd given him the world's nicest compliment. The bell on the café door jingled as two cowboys stepped out. They glanced at her and Gabe but kept on walking. She considered asking for their help, but the fragrant odors of food that followed them out the door made her waver.

When Mr. Coulter ushered her inside, her rebellious feet followed. He seated her then took the chair across from her and smiled. “See, that wasn't so difficult, was it?”

Lara crossed her bandaged hand over her other arm and glared at him. She had no idea how she'd ended up in this chair. What she ought to do was storm outside and run home, but she doubted she could get that far. All she'd had to eat since lunch yesterday had been two hush puppies and a sliver of fish. The tantalizing odors of roast beef and fried chicken melted her last resistance.

“Fine. I'll eat with you, Mr. Coulter, but no buggy ride. I'm perfectly capable of walking such a short distance.” She hiked up her chin.

His dark eyes twinkled. “We'll see. And call me Gabe. I insist.”

She narrowed her brow. “You're quite insistent at ordering me about when you hardly know me.” She refused to call him by his first name. What point was there arguing about that since today was probably her last day in Caldwell?

Something deep inside her winced at the thought of having to bid him good-bye for the last time. He was the only man ever to truly treat her like a lady, even though she'd been as skittish as a wet cat trapped in a rain barrel. Not even when she and Tom were courting had Tom ever treated her so nicely. Lara sighed.

Humbled, she cleared her throat. “I want to thank you for your assistance yesterday. I really don't know how I would have managed otherwise.”

He waved his neatly manicured hand in the air. “It was the very least I could do after causing you so much pain and trouble.”

She wanted to argue that the boy had caused her problems, but she kept silent. If it made him feel good to help her, she wasn't going to steal his joy.

The waitress came, and Gabe ordered roast beef while she requested the fried chicken. Her mouth watered, and she hoped there'd be enough food that she could take some home for Michael. The growing boy needed to eat more meat.

“Are you in town on business, Mr. Coulter? I don't recall seeing you until recently.” She toyed with a fraying corner of her cloth napkin.

“It's Gabe, remember?” He grinned and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'd just arrived the day I met you at the depot when you calmed my horse. Thank you again for that, by the way.”

She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. She'd just happened to be cutting through the depot on her way home from delivering the Henrys' mending, when she saw the spooked horse. While working on Grandpa's ranch, she'd learned young that she had a knack for handling the beautiful animals. “My pleasure.”

“I live in Kansas City but came down here to look for someone. I've discovered since then that selling horses here can be very lucrative.”

Lara hoped he wasn't cheating desperate people by selling them overpriced mounts. Her stomach growled on cue as the waitress approached with two plates filled with steaming food. Her eyes widened and her mouth watered at the sight of a half chicken coated with crispy fried batter, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and a plate of hot rolls.

Gabe nodded his thanks to the waitress and picked up his fork. He glanced at her, brows tucked. “Something wrong?”

Shaking her head, Lara cleared her throat. “It's just that we always say grace over our meals.”

“Sorry, it's been awhile since I've done that. Go ahead.” He laid his fork down, looking contrite.

She asked God's blessing for the food then cut off a plump thigh and looked around the café. Since it was only a quarter past eleven, a crowd hadn't gathered yet. She took the remaining pieces of chicken, dropped them discreetly into her bucket, then laid the cheesecloth over them. She avoided Gabe's searing gaze and concentrated on eating everything else on her plate. Soon, she was as stuffed as she could ever remember being.

When she looked up, he glanced at the bucket then quirked one brow. Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I couldn't possibly eat all this, and now I'll have some for later.”

“Sounds like a wise plan.” He pushed the plate of rolls toward her. “I need some coffee after that delicious meal.”

When he looked around the café as if he was searching for the waitress, she dropped her thigh bone into the bucket, imagining the soup she would make from the leftover bones, and placed the remaining rolls on top.

Gabe's dark eyes glistened with amusement. “I hope the waitress doesn't think you were so hungry that you ate the bones.”

Lara darted a glance at the plump woman who was waiting on another table. Gabe tossed some money down beside his plate. “Shall we go?”

“What about your coffee?”

He stood and waved his hand. “I can always get some later, unless of course, you'd care for some pie.”

“No, but thank you for offering.” She allowed him to escort her outside, grateful that he didn't embarrass her for taking the chicken. Now she was eager to make her getaway, lest he offer her a ride. She didn't want to like Gabe Coulter, but he'd done nothing so far to make her dislike him, other than being overly insistent about things.

“I'll go fetch the buggy. Would you like to wait here or walk to the livery with me?”

She looked up in his handsome face. If only he would spend some time outside, doing some physical labor to help him lose a little weight and allow the sun to darken his skin, he'd be close to perfect. Her eyes widened at that thought. She had no business thinking such things about him.

She ducked her head to avoid his questioning gaze. “I allowed you to buy me dinner, but I insist on walking home.”

“You insist?” He chuckled, making her look up. “That's my line.”

Lara couldn't help returning his smile. “Be that as it may, I'll be walking home. Thank you for the lovely dinner. It was delicious.” She turned and started moving away, but he quickly caught up.

“It's just plain crazy for you to walk. I'm bored half to death here. You'd be doing me a favor.”

She shook her head and looked around, hoping to see Jo. When her gaze landed on the heavyset man who'd told her about Tom's death walking toward her, she took a step backward. What was he doing here again?

The man's gaze darted apprehensively to Gabe and back to her. This time he had a different horse—a fine-looking buckskin with a black mane and tail. “Good day, Mrs. Talbot.” His gaze shifted toward Gabe. “Mr…. uh…”

“Coulter. Gabe Coulter.” He held out his hand, and the man shook it.

Lara wasn't certain, but she thought she'd seen a spark of amusement in Gabe's eyes for a moment, but she failed to understand why.

“I'm lucky to run into you here in town, Mrs. Talbot.” He tipped his hat. “Sorry to bother you again, ma'am, but my boss was mighty displeased that you refused to come to Kansas City to meet him.”

Of all the nerve! She stiffened her back and glared at him. “I don't owe your employer anything, Mr. Jones, especially my valuable time. It's quite rude of him to expect me to travel so far to visit a stranger. If he wants to see me so badly, why doesn't he come here?”