Hannah Grace (32 page)

"I'm giving you the chance to step back," he muttered, as if reading her thoughts, his head half-bent toward a kiss. Her heart hammered at full tilt.

He expected her to dictate the next move, but as a gentleman, he figured he should take responsibility. Oh, bother.

Leaning forward, he kissed the tip of her nose, then brushed a gentle, velvety kiss across her forehead before journeying downward to kiss both cheeks. Oh, but his lips are soft-much softer than Ralston's, she decided, and savory-yes, that was it-savory, not to mention smooth as polished stones.

Lord God, have mercy on my soul. What's happening to me? I'm not going to swoon, am I? What could be more mortifying? ON I do so hate to swoon. Remind me how to breathe, Lord.

His hands slipped up her arms and tugged her to him, and because of her wobbly stance, she couldn't find the strength to move her legs, so she simply sagged into the warmth of his embrace. Double bother!

"Hannah Grace Kane, what am I going to do with you?" he whispered against her lips.

Ralston never whispered such things, never fanned her face with his breath, never made her skin tingle. Why, he'd never even kissed the tip of her nose! And who would have known such a kiss could feel so lovely?

Repositioning his hands at the hollow of her back, Gabe locked them tight around her, and so she followed suit, her trembling limbs clinging. She tried to say he would be the death of her, but when she parted her lips, he chose that moment to smother her words, if not her breath, with another moist kiss, one that seemed to carry her to places she never knew existed. Ralston never took her anywhere but Culver House!

Warmth rippled through her veins while the kiss lingered, urging her to do her part to make it worthwhile, which only made her heart hammer harder and her senses swim. Ralston never made her senses swim, never made her-Ralston. ON my!

Ralston! Oh, for goodness' sake, what am I doing?

Guilt-ridden and shocked for having yielded to Gabe's kisses-again-Hannah wriggled away from his embrace, reality striking her with astonishing clarity.

"You are a masterful manipulator, a-a proficient persuader!" she accused.

Looking as dazed as someone who'd just been whacked in the gut, he gave his head a stunned shake. "What?" She moved away from him, at which time he invited himself back inside and closed the door. "I am neither of those, Hannah Grace, and, if you'll recall, I gave you plenty of time to stop me."

"Plenty, my sore foot! You barely gave me a chance to think."

A mouthful of air hurtled out of him and he scraped a hand through his hair. "You knew it was coming." He grinned in that crooked, beguiling way. "Face it, Hannah, something's going on between us, and you're having just as hard a time resisting me as I am you."

She dropped her jaw and sucked in a raspy gasp, pulling her shoulders straight as pins. "Wh-I can resist you just fine."

Now he tossed back his head and let the laughter flow.

She saw no humor whatsoever in the situation, and she opened her mouth to tell him so, but a deafening boom-gunfire?-drowned her attempt. He jolted with shock, then immediately leaped into action, snagging her by the arm and pulling her into the kitchen. "Stand there and don't move," he ordered her.

She was inclined to obey. Next, he bolted for the back door, but Grandmother and Jesse rushed inside before he even got there, slamming the door shut after Dusty galloped in behind them.

"It came from that direction," Helena panted, pointing east up Ridge Street.

"Was that a g-gun?" Jesse stammered. "It-it sounded like that time I..." But he left the sentence hanging, his milkwhite face creased in worry.

Gabe crouched beside the boy and rumpled his head of black hair. "Like what?" he asked, his voice uncommonly controlled. "Have you heard gunfire before? When was that, buddy? Can you tell me?"

Rather than respond with words, Jesse threw his arms around Gabe's neck and buried his face in its solid cushion. Gabe put a hand to the back of his head and drew him close. "It's all right," he assured. "Everything's gonna be fine. We'll talk later." Over Jesse's head, Gabe looked from Helena to Hannah.

"Poor lamb," Helena whispered.

Jesse clung for several seconds, but finally Gabe peeled him off, angling him with a steady gaze. "You're going to have to be the man here," he explained, arms on his narrow shoulders. "Can you do that?"

Jesse straightened to his full height and hiccupped a jagged sigh, then gave a slow, solemn nod.

"Good. I knew I could count on you." Then, to Hannah and Helena, he said, "I want everyone upstairs and out of sight. Do not come down until I give the word. Do you understand?"

Helena gave three rapid nods, her face long and serious. "Absolutely. Come on, Jesse." She extended her hand. "I want to show you something."

"What?" he asked, taking the hand she offered, Dusty herding them toward the stairs.

"You do like to read, right?" Helena asked.

"Yeah:

"Well, then you'll be amazed by my book collection,"

Their voices faded as they mounted the stairs.

"What's happening, Gabe?" Hannah asked.

Gabe left her standing in the kitchen and made for the front door, taking out his revolver and checking its cylinder for ammunition. Satisfied, he stuffed it back in its holster. "I don't know, but I'm about to find out." His professional air somehow left her feeling deflated. She wanted the same reassurance he'd just doled out to Jesse.

She moved toward him and looked at his gun. Did he expect to shoot someone? "Go upstairs, Hannah," he issued. "I don't have time to talk."

"But-"

"Go!"

He pushed the door open, paused, then turned and kissed her on the cheek. It held about as much passion as one of Ralston's pecks.

When she didn't budge, he reached up and gave one of her curls a gentle tug. "Listen, Hannah, I don't want to worry about you while I'm trying to sort out who's shooting who, you understand?" The stare-down lasted a few seconds before he dropped the curl and turned around. "Go upstairs."

Leaving her standing there, he pulled the door shut behind him, then looked through the glass at her while pointing at the stairs.

Another gunshot sounded, jolting her body. "Go!" This time, the command held no friendliness.

In haste, she picked up her skirts and dashed across the room, taking two steps at a time up the stairs, just like she used to do when she and her sisters had played hide-and-seek in the big house.

ully aware of his surroundings and having no idea where the shots were fired from, Gabe advanced down the porch steps with caution, his trained mind focused now on nothing but scouting out his environs, attentive to every sight and sound. He wished for his horse, but he'd walked Hannah and Jesse home, so it appeared he had no choice but to walk, which was just as well. This way, he could cut between houses, if need be, and crouch from bush to bush.

Sensing danger, or at least excitement of a different kind, neighborhood dogs barked and howled, interfering with his ability to focus. A black squirrel skittered down a tree and darted across Gabe's path as he headed east on Ridge. Cold air forced him to secure the top button of his coat,

"Lord, please protect this town and guide my steps. I need Your direction right now." This he whispered as he hurried up the pebbled road, hand poised on his revolver. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted several folks peering out their front windows, drawing back the curtains far enough to watch him pass. One block over, he saw a man on horseback. He was about to warn him to back off when the fellow reined his horse into a thicket of trees, disappearing from view.

A squeaking door opened. "Psst! Sheriff!" hissed a voice. It was Herb Horton, who came out in his long underwear and stepped to the edge of his porch.

Gabe approached him. "You best get back inside," he warned.

"If I had my guess, I'd say that was old Bill Elwood shootin' off his gun. I seen the fire wagons go up Fourth a while ago. I was over t' Bill and Evaleen's place last night tryin' to help get a cat out of their tree. 'Fraid I made matters worse, though. Fool thing kept hissin' and goin' higher. Bill's about lost most of his marbles, if you know what I mean, and this cat ain't helped matters,"

"I appreciate that, Herb,"

"You know where the Elwoods live?"

"I have a good idea,"

"Turn right on Fourth an' take that one block t' Oak Avenue. My guess is, them fire wagons are parked outside,"

"Thanks, Herb. Now, you best get back inside,"

"I'm a goin:" After yanking open his squeaky door, he gave a holler. "Ol' Bill ain't really dangerous as he seems. He's just fallen off his rocker."

Old Bill was off his rocker, all right. In fact, when Gabe rounded the corner on Oak Avenue, he saw Bill standing on the edge of his porch, rifle aimed and at the ready, several members of the Sandy Shores Fire Department and a few unidentified citizens hiding out behind trees and wagons, too afraid to move. Crouching down, Gabe crept to the side of the house, unseen by Bill, but catching the eye of his deputy, Gus van der Voort, who had found a spot behind a skinny maple.

"Throw your gun down, Bill," Gus shouted out. "You don't want anyone gettin' hurt, now, do you?"

Gus looked at Gabe, who gestured for him to continue talking. Gus gave a helpless shrug and raised an inquiring brow.

Gabe mouthed the words, "Keep talking." Gus nodded.

"Come on, Bill. Throw down that rifle. None of us here means you any harm,"

"Shut yer trap!" Bill retorted, his words resounding through the quiet little neighborhood, setting off a couple of dogs. A black cat darted across the neighbor's yard, and a woman opened her door in haste, inviting the feline inside. As soon as the cat skittered in, the door closed with a whop.

From his hiding place, Gabe took a moment to study Bill Elwood. He had to be in his late seventies, but he still had a hefty build, probably the result of his career in logging. Too bad his brain had fallen behind.

"Didn't I tell you to send for Mort McPherson?" Bill hollered like a wild man. "What you waitin' for?" He fired off another warning shot into the trees. Gabe felt the hairs on his neck stand straight up, saw the men Bill held captive jolt to attention. "I ain't puttin' my gun down till he gets his hide over here. He and me got a score t' settle."

Gus shot Gabe a forlorn look, which Gabe answered with an encouraging nod. Gus sucked in a fortifying breath. "I already told you, Bill, Mort McPherson's dead."

"Would you stop sayin' that? He's not dead. Shoot, we played cards not two weeks ago." Bill waved his gun in a frantic fashion as he talked. "Good-for-nothin' scoundrel didn't win fair and square, though. Took my last dime, and I mean to get it back,"

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Bill. He died last spring, when the pneumonia took him. You were one of his pallbearers, if I recollect right."

"Huh?" Bill rubbed the back of his neck and scowled, his eyes closing for the briefest time. When he scraped a hand through his thinning white hair and started to pace, Gabe took advantage of the moment by advancing around the corner of the house, skulking like a prowler to stay out of sight, then hunkering down behind a mostly bare forsythia bush a couple of feet from the porch. Thankfully, Bill never detected his presence. Through the thick brush, Gabe watched the old man process Gus's words.

Wincing, Bill gave his head a couple of fast shakes. "No, you're lyin:"

"Come on, Bill, why would I lie about something like that? Mort's dead. That's all there is to it. Now, put the gun down, would you?"

Bill held on to his head with one hand and waved his rifle in the air with the other, his finger on the trigger.

Gabe swallowed hard, waiting and praying for that perfect moment to overtake Bill Elwood.

Just then, Evaleen Elwood pushed open the door and hobbled out onto the porch, a blood-spattered towel pressed to her forehead, "You put that cussed gun down, of man,"

Before she even had the sentence out of her mouth, and well before Bill had time to react, Gabe leaped over the forsythia and landed on the porch, yanking the rifle from Bill's grasp.