Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (43 page)

“So you've forgiven her?” Rachel asked.

“I'm working on it,” Libby said with another of those dry smiles. “So!” She swiped her fingertips beneath her eyes and her voice took on brisk purpose. “Now that we have that cleared up, do you have any objections to my moving here?”

“What I think has no bearing on your decision,” Rachel said, surprised that Libby would seek her approval.

“Of course it does. I'll have a lot of contact not only with Caleb and Gabe, but with the children. How do you feel about my being part of Danny's life?”

Touched that she cared about her feelings, Rachel said, “I think it would be wonderful for him to have a grandmother. As long as you don't spoil him too much,” she added.

Libby's eyes widened and she placed a palm against her chest as if the comment had inflicted a mortal wound. “But spoiling is what grandmothers are for, and I have so much catching up to do.”

Seeing the genuine dismay in Rachel's eyes, Libby laughed and leaned forward to give her a quick hug. “I'll try.”

Knowing she was fighting a losing battle, Rachel gave in to the inevitable. She would now not only have to share Danny with Gabe but with his mother, and possibly Win and Blythe.

Not necessarily a bad thing.

Reluctantly, she agreed with the little voice whispering inside her.

Chapter Twelve

L
ibby was long gone and everyone else in the house was sleeping soundly. A shaft of moonlight slanted across Rachel's bed, and a whisper of air drifted through the partially open window, causing the lace curtains to ripple gently. She lay there thinking of her conversation with Gabe's mother and conjuring up images of what it would be like with Libby Granville in town. In her life.

Libby claimed Gabe loved her, and with those words running through her mind, Rachel began to dream of re-creating some of the funny, tender moments she and Gabe had once shared and building a life with their son. Would it ever happen? She'd begun to nurture the tiny, tentative hope that it might.

She often thought of Gabe's statement on the day of the box-lunch picnic. He was going to ask her to marry him. When? What would she say if he did? According to his mother and her father, Gabe loved her. Could she trust it was true? Could she trust
him
again?

She heard the sudden patter of raindrops and sighed in pleasure. She loved hearing rain against the rooftop. Then, realizing that the window was half-open, she scrambled to a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She'd almost reached the window when she heard another soft clatter and realized it wasn't rain at all. Someone was throwing gravel.

Grabbing the shawl that was draped over the back of a nearby chair, she flung it around her shoulders and poked her head out the window. Gabe stood near her mama's rosebush with his hands on his hips, his head tipped back watching to see if she would answer his summons.

“What are you doing here?” she screeched in a loud whisper. She was appalled by his presence yet unaccountably pleased to see him. What a scandal it would be if anyone else saw him! Thank goodness Danny, not her father, had the room next to hers. Unlike Edward, Danny slept like the dead.

“I haven't seen you all day, and I wanted to tell you that I...”

Her breath hung suspended and her heart seemed to stop midbeat.

“...I miss you.”

“Gabe,” she all but groaned. Then, pushing aside a ridiculous rush of pleasure, she summoned her most professional tone. “Go home. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you're a heartless woman, Rachel Stone? Where will I see you tomorrow? At the store or between the times before you hurry off to see a patient? Where's the romance in that?”

“Romance?” She croaked the single word in a low, stunned voice.

“Yes, romance. Obviously you've never been courted before.”

The insidious, ridiculous pleasure blossomed inside her. “Really? What was St. Louis?”

“That doesn't count because I didn't know what I was doing or why,” he said in a low undertone. “This—” he spread his arms wide “—is the real thing. I told you.”

She chewed on her lower lip. Uncertainty lent stridency to her voice. “If someone sees you here, it won't be pleasant.”

“What can they do? Talk about us?” he challenged.

She resisted the urge to giggle. “Go home, Gabe.”

“So practical,” he said with a low chuckle and a shake of his head. “We need to work on that.” He took a step backward. “Tomorrow, then. I have to take a load of grain out to Mr. Connor after I close, but when I come back, I'm going to ask you to walk with me down by the creek and I'm going to ask you a very important question, so you'd better be ready. Preferably with the answer I want to hear.” He pivoted to leave.

“Gabe!”

He turned.

“What if you don't get the answer you want?”

“Then I'll try harder.” She saw the flash of his smile in the moonlight. “I'd like tomorrow better than next month or next year, but I'm learning that I can be a very patient man, and I have it on good authority that women can't resist me, so it's only a matter of time.”

She smiled at the teasing tone of his voice, her heart light with promise.

“You're a very conceited man,” she told him, but there was no real condemnation in the words.

“I prefer to think of it as confidence. And it's part of why you love me. You do, you know.”

He sketched a jaunty salute, turned and left her dangling out the window, her mouth hanging open. She watched him disappear into the trees behind the house, knowing he was right, drat him. She was even starting to believe that her love was returned, but neither fact altered the nagging fear of whether or not she was ready to trust that love enough to take a second chance.

* * *

The sun was still plenty high in the western sky when Gabe drove his wagon back toward Wolf Creek the next day. He'd told Rachel he wouldn't rush her, but he wanted her to know how he felt. As anxious as he was to have the upcoming conversation with her, he'd needed the extra couple of hours to settle his nerves. He couldn't recall ever feeling so scared about what a woman would say.

She well knew that he was no innocent. She might be more inclined to say yes if he were blameless and they had no past to come between them, but no matter what she said, he didn't regret that time. It had taken him years to realize that if he hadn't looked her up in St. Louis, he might have gone on with his aimless life indefinitely.

She was like no woman he'd ever met. Serious and still somewhat shy, yet decisive and professional. She was dedicated to her goals. Intelligent and innately good. After all these years, he understood why he had turned his back on her. Once she had given him her heart, she had given him everything else she possessed with utmost trust. Even as self-serving as he'd been, he was smart enough to realize how special that was. What did a man like him do with love like that? How was he to return it? His only knowledge of love was the vague memories of his mother, who had left him. And so he'd panicked, written her a note and disappeared.

What a fool he'd been! But when he'd awakened with her name on his lips and his eyes wet with tears long after she should have been nothing but a hazy memory, he'd realized what an impact she'd had on him. That was when he'd gathered the courage to come home.

And here they were, almost six months later. If he thought it had taken courage for him to return, he couldn't imagine how brave she'd been to come home with an illegitimate child. Yet she had endured the whispers and speculation. She had restored her good name and was well respected in the community. Did he have the right to jeopardize that by asking her to share his life? Maybe not, but he intended to anyway.

The sound of shouting and neighing horses up ahead jolted him back to the present. He thought he heard a woman scream. What was going on? he wondered, slapping the reins against his horse's back, urging it to speed up.

The road curved, and as he rounded the slight bend, he saw that a surrey had been forced off the side of the road. Two horsemen with bandannas pulled up over their faces had dismounted and were yelling at a stout woman, but he was too far away to make out what they were saying.

He recognized the buggy at the same time one of the men reached out and tugged an earbob from one of the woman's ears. Sarah VanSickle! And it looked as if she was being robbed. Even as the thoughts came together, Gabe saw her knock her attacker's hand away from her other ear. When the man grabbed at her reticule, she stepped backward and received a couple of blows for her effort.

Recalling his own encounter with bandits on this very stretch of road—possibly these same two—he urged the gelding to a tooth-rattling pace that launched him up from the bench seat every time the wheels hit a bump. As he neared the scene and pulled his horse to a stop, Sarah recognized him.

“Gabe! Help! Please!” She was holding her abdomen, and her lip was bleeding.

When he leaped to the ground, the thief who was watching Sarah's abuse at the hands of his cohort turned to face him. The familiar coal-black eyes above the bandanna's edge were filled with a chilling malevolence. “Well, well, well. Back for more, are you?”

The eyes and the gravelly voice breached the entrance to a memory Gabe had slammed the door on. These were definitely the same men. Even if the robber hadn't uttered the telling statement, he would never forget that voice.

“Yeah,” he said. “And I'm not hungover this time.”

Lunging forward, he hit the outlaw's midsection with his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him and using his forward momentum to bring him down. The men hit the ground with loud grunts. They wrestled, rolling over and over, one on top and then the other, exchanging blow for blow. During the struggle, the stranger's kerchief slipped down, but Gabe didn't recognize him. He looked Indian, though.

He paid for his lack of attention with a particularly hard punch to the kidney and another to the eye. With blood running down his face, he hauled back and landed a well-aimed strike to his opponent's face. The man's grip loosened, and with his lungs heaving, Gabe struggled to regain his footing. He swiped at the blood dripping off his chin and faced the man who held a handful of Sarah's ruffled bodice in one hand and a bowie knife in the other.

“Give him your reticule, Sarah,” Gabe told her, angling closer. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the man he'd fought roll to his knees and draw his Colt. “Give them what they want.”

Sarah looked at him as if he'd grown two heads. “Don't be ridiculous, Gabriel! I'll do nothing of the sort.”

“It's only jewelry. It can be replaced.”

“Jewelry Randolph worked long hours to pay for,” she snapped.

The man jerked suddenly and she went careening forward. The action was accompanied by the sound of rending cloth. As she staggered to regain her footing, the big man's hand came away with a handful of fabric.

“My brooch!” With no thought of the knife in his hand, she leaped forward, her hands curled into claws. She meant to scratch out his eyes, Gabe thought. Unfortunately, she only managed to drag the handkerchief down. She gasped when she saw who it was. Another blow sent her sprawling onto the ground.

The man Gabe had fought let go a string of curses. “They've seen us, Elton.”

“So they have, and that's no good at all.”

From the look in his eyes, there was no telling what he'd do. Unaware that they were both near death, Sarah struggled to her feet and rushed her assailant once more, swinging her reticule like a lasso.

“Give me my earrings!”

Gabe cast a quick look at the other desperado and saw that he'd turned his weapon toward Sarah. Gabe sprang forward, hoping to knock her out of the line of fire.

Several things seemed to happen simultaneously. Two loud
boom
s shattered the evening air. Sarah screamed and then just...disappeared. Something seared his side. Almost simultaneously an intense pain blossomed in his head. He heard both men yelling and cursing. He knew he needed to help Sarah but was having a hard time battling back the shadows stealing over at him. As the all-consuming pain and blessed darkness carried him away, he thought he heard Sarah screaming and the clatter of hooves pounding down the gravel road.

* * *

“Gabriel!”

The sharp voice sounded familiar. He didn't like it. Something stung his face, and he forced his eyes open a crack. A grotesque face stared down at him. Pale. A bruised eye. Mouth swollen to twice its size. Scraggly hair. A fancy hat sitting at a cockeyed angle on her head. A ridiculous pheasant feather dangling down.

He must be in the middle of a nightmare. If he didn't know better he would say it was Sarah VanSickle leaning over him, calling his name in sharp, demanding tones and slapping his cheeks, insisting that he get up.

He heard her. Trouble was, he couldn't. He hurt too badly, and the shadows were pulling at him again.

* * *

It was just before candle lighting, and there was no sign of Gabe. Rachel was sitting in the parlor, pretending to read the newest copy of
Woman's Home Journal
while a tedious refrain chased through her mind:
He's changed his mind.
He's changed his mind...changed his mind...

The sounds of half a dozen yelling voices interrupted the litany, followed by the loud clatter of wagon wheels rumbling across the railroad tracks. More crying out ensued, shouts that were accompanied by the sound of a whip cracking through the air and hoofbeats thundering toward the rear of the house.

Someone was making quite a ruckus, which meant that whatever it was must be serious. Leaping to her feet and calling for her father, she headed for the office. All thoughts of Gabe vanished as she mentally prepared herself to deal with this newest crisis. Patients arrived at all hours of the day and night, and she needed to be clearheaded to attend them.

No amount of preparation could have equipped her for what she saw when she flung open the door. The wagon Gabe used to make deliveries sat there, but it was Sarah VanSickle who held the reins. Her tear-streaked face was battered and bruised and smeared with blood. Her expensive hat was askew, and one feather dangled by her ear.

“Sarah!” Rachel said, rushing forward. “What on earth happened?”

“Robbed outside Antoine,” she said, sobbing as her tenuous hold on her dwindling stamina slipped away.

“Robbed?” Edward said from the doorway. “Who...?”

“Elton Thomerson!” she cried. “I didn't know the other one.”

Elton Thomerson? Meg's husband? Stunned by the information, Rachel had no time to dwell on it. “Let me help you down,” she said.

“I can't walk,” Sarah said with a shake of her head. “I think I broke my ankle when I went over the side of the gully. It's Gabe you need to help. He's been shot.”

Blood drained from Rachel's head and she swayed with sudden dizziness.

“Rachel!” The sharpness of her father's voice dissipated the gathering fog. “Go check on him. I'll get the stretcher.”

Thank God for her father, she thought. He always seemed to be there when she needed him most. She spied Danny in the doorway next to his grandfather. His frightened eyes were wide and glittered with unshed tears. She knew what must be going through his mind. He had just found his father. Was he about to lose him? He needed a task that would divert his mind from the news that Gabe had been shot.