Walking on Air (31 page)

“Your wife, she said.”

“That’s right; she’s my wife.” Gabe repositioned his hat, nudging up the brim to make his face more visible. “She’s a good woman with a gentle heart.”

“Fussy as can be, though. She likes usin’ big words and actin’ fancy. I don’t understand what she’s talkin’ about half the time.”

“A really good cook, though.”

The boy nodded. “True enough. I never ate meat as tender as what she puts in my sandwiches. She makes ’em so thick I can hardly open my mouth wide enough to sink my chompers into ’em.”

“She doesn’t want you going hungry.” Gabe rubbed behind his ear. “She wants to take you in, give you a real home, and raise you like you were her own, you know. I told her absolutely not.”

The kid shot Gabe a glare. “Why? You figure I’m not good enough to be around her kind?”

“Pretty much. I bet you’d squeal like a stuck pig if she told you to take a bath.”

“I would not!” The boy pushed at his hair. “My mama made me take baths regular-like, at least once every two weeks, and in between I took whore’s baths.”

Gabe deliberately winced. “There, you see? You talk like a guttersnipe. I was right to tell her no. She’s a lady, and she’s trying to raise her daughter to be one. She can’t have some rough-talking kid in her home. You’d be a bad influence on Laney, for sure.”

“Laney. Is that the fussy little snot with ribbons on her pigtails?”

Gabe almost grinned. “That’d be Laney, only she’s not a snot. Fussy, maybe. Most females are.”

“My mama wasn’t.”

“My mama wasn’t, either. But ladies of the night, like your mama and mine, don’t have much chance to be particular, do they? They lead hard lives, and it’s a challenge just to keep food in their bellies.” Gabe gazed out at the street, watching a couple of wagons pass by. “Somebody in this town ought to start a whore-saving place, some nice building where women like your mama could stay, and even be given money so they could leave this town and try to make a new start. That way they wouldn’t feel the need to take off with some sweet-talking cowpoke and end up in a world of hurt somewhere along the trail.”

“Ha.” The youth shifted and hugged his bony knees. “You go on and do it, mister. All the highfalutin folks in this town would tar and feather you up, then run you out on a rail.”

Gabe chuckled. “Random doesn’t have any rails. I reckon they could tie my ankles to the back of a stagecoach and drag me out of town, though.”

“I doubt it. They’d be afraid of gettin’ shot for their trouble.”

Gabe couldn’t argue the point. Not many people felt inclined to take Gabe on.

“You reckon that’s what happened to my ma? That she ran into a world of hurt?”

The boy’s voice rang with dread, but Gabe also heard a note of resignation. The kid knew his mother would never come back. He was still clinging to a fragile hope because that was all he had. “I’m afraid so, son, though I’m sorry to think it.”

“That cowpoke—he wasn’t no good. He told Mama he loved her. He promised her the moon. Even said once they got settled somewhere, she could come back for me. I tried to tell her he was a lyin’ bastard, but she believed him and went.”

“So what do you plan to do now?” Gabe asked.

The boy rested his chin on his knees. “I haven’t got past waitin’ for her yet. Mama loves me. She’ll come back if she can.” He slanted a look at Gabe. “She’s a good mother. You probably think no whore can be, but if you do, you’re wrong. When she got pregnant with me, the madam where she worked told her to get rid of me before I got born or else she’d lose her job. Mama kept me and ended up on the street.”

Gabe’s heart gave a painful twist. “What’s your name, son?”

“Christopher.”

“Well, Chris, I—”

“It ain’t
Chris
. You got bad hearin’ or somethin’? My mother named me
Christopher
, and she held real tight to that. Said it was a proper name, one for me to be proud of.”

“It’s a very proper name,” Gabe agreed. “It has a real important ring. Does it come with a surname?”

“Broderick. That came from my mama. She didn’t know for sure who my daddy was.”

“Christopher Broderick,” Gabe mused aloud. “That’s real fine. If I were to invite you to come home with me and spend Christmas with my family, do you think you could clean your mouth up, take a bath, suffer through a haircut, and condescend to wear some new clothes for a few days?”

Christopher favored Gabe with a disgusted look. “That your idea of doin’ a good deed for Christmas? What happens after? Do I get tossed back on the street in my holey clothes to stay under this staircase again until my mama comes back?”

“That would depend on you,” Gabe replied. “I won’t countenance any foul language in the presence of my ladies. Absolutely
none
, and if you’re inclined to pitch fits, hurting others in the process, I don’t countenance that, either. And if you steal so much as a penny from my wife’s cash drawer, I’ll skin you alive and hang your hide over the back line to dry. Are we pretty clear on what I expect?”

“What, exactly, do you count as foul language?”

Gabe met the boy’s questioning stare. “If you say ‘shit,’ I’ll serve you some on a spoon and make you eat it. If you say ‘hell,’ you’ll think you’re there for a nasty visit. If you say ‘damn,’ I’ll kick your behind so hard your tonsils will ache. Is that
exact
enough for you?” Gabe waited a beat. “And no calling my daughter a fussy snot, either. You can call her fussy if you’re inclined, but watch out for her right hook.”

Christopher grinned. “Are you really gonna take me home with you?”

“Only if you agree to my terms. And if something happens that I’m no longer around, I want your word, as Christopher Broderick, that you’ll continue to abide by my rules until your mother shows up.”

“Hot damn, what’re we waitin’ for?” The kid scrambled to his feet so fast his head came into contact with the bottom of the staircase. He barely seemed to notice. “You . . . I mean, this is for real? You mean it?”

Gabe wondered if he was about to make the worst mistake of his life. Well, not the
worst
, maybe, but close enough to call it a first-ring bull’s-eye. “We’re waiting for you to give me your word.”

“You got it.”

“Say it.”

“You’ve got my word as Christopher Broderick.”

Gabe gave him a long, measuring stare. “Is your word as good as your name, Christopher?”

“I’ll try my best to make it be.”

Gabe figured that was all that could be asked of anyone. He pushed to his feet and dusted off the seat of his jeans. “We’ve got a heap of shopping to do, then. I can’t take you home to my wife without some decent clothing for you to wear. She’ll want you in the bathtub lickety-split, and what you’re wearing will go in the fire. Even standing upwind of you, my nose is twitching.”

“You’d stink, too, if you went as long as I have without a bath. Last rain we had, I wet a piece of sheet in a mud puddle to wash up. People around here get real upset if I borrow from their rain barrels. One man took after me with a shotgun loaded with rock salt. My ass was on fire for days.”

“Ass,” Gabe echoed. “There’s another word I don’t want you saying in front of the ladies.”

“If not ass, what do ladies call it, then?”

Gabe led the way across the street toward the general store. “I don’t rightly know. Now that I come to think about it, my wife pretty much pretends she isn’t in possession of one.”

•   •   •

Nan had just taken her big green mixing bowl from the cupboard when she heard the sound of boots coming up the stairs. She pasted a bright smile on her face and turned to greet her husband as the door opened, hoping that their disagreement that morning could go unmentioned and be put behind them. Arms laden with string-tied brown paper packages, Gabriel stepped into the room, wiggled his eyebrows at her, and said, “Nan, I brought home a guest.”

Nan smelled the boy before she saw him. The staircase acted as a funnel, bringing the unpleasant bouquet of an unwashed body into the room in a rush. “How lovely! And who might our guest be?”

Still on the stairs two steps below, the boy peeked around Gabriel’s lean hip. In the good light from the kitchen lamps, his shaggy, oily, and knotted hair was a sight to behold. “It’s me, ma’am.”

Nan had wished several times to bring the boy home, but Gabriel had adamantly said no. She tried to hide her surprise at her husband’s sudden change of heart. Apparently, after saving the little girl, he’d decided to rescue the boy as well.

“I’m on a roll,” he offered by way of explanation. Then, arms still filled with bundles, he stepped farther into the room to allow the child entry. “Nan, allow me to introduce you properly to Christopher Broderick. Christopher, this is my wife, Mrs. Valance. If she chooses to allow you the liberty, you may call her Nan.”

“Oh, most certainly! Nan is fine. Please do come in, Christopher. I was about to start making Christmas cookies.” She glanced at the child’s hands, which clasped yet more packages to his thin chest. Not only were his fingers brown with grime, but the undersides of his nails were black. “Perhaps, um, you’d like to . . . help.”

Gabriel saved the day. “He needs a good scrub first. Can you postpone cookie making to put some water on to heat?”

“The reservoir is full, and the water is piping hot. I just built up the fire to get the oven ready for baking.”

Gabriel deposited the packages he carried on the table and motioned for the boy to do the same. “He’s going to need a little extra. One tubful for washing and another for rinsing.”

Nan kept her large pots under the sink. She hurried over to fetch them. The sooner that child got neck-deep in water, the better. As it was, she’d have to dab vanilla all over the house to sweeten the air.
Christopher
. What a nice, solid name, with a ring to it that was similar to Gabriel. Perhaps, she thought disjointedly, soiled doves chose particularly impressive names for their children to draw attention away from the fact that they were bastards.
Dear God
. How had
that
word popped into her brain? Keeping company with Gabriel had tampered with her thinking, and if she wasn’t cautious, she’d soon be talking as he did, without a care in the world for propriety.

•   •   •

To Gabe, the remainder of the day and that evening ranked as the best he’d ever enjoyed. Well, if he discounted last night with Nan, anyhow. Making love with her had been purely glorious and inexplicably sweet. He’d never in his life wanted a woman so much, and he counted himself truly blessed to have had the experience. If he could figure out how to do so with two kids in the apartment, he meant to feel blessed again before bedtime. Maybe after the children went to sleep, he could spirit Nan downstairs and make love with her in a hidey-hole.

For reasons beyond him, she seemed to be completely over their quarrel that morning. In fact, she appeared to be happy beyond measure, and if she had a care in the world, she didn’t reveal it. Gabe was pleased. He didn’t want the time he had left to be ruined by gloomy thoughts.

After Christopher emerged from the water closet, transformed from a street urchin into a handsome youngster, Nan commandeered everyone to help in the kitchen. Laney, a difficult one to predict at times, surprised Gabe by befriending the boy in a relaxed, offhanded manner, almost as if she sensed that a bunch of ado would make Christopher uncomfortable.

“Here, Christopher,” she said as she handed him a bowl of dough. “You can help me roll and cut. Mama says those who don’t help aren’t allowed to eat.” Laney smiled impishly. “Unless you want me devouring all the cookies, you’d better fold back your shirtsleeves.”

Gabe would have bet a thousand dollars that Christopher had never even seen raw cookie dough, but the kid managed well enough by taking his cues from Laney. Soon he worked with the rolling pin while Laney came in behind him to industriously cut circular shapes with a floured tin can that was just the right size for sugar cookies. Nan got out flat, rectangular baking pans, and before he knew it, the wonderful smells he’d imagined that morning wafted through the kitchen, which was dusted with flour on nearly every surface. Nan, ever tidy, didn’t seem to be bothered by the mess. Instead of wiping counters and fussing, she stood at the stove, stirring a pot of cocoa fudge, a treat Gabe had never tasted. He had a hunch that Christopher hadn’t either.

Gabe went to stand at his wife’s elbow. Leaning in close, he asked, “Have I told you today how beautiful and sweet you are?”

Her cheek dimpled. “No, I don’t believe you have, Mr. Valance.”

Pitching his voice to a husky, suggestive whisper, he murmured, “That’s a mighty proper form of address. I hope it doesn’t mean that you plan to stand on formalities all evening.”

She flashed him a smile. “We’ve big ears about. Do you have a devious plan up your sleeve?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She giggled, and her cheeks turned a pretty pink. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

“No need to be. Your concerns were legitimate.”

She shrugged and deepened her smile. “Yes, but so were yours. I thought about it, and I came to understand how you feel.” She had paused in her stirring. In a hushed voice, she said, “Thank you so much for bringing Christopher here. It’s the decent thing for us to do.”

At that moment, Gabe’s thoughts were far from decent. He couldn’t wait to get her downstairs alone later. “Don’t scorch our fudge,” he warned.

•   •   •

After a quick supper of meat gravy over mashed potatoes, everyone joined in to help tidy the kitchen. Gabe was pleased by Christopher’s eagerness to lend a hand, even though the kid had no idea what to do. When everything shone per Nan’s rigid standards, Gabe went downstairs to bring up the tree, and then they gathered in the sitting room, where the small tables were now laden with treat-filled plates. They had brown-sugar brittle, squares of cocoa fudge, and two kinds of cookies, one a plain sugar cookie, the other containing nuts and brown-sugar crystals.

Lighted lanterns cast a warm golden glow over the room. Gabe stood back to admire the tree, which he’d placed in front of the window that looked over Main. “I think it’s perfect just as it is. Why trim it with anything?”