Walking on Air (32 page)

Laney squeaked in dismay. “Nuh-uh. We have strings of dried berries and little ornaments Mama and I made with things from her shop. Plus we’ve saved candle stubs all year just for this!”

Christopher stared at the pine boughs with a rapt expression on his face. Gabe knew the feeling. It was a very special thing to have a tree inside the house. Even the smell of it was divine.

With Gabe’s and Christopher’s help, Nan brought two boxes of ornaments upstairs, and the tree-trimming party officially began. Laney and Christopher prepared and served mugs of hot milk cocoa, so everyone could sip and nibble as the tree was draped with strings of dried holly berries. The hot chocolate was as good as Gabriel had imagined, and judging from the rapt expression on Christopher’s face when he took a sip, the kid agreed.

“Up a little,” Gabe was instructed as he adorned the higher boughs with garland. Then, “No, that’s not right. Down just a bit.”

Tree trimming, he discovered, was an arduous and exacting task.

“You can’t simply throw things on a tree,” Nan said more than once. And Laney always rejoined with, “Absolutely not!”

Gabe and Christopher shared a couple of long stares, sending silent, purely male sentiments back and forth.
Fussy.
And, oh, how the ladies did fuss. From the boxes, Nan unearthed frilly little things—ribbons tied into bows, several hand-fashioned Santa Claus and angel figures, and miniature Christmas trees of beaded green felt, all of which were hung from the tree boughs with bent hairpins. Then it came time to position the candle stubs.

“How the hell are we gonna make ’em sit straight?” Christopher asked.

“Language,” Gabe said softly.

Christopher flashed an apologetic look at Nan. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I plumb forgot.”

Nan placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It may be difficult for you at first, but after a time, avoiding the use of certain words will become habit.” Then, as if the slip had never occurred, Nan added, “And making the candles sit straight is easy. There’s a bit of a trick to it.”

The trick, as it turned out, was to light each stub, then tip the flame to melt wax onto the boughs. The blobs acted like a glue of sorts, affixing the candle to the needles.

When the tree stood finished, Gabe had to admit that all the fussing had been worth the effort. “Oh, that is pretty.”

“Wait until you see it with the candles lighted!” Laney cried.

“First, we need to bring out our socks and put them on the hearth, and then you children can set out the nativity scene on the top shelf of my secretary.”

“All my socks are brand-spankin’-new,” Christopher blurted, his expression filled with dismay. “I’d like to wear ’em all before I use ’em for anything else. What do we need to put socks on the hearth for, anyhow?”

Laney grabbed Christopher’s hand. “Your sock won’t be damaged, so you can wear it all you like later. But we must put one out. Otherwise Santa Claus will have nowhere to leave us small gifts.”

Gabe knew precisely what Christopher was thinking: Santa had never bothered to bring him anything before, so he wasn’t likely to start now. To the boy’s credit, he went with Laney and soon returned with a new sock in his hand. Laney had an older one, which was far too large for either her or Nan.

“I bought a pair of men’s socks at the general store,” Nan explained. “Our stockings weren’t practical.”

Gabe saw her point. It would take a heap of gifts to fill a full-length stocking. Before he knew it, he was rifling through his saddlebags for a sock of his own. Nan had done wash, and much like Christopher, Gabe hated to use a clean sock for such nonsense. But he didn’t think his grabbing a stinky one would go over well with his wife.

“What’ll we put in them?” he asked Nan a few minutes later while the kids were preoccupied with setting out the nativity scene. “I’ve never had a sock filled.”

“Store-bought candies, toiletry items, just silly little things,” she whispered back. Glancing up to catch the bewildered look on Gabe’s face, she smiled and added, “It’s part of the Christmas magic, Gabriel. We can even put funny things in the socks so everyone laughs on Christmas morning.” Her face went suddenly taut, and shadows filled her eyes. Then, forcing her lips back into a curve, she quickly added, “Perhaps Santa will come on Christmas Eve this year.”

Gabe felt as if a fist had connected with his solar plexus. Nan had just remembered that he wouldn’t be around on Christmas morning, and her expression drove it home for him as well. For an instant, he felt weighed down with sadness. But when he looked at the tree, he shoved the gloom from his mind.

Nan finally lit the tree candles. Gabe stood behind her, encircled her waist with his arms, and rested his chin atop her head. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Almost as beautiful as you are.”

She sighed and relaxed her weight against him. “There’s nothing more beautiful than a Christmas tree.”

Gabe could have argued the point.

Laney brought out her violin, and the next half hour was spent singing Christmas carols. Gabe and Christopher didn’t know the words, so they only hummed along as Nan’s and Laney’s sweet voices trilled in the room with, “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” “The First Noel,” “I Saw Three Ships,” and finally “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” After that, Laney played some other tunes, giving Gabe an opportunity to once again waltz with his wife. Looking down at her, the flickering glow of the candlelight playing over her golden hair and lovely face, he decided he hadn’t been far wrong the first time he saw her. She truly was beautiful enough to be an angel.

Until Nan’s upstairs workroom could be transformed into a bedchamber, Christopher had to sleep on the settee. Nan fashioned him a comfortable resting place with sheets, quilts, and a pillow.

After getting both kids tucked away for the night, Gabe sat with his wife at the kitchen table, his ears pricked for a change in Christopher’s breathing to signal that he’d fallen asleep. The instant Gabe heard a snuffle, he spirited his wife downstairs.

Nan giggled in the darkness of the shop. “Gabriel, we can’t engage in the act down here. We’ve no
bed
.”

Gabe figured he could make love to Nan almost anywhere. But given her fastidious nature, he felt fairly certain she would feel more relaxed inside her work area with at least the curtain pulled for privacy. “We’ll use your project table, ma’am.” He grinned.

“What?”
She started to protest but he caught her close, stopping the words with a kiss.

Nan’s project table, once divested of stuff, served Gabriel’s purpose quite well. And, Nan, though nervous about
engaging in the act
in so inappropriate a place, responded to him with gasping, quivering surrender. When it came Gabe’s turn for release, his pleasure was so intense and physically draining that he wondered how he’d ever carry his limp wife back upstairs.

O
ver the next two days, Gabe could have sworn he heard a clock ticking away the minutes inside his head, and he wanted to make every single one last as long as he could. Only, somehow, in all the rush of shopping, baking, and present wrapping, the hours seemed to fly by. He couldn’t recall ever having been quite so busy—or so happy. Preparing for Christmas was more fun than he expected, and he relished learning about Nan’s traditions. They rented a buggy to go find pine boughs so they could make Christmas swags and drape the shop windows with greenery. Bread had to be dried to make stuffing. Surprises were hidden away. Whispers were exchanged. Last-minute dashes to the general store occurred because Nan forgot to get this or that. The entire building, both upstairs and down, was so redolent with fabulous smells from the oven that Gabe wished he could eat the air.

Gabe made use of every opportunity he got to make love to his wife. Nan, he discovered, tended to shriek when her passions peaked, and shrieking and kids didn’t mix. At night in their bed, Gabe took to muffling her cries with deep kisses while he aroused her with his hands.
Whatever works.
He had so little time to make memories with her, so little time to show her how much he loved her.

He felt no fear when he considered what would occur just before dawn on Christmas morning. What bothered him was that Nan would grieve for him. If it were left up to him, he never would have caused her one second of heartache. His only consolation was that Nan would eventually get over him and move on. When she did, she would no longer cleave only unto herself. She wouldn’t be afraid to love again, or to marry again. By spending this month with her, he was giving her an opportunity to see what it could be like to live one’s life to its fullest.

Oddly, by giving Nan that insight, Gabe was being repaid a hundredfold, sort of like how Preacher Hayes claimed it went if you tithed generously at church. His time with Nan and the kids gave Gabe a taste of real living.
This
, he realized,
is how it could have been for me if I’d never picked up a gun. I could have met Nan and married her, and we could have had children of our own.
Oh, how Gabe wished it had happened that way. He’d never yearned for offspring during his first try at life, but he did now.

Late in the evening on December 23, that yearning grew so sharp within Gabe that he whispered of it to Nan as he drew her into his arms after they climbed into bed. “You know what I wish?”

He felt her smile against his jaw. “Uh-oh, you’re getting the hang of this Christmas stuff. Is it a Santa Claus wish? If so, tomorrow evening when the children write wish notes to him and put them in the fire so the chimney smoke can carry their messages to the North Pole, you’ll have to join in.”

“I don’t think this is a gift that Santa can deliver,” he said softly, his voice oddly hoarse. “I wish I could make a baby with you—a child of our very own, a part of us both.”

Nan pressed closer. “Ah.” She turned her lips against his ear. “Then plant a fertile seed in my garden, Gabriel. I shall nurture it and love it and cherish it.”

Gabe wondered if he’d already sown a seed. They’d done nothing to prevent a pregnancy. “I won’t be here to help you raise a child. It’s a rough road to walk alone, honey.”

“Not if a woman is a millionaire,” she quipped. “That said, I haven’t given up hope that the angels may decide you deserve to remain here. You’re a wonderful man, Gabriel, a special gift in my life, and in the lives of others.”

“Others?”

He felt her lips curve again. “Silly man. Did you fail to notice today how fond all the shopkeepers have become of you? Mr. Wilson at the general store has told anyone who’ll listen how you saved his little girl’s life! And Doc Peterson, who has seen half the town’s population, has naught but good things to say of you. You’re leaving a long trail of friends behind you.”

Friends.
Gabe had never had one. “You really think those shopkeepers
like
me?”

Nan smothered a giggle against his shoulder. “You sound rather horrified.”

Gabe had to stifle a laugh himself against her silken hair, which smelled so intoxicating that he could have gotten as drunk as a lord just sniffing. “Not horrified, only baffled. Nobody has ever liked me.”

She feathered kisses along the underside of his jaw. “I like you—a
lot
. And now so do other people. You’re a very likable person, Gabriel Valance. Gossip runs rampant about your saving Charity Wilson and then rescuing Christopher. Your true colors have been showing.”

Gabe felt her hand slip downward to his thigh. He knew an invitation when he received one. He sorely wished the children weren’t sleeping in rooms so short a distance from theirs. He wanted to make love with his wife using his lips and tongue to pleasure her, but he couldn’t do that if he had to be kissing her constantly to keep her from crying out.

“Nan,” he asked in a husky whisper, “if I asked you to bite down hard on one of my clean socks, would you do it?”

“Why on earth would you ask me to do that?”

He traced circles below her ear with his tongue. “I want to show you how it feels to be in paradise.”

Moments later, Gabe carried through on that wish, and Nan, body convulsing with pleasure, uttered only moans muffled by wool.

•   •   •

On Christmas Eve morning, Nan blushed every time Gabe looked her way. Over breakfast, he tried his damnedest to keep his gaze on his plate. Every time he glanced up, his wife’s face turned as red as Santa’s suit, and he was afraid the kids might notice. Laney, who had been released from school in honor of the holiday, and Christopher, who wouldn’t be enrolled until Monday, were as sticky as honey, hovering near Nan and Gabe constantly, as if they might miss something. When the pair of them finally left to go feed the dog, he caught Nan around the waist where she stood at the sink and, while kissing her neck, murmured, “Cleaning up can wait.”

“Gabriel,” she protested, “we can’t possibly! The children might return at any moment, and even if we finish before they get back, I’ll be all mussed and—”

“Boneless,” he interjected.

“I’ll need to wash up. And how shall I explain that when I’ve already—”

“I’ll bring you a wet cloth, and I’ll tell the kids that you’re taking a quick nap so you’ll be rested for tonight’s Christmas Eve festivities.”

Gabe felt the resistance in her body drain away. He lifted her into his arms, carried her into their room, deposited her on the bed, and then found the skeleton key in her armoire to lock the bedroom door from the inside. When he returned to his wife a moment later, she was unbuttoning her bodice, revealing to him that her high color ran well below her cheeks.

As he started toeing off his boots, she said, “Gabriel, I shan’t enjoy . . . well, you know, the, um, activities we engaged in last night. It’s broad daylight, and . . . well, even if we pull the shade, it won’t be dark in here, and I just—”

Gabe, already out of his shirt, leaned down to silence her with a long, deep kiss. She sighed blissfully when he lifted his head to smile at her. “You know how to make it really dark in here?” he asked.

“No.” She blinked, her expression a mixture of puzzlement and yearning. “How?”

Gabe stretched out beside her and began helping with her buttons. “Just close your eyes, sweetheart. The light will go out.”

“But
you’ll
still be able to see.”

And he planned to enjoy the view. A few minutes later, his precious wife reached down to make fists in his hair in a halfhearted attempt to make him stop nuzzling her thighs apart. “Gabriel?” she squeaked. “I have no sock to bite. I truly think this should— Oh!
Don’t
 . . . Oh,
my
!”

“The kids are gone,” he murmured against her.

That was all it took to send her over the edge.

•   •   •

Nan was dressed and perfectly coiffed again by the time she heard the children coming up the stairs. She smiled dreamily at Gabriel, who’d just straightened from putting something in the icebox. He looked so handsome, freshly shaved, with his black hair damp and just combed.

“Christmas Eve shall begin in earnest now!” Nan informed him. “We’ll need to take them both out to do some last-minute shopping straightaway. The shops will close early. Because of school, they haven’t been able to get gifts for anyone yet.”

Just then the door flew open. Nan heard a loud thump against the stairway wall, a muffled
oomph
from Laney, and then an odd clicking sound. She turned from the sink with drippy hands suspended to see a blur of yellow barreling toward her. The next thing Nan knew, she had a huge paw on each of her shoulders, and the small of her back was pressed sharply against the counter edge.

“
Off!
”
Gabriel said.

With a whine, Nan’s assailant lowered his large self onto all fours. Nan stared stupidly down at the creature in her kitchen, a huge golden dog with long, shiny fur and a feathery, crescent-shaped tail that swung wildly back and forth, whacking her cupboard door one moment and Gabriel’s thigh the next.

“It’s Christopher’s fault!” Laney stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her dark-haired partner in crime. “He says nobody should be alone on Christmas Eve, without a home and people to love him, not even a dog.”

“Nuh-uh!” Christopher cried. “You can’t blame it all on
me
! Ever since I came here, all you’ve talked about is bringin’ him home with us!”

“Oh,
posh
!” Laney protested. “That isn’t
all
I’ve talked about.”

“I don’t care what Gabe says; you’re a fussy little snot!” Christopher nearly shouted. “It was your idea first, and now you’re tryin’ to get me in trouble for it. I’m not takin’ all the responsibility. I’m the one here for temporary, and they could kick me out over it.”

“Hey!” Gabe, holding the dog back from Nan by the scruff of its neck, gave both children a warning look. “We will
not
raise our voices at each other in this house.” He shifted his gaze to the boy. “And name-calling is unacceptable. Am I clear?”

“You’re the snot!” Laney cried.

“Enough!” Gabe shouted, clearly forgetting that he’d just decreed that nobody in the house should raise his voice. “It doesn’t matter whose idea it was to bring this mongrel home. The fact is that Nan said no. I have to back her on that. There’s no proper yard out back for him, he’ll shed all over our home and her shop, and who’ll take him for exercise while you’re at school? He’ll have a miserable life here, shut away upstairs all day.”

“Mr. Redmond has Blacky in his shop all day, every day, and
he
sells foodstuffs.” Laney’s eyes sparked with fiery indignation. “Why can’t Jasper have a bed by Mama’s shop stove?”

“Jasper?” Gabe echoed.

“Christopher says that’s a famous name for a dog,” Laney said. “And I like it. So that’s what we call him now. Jasper.”

“Well, Jasper has to go back to the lean-to,” Gabe said firmly.
“Now.”

Nan finally found her voice. “Wait!” She held up a hand while she gave the dog a long, wary study. She had never owned a dog or been around them much. But this particular canine had huge, soulful brown eyes, which he used to good effect, giving her pleading looks that said more clearly than with words,
Keep me, please keep me. I’ll be good. Please, please, pleeease?
And Nan was lost. “Perhaps we can work something out,” she heard herself say.

“Nan, he jumped on you,” Gabriel reminded her. “He has no manners. What if he knocks Geneva White on her sequined ass?”

“That word ain’t allowed,” Christopher informed Gabe with a certain smugness that brought a giggle from Laney. “You said so!”

Nan saw Gabe grimace. He released the dog and straightened. “My apologies, ladies.” He sent Christopher a glare. “I plumb forgot.”

Nan cupped a hand over her mouth and pretended to cough in order to hide a smile. When she could keep a straight face, she bent over to beckon the dog back to her. “Come here, Jasper. Introduce yourself properly.” The dog, in such a flurry to do just that, lost his footing on the waxed boards, and for a horrible moment Nan feared he might do a four-legged split. “He doesn’t bite, I hope.”

Jasper answered her question by worshipfully licking her outstretched hand. Nan had never in her life seen such a long, agile tongue. She felt certain the animal could clean his own ears with the tip. “Well, now,” she said with a laugh. “Aren’t you a dear?” Nan crouched down. Jasper started to jump up, but she stopped him with a stern, “
No!
”

The canine moved as close to her as he could get and rested his broad head on her knees, brown eyes locked adoringly on her face. Between one heartbeat and the next, Nan fell hopelessly in love. “Hmm,” she mused aloud. “I seem to have a weakness for rascals and have three living with me now.” To the dog, she said, “And, like your predecessors, you seem to be trainable.” She sent Gabriel a teasing smile. “What do you say, husband? Can we keep him and try to work out the particulars?”

“It’s
your
house,” Gabriel replied. “And it’ll be the fancy gowns of your highfalutin customers that he sheds on.”

Nan clucked her tongue. “My highfalutin customers are not the mainstay of my business, and if Jasper runs them off, I shan’t mourn the loss. That goes especially for Geneva. No more dead canaries and no more garish sequins on a day gown.” Nan discovered the joy of scratching a dog behind the ears and watching its face go droopy with pleasure. “You’re a fine fellow, aren’t you? Yes, you are. We’ll teach you some manners, and before we know it, you’ll be a courtly gentleman. Yes, you will.”

Laney squealed with delight and began bouncing about in circles. Christopher, rooted in the center of her joyous circumference, pushed at his long hair and rolled his eyes. But a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Deciding it was time to lay out the rules, Nan stood. “He must be brushed every
single
day.”

“I’ll do it!” both kids vowed simultaneously.

“And during the week, one of you must take him for a morning walk, one of you must come home during school lunch hour to take him for another run, and then he’ll need to go in the evening. Always clear to the edge of town, mind you, where he can—” Nan broke off, searching for the right words. “Take care of his serious business,” she settled on saying. “We can’t have him making messes out front on the boardwalk.”