Gabriel's Lady

Amelia giggled. “She practically has a case of the vapors when the laundrymaid puts a little scorch mark on one of Father’s collars.”

They all laughed together, then Morgan said, “Something smells mighty good.”

Amelia’s smile died. “Mr. Hatch…Gabe… brought us some salt pork and insisted on cooking it himself.” She looked over at her brother, expecting to be reproved or at least teased for putting a guest to work, but Parker looked unaffected.

“Morgan’s right. It smells wonderful. I could eat a polecat,” he said.

Amelia let out a long breath. Gabe stood up holding the handle of the frying pan with a towel. “She’s ready and waiting,” he said.

Amelia had already set the table. She held out Parker’s tin plates as Gabe served up the food. She had found it fascinating to watch him as he had efficiently and expertly prepared the food. He’d cut the pork into slabs, which he’d first parboiled, then rolled in flour and fried. In the grease that was left he’d fried onions, which he then poured over the cold potatoes Amelia had left from breakfast. To Amelia it looked and smelled more delicious than anything she’d ever tried in the elegant tearooms of New York City. They all sat down at the table and, with little conversation, dug in. She ate until she thought her sides would burst, and then, to the amusement of the three men, she ate a few bites more.

When they had finished, she insisted that she would do the washing up, and she literally pushed Gabe down into the rocker as Parker took out his bag of tobacco and passed it around. It was a new habit of his that Amelia found repulsive, but she refrained from commenting and went to wash the dishes. When she had finished, she stood silently for a few minutes, watching the men enjoying each other’s company. Though she was utterly exhausted, she was reluctant to interrupt their camaraderie by insisting on having her bedroom to herself.

At the first lull in the conversation, Gabe looked over and saw her standing idly by the fire. “It’s time for bed, gentlemen,” he said, getting up. “Thank you for the fine evening.”

“Thank you for the supper,” Parker replied, also getting to his feet. He waited for their visitor to head for the door, but Gabe hesitated.

“I have a last little item of business with Miss Prescott,” he said.

Parker lifted a questioning eyebrow.

“It will just take a minute,” Gabe said. He made no move to leave.

Finally Parker shrugged and turned to go out. “C’mon, Morgan. That gold dust will be waiting for us bright and early tomorrow.”

The two men left, leaving Amelia looking uneasily at Gabe. “I thank you for the supper, too,” she said softly. “And for everything else today. Especially for not telling my brother what a coil I’d gotten myself into.”

Gabe smiled gently. “It wasn’t so very much of a coil. As you say, you’re learning.”

He still stood without moving, his eyes intense and gleaming in the firelight.

Amelia smiled nervously. “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Gabe shook his head, then advanced slowly toward her. She could see the stubble of his beard, the flinch of a muscle along his straight jaw. When he was close enough to see tiny reflections of the flames in the blue of his eyes, he stopped. She swallowed.

“You said you had some business with me.” Her voice came out as a near whisper.

“Yes.”

He was not smiling now, and something in his expression made the breath stop dead in Amelia’s chest. He leaned closer. She closed her eyes and had a swift, unbidden memory of the moment in the stagecoach when his hard thighs had rubbed against her.

Her entire body swayed as she felt him brush against her. Then she opened her eyes in surprise as he bent to reach past her toward a crock on the floor next to the fire. He scooped up a handful of the contents and straightened up, facing her.

“Give me your hands,” he said.

Amelia was still trying to locate her last breath.

“Your hands,” he said again, seizing one of them. His fingers were covered with pork grease, which he started to gently smooth over her still-red palms. He spread it slowly in small circles. “It might not smell as pretty as that lemon soap you like to use, but it should help that burn heal.”

Amelia felt the light pressure of his fingertips all the way up her arms. She took a deep gulp of air, which seemed to steady her. “It was kind of you to think about it,” she said.

Now he smiled at her, which lightened the tension that had grown between them. But Amelia’s heart was still beating far too fast.

He finished with one hand and repeated his ministrations with the other. Then he stepped back and leaned over to grab a towel to wipe his fingers. “That should do it,” he said. “Now I will bid you good evening.”

He walked to the door, retrieved his hat and opened the door. “Thank you for a most enjoyable day, Miss Prescott,” he said with a little bow.

As he started to leave, Amelia called, “Gabe.” He turned back to her. “You may call me Amelia.”

He looked taken aback for a moment. Then he grinned, nodded and went out the door.

“So what’s put the bee in your bonnet, Gabe Hatch?” Mattie Smith and Gabe were in her office where Gabe was finishing up her monthly accounts. When she had given up the dance hall circuit and gone into business for herself, Mattie had insisted on two things. Her girls must keep themselves clean and healthy, and in return she promised to be scrupulously accurate in seeing that they got their fair share of the earnings. The latter had become easier when Gabe Hatch had come to town. Mattie had never much liked numbers herself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mattie,” Gabe answered absently.

“Well, you snapped at Delia when she offered to take you upstairs for half the regular fee. Then you started entering the figures in last month’s account. And in the past five minutes you’ve added the same column of numbers six times by my count. So I figure there’s got to be something on your mind.”

Gabe frowned and threw his pen on the desk. Mattie sat across the desk from him, curled up in an overstuffed armchair that dwarfed her tiny frame. Except for her gray hair, she looked like a plump little child. “I guess I’m tired,” he said finally, pushing back his chair. “Maybe I should finish up on these later.”

“Maybe you should have taken Delia up on her offer,” Mattie suggested. “Best cure for ‘tiredness’ I know.”

Gabe smiled. “No, thanks.” He winked at her and added, “Your girls are lovely, Mattie, but I’m still waiting for you to break down and make me an offer yourself. Why should I settle for second best?”

Dimples appeared in Mattie’s soft cheeks, but she kept her voice stern. “Go on with you, Gabe. An old gal like me deserves some rest in her sunset years. I don’t need any more hassling by young bucks like you.”

“Sunset years,” Gabe scoffed. “Why, you’re barely reaching the noon hour, Mattie, love.”

The dimples deepened. “You’re full of malarkey, Gabriel Hatch. And what’s more, you’re trying to distract me by changing the subject. You still haven’t told me what’s wrong.”

“Yes, I did. I’m tired. It was late when I came back into town last night.”

Mattie leaned forward and demanded, “Came back from where?”

Gabe closed the book and stood. “From my partner’s place.”

Mattie’s gray eyes gleamed wickedly. “Sure, now. Would that be the partner whose sister just arrived in town? A sister with the face of an angel and hair like the mane of a prize bay mare? Is that the partner you mean?”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Parker’s the only partner I have, Mattie, as you well know. As for his sister, well, yes…she’s quite lovely.”

Something in the tone of his voice made Mattie’s expression grow serious. “You aren’t getting yourself stuck on that fancy Eastern lady, are you, Gabe?” she asked, a line of worry creasing the skin between her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He started toward the door. “I’ll come back and finish these books tomorrow.”

Mattie jumped out of the chair and went to put a hand on his arm. “You’d be better off with Delia,” she said kindly. “Or any of my girls. Belle’s mighty sweet.”

Gabe patted her hand, then gently removed it from his arm. “I’m not interested, Mattie. At least, not today.”

Mattie shook her head. “You oughtn’t go messing with a lady like Miss Prescott. Why, they say her pappy’s a genuine New York City banker. He’s likely to send some of those Pinkerton boys to blow your head off.”