Gabe

Gabe loved his mother, but talking to her had put him in a foul mood. He'd intended to return to his room and get a few hours' sleep after their conversation, but when he stretched out on the floor, listening to the twin, soft breaths from the bed above him, all he could think about were his mother's words.

"When are you going to let this girl go?"

As if it was a choice to hold onto her. He'd never had a choice where Katherine was concerned.

Agitated, he pulled on his boots and returned to the bar room. The place was always tidy, but he cleaned it deep that night. He cleaned floorboards and scrubbed floors and polished the bartop. Some of the more expensive bottles on the shelf behind the bar were collecting dust, so he pulled them all down and wiped them off. His energy was restless and discomfiting, crawling beneath his skin. No matter how hard he worked, he couldn't seem to exorcise it.

His mother's girls kept odd hours, due to the nature of their work. Although the brothel closed just after three, and it was already dawn, some were still up. He heard them moving about upstairs, and a few stumbled down in their nightgowns, bleary-eyed and sleep-mussed, waving a silent greeting at him before shuffling off to the kitchen. The place didn't go truly quiet until around eight o'clock. Eight to noon. Those hours were a brothel's version of the wee hours of the night. If anyone was moving it was an oddity.

Well, Gabe supposed as he finished in the bar room and moved outside to the stables, he must be some kind of oddity.

The stables needed little work. He'd cleaned them just the day before, after all. He stood in the tidy space, gnawing on the abused toothpick in his mouth and glaring at the horses.

"Suppose at least one of you wants some exercise," he drawled, walking up and down the long aisle. All of his horses were 'adopted,' as Amelia liked to say, from the Tucker family. All of the horses that came out of that ranch were well broke, but some were, as Josh liked to say, 'a little too mellow.' The last few years, under Amelia's clever guidance, those 'too mellow' animals were run through an extra round of training to acquaint them with the extra bulk of skirts around their legs, and the uneven weight of side-saddle riding, and were marketed as 'Ladies' Horses.'

The whole affair had resulted in a deluge of teasing from the ranch hands and the town at large, but when Gabe brought it up with Josh his friend had just shrugged and showed him a line in his ledger, and Gabe hadn't dared join in the mockery.

Turned out ladies needed horses too, and were willing to pay a pretty price for docile creatures with floral names and braided, glossy manes.

After the girls found out, his mother had given him a pocket full of cash and he'd ridden out to the Tuckers' and purchased four gentle, perfectly-groomed 'Ladies' Horses' for the girls. Then he had gritted his teeth and dropped an uncomfortable amount of his own savings on a regular horse for himself. It was selfish and unnecessary, but he was tired of walking everywhere. And a man around here needed a horse if he had any intention of finding a legitimate job. That was what he'd told himself.

"How about you, Reaper?" he asked the sleek gray Asil, offering the animal an apple he'd brought from the kitchen. The horse took it without any apparent eagerness, and Gabe wiped his drool-slick palm on his pants before stroking it over the animal's neck. The hide was warm and smooth, life thrumming beneath his touch in a way that both thrilled and soothed him. Reaper crunched away at the apple, ignoring Gabe's attention.

"He's an arrogant bastard," Josh had told him when he'd pointed at the animal and asked for a price. "I ought to pay you just to get him off my hands."

In the end, Gabe had done the paying, and quite a lot of it, but the price was worth it even just for that first ride. Reaper was arrogant for sure. Some horses, Josh had confided in him, just weren't meant to be broken. "Some you have to just bend a little and hope for the best."

"Come on, then," he said when the horse snorted and tossed its head at him, dissatisfied with the paltry offering of the apple. "Let's go."

Reaper fidgeted impatiently as Gabe tossed the saddle on his back and cinched it down. Outside, he swung up into the saddle, settling with a sigh, his calves pressed against hard muscles. Reaper needed little encouragement to run. Gabe had only to give a gentle nudge with his right heel and then they were flying out into the breaking day, wind cutting through his hair. He rode hard, giving the horse the reins and letting the restless animal run out the energy that consumed them both. They started down the road that led out of town, and then turned east towards the mountains, riding hard over an open, grassy plain. The shallow, rocky river that wound through it gave Reaper no pause. Graceful and sure, he plowed through the icy water, sending up a plume that soaked Gabe's legs from the knee down.

The sun had only just risen over the distant hills, and the light was harsh and yellow, blinding him. He ought to have brought a hat. Hell, he ought to have brought something to eat. Something to drink. All he had were the clothes on his back and the six-gun he always carried, strapped to his thigh.

What would it be like to live like this? To be fully free? Even now, as he leaned low over Reaper's back and let the wind wash away the last of his restless agitation, he felt the pull of responsibility. He was too far from home. What if something happened? He was sure the last of the customers had departed, but what if someone came looking for more? What if the reverend came back for Katie and Isobel?

With a groan, he pulled Reaper to a snorting, disgruntled halt. The horse fidgeted and pranced beneath him, offering sullen looks over its shoulder as he debated with himself.

"Sorry, brother," he sighed, pressing one heel into the animal's side and tugging on the reins to wheel him around. "Time to head home."

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?"

The words left his mouth the second he shut the door behind him. Isobel glanced up at him from the bed, eyes wide in shock at his language, and his surge of regret was quickly buried by the wave of frustration that had spurned the comment.

"I'm tidying up," Katherine said. She stood by the hearth with a dust rag in her hand, dressed in one of his shirts, which hung to mid thigh. Her messy hair was stacked on top of her head, and the expression on her face was one of innocent surprise. She would have looked like every dream he'd ever had, if not for the hunch in her shoulders and the colorful bruises that decorated every inch of her exposed skin. If not for her puffed up lower lip and her swollen, purple eye.

"You should be resting," he grated out, pointing at the abandoned bed. "If the mess was bothering you, you should have said something."

Katherine cringed, lowering her gaze to the floor and wringing the rag between delicate fingers. "It wasn't bothering me," she murmured. "I just wanted to help."

"I don't need help," he said, trying to cram his voice into the box of calm. She didn't answer, and he had to cross his arms over his chest to keep from rushing to her and pulling her to him. What few times he'd dared touched her since she begun to regain her strength, she had flinched away. No matter his instincts, the last thing she needed right now was his hands on her body. "Really, Kat. The room's not that big. I cleaned it myself just fine before you came around."

She sighed and sank into a chair, setting the rag on the table top and folding her hands in her lap. She was so demure. So fragile. Like someone had taken his Katie and fashioned a porcelain doll in her likeness. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wanted to do something nice for you."

His heart cracked in his chest. While he'd been out on a joy ride, she had been clawing her way out of her sickbed to 'do something nice.' He was some kind of ass, and if his treatment of Katie wasn't bad enough, it was only then that he abruptly remembered Isobel's presence. He glanced at her to see she still sat cross-legged on the mussed covers of the bed. Her mother had scrounged up a pencil and a sheet of blank paper, but the drawing on her lap lay forgotten. She stared at him, wariness in her eyes.

He had walked in the room angry. Confronted this poor woman in front of her traumatized child.

What an ass.

Still fighting the urge to touch her, he pulled out the opposite chair and lowered himself onto it. He moved slowly, like he would around a frightened animal. Because that's what that goddamned preacher had done. He had taken Katie-- his beautiful, vibrant, wild Katie-- and beat her until her natural state was cowering subservience. The thought made his hands clench involuntarily into fists, skin stretching taut across his knuckles, and he kept them beneath the table where she wouldn't see and misinterpret.

I'll kill him.

"Katherine..." She didn't look up at the sound of his voice, her shoulders rising and falling with hitched, shallow breaths as she studied her hands.

"I promise you I'm feeling better," she murmured, pleading and desperate. "I know you want us gone and--"

"Katie, stop it," he snapped. She flinched and fell silent, and he bit his tongue until he tasted blood. Why couldn't he just be nice? What the hell was wrong with him? He took a few deep breaths and thought of his friend Josh, and the voice he used when he spoke to his horses. "I'm not angry with you," he said quietly, wishing he sounded less... gritty. "I'm sorry for snapping. I'm just worried about you is all."

Katherine shrugged, still refusing to look up. "I shouldn't have endangered my recovery," she all but whispered.

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed. "But I'm not angry because I want you gone, honey. You or Isobel. I just don't want you to be hurt. I want you to feel better. You know that. Please tell me you know that."

He couldn't see her face from the way her head was bowed, but he felt the slight ease in the tension. Then a small voice piped up from the bed.

"I know that, mister!" Isobel chimed in, having scooted to the edge of the bed, and he offered her a smile that felt awkward on his lips. It was hard to smile when he was feeling like such a raging monster. Why couldn't he have just said thank you and then cajoled her gently back into bed?

"See?" he said to Katherine. "Isobel knows." She nodded but didn't smile. Didn't speak. Didn't look up. "Katherine, please look at me," he begged. It was selfish to ask that of her when she was so vulnerable, but he had to look into her eyes. She was so unlike his Katie, he needed to see her. He craved reassurance that she was still in there, somewhere.

Her body was beginning to tremble with weakness and, he thought with a pang of self-loathing, fear. Even so, Katherine raised her head. He fought not to flinch at the sight. She must be healing, if she was well enough to rise, but she looked as bad as she had when he'd found her. The bruise that had claimed her eye was shiny and purple, and the scab on her lip was an thick crust of dried blood from opening up every time she dared smile. She looked so broken, and he knew that the physical hurts were only the start.

Even so, he saw her there. Although one eye was sealed shut, that was her gaze that tentatively brushed over his. Her pert chin, shaking with suppressed emotion. It was her relentless generosity that had her crawling out of bed to 'do something nice.'

"Thank you," he said earnestly, capturing her gaze and praying she wouldn't break the link. "I'm sorry that I was harsh. It was kind what you were doing. Once you're feeling a little better, you can tidy up as much as you want." He hesitated. She was so exposed in this moment-- her legs bare and her soul flayed open before him. It was the least he could do to meet her halfway. "You know how it is, Katie," he forced through a tight throat. "I never want you gone, no matter if you make a mess or clean one up. I lo--" he cut himself off before he could say something regrettable. The words fought for freedom, but he lashed them down and offered her all he dared:
"You're always welcome here."

She stared for a long moment, her good eye brimming with tears. He wondered what she would say. She wouldn't throw herself into his arms, he knew that much. She wouldn't laugh at him, either. Even if she felt nothing for him at all, his Katherine was incapable of cruelty.

"I know," she said finally, bowing her head once more and speaking to her lap.

It was the in-between answer he had expected, but he was grateful she had lowered her gaze because the words still made him wince.

And wasn't he a selfish heel?

All this time, all these years, he had been so consumed by his own loss. He feared for her and hurt for her, but why? Because her pain hurt him. He hated seeing her so broken, but why? Because he missed his best friend, the girl who she had been. He wanted her to heal, but why? Because he wanted her back.

Selfish.

"I'm sorry, Katherine," he said, rising to his feet. "Please get back in bed. I'll finish cleaning up."

There was a distant thrum of challenge in the air between them as she lifted her face and her bruised, blue gaze flashed at him. It was like the lightning in those eerie winter storms, flashing in the clouds above. So distant and so fleeting he didn't know if it was even real.

Silent, she shuffled back to the bed. He had to clench his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching out and tucking the blankets around her. Smoothing the tangled locks of hair that fell around her face.

"Melissa will be by a little later," he said, but Katherine barely nodded. She was buried so deep within herself, he wondered if she'd ever find her way out.

It didn't matter, he told himself. Whether she clawed her way loose or stayed locked up in there forever, it didn't matter. He would love her all the same. He had been thinking too much about himself since she'd come back. If he truly loved her the way she deserved, he would think only of her healing, whatever form that healing took. She wasn't his Katie anymore. She had no obligation to be that woman. Whatever version of herself was best fit for survival, that was the version she needed to be.

She sagged into the pillows, and he left her to finish the cleaning. She was right that the room needed attention. The floors were dusty, so he retrieved his broom and dustpan from the corner and swept. Isobel slid off the edge of the bed and joined him, helping in little way she was sure her mother had taught her to let her feel helpful. She held the dustpan for him and took the items he offered her, carrying them where he directed. Usually Isobel turned silent and watchful when her mother was distressed, but her presence that day was cheerful and sunny. He had a terrible feeling that she was beginning to trust him. He felt her faith keenly-- a heavy weight that settled on his shoulders, taunting him with premonitions of failure. Just as keenly, he could feel Katherine's fearful, weary gaze trailing him, exhausted but too wary to rest. The braid of trust and distrust wound like choking vines around his spine and made his skin prickle, and the energy he'd washed away on his ride came creeping back.

There were only two ways to get rid of this energy in any lasting way.

Hopefully there'd be some rowdy customers at the bar tonight. 

*** Hey y'all! If you haven't been there, I tossed up a silly new post on my website (link in the comments). For those of you who are signed up for my mailing list, I'm curious if you are getting the emails? I have sent three, but the "open" count is extremely low so I'm afraid they might be getting booted to folks' spam or promotions folders. So if you signed up and you haven't been getting stuff, that's probably where it's at. 

Alrighty. I'm off to bed. As ever, thank you for reading!!!***