Gabe

It was as if he had traveled through time, with no dreams or sensations to mark the passage. In one second he was trying to make sense of Caro's halo and the watery quality of the ground beneath his feet. In the next he was blinking at a familiar ceiling. His bedroom. His bed, firm but comfortable against his aching back. He'd have bolted upright in confusion, but for the small, warm weight against his side and the accompanying instinct holding him in place. He lifted his head and saw Isobel there, curled against him with her own head on his shoulder, damp hair seeping moisture into the fabric of his shirt.

Movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see Caroline sitting at a chair at his rickety little table, nursing a cup of coffee. She stood when their eyes met and came to sit on the edge of the bed.

"How long?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Not even an hour," she said quietly, and a stab of relief had him collapsing back to the pillow. "But you need to rest longer. You bled a lot. We sent a rider to the Tuckers' like you said. You need to let Mel take a look at you."

He needed no such thing. Someone had bandaged up his arm, and his back was a persistent ache but no longer bleeding. The pain in his head was more pounding than piercing. With a cup of coffee and a bite to eat, he'd been fine.

Katherine would not.

As slowly as possible, he sat. Isobel whimpered and clutched at him but subsided back into sleep when he resettled her on the pillow and tugged the blankets over her. At some point in the darkness, he'd traded his muddy clothes for clean ones. Plucking at the shirt, he raised a questioning glance to Caro. She shrugged.

"You were filthy," she said. "Mel says cleanliness is key to healing. And it's not as if any of us are strangers to the male form, you know. There's no need to be scandalized."

He glowered at her but couldn't muster the heat to make it effective. Nothing mattered but Katherine. Even his pride could wait.

"I need food," he said. "Is there any more coffee?"

Caroline nodded and stood. "Just sit for a minute until I get back. You scared the hell out of us, going down like that. Wait until you've got some food in you before you go charging all over town."

He would have liked to do exactly the opposite of what she asked, but the sad truth was that if he stood up now, he'd go right back down and time travel another hour, or maybe two. And only God and the bastard reverend knew what Katherine would have to endure during that delay. Caroline was right. He needed food. Then he would go for her.

Caroline returned quickly, trailed by Tiff and Lindy who carried a plate of food and a pot of coffee respectively. Under their annoyingly watchful eye, he made his unsteady way from the bed to the table and sat, letting them arrange the food in front of him and doctor the coffee until he wouldn't have called it 'coffee' so much as coffee-tinged sugared cream.

He devoured the eggs and the toast, and the coffee went down easily enough. He'd no sooner opened his mouth to ask for water when a tall ceramic cup appeared at his hand. He guzzled it, and another appeared in its place. While he ate, and the food and coffee cleared away the fog in his mind, he began to plan.

He'd have preferred to go after her with a posse of Josh's men behind him, but he couldn't wait that long. A rider would take at least two hours to reach the ranch. Add in another hour to muster a group of willing fighters, then another two hours back. He didn't have that kind of time. God only knew what the reverend would do to her. Was already doing to her.

He glanced at Isobel, who slept soundly in his bed, before speaking.

"He'll take her to the church," he said. "He's lost his goddamned mind over this. He's not rational. He'll have his men guarding the place, but he wants me as badly as he wants her. I'll keep him busy. Away from Katherine. Once Josh and his men get here, send them after us in case I can't handle it myself."

Caro's eyes widened, and in his periphery Gabe saw Lindy and Tiff shaking their heads.

"Gabe, that's ridiculous. You can't just walk into a trap. Use your head."

"I am using my head," he growled, shoving his chair back and pushing to his feet. To his relief, the ground stayed steady beneath him.

"You are not," Caroline hissed, rising and circling the table to stand before him, chin up and arms crossed over her chest. "You're listening to your heart, and your heart is stupid. Think, Gabriel. He wants to hurt her. He wants to hurt you. He knows the best way to do that is to use you against each other."

She was right, damn her. But...

"Right now he thinks he's got the better of me," he growled low, casting another glance at Isobel, who had curled into a tight ball beneath the quilt. "Once he finds out his men don't have me, he'll get scared. He'll lash out at her. The only advantage I have right now is that he's not expecting me to show up of my own volition. He'll have his guard down. I need to go. Now."

With that, he turned his back on Caroline and went to the bed. His muddy boots sat on the rag rug by the fire, and his gun belt hung over one of the posts. With a sigh, he picked up the belt and slung it around his hips. Tiff wordlessly left the room and came back with a box of bullets just as he was finished shoving his feet into the fire-heated, damp leather of his boots. With a nod of thanks, he sank into a chair at the kitchen table, filling the empty chambers of the revolver and restocking the belt with spare rounds.

Caroline sat across from him, hands clenched tight on the tabletop. With a look, she dismissed Lindy and Tiff. When the door closed behind them, she shook her head. "I hate this Gabe," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "It isn't like you to be rash."

"I don't have a choice," he said, reaching across the table to lay his hand over hers. "You know that."

"I know..." Her gaze dropped to their hands and she turned hers over, clasping his fingers. "You need to go. As soon as help arrives we'll come."

Gabe stood and went to the bed, staring down at his daughter. She slept so peacefully, he didn't want to wake her. But what if he was riding to his death? He couldn't just leave her...

"Izzy," he murmured, sinking onto the edge of the bed as Caroline slipped from the room in a whisper of skirts. "Iz, wake up, honey."

Isobel stirred and her eyelids fluttered. With a sigh, she rolled onto her back and pressed her fists up over head in a sleep-muddled stretch. "Pa?"

"Yeah, honey. I gotta talk to you real quick and then you can go back to sleep, okay?"

She blinked up at him, scrubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. "You're awake? Aunt Caroline said you were really sleepy and I was s'posed to be quiet."

"I was and you were," he said, his heart clawing at the walls of his chest. "But I had a good nap and I gotta go get your mama, now."

With a frown, Isobel sat up. "The bad men took her."

"I know, honey." He bit back a curse as he hefted her up and placed her on his lap, dragging the quilt around her shoulders to protect against the bite of cold that lingered in the air. "That's why I have to go get her."

Isobel studied her lap, small fingers toying with the hem of the quilt. Then, with a sigh, she leaned against him, her damp hair tickling his chin as tiny arms wrapped around his waist and squeezed as tight as she could manage. "When will you be back?" she mumbled into his shirt.

"Soon." I hope. "Probably by nighttime. But Miss Amelia and Miss Melissa are going to be here, soon. And Aunt Caroline and the others will take good care of you until they arrive. So if I'm not back by bedtime you'll be okay."

She stiffened and hugged him tighter. "Will ma be back by bedtime?"

Of all the trials of fatherhood, he hadn't expected this one. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the wrenching, tearing sensation of lying to his little girl.

"Yeah, Iz. I'll bring her back. But if something holds us up, I promise you'll be safe with Mister Josh and Miss Amelia. They'll take really good care of you."

"I don't want to go with them," Isobel pouted, glaring up at him. "We're supposed to go on the train."

"I know. I know, honey. We will. Just... if we can't go on the train, I promise you'll be okay. You'll be safe."

Her hold on him didn't loosen, and he stared at the door, wondering if he'd ever walk back through it. Was he about to leave his daughter an orphan? What other choice did he have, though? Could he raise her properly, knowing that he had left her mother to suffer? No, she'd be better off with the Tuckers than trapped with the monster he'd become if he had to live with the knowledge he'd abandoned her mother.

"I have to go, Izzy," he said. His heart had wedged itself into his throat, but he swallowed it down and forced himself to smile as he pulled her away and bent to brush her nose with his. "I love you so, so much Isobel. Your mama, too. She loves you so, so much. Tell me you know that."

She sighed and shrugged, a hint of her usual sass flashing up at him. "I know," she said.

"Okay, good. I'm gonna tuck you back in and you're gonna finish your nap. When you wake up, ask Aunt Caroline to read you one of the books from Grandma Viv's collection. I'll be back soon."

"Okay." She let him set her back down on the mattress, and climbed obediently beneath the sheets.

"I love you, Iz," he murmured one more time for good measure, bending to press a kiss to her forehead. "Have good dreams, okay?"

"Okay." She was trying not to cry. He could see it, dammit. She wasn't old enough to be a good actor. Her chin was wrinkled up, her lips quivering, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"It'll be okay," he said, willing to tell whatever lie it took to calm her fears. He brushed a hand over her damp hair and captured her gaze with his. "I promise you, honey. I'll make it okay. You'll have your mama back soon."

She nodded silently, her chin brushing against the edge of the quilt, and he stood before he could surrender to the urge to pick her up and hold her to him and never, ever let go.

He had to get Katherine back.

She needed Katherine. He could stay and hold her until she grew up and moved out, but it wouldn't be enough. He wasn't essential to her existence, no matter how fiercely he loved her. She'd gone years without him, and look at her! She was the bravest, cleverest, kindest soul he'd ever laid eyes on. She didn't need him. She needed the woman who had raised her to be the brave, clever, kind little girl that she was. She needed the woman who would continue to raise her into a strong, compassionate, courageous, brilliant young lady. She didn't need him.

She needed her mother.

* * *

He left Reaper in his stall and took one of the girls' horses. The poor gelding's name was Fairy and he was about as plain and dull as his name was whimsical.

Leaving one half of his heart behind in pursuit of the other, Gabe urged the muted brown mount into the forest, taking a direct route to the church. He got there quickly, bypassing roads in favor of the game trails he'd walked so many times during the years of Katherine's marriage. The forest was alive with dawn, the morning eerily chipper and bright considering his entire world had collapsed at his feet while the sun was still sleeping.

He reached the church while the birds were singing their morning cacophony. He'd left Fairy just off the main road, where Caroline knew to find him when all this was over, and traveled the last half mile on foot. The bullet tracks across his back and shoulder ached, but he felt strong-- like the pounding, rushing river had taken place of the blood in his veins, and the roots of the oaks had wrapped tight around his spine. He wondered if his mother had felt this way on the day that she died—invincible. There was something powerful about knowing one's fate.

His boots didn't make a sound as he crept the last of the way to the edge of the woods and hunkered down onto his belly. Fifty meters of trimmed lawn surrounded the church and the little house that stood beside it. On the far side, out of his view, there was a small barn. On the near side, between him and the looming gray building, was the cemetery.

He saw one man, standing by the door. He was an easy target, and a big one, his dark clothing a crisp silhouette against the gray stone of the church. Another man was walking tight circles around the building. A third was walking the tree line. Gabe heard him crunching through the leaves a hundred yards to his right.

These idiots could learn a thing or two about security from the girls.

Moving only as much as he had to, Gabe unslung the rifle from his back and propped the barrel in his left hand, tugging the buttstock tight against his right shoulder and laying his cheek against the polished wood to peer through the scope. The Spencer repeating rifle and its special-made telescopic sight had cost him six months' pay, and the girls had all mocked him about it when it arrived from New York. Hell, even Josh had mocked him when he'd taken it out to the ranch to show it off.

"You that bad a marksman?" his friend had asked. "Can't kill a deer the honest way?"

He could kill a deer the honest way, not that it mattered. He'd ordered the rifle for the same reason Tiff ordered special books and Chrissie ordered special perfume and Josh ordered special bits and bridles and stirrups and saddles. He didn't need it. He just wanted it. Now, as he sighted on the distant figures, brought a hundred meters closer by the magnified scope, with seven rounds loaded and ready to fire in rapid succession, he was glad for the little spat of frivolity that had driven his hand to order this stupid thing three years ago.

It pained him, but he waited. Perhaps these cowards didn't know how to secure a place, but he was damn near certain there weren't just three of them. So he waited, with wet and cold seeping into him from the damp earth and the morning sun beginning to heat the back of his legs.

He waited, and the man in the woodline grew bored and went back to the house for a drink. Through the scope, Gabe watched him argue with the man by the door, and ultimately take his place. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest while his friend crossed the expanse of the lawn and entered the woods.

Gabe waited, and a fourth man appeared from the far side of the church and disappeared inside the house for three minutes before walking back out with a hunk of bread in his hand.

He waited, and a fifth man emerged from the house with a mug in one hand and the other wrapped loosely around a rifle. He stood on the porch for a long moment, as if greeting the day, and then went to replace the man walking circles around the church, who retired to the steps of the church to converse with the man guarding the door.

He waited, and a rider appeared from the main road. The man pushed his horse hard, in a full gallop all the way up to the house. Gabe heard him yelling, but couldn't make out the words. The door of the house swung open, and Gabe's blood went hot in his chest as the reverend stepped out. His vision blurred as he squinted into the scope at the man's shiny black boots and pressed black shirt. His hair was slicked back and glinted in the morning light.

The rider slid from the saddle, gesticulating wildly, and Gabe watched as the reverend's posture went stiff. He peered out past the rider, his eyes scanning the empty road and the woodline, where one of his followers was currently clomping his way toward Gabe's hiding spot. For a moment—an agonizing, heart-seizing moment—it seemed as if the reverend stared straight down the barrel of the rifle, right into Gabe's eyes. Into his soul.

But that was impossible. He was tucked deep into the darkness, and the sun was at his back. He couldn't have been seen.

Not even daring to breathe, Gabe watched as the reverend turned to yell something over his shoulder, and then strode down off the porch and past the cemetery, trailed by two men who had emerged from the house behind him. That made nine men. The reverend, his two lackeys, the rider, the two on the steps, the one in the woodline, the one walking the perimeter, and the one out of sight on the far side of the building.

Nine men. The reverend and the two who had emerged with him from the house disappeared into the church, and Gabe tried not to think about Katherine alone in there, with them. Nine men, and six of them still outside. One out of range. One in the woods with him, rustling about like an ogre.

Still on his belly, with the rifle resting across his arms, Gabe inched back until he was well away from the woodline. Once safely out of sight, he pushed back into a crouch and slung the rifle over his back. The footsteps were drawing closer, so he placed a large tree between himself and the noise, breathing slow and shallow, eyes closed as he listened.

If he sprang too soon, the man might have time to cry out.

If he waited too long, the man might see him.

Not yet.

The footsteps crunched over dead leaves, snapping twigs. The man grumbled under his breath.

Not yet.

Gabe could all but smell him—stale sweat and tobacco smoke.

Now!

Just as the man stepped past his hiding place, Gabe sprang forward, locking an arm around the man's neck, cutting off his cry of alarm so that only a croak escaped. The man was big, and he stumbled backwards, driving both of them into the ground. Gabe landed hard on his back, the rifle digging into his spine, but he clenched his teeth on the pain and cranked down on his hold. His victim flailed, scrabbling at his arm, clawing for his eyes. His right hand slapped at the pistol strapped to his leg, and Gabe yanked it free from the holster and tossed it aside.

It felt like hours passed before the man's struggles finally eased and he went slack, his deadweight pressing Gabe into the soft earth beneath them. With a heave, he pushed the limp body off of him and scrambled to his hands and knees. A shallow heartbeat pulsed in his victim's neck, and his fingers twitched for the knife in his boot. Beneath the sloppy disguise of smeared mud and charcoal, he recognized this man. He was a regular at the saloon. He favored Penny, who said he had a tendency to cry after completion.

Gabe closed his eyes and imagined himself burying his knife in the man's neck, bright red blood spilling into the dark soil. But it was one thing to kill a man in the heat of a fight. It was an entirely different matter to kill him while he lay helpless and unconscious.

What would Katherine say? What would Izzy think?

With a stifled growl of frustration, and in what was becoming an all-too-familiar ritual, he wrenched the man's belt loose and tied his ankles. Then he used the knife to rid him of his shirt and tear it into strips, using the rags to bind his wrists and then lash them to his ankles. He rolled the man onto his side so he wouldn't suffocate, and then stuffed another wad of sweaty shirt into his mouth before using last strip to tie the gag in place.

He left his victim lying in the woods and a part of him prayed that nobody would find him until night fell and the cold finished what he couldn't.

He returned to his place at the edge of the woods, retrieving his rifle from behind him and sighting down the scope. Eight men, now. Three inside. One on the far side of the church. Two on the steps. One walking the perimeter. And the rider, who leaned against the porch rail of the house, smoking a cigarette.

He'd never been much good at math, but these calculations came easily. His rifle held seven rounds, and at his fastest and least harried it took him ten seconds to reload when he ran out. The rider had the farthest to run to find cover. The man walking the perimeter had just disappeared around the far side of the church. The two on the porch were deep in conversation, one slumped on the bottom step and the other leaning against the wall beside the stairs, one foot braced against the stones behind him.

Again, Gabe waited, sights trained on the wall of the church where he knew the man walking would soon appear. He sucked in a breath and held it, savoring the last few moments of peace.

Movement wobbled in the sights as his first target rounded the corner. He released a breath, centered the crosshairs on the man, right at the forward edge of his chest as he was walking, and pulled the trigger. Cranked the lever to reload.

Six rounds.

The man collapsed to the ground, and Gabe didn't wait to see if the shot had killed him. Shifting, he sighted on the man leaning against the wall of the church, who seemed to have frozen, arms thrown out to his side, head jerking back and forth as if he couldn't decide which way to run. Gabe released a breath. Pulled the trigger. Cranked the lever.

Five rounds.

The man on the steps had scrambled to his feet, one hand clawing at the pistol at his side. He was running for the open church door, which was unfortunate for him. If he'd run for the far side of the church, Gabe would have had to lead the shot. As it was, his target was running in one direction, straight away. There wasn't even a need to shift his sights. He breathed out. Pulled the trigger. Cranked the lever.

Four rounds.

Raising his eye from the scope, he saw the rider running for the porch steps while his horse snorted and stomped and took off running down the road. Gabe's next shot was his first miss. In the scope, he watched the porch rail explode, sending shards and splinters cascading over the rider's head.

Three rounds.

The poor idiot collapsed to the ground as if he had been shot, and Gabe's next bullet found its mark. His shoulder ached from the recoil, but he kept his sights and watched a blossom of red appear in the center of the man's back.

Two rounds.

Gabe raised his cheek from the buttstock as he racked in another round, surveying the church yard. The man by the far wall lay unmoving, and a quick glance down the scope showed that half his head was missing. The one on the steps was crawling feebly toward the church door. The bullet must have struck his leg, because the limb trailed limp behind him. He must be in terrible pain. Gabe breathed in. Breathed out. Pulled the trigger. Cranked the lever.

One round.

His target collapsed, a dark hole in the back of his neck. The one remaining man was up, clawing at the wall to pull himself to his feet, left arm dangling at his side. Gabe set the crosshairs in the center of the man's back. Breathed in. Breathed out. Squeezed the trigger.

Empty.

The body slid to the ground, leaving a smear of red on the gray stone.

Gabe's breath was eerily calm. His mind silent. It was as if all of his fear and fury had lodged itself in his heart, which beat like a hummingbird's wings inside his chest. He crawled backwards, hastily this time, and scrambled to his feet as soon as he'd put distance between himself and the woodline. It took him twenty seconds to reload the rifle as he walked, and then sling it across his back. He heard men yelling in the distance, and a couple of gunshots cracked the air, but there were hundreds of yards and a dense stand of trees between him and the threat.

Nine men. Four dead. One incapacitated. Four left.

At least.

Gabe put his head down and ran.