Here Comes the Bride (16 page)

Tess covered her face with trembling hands and gave vent to the agony of her loss. Gabriel did not love her. He probably hated her. She almost killed his only brother, and it was all because of a silly dream she insisted on following—a dream she had dragged the Calloway brothers into without even asking for their opinions on the subject. She was no better than her father.

Gabriel did not love her. Her mind repeated the statement over and over, forcing her to swallow it and acknowledge it for the truth it was. He was angry with her and was going to be a great deal angrier when he discovered he was missing five dollars.

She managed to walk as far as the bridge that crossed over the creek to the bed of wildflowers where Gabriel had kissed her not so very long ago. She knew now it had not been love he felt for her then, it had been lust. Plain and simple lust. He’d told her as much himself that he believed in lust at first sight, but certainly not love. Tess sighed. Gabriel was so terribly busy on the ranch he probably didn’t have time to find a nice woman, to court her properly, or to fall in love with her. He probably didn’t even have enough time to take company with one of the working girls at the saloon for that matter.

So when Tess arrived at the ranch, he was probably so happy to see a female of any sorts, he would have kissed her if she’d had green teeth and a third eye. Lust did strange things to a man, or so she’d been told.

Tess had never experienced true heartache before—at least not this kind. She’d been devastated by the sudden loss of her mother some years ago, but that was a completely different kind of pain. This was an all-encompassing misery—so acute, in fact, it was an actual physical pain. She was a woman alone, facing the harsh realities of being alone—of being lonely.

“You can have everything,” her mother had told her more than once. “Everything is there for the taking, you just have to want it badly enough to take it.”

“Well, Mother,” she sighed aloud, “apparently you were wrong on this one. I can’t have everything.”

Tess fell to her knees in the middle of the field, surrounding herself with the intoxicating aroma of eucalyptus and sweet green grass. A million stars and a moon close enough to touch illuminated the immense blackness of the sky. This was most definitely not the same starless sky that loomed dauntingly over Boston.

Boston, an entire world away, a completely different life ago, and yet Tess knew one day she would have to make peace with that old life. One day she would write to her father and let him know where she was and that she was well. Not today, not tomorrow, and probably not anytime in the near future, but one day.

In all her twenty-one years, Tess had been absolutely certain of two things. The first was had she stayed in Boston and agreed to marry Harmon Stiles, the devil incarnate, she would have been dead before her next birthday; the second was this town, this western haven, was exactly where she belonged—here with her angel Gabriel.

If only she’d been able to convince him.

Tess closed her weary eyes and lay back among the dew-laden flowers. She would rest for a while and when the sun came up she would go to town and start building her new life without her angel. Her mind swirled into dream, filled with the sweet fragrance of the earth, mingling with the sunshine and leather scent of Gabriel, his strong arms cradling her against him, protecting her, loving her.

Tender and light as a summer breeze, his lips brushed across her brow, the tip of her nose, then both eyes. Her breath held in her throat, her legs no longer able to hold her. She melted against him, into him, her face turned up to meet his. His lips were warm and sweet against hers, gently coaxing a response from her.

Tess floated away on that dream, knowing on more than one level it was simply that—a dream—but refusing to give it up yet. Her mouth curved into an unconscious smile. If dreaming were the only way she could have Gabriel, then she would dream forever.

 

 

And that was how Gabe found her a short while later—a beautiful angel lying in a bed of flowers, her only cover the huge blanket of stars above. His heart ached to look at her. It would be so easy to scoop her up and take her home, to give her anything and everything she wanted, to love her, to make love to her.

To love her. He could not let himself do that knowing eventually, whether she knew it or not right then, she would leave him. Whether it be on the stagecoach out of town or on the wings of an angel, she would leave him. Either way, whatever the circumstances, it would mean the certain death of Gabe Calloway.

He climbed down from his saddle, leaving Zeus to graze freely, and slowly lowered himself to the grass beside her. Even asleep she radiated such a glowing vitality, an intense magnetism, Gabe had to fight the urge to wake her up and abandon himself to the pleasures of her flesh. God help him, he wanted to, but . . .

But he couldn’t very well leave her there either, so he pulled off his thin canvas jacket and draped it over her, then lay down in the grass and pulled her gently into his arms. He was only trying to keep her warm, was all. It didn’t matter it was the warmest night of the year so far, or his jacket alone would have sufficed in keeping her warm, he couldn’t risk her catching a chill, because then she wouldn’t be able to leave on Friday.

She snuggled closer against him, the top of her head resting under his chin, her small left hand pressing flat against his chest. Gabe’s pulse leapt, his heart hammered, and every last drop of blood raced south of his belt. He should let her go, lay her back in the grass and get as far away from her as he could. But damn it all if she didn’t smell like heaven itself. And she fit against him like nothing he could ever imagine.

She mumbled in her sleep, but Gabe was unable to make out what she said. Whatever it was, it made her press closer to him, pulled a soft quivering moan from her throat, and left her sighing contentedly. Gabe’s whole body stiffened—including parts he couldn’t relax if he wanted to.

He inhaled deeply, breathing in her honey-scented sweetness. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to do the same with his heart, and tried to convince himself that holding her that way did not really feel as good—or as right—as it actually did. He would just hold her for another minute, a few more heartbeats, until the stars disappeared, until . . .

“Gabriel?”

She couldn’t possibly realize how sensual her voice sounded speaking those three syllables.

“Hmm?” It was the best he could do without opening his mouth and making a complete fool of himself.

“Am I still dreaming?”

“Not unless we’re having the same dream,” he muttered, silently berating himself for being caught in this predicament.

Tess sighed softly. “I wish.”

For the life of him, Gabe could not bring himself to release her or even to sit up. Neither one of them moved or spoke for long, heart-hammering minutes.

“I’m sorry about Bart,” she murmured, barely loud enough to be heard.

“I know,” he shushed her. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

Against his mind’s screaming objections, Gabe’s fingers trailed down her temple to trace the outline of her cheekbone and jaw.

“Tess,” he breathed. “Now do you see why you can’t stay here? That snake could have easily bitten you instead of Bart, and you’re not strong enough to survive something like that.”

“How do you know?” she asked quietly. “You might be surprised how strong I am.”

“Okay.” He sighed.
“I’m
not strong enough to survive you getting bitten.”

Tess laughed. “That’s okay, I’m strong enough for the both of us.”

Gabe’s breath caught in his throat.

“Tess . . .”

“Don’t,” she said, her voice as tight as his heart. Her fingers played idly with the button of his shirt, unknowingly driving him closer to the brink of insanity. “I know what you’re going to say and you’re right.”

“What?” Gabe pushed himself up to sit, thereby dropping her onto the grass. He was quick to recover and pull her up beside him.

“You’re right,” she repeated. “If all I’m going to do is cause problems for everyone, then maybe I don’t belong out on the ranch. Well, not your ranch anyway.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His voice, though not yet a full-out yell, boomed through the stillness.

“Gabriel,” she said gently, “you’ve done your best to convince me I have no place on El Cielo and that come hel . . .” She took a moment to swallow. “Come Friday you mean to have me on the stage.”

“Y-yeah,” he said hesitantly, eyeing her uneasily.

“Well, I can’t fight you on that. It’s your ranch and I can’t very well stay where I’m not welcome. So I’ll stay in town.”

“Until Friday,” he finished for her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Until I can save enough money to buy my own farm.”

“What?” He bolted to his feet and now he
was
yelling. “Are you crazy? Have you not heard a single word I’ve said to you?”

“It’s a little hard not to hear you, Gabriel, since most of the time you’re yelling.”

“I’m not yelling!” he thundered.

“Yes,” she corrected, keeping her own voice even, “you are.”

“You
cannot
stay here! Haven’t I made that clear?”

“Oh, yes, you have made yourself perfectly clear. And now I’m going to do the same.”

She pushed up to her full height, bringing her nose in direct line with the center of his chest, and lifted her chin, meeting his steely gaze straight on.

“You know how I feel about you, Gabriel Calloway, and I’m not ashamed to admit it to you or anyone else who cares to know. But no matter how I feel, I cannot make you feel the same way about me, no matter what I do or how hard I try. So I give up. If you don’t love me, there’s nothing I can do about that, but I’ll be . . . damned . . . if I’m going to give up the rest of my dream of living out here.”

“But . . .”

“I’m not finished!” she snapped. “I intend to take myself into town, find myself a job—or two if I must—and save enough money to buy my own home, my own land, my own livestock. I intend to live how I want and where I want—and you, Gabriel Calloway, have absolutely no say in the matter whatsoever.”

She stood toe to toe with him, her fists balled tightly on her hips, her amber eyes glowing fiercely with an inner fire.

“But . . .” he repeated.

“But what?” Her delicate brows arched, daring him to argue with her.

“B-but . . .” he stammered, his words tripping over his heart that had somehow lodged itself in his throat. Damn, she was a feisty little thing, and hot double-damn how he wanted to kiss her then. Her entire being emitted a steadfast strength he not only admired, but envied. It took him a minute before he was able to spit out, “How do you know you’ll be able to find work?”

Tess straightened her shoulders even more. “I believe there is always work if you’re willing to do it. It might not be clean or easy, but work is work.”

Gabe’s glare faltered slightly. She had a point, he believed in that very same idea, but still . . .

“You can’t live in town.” Why couldn’t he force even the slightest bit of strength into his voice?

“I most certainly can,” she said, nodding defiantly. “I will get a room at the hotel or at Miss Hattie’s boardinghouse.”

Gabe found his vocal strength again. “You are not living at the hotel!”

Tess took a deep breath to control her own anger before she spoke again.

“Gabriel,” she finally said. “Unless I am mistaken, a woman still has certain rights in this country. Granted, we have not been given the right to vote—yet—but since I am no longer living under my father’s roof and I am not married, I do not have to take orders from anyone, including you. I can—and will—do as I please. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

She pushed his jacket against his chest, letting it fall to the ground when he did not immediately reach for it. She lifted her skirts a touch and resumed her walk toward the town of Porter Creek. The stars had begun to fade, the sun would soon begin its rise, and as such, the restaurant must certainly be open by now, gearing up for the breakfast rush. At least that’s what she prayed for. She’d offer up the entire five dollars for a strong cup of coffee right then.

“Tess . . .” he called after her, though he remained rooted to the spot.

She waved a dismissing hand at him and kept walking. Who did he think he was telling her what she could and could not do? He had a lot of nerve! A lot of nerves . . . and muscles, her traitorous mind recalled. He certainly was a daunting presence with his broad chest and massive shoulders. He literally towered over her, trying his darnedest to appear intimidating, yet it was his glare that faltered first, not hers.

And how was it, she wondered, that God had given the man such huge strong hands,
and
the ability to be so tender, so gentle, and so able to drive her to distraction with just the slightest touch? It was a wonder, all right, something she would wonder about for too many long, lonely nights.

Gabe stared after her until she rounded the curve out of sight. How could someone so little be so damned irritating, so stubborn, so . . . so irresistible? If she’d have lifted her chin any higher, she’d have toppled backward, he mused, a slow grin finding his lips.

He couldn’t let her live in town. And he sure as hell couldn’t let her go out and get a job! Gabe’s brow creased across his forehead. Though she was right. He had no say in the matter unless they were married. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to marry her—although he did have to admit the idea had some merit. It had nothing to do with him loving her, because that was out of the question; but at least if he were her husband, he could forbid her to do asinine things like taking a job in town or worse, rooming at the hotel.

And, of course, if she were his wife, he would be permitted certain conjugal rights afforded to a husband. That would be reason enough right there.

Gabe shook his head clear and rubbed his weary eyes. How had she managed to get him thinking such crazy thoughts? He’d always been so level-headed until she walked into his life, but now he couldn’t form a coherent thought if his life depended on it. Everywhere he looked, everything he did, she was there, hovering in the forefront of his mind, muddling his brain and throwing his insides into a horrendous ravel; his heart spent most of its time racing from the depths of his belly to the middle of his throat instead of staying where it belonged—lodged between two traitorous lungs that had recently forgotten how to function on their own.

Maybe time spent away from her would straighten him out. “Out of sight, out of mind” and all that. Besides, he thought with a deepening frown, maybe a few days in town would make her rethink her plan and see things his way.

He took up Zeus’s reins and swung up into the saddle. A stiff cup of coffee, a big breakfast, and a shave, that’s what he needed. Then he’d be able to think straight when he met up with Brolin in a few hours. Of course, while he was in town anyway, he’d probably check on Tess to make sure she was all right.

He forced his thoughts to the deal he made with Brolin. With the expected boom the railroad would bring to Porter Creek, there would soon be a greater demand for lumber here and in the surrounding towns. Businesses were sure to start up quicker than a june bug on a hot griddle, and the Calloway ranch boasted prime timber over more acres than not. Of course, so did the Langman place, Gabe reflected, but if Wyatt was too dim-witted to see an opportunity when it presented itself, that wasn’t Gabe’s fault.

He let Zeus into the barn, removed the saddle, and threw him some fresh oats before heading to the house for his own breakfast. Rosa met him at the door with the darkest glare he’d ever seen.

“Where Tess Kinley?” she demanded.

“She’s taken herself to town,” he answered, dreading the inevitable lecture. “Figures she’s better off there than out here getting herself—and everyone else—into trouble.”

“Gabe Calloway . . .” Rosa started, her voice rising at the same speed as the spatula in her hand.

“Don’t start,” he groaned. “She’s got no business living out here anyway and she’s finally seen that.”

“That’s enough!” he snarled. “Tess is a grown woman, Rosa. If she chooses to move into town that’s her business—it’s got nothing to do with me!”

Rosa snorted in a most unladylike way and turned her back to him.

Gabe sighed wearily. He hated arguing with Rosa, hated having her angry with him, and
really
hated the overdeveloped conscience she had raised him to have. “How’s Bart?”

“Okay,” she answered stiffly.

“Do I have time to go see him before breakfast?”

“Si.”

Gabe cringed. As much as Rosa liked to yell and lecture, her one-word answers were worse than any of her hour-long tirades.

“Rosa,” he began gently. “I—”

“Bup bup bup,” she stopped him with a wave of her thick, stubby hand. “You go tend Bart Calloway.”

Why did Rosa have to be right all the time? He fumed as he headed up the stairs. And worse, why did she have to know he knew she was right?

Bart lay wide awake in his bed, with his hands cupped behind his head.

“Well, look at you,” Gabe grinned. “You don’t look near as dead as you did a couple hours ago.”

“Don’t feel near as dead neither,” Bart grinned back at him. “But don’t tell Rosa. Been a long time since I had any woman fuss over me like this, and I intend to enjoy every minute I can of it.”

Gabe couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Hell, Bart, Rosa’d fuss over you if you got a hangnail, for Pete’s sake. Now if it was me that got bit by some ol’ snake, she’d have me up ridin’ herd already.”

“That’s ’cuz I’m nice to her,” Bart answered, his brown eyes dancing cheekily. “But you . . . hell, you couldn’t charm yer way outta a wet sack.”

Gabe’s face darkened through his forced smile. He didn’t want to be charming. Did he?

“D’you find Tess?” Bart asked.

“Yeah.” His jaw tightened, but a tiny light flickered in his soul. “Damned if she’s not the orneriest female I’ve ever met.”

“She is that,” Bart agreed. “Ain’t nothin’ worse than a female with an opinion.”

Gabe nodded distractedly.

“’Nuff to drive ya crazy, ain’t it?”

Another nod.

“So why don’t ya just marry ’er and be done with it already?”

It took an extra second for the words Bart spoke to register in Gabe’s brain.

“What?” he yelped. “I think that venom went straight to your brain, Bart.”

Bart shrugged. “That may be, but you’re the only one who can’t seem to see how much you love the girl, so just do it. Go get Reverend Boswell and get it over with.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Gabe gaped. “I’m not going to marry Tess. Though I’ll admit she does need a strong hand to put her back where she belongs, but it’s not going to be me!”

Bart grinned devilishly. “We’ll see, brother. We’ll see.”

Gabe eyed him warily. “You must be overtired or something. I’ll have Rosa bring you up some warm milk—that’ll put you to sleep right quick.”

“Fine,” Bart nodded. “I can always use more fussin’ over, but it don’t change what I said, Gabe. An’ you know I’m right. Yer ’bout as crazed as a coon dog right now an’ we both know why.”

“It’s because I have to deal with halfwits like you who think you know more about me than I do!”

Bart shrugged. “Never said I knew more, just that I can see more, was all.”

“My eyesight’s as good as yours,” he snapped.

“Don’t seem that way to me.”

“Well who the hell asked you anyway?” Gabe turned on his heel and stormed from the room, leaving Bart to smirk after him. Why didn’t everyone mind their own damned business?

 

 

Tess pressed her hands down the front of her dress and then reached to tidy her hair. Several pins had worked themselves loose and she struggled, without the aid of a mirror, to straighten herself as best she could. She’d never find a job looking like the homeless little waif she was.

The town of Porter Creek stretched before her, its one narrow street a nightmare of potholes left over from the abundance of spring rain months earlier. She picked her way through the dirt and muck, lifting her skirts enough to keep them from dragging. When she reached the boardwalk, she let them fall and lifted her chin a notch, keeping her eyes forward. She could do this. Of course she could.

The hotel, with its adjoining restaurant, was the first building on the street. Tess’s face broke out in a wide grin when she spotted the neatly written sign in the window: Help Wanted. It was a sign—literally and figuratively—she told herself; she was meant to stay in this town and make her life here.

With a deep breath, she pushed open the door to the restaurant and walked in, her head high. A middle-aged woman sat at the table nearest the kitchen, her graying hair pulled back into the tightest knot Tess had ever seen. When she looked up from her ledger, lifeless blue eyes stared down a long, pointed nose.

“Yes?” she said, hardly politely, but not completely rude either.

“Good morning.” Tess smiled. “I would like to speak to the proprietor if I may.”

The woman stood and eyed Tess with one raised brow.

“I am the proprietress,” she answered. “What do you want?”

Tess forced the smile to remain on her lips, despite her immediate reaction to snap back.

“I’m here to apply for the job,” she said simply.

The woman sniffed. “Really? Have you ever worked in a restaurant before?”

“No, I haven’t,” she answered. “But I’m a hard worker and I learn quickly.”

“What other types of jobs have you done?”

“Actually,” she admitted, “this is my first.”

The thin woman clicked her tongue and picked imaginary lint from her high-necked black dress.

“How do I know you are worth hiring?”

Tess’s jaw dropped, unable to form a single word for a long moment.

“I guess you’ll have to trust me,” she finally said.

“I don’t trust anyone,” the woman stated, continuing to eye Tess. “Who are you anyway?”

“My name is Tess Kinley. I’ve only been in town a few days.”

“Yes,” the woman said dryly. “I’ve heard about you. You’re living out at El Cielo with those Calloway boys.”

Those Calloway boys.
Tess’s skin prickled from her toes all the way up to her scalp.

“I’m sorry,” she said, fighting to control her anger. “I do not know your name.”

“Pauline Lutz. You may call me Miss Lutz.”

“Yes, well, Miss Lutz, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me—or the Calloways for that matter—but I will not stand here and defend myself—or them—to a complete stranger. However, I will say what I do or do not do in my personal life is no one else’s business but my own. It will not matter here nor there what I say to convince you I am trustworthy; in the end, the decision is yours. So you can hire me or not, it’s entirely up to you.”

“Yes,” Miss Lutz sniffed again. “It is up to me, so here is my offer. You work the breakfast and lunch shifts today and I will decide if you are up to my standards. If I decide you are acceptable, then we will discuss future wages. If not, neither one of us has lost anything.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Lutz,” Tess said, shaking her head. “That is not acceptable to me. I will not work for free and I don’t expect anyone else in this town will either. I am more than happy to start work immediately for you, but I will expect to be paid for my work today and any other days I work for you. And I expect an honest wage for an honest day’s work.”

“Is that right?” Miss Lutz folded her arms across her bosom.

“Yes.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You’re certainly willful, aren’t you?”

Tess’s smile was genuine this time. “Yes, I’ve been told I am many things—willful being one of them.”

Miss Lutz did not smile. “Fine,” she said. “You can start right now. Here are the rules. You will not be late, you will dress appropriately, you will not tend to personal matters on my time, and you will not consort with the customers.”

“Fine.” Tess nodded. “Where do I start?”

“Right here.” Miss Lutz pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen and pointed to an empty cupboard. “You may store your . . . bag . . . in there for today. Here’s an apron and there’s the cutlery tray. I do the cooking, so stay out of the way of the stove unless I instruct you otherwise. Your duties are to tend to the customers and clean up after them, resetting the tables once they are cleared. Understand?”

Tess nodded again. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Miss Lutz sighed. “Get yourself something to eat—quickly, mind you—and then get to work.”

Tess almost smiled at the woman until Miss Lutz added to her last offer.

“After today, any meals you take at my restaurant will be paid for by you. I do not offer handouts to anyone. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She nodded again, helping herself to a cup of coffee and a thick slab of bread. “Thank you.”

Pauline Lutz set to work in her spotless kitchen, stoking the fires in the stove, cracking dozens of eggs into a huge metal bowl, and sifting flour for biscuits. Tess donned her apron, swallowed her bread almost whole, and took a huge drink of coffee. Then off she set for her first day of work.

At the first scent of bacon, men started filling the restaurant in throngs. Tess filled their mugs, took orders, delivered food, collected money, and wiped empty tables with a speed and precision that surprised even herself. She actually found herself enjoying the work, despite the snide comments and whistles delivered by most of her customers.

Then, as suddenly as they appeared, they disappeared back out the door, leaving the restaurant eerily empty. Tess continued about her work with quick and steady fingers until the last table was cleaned, reset and ready for the next customer. Then she returned to the kitchen where the piles of dirty dishes were waiting. Miss Lutz’s sleeves were rolled to her elbows and her arms dripped with water from the dishpan, but her apron and her hair were as neat as though she’d just dressed herself. Tess never would have guessed the woman had spent the last two hours bent over a hot griddle tossing out pancakes and sausages as fast as the orders came in.

Tess pulled the dishtowel from the hook and began drying the growing stack of dishes.

“This is not part of your job,” Miss Lutz said.

“That’s all right,” Tess smiled. “It will go faster if the two of us do it together. How soon until the lunch crowd starts?”

Miss Lutz shrugged. “An hour, I suppose. Is the front ready?”

Tess nodded. “Ready and waiting.”

“Good. Now suppose you tell me why you’re in town looking for work when I’m certain those Calloway boys would be more than happy to put you up in their fine house. Of course, they wouldn’t do it for free. I’m sure they would expect payment in one form or another.”