Something Blue

Chapter 17

Gabe

He sat on a rotting stump, half-melted snow soaking into the seat of his pants, and stared down at the object in his hands, feeling powerfully stupid. He hadn't ever felt this stupid before. Ungainly, yes. Clumsy, yes. Rough and gruff, loud and hard, uncreative and unfeeling... all those things, yes. But stupid? No, she hadn't ever made him feel stupid. Katherine's daughter was a charmer, through and through. Next to her, he felt oafish and unnecessary. But she was also utterly kind. Her faith was a balm like nothing he'd ever experienced. She'd never made him feel stupid.

All that was going to change today, he thought, glaring at the brown-paper-wrapped bundle. What did a man give a little girl for her sixth birthday? Certainly there was no way to say everything he needed to say, with just a stupid gift. 'I love your mother. I would cut out my heart to make you my own. I miss you both like hell. Please invite me to every birthday you have from now until the day I die.'

If there was a way to say it all, it certainly wasn't with this-- a stupid book and a cut-glass, plated silver bracelet. A twirl of blue satin ribbon and a scratchy wool knit cap.

Stupid.

He'd picked the objects at random, in a half-blind panic. Buying jewelry was no oddity. He was always picking things up for the girls. The hat and ribbon just as easily could have been for them, and blended well with his other purchases-- lengths of fabric for dresses and ten dollars' worth of costume jewelry. Sapphires and rubies and opals-- as fake as the passion they screamed for the sake of their clients' pride.

The book he could never have explained away. There were no children at Vivian's Saloon and therefore no reason for him to be buying a book for a child. No, the book was a hand-me-down, one of three his mother had read to him when he was a boy. He'd picked this one for the adventure of it, thinking that was something Isobel might enjoy. Just as much, he thought her mother might enjoy reading it to her. He knew the Katherine he'd fallen for was long buried by the hell she had survived, but the adventuresome girl was still inside her somewhere. Perhaps she'd never see the light again, but she was still present enough to enjoy a good story, he was sure.

Even so, it was a stupid gift. Josh and Amelia had plenty of books for them to borrow, and Robinson Crusoe was undoubtedly among them.

Rising with a sigh, he fought the urge to hurl the gift into the woods, leap onto Reaper's back, and flee back the way he'd come. That urge was why he'd stopped in the first place. Why he'd hauled his horse to a standstill and yanked the parcel from the saddlebags and stalked into the woods to sit and do battle with his desire to turn tail and run. He'd never thought he would see them again, after the day he had dropped them off. Months later, he had resigned himself to a life without them. As much as their absence hurt, being invited so casually back into their lives felt somehow worse-- like he'd been galloping full tilt and Reaper had suddenly stopped and now he was flying... flying through the air, just waiting to crash into the unforgiving ground.

He'd bring the gift, say hello, and leave before he could do any harm. He'd stay just long enough to fulfill his word, and then he'd flee. If it was just about Isobel, he would plan to stay longer, but it wasn't. It was Katherine. Katherine, who was healing and finding happiness and didn't need a sour reminder of the evil she'd endured. Katherine, whose fear of him was harder to bear than anything else this life had handed him.

Shoving the gift into the saddle bag, he swung back up onto Reaper's back and nudged the fidgeting horse with his heels. They powered through the thin layer of fresh powder, hooves crunching through the inch of old snow beneath it. Late fall in these parts might as well be winter for the harsh chill in the air and the flurries that muffled the earth in mottled white. Little sprigs of grass and mounds of mud protruded from the unearthly purity of the snow. It would be another month yet before all but the tallest shoots of brush and grass were buried.