The Other Bride

Not really understanding his own motives, Gabriel followed her. He wanted—no, he needed to be near her for a moment longer. And even though caution nagged him to return to his duties, he trailed her as she made her way into the chill evening air.

All too soon the woman found the items. Shrinking into a space created by two stacks of crates, Gabe grew still, knowing that she would return to her cabin as promised.

But to his infinite surprise, the woman didn’t immediately go below deck. Instead, she tipped her head up to the stars as if she could feel their scant light upon her cheeks like the warmth of the noonday sun. Then, wrapping the shawl around her, she gripped it tightly to her chest.

“Tomorrow,” Gabriel heard her whisper. “Tomorrow, I will be free.”

Free? He frowned. Free from the ship? Or something more?

Gabe scowled at his own musings. What had come over him? He didn’t have time for any of this. Tomorrow morning, the dummy shipment and the actual payroll would be transferred onto the boxcars bound for California. Before that could happen, he needed to brief his men, review guard schedules, meet with Josiah Burton.

Flipping his collar up around his chin, Gabe shook away the invisible sensual threads that had begun to bind him. He had a job to do, and he was determined to do it well. His name was at stake. His reputation. Moreover, he wasn’t the kind of man to keep company with someone of “quality.” He’d grown too crass and coarse for anyone from such rarified air—and he was honest enough to know he was the sort of man that mothers warned their daughters about.

But even as he would have retreated toward the rope ladder, he hesitated. A gust of wind brought a hint of sound that sounded suspiciously like…

Weeping.

Gabe would have been the first to admit that the sound of a woman’s tears generally tended to drive him in the opposite direction. But there was something about the noise, about the efforts Louisa exerted to keep her emotions private, that caused him to hesitate.

Hairs prickled at the back of his neck and he cautiously searched the darkness. What had happened? Was she in trouble? The woman had altered from joy to sadness so quickly that something must have affected her deeply. A terrifying memory, perhaps?

His jaw clenched.

He knew all too well how flashbacks from the past could arise without warning. He’d become an expert on such matters. Over the years, he had discovered that a hint of spring lilacs could wipe away the intervening years so that he was standing again in the orchard, staring down at the sprawled, battered bodies of his wife and son.

No. He mustn’t think about that now. He had to keep his mind on the job, only the job.

But as he took a step backward, he looked at the woman in blue and a wave of protectiveness surged within him. If she were being threatened or intimidated, he would…

What?

What would he do? He didn’t know the woman and he had no business interfering in her affairs.

Gabe’s hand tightened around the butt of his revolver and he hardened himself to the sounds she made. Blast it all, he was a man who prided himself on finishing a job without interference. If that were true, why had he allowed himself to be so easily distracted now, at a point in his career where one false move could mean the end of everything?

The woman’s sobs intensified, but Gabe steeled himself against their appeal for help and steadfastly stared at her back. He had troubles of his own to tend to. He didn’t have time to worry about those of a stranger.

And yet…

Damning himself for his weakness, he didn’t walk away. He couldn’t. Instead, he stepped forward, slowly, quietly.

Although Gabe could never have been accused of rescuing damsels in distress in the past, he reached into a pocket, removing a clean handkerchief. Shaking it free of its folds, he extended it to the woman over her shoulder.

She started, clearly unaware of his approach. But when she would have turned, he took her shoulders in his hands, forcing her to remain with her back to him.

“No. Don’t,” he said, so quietly that he wondered if she would hear. “Let the interference of a stranger remain just that…the actions of a stranger.”

He didn’t know where the words came from. His voice was gruff, telling. Kindness had become a foreign emotion to him. For so long he’d been angry at the world and most of the people who inhabited it. And yet at this moment, with this woman, he found his anger slipping away, leaving him bereft, hollow, and infinitely sad.

Long, long ago, in another lifetime, his wife had hated to be caught crying—and uncomfortable with such womanly emotions, Gabe had been happy to let her vent her grief in private. Now, years later, he didn’t think that he could bear to see this woman’s cheeks stained with tears. He didn’t want to remember her that way. Days from now, months, years, he wanted to recall the way he’d first seen her in the corridor.

Beautiful.

Happy.

The woman sniffed, taking the handkerchief. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not normally so…what I mean is I…”

Her hand waved in the air, a bright patch of white from his handkerchief and a darker, eloquent shadow caused by her gloves. Inexplicably, Gabe wished that her hands were bare. He wanted to see the velvety texture of her fingers. From his vantage point behind her, she was little more than a shadow. Only the lighter patch of her hair and a brief glimpse of the skin at the nape of her neck helped to remind him that she was flesh and blood.

Gabe’s heart floundered sluggishly in his chest. Years of avoiding even the barest hint of attraction seemed to dissolve, leaving him aching with loneliness. He suddenly felt like a shell of a man. The anger that he had carried with him left a taste on his tongue like ashes.

Dear God, what had this woman done to him? In the space of a few minutes, she had exposed his life for what it was—an endless struggle to forget. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But could it ever be anything more? He’d had his one chance at happiness, and through his own carelessness, his wife and son had died. It was his fault that he hadn’t sent them away to safety during the war. He should have forced Emily to leave their farm—or at best, should have ensured she’d had someone with her for protection.

A breeze caught at the tiny curls that had escaped the coils of the woman’s hair. The scent of lilies wafted around him, making him ache with sadness.

So delicate…so feminine…

So real.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t pollute her presence with his own. She was so clean and fresh, while he…he was a mere shell of a man, one who had brought more than his fair share of shame and pain upon his family.

Even as he tried to remind himself that he wasn’t worthy of a woman like this, a yearning began to pulse within him. He wanted to feel the softness of a woman against him, caress the velvety texture of her skin. But he soon realized that the hunger had far less to do with a sexual need than with a hunger for companionship and compassion.

Instantly, he shrank away from the idea. No. Hadn’t he learned his lesson already? Could he so easily forget that such indulgences could bring a searing pain along with the pleasure? Could he forget his responsibilities?

He was tired, that was all. He’d already decided that this would be his last job for the Pinkerton Agency. He’d grown increasingly restless within the structure the job required.

But where did he intend to go? What was he looking for that he didn’t already have?

Not a woman, surely. He wasn’t a man worthy of a good woman, and he’d already sworn to himself that he would never allow another female into his heart. He owed Emily that much. He might not have been the husband she’d needed during her short life, but he would grieve her properly now that she was gone.

Which was the very reason he needed to return to his duties and forget this woman, this moment.

But just as he would have released her, Louisa shuddered, and in that instant, he knew he had no recourse but to remain for a few minutes longer. If he didn’t, he would regret his aloofness for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry,” the woman sobbed again.

Reaching out, he briefly laid his fingers on her arm. “There’s no need to explain.” He didn’t want to know what had upset her. Once he learned the cause of her pain, a bond, no matter how innocent, would be formed between them.

Louisa looked down, then took a shaky breath.

“I don’t know why I’m crying. I have everything ahead of me. Everything I’ve ever wanted.” She offered a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and pressed his handkerchief to her mouth. “I guess that the strain of worry has merely worn me down.”

Not sure how he should respond, Gabe stated, “You’ll be on dry land tomorrow.” Despite his matter-of-fact observation, he stroked her hair with his thumb, and one of the tendrils wrapped around his knuckle as if to trap him there.

She nodded. “Yes, but I still have a long journey ahead of me.”