Gabe
"Patricia, Caroline, and Sally will stay at the boarding house," his mother said, tapping her pen on the paper. "Mrs. Daniels agreed to let them stay there and look after them until they recover."
If they recover, Gabe thought to himself, fighting to keep his anger in check and focus to the plan. They needed to hurry and get the girls moved before the Mr. Roberts kicked them out of the store. How in the hell Josh's wife had managed to convince him to help at all was beyond him. The stodgy old storekeeper hated Gabe's mother and her girls almost as much as he loved to stumble in black-out drunk once a month and use them.
"They should be ready to move soon," he told his mother, and she nodded. "What about the others?"
She sighed, looking disturbingly like the middle-aged woman she was, and he wanted to take the pen and paper out of her hand and usher her off to get some rest. But he knew she wouldn't rest until each and every one of her employees was safe, warm, and cared for. She was the fairest, kindest employer on the devil's black earth. How anyone could hate her was an agonizing mystery to him.
"Josh has two rooms at the hotel," she said, rubbing at her brow. "He made a deal with the manager to extend his stay out for a week so the ones with minor injuries can stay there. We have... how many are hurt? Not including Patty, Caro, and Sally?"
"Five," he said through gritted teeth. Lindy, Christina, Amanda, Beth, and Daniella. If it wasn't for him, they'd be fine. If he'd kept his priorities straight he'd have been there to stop it and they wouldn't be injured at all.
"Gabriel..."
"What?" he snapped, jerking his head up to look at her. She sat on an upturned bucket beside the pile of smoldering rubble that had been their home for almost two decades. Though the chill in the air was deep, the embers warmed them as they sat together and worked out how to survive-- how to rebuild-- within the confines of a community that hated them.
Hated them, and poured money into their pockets like they had gold to spare.
"Don't do what you're doing," she snapped back, just as stern and strong as he was. Gabe had no idea who his father might be, and didn't care. It was his mother who taught him to be strong, how to run a business, and how to fight for what was his. "This wasn't your fault."
"I should have been here," he told her, holding her gaze. He wanted her condemnation. If she hated him for it, maybe he could stop.
"You can't be here every moment of every day," she said, placing a hand on his arm as she shook her head. "You have a life to live, angel."
"I have a job to do," he bit back, lowering his head and staring at his hands-- blackened with soot. Hands that had been tangled in silky hair, stroking satin skin while he should have been standing guard over his mother's girls. His girls.
His mother sighed, squeezing his arm. "She needs you as much as we do. Maybe more," she said sadly, and her patient understanding made him want to scream. He was so damned tired of being yanked in two directions at once. Torn by indecision. He wanted all his responsibilities under one godforsaken roof so he could just stand guard over one door without feeling guilty for leaving another one vulnerable.
"What are we going to do?" he asked, shaking his head at the ground.
"We're going to take care of our girls," his mother said firmly. "We're going to make sure the injured are cared for. We're going to find a temporary home for the rest. We're going to get some sleep ourselves. And then we're going to pick ourselves up and find ourselves a new home. We're not destitute. We have money, and we have a clientele here."
We should leave, he ought to say. His mother ran a brothel, so they'd be vermin no matter where they went. There was no escaping that. But things had gotten so much worse these past few years. That goddamn preacher had stirred up hate like Gabe hadn't seen in all his years of living beyond the outskirts of decent society. It was vicious, animal hatred-- all that loathing people normally reserved for their own tattered, soiled souls turned outward and projected at his home. His friends. His family.
They needed to leave and go somewhere where the hate was normal, but when he opened his mouth to say it he couldn't form the words. Because if he fled the preacher he'd be fleeing her. Them. If he left town, he'd be leaving all the memories they shared and the future they'd dreamed up in their youth. The plans they'd made before maturity and rules tore them apart and consigned them to a life of shadows, secrecy, and guilt.
"We should leave," he said through his teeth, his jaw hinged shut as if his body was rejecting the words as strongly as his heart.
His mother only smiled.
"We aren't going to leave," she said. "We don't run from our problems, Gabriel. If we do, they'll only follow us."
He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair, and forced his shoulders back as he shoved to his feet. "We'd better get started," he said, eyeing the sky. "It looks like there's a storm coming."
Amelia
"Woah, ease up. Hold them loose," Josh said urgently, placing one hand over hers while he used the other to tug some of the excess forward, giving the horses more slack. He was right. It was a heck of a lot colder in the front of the sled.
But she was driving!
Melissa lay in the back beneath a pile of blankets, sound asleep. It was near noon, and they'd spent the entire night and most of the morning helping Vivian make arrangements. Amelia had talked the landlady at the boarding house into opening up a room for the three most severely wounded of the victims. The other five, who were injured but not so badly that they needed constant care, would be staying in the rooms she, Josh, and Amelia had intended to use at the hotel. The rest were hiding out at the sheriff's office until night fell, when Josh would return to ferry them back, under cover of darkness, to the ranch.
"Will your father approve?" she had asked when he'd told her, and he'd snorted out a humorless laugh.
"He wouldn't if he found out," he'd explained. "Which is why we're not going to tell him. He manages the books, but I haven't seen him down at the complex in years. I'll tell the men to keep it quiet and he'll never be the wiser."
Amelia was dubious, but she didn't guess he'd risk the girls' safety. If he planned to shelter them at the ranch, it was only because he genuinely believed his father would never find out.
She adjusted her grip on the reigns, forcing herself to hold them more loosely. It seemed unnatural that she should let the horses have so much freedom. What if they decided to sprint off a cliff or down a steep hill? She'd have no way to control them.
"How am I supposed to steer them?" she asked, tugging her scarf down to speak.
"Gentle tugs," he answered, his voice still a little rough from the smoke. She made a mental note to brew him some tea when they got back. With honey. She'd make enough for both of them, and she'd pester him into sitting and conversing with her while they drank it. "But you really don't need to steer right now. They know where they're going."
"So you mentioned," she said wryly. "But what if they forget the way home and go tearing off down that hill?" she gestured at the steep slope off to their left and shuddered at the thought of the sled tipping and rolling over, crushing them beneath it.
He laughed and reached out, tugging her scarf back up to cover her face. "I don't reckon they want to die any more than you do, Ames," he said good naturedly, and she scowled at him, hoping he could see it in her eyes since he'd gone and covered her mouth. He laughed again, and before she could tell herself to stop, she shifted on the lacquered bench, closing the distance between them.
"You were right," she told him, her voice muffled by the scarf. "It is colder up here."
"Do you want to move to the back?" he asked, craning to look over his shoulder and frowning at his sister. "We could probably wake her."
"No," she said quickly, pressing herself against him beneath the blanket covering their legs. "I'm fine."
Sometime during the night, the weather had darkened, but the clouds were light and harmless, depositing gentle flakes that swirled in the air around them. The wintery terrain, so blinding and intense under the sun the day before, had turned soft and dream-like. Amelia didn't doze, as she still held the reigns, but she did drift into a languid, contented silence. Her body ached with the exertions of the dance, and the fire. Her eyes burned with exhaustion and cold.
None of the girls were going to die. Melissa seemed confident of that. Vivian's was burned to the ground, but Josh assured her the woman had plenty of money saved up and would find her way back to her feet. In spite of the horror and excitement of the evening, everything was going to be okay.
They reached the house shortly after noon, and Josh never asked for the reigns back. He talked her through steering it over the more complex terrain in front of the house, explaining how to draw them to a halt and how to secure the reigns and the brake handle. Feeling accomplished, she accepted his hand down from the platform and stood, laughing, while he prodded his sister awake.
Stumbling with exhaustion, she and Melissa traipsed inside the house while Josh took the horses to the barn. Mumbling something about dinner, Melissa wandered off to her bed and Amelia knew she likely wouldn't see her friend again until breakfast the next morning. Smiling, she hurried to her room to change, having washed the worst of the fire's residue from her skin at the hotel before leaving. Then, wrapped in a thick robe, her feet in soft, warm slippers, she rushed down to the kitchen and set about boiling a kettle of water.
The water was rolling when Josh trudged in, leaning against the door frame. "Are you hungry?" she asked, looking up at him. He shrugged, and she gestured at the small, battered table in the corner. "I'm starving," she said. "I was going to make myself some eggs and toast."
"I'd eat a plate of green beans right about now," he admitted, slumping into a chair by the table, and she laughed.
"That hungry, huh? Will eggs and toast suffice?"
"Eggs and toast sound fine. Do you need help?"
She shook her head. She thought if she sat down in the warmth of the kitchen she might very well collapse in sleep and never awaken. It would be better to stay moving. She cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them to perfection, adding a small measure of cream to fluff them up. She diced an onion and some cured ham as well, adding them to the cast-iron pan. The smell of sauteed onions filled the kitchen, and she nearly groaned in anticipation. Her stomach was gurgling with hunger and the baby was unusually active-- as if he, too, was protesting the lack of food.
"Alright, alright," she mumbled absently, rubbing her hand over her belly as she pushed the onions around in the pan.
"Is the baby okay?" Josh asked, startling her.
"Oh, he's fine," she promised, waving her hand. "I think he's hungry, too. Won't stop spinning around in there."
"You can feel him moving?"
She nodded, smiling brightly. He'd never asked much about the baby, and she had wished he would. His only interest in her child seemed to be focused on keeping him safe from his own mother. He'd handed down edicts about what she should and shouldn't do while pregnant, but he'd never before asked what the experience itself was like.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not at all," she said, her cheeks flushing with happiness as she rubbed the small bump. "It feels like a feather twirling around inside me. I've heard it gets more irritating when they get bigger, though."
His eyes widened as he stared at her stomach. "That sounds... strange."
"It is. But it's also wonderful. I'm creating a little person. Right now he's a twirling feather, but in a few months he'll pop out with ten fingers and ten toes, and he'll grow into a man with hopes and dreams and a sense of humor."
"You seem awfully certain it's a boy," he said, tilting his head. "Can you tell? Can you feel it somehow?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "No," she admitted, some of her humor fading. "I just hope it's a boy, that's all."
He frowned, his fingers drumming on the table. "Why's that? I would've thought you'd want a little girl. I have it on good authority they're less destructive than little boys."
She laughed in spite of herself, pouring the eggs onto the hot pan. They sizzled and she hurriedly shoved them around with her spoon to keep them from sticking and burning. "Less destructive to your property, perhaps," she agreed. "But I think a little girl would find more ways to tear my heart apart."
"Are little girls mean?" he asked, wariness in his voice. How was he finding ways to make her laugh when she was talking about something that caused her so much worry?
She chuckled, spooning portions of the food onto two plates. Josh rose and took the plates, carrying them back to the table while she brought the pot of tea. She retrieved two mugs as well, setting one in front of him. When she went to pour the tea into his mug he waved her off.
"I'll make myself some coffee," he said, grimacing when she ignored him and poured the steaming liquid into his cup.
"You'll have some tea," she corrected sternly, pouring her own cup and picking up her fork, daring him to argue. "It'll make your throat feel better."
"My throat feels fine."
She rolled her eyes and gestured with the fork. "Drink the tea, Mr. Tucker."
He took a sip, grimacing dramatically. But she noticed, as they inhaled their food in preoccupied silence, that he drank the rest of the cup without complaint or prodding. When they finished, he leaned back, rubbing his stomach as if he, too, was pregnant. "Your eggs are divine, Mrs. Tucker," he said. "Thank you."
"I made vows to by your wife, so feeding you is my job," she teased. "Don't feel too special about it."
"Yeah, well, protecting you is mine and you sure don't seem keen on letting me do that," he griped, swirling the dregs of his tea. She poured what remained of the pot into his mug, and he grimaced at her. "Maybe I ought to start boycotting your food to teach you a lesson."
She tipped her head back and laughed at the ceiling, and when she lowered her gaze he was smiling as well. "I'd like to see you do that," she said honestly. "How long do you suppose you'd last?"
"Day or two."
"I give you five hours."
He huffed in mock indignation, raising the mug for another sip. When he lowered it, he was frowning. "You never answered my question," he said. "Are little girls especially mean?"
"No," she said, her heart falling a little as she stared down into her own mug. The pale liquid sloshed against the sides as she swirled it. "Well, kind of... sometimes... but that's not what I meant. I just think... well, I already know that I love this child with all my heart. And when I imagine raising a little boy I picture myself worrying over his skinned knees and his fevers, but otherwise watching him grow with pride and excitement. Watching him conquer the world and live his dreams and all of those good things."
"And with a girl?"
She shrugged helplessly. "With a girl, it would be different. I'd worry over her skinned knees, too, you know. But I'd also worry about other girls picking on her. I'd worry about boys taking a shine to her. If I want her to be wealthy, I have to teach her to dream of finding a wealthy man to marry. If I want her to be successful on her own, I have to watch her go out into a world that doesn't believe she has a right to her own dreams. One way or another, life is going to hurt her. Not that life doesn't hurt little boys, but at least if I have a boy I can raise him to be strong and fight back. Girls who are strong and fight back just get hurt more for their trouble."
Silence descended, and Amelia's heart leapt into her throat. Had she angered him? Cautiously peering up at her husband, she caught him staring into his mug, his face hard and intense. When he looked up and met her eye, his gaze was warm but a little absent. Like his mind was split, half of it trapped somewhere far, far away.
"I guess we'll both pray for a boy, then," he said gruffly. Then he cleared his throat and forced an easy smile onto his face. "Have you thought about names?"
She flushed, lowering her gaze. "I have," she said hesitantly. What would he think? "I... well, I thought... I thought I might like to name him for his father."
"That makes sense," he said, and he didn't sound nearly so pleased as she hoped he would when he told him. Before she could inquire, he shot to his feet, gathering up their dirtied dishes and carrying them to the wash basin.
"I'd better head out," he said as she stood, turning to face him. He stopped by her side on his way to the door, lifting one hand and brushing her hair behind her shoulder, his hand lingering by her neck. "I won't be back until late."
"I know," she said, unjust heaviness in her chest. "Be safe."
He smiled, bending slightly, and placed a featherlight kiss on her cheek before striding for the door. Amelia froze in shock. He'd never done anything like that before. Not when it was just the two of them-- with nobody around for whom to perform. When they were in private, they were only friends. Friends who didn't touch each other.
He was gone before she'd snapped out of her shock, and she busied herself with tidying up the kitchen. He'd kissed her so sweetly. So... freely. She thought of the way she'd kissed him after their fight the night before. Had she opened some door with that kiss? Would their friendship change? Would he touch her, more? Reach for her hand in quiet moments? Kiss her goodbye when he left for work?
Did she want him to?
It was this question that preoccupied her mind throughout the remainder of the evening. She puttered around the house and went to bed just after supper, having suffered through the excruciating meal alone with Brent's father. Fortunately, he was drunk, and accepted her lame excuses about Melissa and Josh's absence without question. She was grateful for the servants' presence as they hovered nearby, carting away dishes and clattering about in the kitchen. She would have felt terribly alone without them.
Dark was just falling as she tucked herself into bed, shivering as she slipped beneath the chilly covers, still thinking about that kiss. She liked to kiss him. Although she'd only done it a handful of times, and all of them had been incredibly chaste, she decided that she liked the way his lips felt against hers. They were softer than she'd have expected from someone so gruff, and she was growing partial to the way he smelled-- half astringent laundry soap, half man.
Yes, she would like to kiss him more. And she would like to hold his hand. She didn't want him inside her, of course, but that pain might be worth all the other benefits. His body was big and warm, and she'd probably sleep more soundly through the winter if he shared her bed. Yes, she would like to kiss him more. Finally resolved, she closed her eyes and let exhaustion claim her.
She woke some time later, groggy from the exhausted depths of her dreams. She couldn't remember what she'd dreamt, but she woke thinking of her husband, and rolled to the edge of the bed, peering down at the floor. He was home-- a still lump beneath the covers. He must have arrived recently, as the fire was lively and crackling. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she mustered her courage.
She'd just ask him to join her in the bed. If he tried to paw at her, she would ask him not to. It was Josh. He'd listen. She'd feel terribly guilty, of course, for denying him, but she knew now that she wouldn't deny him forever. And that knowledge gave her confidence.
"Josh," she whispered, reaching down and prodding his shoulder as her heart thundered in her chest. He grumbled and curled in on himself, pulling the blanket tighter around his body. She frowned, poking him again, and he turned his face into the pillow.
Flopping back to her own pillow, she glared at the ceiling. She ought to just let him sleep, but she worried that if she didn't do it right then, she'd lose her nerve. Their status quo was so comfortable, it was only on a night like this-- still loopy with exhaustion and delirious with the excitement of the previous twenty-four hours-- that she'd be able to break it.
Gritting her teeth, she rolled over again and leaned off the side of the bed. Just as she was reaching to shake her husband's shoulder, he huffed out a contented sound, burrowing himself deeper into his blankets. She sighed.
She really ought to let him sleep.
But tomorrow? Tomorrow she'd wait up for him. When he came to bed, she'd catch him before he fell asleep and invite him into her bed. Their bed.
Tomorrow, she'd do it.