Galveston Between Wind and Water

chapter 13



Sunday, September 2





After the service was over, Gabrielle tried her best to engage in light-hearted banter and gossip with her friends outside St. Patrick’s church, but her mind was still filled with the self-satisfied face of that woman—and in church of all places! Has he no decency?

She glanced up at the top of the tall brick steeple and snickered as she imagined a certain gentleman having an unfortunate accident should a certain lady happen to stumble and mistakenly push him out of the belfry.

The friendly, talkative congregation lowered their voices. Everyone turned to watch Bret emerge from the church with Miss Rebecca Armstrong at his side. Gabrielle couldn’t stop herself from glaring at the pretty red-haired woman in the shapely dark blue skirt and white blouse. Lord, and she’s at least five years younger than you . . . or more.

Bret escorted Rebecca to a waiting buggy with the silent and grave Mr. Wallace at the reins. As Bret helped her up the steps, the younger woman turned and arched her brow at Gabrielle as if giving notice that Bret would be paying attention to her now.

The driver pulled gently on the reins and the brown mare trotted forward. As the buggy departed, Rebecca glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Gabrielle.

Feeling a sudden weight in the pit of her stomach, Gabrielle sighed and stared at the ground. You have no reason to feel like this. He’s not yours anymore and maybe . . . he never was in the first place.

Bret turned back from the street and tipped his hat to Gabrielle to get her attention. She knew exactly what that meant. Damn him. I don’t want to discuss business on the steps of a church! And what does he think I’ll say after being embarrassed like that?

Timothy touched her arm. “Gabrielle, the driver is waiting.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her toward her father standing by the surrey. Gabrielle paused before gathering her skirt and taking the first step.

Her father held out his hand. “What is it my dear?”

“It was so stuffy in there. I need to clear my head. I’d like to take a stroll on the boardwalk.”

Timothy smoothed back his hair with his palm. “Certainly. With your father’s permission I’d like to—”

Gabrielle pressed down her skirt with her hands. “No, Tim. Thank you. I’d like to be alone. I’ll take a cab home later.” She hurried away from the bewildered men and disappeared into the bustling weekend crowd on the sidewalk.



Gabrielle strolled along the boardwalk, taking easy, sure steps along the planks. She was aware that there was just enough sway in her walk under the rustling of her sheer, black muslin skirt and petticoat to make every passing gentleman smile and tip his hat, even if it meant risking the scowl of his shrew wife.

Let Miss Armstrong have him. She would choose from her stable of gentlemen suitors and be done with it once and for all.

Gabrielle stopped a short distance from a boardwalk vendor selling fresh, hot cherry cobbler by the slice from his pushcart. The sweet aroma of the dessert wet her lips for a moment. Another woman—tall with substantial girth and a Northern tourist by the sound of her—was busy ordering her second piece while her shorter, gaunt husband paid the vendor.

Gabrielle was so fortunate that she didn’t have to worry like so many other women. She touched one side of her slender waist for a moment. It was discipline that kept her worry free. She inhaled, filling the fabric of her petticoat with her bosom.

“I don’t know which would be sweeter,” a familiar voice chuckled behind her. “A piece of that cherry pie or—”

“Don’t you say another word Bret McGowan.” Gabrielle whirled around. “What were you doing? Stalking me like a common pickpocket? Or are you that cloaked maniac who has been assaulting young, unfortunate women at night?”

Bret tipped his hat in greeting. “I’ve read about that despicable animal and I hope the police shoot him on site but until then I’m certain your treasures will be forever safe, my dear. There isn’t a man strong enough, nor stupid enough in this town to try and steal anything from you.”

In the silence that followed, Gabrielle felt the blush rising in her cheeks. She stared into Bret’s penetrating eyes as though waiting for him to break the quiet. Her lips parted, still, she was almost breathless.

Pressing them together, she took a few steps toward him and stopped. “Of that, I have no doubt, Mr. McGowan, and judging by the way that Armstrong woman cozied herself up against you in the pew, I should think you prefer women who don’t even have the moral decency to restrain themselves in public . . . and in a church, for God’s sake.”

Bret slapped the thigh of his trousers and laughed. “Gabrielle, always so quick to damn me. You even accuse me of being a perverted maniac when I was only helping one of the Lord’s lost lambs to join the flock. The hymns were unfamiliar to her. I was merely showing her the proper—”

Gabrielle wagged her finger at him. “Oh, I know very well what you wanted to show her, and properly too. Such an unselfish and compassionate Christian man you are, Bret McGowan.” She stroked back a loose curl of her dark hair from her forehead. “And I’m sure that’s what all your other ladies with lost souls would say about you.”

Bret removed his hat and grinned. “Can’t I do anything to reconcile the past between us, Gabrielle?” He exhaled his frustration and looked down at his shoes. “Or will I be forever the object of your ridicule and scorn?”

Gabrielle strode across the width of the boardwalk until she was only a few inches from his face. She looked up into his warm, water blue eyes, wishing she could swim in them forever, until a sudden chill from the surrounding icy whites made her shiver. She took a step back and raised her shoulders. “When will you start acting like a responsible man?”

“I thought I was the very model of propriety when I paid you and Cade a visit.” Bret rubbed his chin. “Should I take it as a favorable sign that you didn’t return my prospectus?”

She poked the sprig of rose geranium in the buttonhole of his Sunday suit. “You toy and play with women’s feelings. Don’t you ever think about finally settling down?”

Bret opened his arms wide. “But I am settled, Gabrielle, and Galveston has her favorite son back for good. My entire future depends on the earth she stands on.”

Gabrielle folded her arms lightly across her bosom. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. What about children?” She lowered her arms and took a step closer to him. “After all the terrible things that . . . that happened to your family, children could bring such happiness.”

She let a tender smile grace her lips. “When you have such joy to look forward to in the future, the past will—”

“Will what, Gabrielle?” Bret’s smile fell into a hard straight line. “Disappear?” He pushed his hat down on his head. “You think a sweet, cheerful wife can give me one magic kiss and make it all go away?” He brushed off the lapels of his suit. “Or that by being a father it could replace the murder of my own?”

Gabrielle rushed forward and took hold of the sleeve of his suit jacket. “You were a child, Bret, how could you have stopped anything that—”

He turned his face away from her and looked out toward the water.

Gabrielle choked back a cry. “Whatever happened, Bret, it wasn’t your fault.”

“The words sound so comforting when you say them, Gabrielle. You make me want to believe them.” He turned back to face her. “Almost.”

She reached out and gently touched his cheek, yet was afraid to say another word to him.

Bret lowered his eyes. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this kind of rude behavior.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his sweaty forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me these days.”

He cast his heavy gaze down at the boardwalk. “I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind about what we discussed.”

Gabrielle shook her head. “No. I didn’t say that, it’s only . . . you laugh and carry on like you’re the most carefree man in the world, but in your eyes you’re trapped by something, haunted by it.” She stroked his cheek again. “I know, I’ve always known.”

Bret lightly pushed her hand away from his face. “You know . . . nothing.” He stared at her for a few moments. Bret coughed and covered his mouth. He turned and hurried down the boardwalk in the opposite direction.

Gabrielle watched Bret weave his way through the strolling couples and families until she lost sight of him behind the happy people enjoying a sunny day at the beach. She wiped the warm tear running down her cheek and turned back for home.