Walking on Air by Catherine Anderson Read Free Book Online

vision adjusted. Clear, bright light crowded against a window shade, sending slanting beams across a room. His Stetson reposed atop a hulking dresser, and there was his towel slung over the washstand. His hotel room, he realized, and released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. It whooshed in the silent room as loudly as a frustrated bull during a mating ritual.
    Damn.
What a crazy dream! Bullet holes and angels and a forced marriage. That did it. He was swearing off drinking. He didn’t even believe in all that pearly-gates stuff. He ran a hand over his chest to assure himself that he was all in one piece. No gunshot wound. Cautiously he sat up, stroking his jaw to check for whiskers. Normally, his fingertips rasped over the night’s growth, but this morning his face felt freshly shaved. Weird. He pushed out of bed, stepped to the window, and drew aside the blind. Below lay the main thoroughfare of Random. He’d apparently slept later than usual, because he saw passersby on the boardwalks, bustling this way and that. The normalcy of the scene was reassuring, but he didn’t like needing reassurance.
    Forget it, Valance
,
he ordered silently.
Just a bad dream.
Grinning, he released the shade and shook his head. It was Christmas, and judging by the amount of sunlight bathing the window, he’d slept through quite a chunk of it. No predawn walk down Main, no slug in his chest. It had all been a figment of his imagination, undoubtedly because he’d overindulged at the saloon last night. Yahoo! He was destined to live another day. He just hoped he hadn’t snoozed through the breakfast hour at the hotel restaurant. With it being a holiday, no other restaurants were likely to be serving.
    After lighting the lamp on the stand beside the bed, Gabe made faster work of his morning ablutions than usual because he didn’t need to shave. Then, donning his black Stetson, he went downstairs, still half smiling over the crazy dream he’d had. Tonight he’d make sure he ate a light supper and avoided the saloon.
    For a dream, it had seemed incredibly real. He could call up images of the angels’ faces with such clarity that he could have sworn he’d actually met the fellows. And the details. Their hairy legs and bony knees, their robes, the timbre of their voices, and the expressions in their eyes. It boggled his mind that he’d been able to conjure up something so vivid from his imagination. Angels, indeed. He was pretty sure they appeared only to the devout, and that sure as hell didn’t include him.
    Gabe’s favorite table by a window in the hotel dining room was available. He liked it because he could keep an eye on the boardwalk through a gap in the white, frilly curtains and also see the entrance to study people coming in for a meal. A man with Gabe’s reputation couldn’t be too careful, and he’d learned to spot trouble with only a glance. And he never, ever sat with his back to a door. Just in case.
    Agnes, the waitress, a plump, jovial redhead with merry blue eyes, hurried over to fill Gabe’s coffee cup. He gave her a smile. “Merry Christmas, Agnes. I’m sorry you got stuck working when you’ve got a husband and kids at home who are probably lost without you.”
    She nearly slopped hot liquid on the white tablecloth as she gave a startled laugh. “You’ve got me at a disadvantage, mister. How’d you come to know my name is Agnes?”
    What was this? Gabe had been patronizing the place for more than a month. He and Agnes had been on a first-name basis almost from the start. He tried to think what to say, but she forestalled him.
    “One thing’s for sure, stranger. You’re a kidder. Christmas is a month away. Land’s sake, lighten my load, Lord, please. Just thinking about fixing Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow before my shift here starts makes me feel tired. At least the boss had mercy and has me coming in for dinner preparation and serving, not breakfast and lunch.”
    Since her words had his tongue