Jessica snatched her hand out of his reach and shook her head before storming off and slamming the sliding door behind her. Gabe got up to go after her, but Elle put a restraining hand on his arm. “Let her go. She’s scared and angry, Gabe. She didn’t mean what she said.”
Gabe shook his head on a sigh. “Yeah she did. And she’s right. I’m my father’s son, for shit’s sake. When the hell did he ever give a damn about doing anything by the book? The man’s a goddamned legend because he always gets his man, no matter what.”
“That’s not fair, Gabe,” Elle assured him. “You’re not the renegade your father was at your age, sure, but the climate has shifted. The kind of crap he and your grandfather used to pull wouldn’t fly today. Not by a long shot.”
“Maybe not,” he agreed, “but I guarantee neither of them would’ve been sitting around with their thumbs up their asses while a murdered cop’s widow received threats!”
Elle leveled a stern look at him, and when he tried to look away, she stepped into his line of sight, forcing him to face her. “You’re not sitting around with your thumb up your ass, Gabe. You’re still recovering from nearly being killed. There’s a big freaking difference. Jessica’s still grieving. But she had no right to say any of the things she did.”
Gabe shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Yeah, she did. I shouldn’t be here, Elle. I should be out there right now, hunting down Monroe’s ass and making sure he confesses to tormenting all of us. Instead of…”
He bit back his words, realizing they would only make things worse.
“Instead of what?” Elle prompted gently. “Instead of spending time with me?”
Gabe ran a hand over his hair in frustration. “God no! That’s not what I was going to say. Spending time with you…” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, bringing his anger and frustration back under control. Then he took her face in his hands, his thumbs tenderly caressing her skin. “Being with you is the only thing that makes all the rest of this bullshit bearable, Elle.”
The look in her eyes made him feel twelve feet tall, and she pressed her hands against his chest before coming up on her toes to brush a lingering kiss to his lips. “Then stay. Stay here. With me.”
Chapter 18
Jeb Monroe had miscalculated. He’d fully anticipated receiving a visit from one of the Dawsons after his most recent messages to the dead cop’s widow and the whore who was spreading her legs for Gabe Dawson. What more did he have to do to force them to play into his hands?
He frowned down at his workbench, where he’d laid out the various parts for assembling the guns he’d later sell to his neighbors a few miles down the road. The Feds could keep him from selling completed firearms without a license, but there was nothing that could keep him from cutting the metal on his own and partially assembling them to sell the parts to those he knew who also believed in the cause. Those tyrants in Washington could limit someone else’s firepower, but he’d be ready when the revolution finally began.
“I’m going to town.”
He glanced up from his work at the sound of his daughter’s voice, but then turned back to his the weapon in his hands. “You don’t need anything. Supplies came in a week ago.”
He heard the girl swallow hard, knew she was working up her courage to defy him. “I need to buy…feminine things.”
He grunted, not bothering to lift his gaze. “Your brother will get them when he’s in town.”
That should’ve been the end of the conversation, but she didn’t turn to go. Instead, she heaved a frustrated sigh. “I am not a prisoner here. You can’t keep me from leaving!”
He slowly raised his narrowed gaze to meet hers. The only thing that kept her from getting a hand across the mouth was the fear he saw in her eyes. She was terrified of him.
Good.
“You’d better check your tone, girl,” he growled. “Don’t make me say it twice.”
She took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. “Give me a job, then,” she said, her voice quaking. “The boys have gone to town for you. Why can’t I?”
“Because the boys don’t sass me every time they open their mouths,” Jeb drawled. “Now, I’m busy. Go tend to your chores.”
“They’re finished,” she shot back, daring to raise her chin at him.
But when he slowly got to his feet, his patience at an end, he was gratified to see her shrink into herself a little, cringing.
“I can take her to town before dinner, sir.”
Jeb sent an angry look over Sandra’s shoulder at his son Jeremy. “Don’t believe I was talking to you, boy.”
“Sorry, sir,” Jeremy said. “I have to go anyway to pick up the parts you need before the hardware store closes. I can drop her off on the way and pick her up when I’m finished.”
Jeb stared at his children, inhaling and exhaling with long, measured breaths. He didn’t like this one bit. It was one thing to send his sons to town without him, but his daughter… The girl was barely twenty-two and hadn’t been around others much except at church. He’d never bothered sending any of the children to school—his wife had taught them all at home with a curriculum he approved, not with the government’s indoctrination that passed for public education these days.
“Really,” Jeremy said with a shrug, “it’s no trouble.”
