Redeeming Gabriel by Elizabeth White Page B

the risk of exposing his identity by bringing himself so overtly to the attention of Dr. Kinch.
    He tied Caleb to the hitching post outside, stepped over an emaciated hound lying across the doorjamb and entered the shack without bothering to knock. This time of day, Uncle Diron wouldn’t be indoors anyway.
    “Uncle!” He felt his way through the dark, obstacle-strewn one-room shanty. “It’s Gabriel!”
    He wasn’t surprised that there was no answer. The old man was all but deaf.
    The spring screeched as Gabriel shoved open the screen door and stepped out onto the back porch. Diron’s iron-gray curls rested against the back of a cane-bottom rocker, the broken leather boots propped against one of the skinned pine posts supporting the porch. Huge, knotty hands wielded a bone-handled knife against a small chunk of cedar with delicate precision.
    Gabriel approached the rocker and stepped into the pool of light cast by an oil lamp on the porch rail. The old man looked up, his rugged face lighting with pleasure as the knife blade flicked away into the handle and clamped Gabriel in an unabashed bear hug.
    Then just as strongly thumped him on the ear.
    “Ow!” Eyes watering, Gabriel backed up a pace. “What was that for?”
    Diron’s black eyes sparkled like marbles beneath bristling gray brows. “Staying away so long without writing, you good-for-nothing whelp! All that highfalutin education, and you can’t even put pen to paper to let your old uncle know you’re alive.”
    Gabriel touched his stinging ear. “Uncle, you know you can’t read.”
    “Could always find somebody to read it to me.” The old man lowered himself into the rocker with a grunt and jerked his chin toward the other chair. “Sit down, boy.”
    Gabriel obeyed. His father’s brother had always been crusty. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I figured you’d be better off without me making trouble.”
    Diron snorted without bothering to deny the charge. He flicked the knife open and went back to work on the figure of his dog, Ajax. “You’ve grown into a man.” Diron glanced at Gabriel with a sly smile. “Do the women still follow you around in droves?”
    “Haven’t had much time for women lately.” But a vision of a curly haired, golden-eyed moppet floated through his brain. In truth, he’d thought about little in the past few days but the fact that Camilla Beaumont had assumed his sermon was a message from her cousin, Harry Martin. Which meant she had been corresponding with a Federal officer.
    And her papa didn’t know.
    “Uncle, I’ve got to ask you something.”
    “Tell me where you been for ten years, then you can ask me questions!”
    Gabriel sighed. “Well, for the first couple years I roamed up and down the rivers. Gambled away what money I had left. Then I decided a job might be in order, so I went west and worked a few ranches. Punched cows so long I’m plumb bowlegged.”
    Diron looked skeptical. “With your education—herding cows?”
    “Uncle, the cows don’t care whether you spout Latin declensions or sing bawdy-house ditties.” Gabriel folded his arms. “An education wasn’t anything but a drawback in most of the places I’ve been.” He held up a palm. “I don’t regret it, uncle. I appreciate everything you sacrificed to help me get through college and medical school. It just—didn’t work out. I’m sorry.” He rose and moved to the edge of the porch, where he stood looking out at the river. “I’ve given up medicine for religion.”
    Behind him Diron gave a disbelieving snort. “What? Why?”
    “They threw me out of medical school at the end, remember? No diploma, no license. I had to find another profession, so I’m riding the circuit as a preacher now.” It was time to address the delicate topic of his identity. Gabriel was grateful for the darkness hiding his expression. “And I changed my name to Leland—so make sure you call me that.”
    “You changed your name and got religious.”