Brides of Idaho (2 page)

She resisted his offer to carry the wood. “It’s mine. Leave me alone.”

“I only want to help. Let me carry it for you.”

Reluctantly she released it and gave him serious study up and down his length. “You new here?”

“Yes ma’am.” He gave his name and lifted his hat. “Where to?”

She pointed to a shack that looked like it would leave in a good wind.

He shortened his stride to match her slow shuffle and wondered if each step hurt. She was bent forward forty degrees.

They reached the front of the hovel and she stopped. “Here’s good enough. Just put it down. I’ll take it the rest of the way.”

“I’ll take it to your kitchen.”

The sound grating from her throat was neither disgust nor amusement yet somehow both. Then she shouldered open the door. It scratched against the rough wood floor.

He stepped inside to see four bare walls he could touch with his fingers without moving. It was nothing more than a primitive entryway. He stepped through the second doorway to a room not much larger. In it stood a stove made out of an old barrel. A rough piece of lumber nailed to the wall served as table; sawed-off logs provided seating. A battered wooden bucket and two old tin cans made up the rest of the items. “You live here?” He managed to keep the shock from his voice. Barely. The place was hardly big enough to shelter a horse in a bad storm. He could see light through the cracks between the boards forming the walls, and he suspected from the damp smell that the roof leaked.

“So long as no one objects.”

He couldn’t imagine why anyone would, but here was another being needing his help. Levi prayed for wisdom on how to deal with this without offending the woman. As he considered his options, he arranged the wood near the stove. Far as he could tell, the woman had no food. He didn’t need to glance out the window to see if she had a garden. It was too early in the season for anything but a few greens. His job finished, he brushed his hands. “Ma’am, I’m here to preach the Gospel. Would you like me to read from the Bible?”

She sat cross-legged on the floor.

He did the same, facing her.

“Name’s Ina Kish—the widow Kish. I used to be a churchgoing woman. But there’s no church here.”

“I aim to change that.”

“Don’t know if there’s many Christian people around here. I’ve seen no evidence of it.”

He hadn’t either but refrained from saying so. “Then I guess my work is cut out for me.” He always carried a small New Testament in his vest pocket. He pulled it out and read several verses, noting the tears glistening in the woman’s eyes. A few minutes later, after a prayer with her, he departed.

But he didn’t head back to Bonners Ferry. He rode along the valley until he found and shot some prairie grouse. He dressed them and took them back to the widow Kish.

Tears again sprang to her eyes. “You are a godsend.”

“Thank you.”

“It is me should be thanking you.”

He touched the brim of his hat as he backed away. Her words of thanks were affirmation for his task. Already he’d found two people to help—both women. One who welcomed his help. The other, he sensed, would not.

Where did the horse-trading Glory hang her hat? She looked like she could provide her own game probably better than many men. But he felt her rebellion like a canker sore under his tongue.

He would make it a priority to locate her and find a way to break through that rebellious spirit.

Glory didn’t slow her steps until she rounded the corner out of sight of the preacher. She wanted nothing to do with a cowboy intent on reforming others. No man would ever tell her what to do. No woman either, for that matter, unless it was one of her sisters.

She realized she held Toby by the elbow and practically dragged him after her, although half the time he dragged her to the right as he lost his balance.

“Glory, what’s the hurry?” He struggled for breath. “Whatcha running from?”

She stopped and gave him a chance to right himself. “I never run from anything. You ought to know that.”

Toby nodded. “You’re pretty tough. Especially for a girl.”

She let it pass.

He shifted his gaze to their back trail. “I thought I heard him say he was a preacher.”

He didn’t expect an answer, and Glory didn’t provide one.

“Sure never seen a preacher like him before.”

“That’s a fact.” She made a movement suggesting they should continue on their way, and Toby started again. Steady enough now to walk on his own. That meant she had found him before he got seriously drunk.

“Did you see his vest?”

Of course she’d seen his vest. Hand-tooled leather with Concho-style front leather ties and a fringed yoke. She’d seen a whole lot more. The thickness of his fawn-colored hair that couldn’t be disguised or hidden by his hat. His square jaw that said better than words he meant business. The way his blue eyes slanted in hard assessment when he studied Glory. “I don’t care what the man thinks.”

“But his vest. No preacher wears a vest like that. Nor a hat like that either.” Toby ground to a halt and struggled to retain his balance. “Say, I bet he ain’t even a preacher. Seems I saw a poster once about a crook who wore a fancy vest. They call him the Rawhide Kid. I heard he pretends to be a nice guy then steals everything but the ground beneath your feet.”

Rawhide Kid.
Suited him better than preacher. Toby might have something in his rambling observations. What better disguise than posing as a preacher? It would fool a lot of people, especially when he read from the Bible in that deep ringing voice.

But she wasn’t one to be fooled by well-spoken words or a rumbling voice that no doubt made others think of thunder rolling from heaven, the very voice of God even. Nope. Not Glory Hamilton. If she had learned one thing in her nineteen years it was to trust only what she could build and hold in her own two hands. Figuratively speaking.

She’d be keeping a close eye on the rawhide preacher. “Come on, Toby. You need to get some wood for Joanna.”

“Aw.”

“That’s the agreement. Remember? You help Joanna around the stopping house in exchange for meals.” Glory and her sisters, Joanna and Mandy, ran the stopping house. Joanna was the cook. Mandy, the hunter. Glory… well, Glory did whatever was needed unless she could get Toby to do it.

“I can work for Bull, and he gives me cash.”

“Which you promptly give back to him in the saloon. Good deal for Bull. Not such a good deal for you.”

Toby muttered something about it feeling good right now.

Glory chose to ignore the comment. If Toby didn’t do the agreed-upon work, Joanna would be after Glory to do it, and Glory had other things to do with her time. She managed to steer Toby to the stopping house and turned him over to Joanna, who issued instructions to get firewood and water, take out ashes, and empty the slop pail.

Toby explained to Joanna about the man in the saloon. “Said he was a preacher.”

“Bonners Ferry could use a preacher and a church, too,” Joanna said, slanting a pointed look at Glory.

“He can preach his heart out. Won’t change me.”

Joanna sighed. “You’re always so defensive. No one said anything about changing you. But comes a time in all of our lives when we have to stop running from life and simply learn to trust God with it.”

“I trust God.”

“Trusting covers a lot of things.”

“I hate it when you get all philosophical. You got something to say, come right out and say it.”

Joanna handed the bucket of vegetable peelings to Toby and waved him away. “All I’m saying is…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Never mind. I suppose I mean for myself more than anyone else. Where are you off to?”

Glory laughed. “Who said I am.”

Joanna lifted one eyebrow in mocking amusement. “Let’s see. Could it be because you keep shifting from one foot to the other and glancing toward the door? Or maybe because I know you well enough I just know?”

“Probably both. I want to check on those horses I have up the hill.”

“You’ll be back for supper?”

“Of course. And I’ll wash the dishes and sweep the floor and whatever else needs doing.”

“Good. Then go see to your horses.”

Glory reached for the door.

“Glory.”

Her sister’s voice stopped her.

“Be careful. Some of those horses you rescue are mean.”

“They have reason to be.” She too often saw horses neglected and abused. When she did, she tried to buy them from the owners and nurse them back to health, train them to be good mounts, and sell them to men who would treat them right. She’d keep them all if she could, but it wasn’t practical, and selling them provided her with funds to buy more to help.

“I’m not saying they don’t. But you are up there alone. I worry.”

“No need. I never take chances. You know that.”

Another quirk of Joanna’s telltale eyebrow. “I certainly do.”

Glory shook her head in bewilderment. Joanna seemed set on talking in riddles or raising questions she didn’t intend to answer. And Glory had no time for such nonsense. She left the stopping house, crossed to the shop where she ran a small farrier business and kept her current mount.

The beautiful palomino was nothing but a bag of bones when she rescued him. The gelding now glistened with health and had turned out to be a smooth ride. It was one of the times she thought seriously of keeping an animal. Indeed, unless she was offered a good price, she wouldn’t let him go.

She threw on a saddle and swung to the animal’s back. “Come on, Pal. Let’s go visit your friends.”

In order to reach the place, she had to ride back through town. Past the saloon where the rawhide preacher had hitched his black horse. A beautiful horse. But the horse no longer waited patiently. The pair must have moved on. She tried to put them from her mind. But instead, the piercing gaze of the man seemed to glaze her thoughts to the exclusion of all else.

Rawhide Kid.

A desperado. A criminal. A confidence man.

Not above using the Bible as a means of portraying the picture he wanted to create.

Yet…

She jerked her thoughts away from how he’d boldly walked into the saloon and opened the Holy Word.
Course if Bull had been there, he might have gone out on his ear.

As if her thoughts didn’t have enough trouble erasing him, she glimpsed a big black horse in the woods. Had to be the rawhide preacher man. What subversive thing was he up to? Perhaps he had partners in crime hiding, awaiting the chance to steal from the good citizens of Bonners Ferry.

She pulled her own horse off the path and dismounted, hiding as best she could behind a patch of trees to watch.

In a minute, he broke from the trees and sauntered up the trail.

She let him pass, then, keeping to the leaf-protected ground at the edge of the trail, followed at a safe distance behind him.

He turned in at the shack where Widow Kish lived, swung off the horse without touching the saddle horn, and landed neatly on his feet. He reached behind him and lifted off two dressed birds and carried them inside.

She squatted in the dappled shadows and waited. If he had harmed the widow and taken possession of her shack… well, he would have to answer to her. The smell of woodsmoke drew her attention to the battered piece of stovepipe poking through the roof. Smoke billowed upward. She waited.

Then the door sqawked open and he stepped out into the sun. Bareheaded, his hat in his hand, the sun glistening in his hair.

“I can’t thank you enough.” The widow patted his hand.

“My pleasure.” He jammed his hat on, swung into the saddle in one swift movement, and reined toward town.

Glory remained where she was, watching until he rode down the hill and out of sight. Still she didn’t move. What was he doing? Was he playing some kind of game intended to make everyone trust him?

He’d soon learn Glory Hamilton didn’t trust so easily.

She pushed to her feet, pulled Pal back to the path, and got on his back with a lot less grace and ease than the preacher did. The fact did nothing to ease her suspicions.

A few minutes later she arrived at the temporary corrals she’d built for her horses, and her mood immediately improved. Animals were so uncomplicated. Treat them right and they rewarded with loyalty. Most wanted to please, and those that didn’t learned the joys of obeying given enough patience and kindness. She knew how to give plenty of both.

One big gray gelding snorted and reared away as soon as she approached. He would take a long time to realize she meant him no harm. But at least his wounds had healed nicely.

“Don’t worry, big guy. I’m not going to rush you.” She threw handfuls of oats from her saddlebag to each of the horses. Big Gray wouldn’t go near his treat until she backed away, but every day she gained ground. “Won’t be long until you’re eating out of my hand.” He didn’t snort and act up at her voice anymore.

She spent the better part of the afternoon with the animals. This place was perfect. Close enough to town she could tend the horses each day. High enough to not suffer from the spring floods. There were lots of trees, a stream that ran throughout the summer, open sunny patches of grass, and a view that filled her with pleasure. Too bad she didn’t own it. But no one had objected to her using it, and until someone did… She hoped when the time came she would be able to buy this bit of land.