Charlene Sands (18 page)

Especially now that he’d come to his senses.

Emmy should be furious. Instead, she sat calmly on the bed, deep in thought.

“What?” he asked, dread creeping up his spine.

“Bodine, listen to me,” she implored. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“You mean you’re giving up your search?” He couldn’t hide the relief in his voice. Maybe, now, she’d agree to go home. Bodine flinched at the notion of never seeing her again, but it was for the best he kept telling himself. She had a good life and a man waiting for her at home. That thought ate at his gut.

“I guess you don’t understand me at all,” she said on a sad note. “I meant, you and me. Whatever is going on between us is through. I don’t want to see you again.”

“Emmy, be sensible.”

“I am. I’ve finally come to realize there’s no reason for us to continue together. You have your life set. And I’m trying to find mine.”

Bodine wanted to go to her to vanquish her hurt, but he knew she wouldn’t let him near her.

He couldn’t blame her. He’d let his feelings get in the way of his job and Emmy had unwittingly suffered because of it. Letting her walk out of his life wasn’t an option. She was stuck with him, but he couldn’t tell her that. He’d have to wait until morning to reason with her. Reaching beyond her on the bed, he grabbed his hat. “I’ll go now, Emmy. Because you asked. But we’re not done with this. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Emmy sighed and turned away, her voice finally giving way. He heard heartache in her broken plea. “Just…go.”

The next morning, Emma entered the Tucker Hill Church of Christ and sat in the last pew, grateful for this time alone. She needed solace, sanctuary and to seek guidance from the Almighty. Though the church was filled to capacity, Emma would certainly have the peace she needed here—away from Bodine. He never entered a church. Would it be sacrilegious to be grateful of that, she wondered.

She’d stayed secluded in her room, refusing Bodine entrance earlier this morning. He’d pounded on her door several times, but each time she’d told him she needed to rest. Finally, after three attempts to speak with her, he left her alone.

Emma had to be strong. Inside, her heart ached, but she scolded herself for her foolhardy behavior with Bodine. He’d told her the truth. He wasn’t a free man. Belying his fierce words to the contrary, his actions kept telling her differently. He confused and confounded her at every turn and in every town. She had shed enough tears over him to last more than one lifetime.

When the minister walked to the pulpit and stood before a beautifully carved cross behind him on the angled wall, he captured the attention of his congregation. Emma looked up, anxious to hear him speak. But unlike the sermons she’d heard in the past of redemption and forgiveness and salvation, the rather unpolished and unconventional Reverend Truman spoke of something far different. And though the subject seemed odd for a sermon, Emma listened carefully, noting his profound wisdom.

“In order to be true to God,” he said, his voice a compelling baritone, “we must love ourselves. But many of us don’t much
like
ourselves. You must ask yourself, how can I find that love? How can I love who I am and what I do? The answer will really astound you, my friends. The answer is passion.

“Passion,” he repeated quietly, casting his gaze around the entire room, making direct eye contact. “The kind of passion that allows you to be yourself, to find a dream and hold on to it. Passion is what makes our smithy, Jonas Minor, work so diligently to supply his services to the town. Passion is what inspires Doc O’ Sullivan to travel from homestead to homestead, administering to the infirm and needy every day and what commits Marshal Atherton to keeping order in our town, providing you safety from those who would love to rob you of your passion, your dreams.

“I know of this firsthand, my friends. Passion is what brings me to this church, this town. My calling came later in life, buried deep in my heart, but I’m here now because of it. I wasn’t always a man of passion. Today, I stand before you, loving myself finally, and finding the true love of God.”

Emma took heed in Reverend Truman’s sermon and listened to each point in his lecture, finding him refreshing and unique. When he finished his sermon, he invited the congregation to join him in singing a set of choral hymns. He asked the organist to begin.

Feeling somewhat better, relieved that today’s sermon seemed to justify her own beliefs, Emma began to sing a song she’d loved since childhood, “Be Thou Faithful.”

She lost herself in the lyrics, singing along with the rows of worshippers, closing her eyes and allowing emotion to fill her. She sang without inhibition, without hesitation, and when the first hymn was over, the congregation quieted. She snapped her eyes open and found heads turned her way and all eyes upon her.

Emma’s face flamed when she realized she’d overpowered everyone’s voice with her own. But the eyes looking into hers held warmth, many of the folks smiling and nodding with approval.

Reverend Truman sifted through the crowd to make eye contact with Emma. “It’s seems that,” he began with a wide smile, until their eyes finally met. Then the joy on his face evaporated like a drop of water on desert sand. He paused, staring at Emma as though he’d seen a ghost. “It seems,” he began again more slowly, his gaze locked onto hers.

Emma wanted to shrink below the bench seat. She’d come in here and usurped attention with her powerful voice, and it appeared that Reverend Truman was ready to admonish her. Suddenly, she felt five years old again, sitting beside her grandfather, Miles, in Saint Luke’s and being reprimanded for drawing undue attention to herself.

Reverend Truman finished his thought. “It seems that we have a new worshipper. You must be Miss Marie? I admit I haven’t had time to see your performance, but I’ve heard of your beautiful voice. Please,” he said, as though still mystified about something, “sing along with us again.”

He turned to the organist and gestured for her to begin. Emma sang with the congregation, this time keeping her voice low, but everyone seemed to do the same and she realized that they wanted to hear her lift her voice. So she did for the next three hymns, finishing with “My Soul to God” before the reverend kindly thanked everyone for coming and dismissed his flock.

Emma hated to leave. She’d felt at peace in church and had been welcomed cordially by the churchgoers. She rose and filed out of the pew, smiling back at many who had given her a kind nod.

When she reached the aisle, she glanced outside and spotted Bodine on the church grounds, pacing behind the white picket fence. She bit her lip and hesitated.

“Miss Marie.” Reverend Truman’s deep voice called from behind. She turned to find him hurrying down the aisle to reach her. “May I have a word with you?”

Surprised, but grateful for the delay in seeing Bodine again, Emma nodded. “Surely.”

The reverend looked at her as if inspecting her from the inside out. Emma stared back, looking into pensive light blue eyes. “Is there something—”

“I apologize for staring. It must seem rude to you, but you remind me of someone I knew a long time ago. I see a resemblance, but it’s your voice. It’s so familiar.”

“Really? I’ve been told I have a voice like no other.” Then she realized her blunder. “Oh! That sounds so prissy. I didn’t mean it like that.” Emma wanted to die of mortification. She wasn’t one to boast, but she surely must appear that way to the reverend.

“No, no. You’re right. I’ve only heard a voice like yours one time before.”

“When?”

The reverend shook his head. “It was a long time ago, I’m afraid.”

“My mother had a lovely voice,” Emma said wistfully, recalling the sweet lullabies she would sing to her at night and all the tunes she’d taught Emma through the years.

Reverend Truman blinked, surprise registering. “Tell me, do you have her almond-shaped eyes?”

Emma chuckled. “Yes I do, but mine are a bit larger.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, nodding but clearly distracted. “They were beautiful eyes, as I recall,” he muttered quietly.

Emma’s heart pounded. She began to hope. The reverend might know something of her past. Maybe he could shed some light onto that time when her mother had met her father. “Did you know my mother?”

“Was her name Elena?”

Emma could barely breathe. She whispered, “Yes. Elena Rourke of Fresno.”

The reverend sat immobile for a moment. Emma wanted to fire questions at him, but the thoughtful look on his face kept her from doing so.

“How old are you, Emma?”

“I’ll be twenty on Christmas Day.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His deep-set eyes gleamed with warmth as he looked at her now with new awareness. He inhaled sharply and, searching her face, he confessed, “I knew your mother back in Fresno. We fell in love. I was known as Jake Trundy then. Emma,” he continued, his voice laced with deep emotion, “I’m your father.”

D
umbfounded, Emma sat down on the bench seat, staring up at Reverend Jacob Truman, noting hair peppered with gray, but with dark wavy strands the exact color and texture of hers. She noted the shape of his face mirrored her own. And while she had her mother’s eyes and nose, she most definitely had a full-lipped mouth that resembled his.

“I’ve been searching for you,” she said finally, hoping that she had indeed found her father. “My family told me my father died in a tragic milling accident. All these years, I believed them. Mama died three years ago and my Gram had these letters. She’d hidden them from me, but I found them a short time ago. They were from Jake Trundy.”

“I’m sorry to hear Elena is gone. She was a good woman.” He took a seat next to her and sighed. “But Emma, Jake Trundy is also dead.”

She gasped, those words shocking to her ears.

“I have not led an exemplary life.”

“I know that. I read the letters.”

“Then you know I never knew I had a child. That’s why seeing you today and hearing your voice shocked me.”

“I wondered why you never mentioned me in your letters but then my Gram told me that you never knew I was born.”

“No, Emma. I didn’t.” He took her hand again and applied gentle pressure. “I’ve tried to make up for my sins. I’ve tried to lead a respectable life since getting out of prison. At first, I didn’t change my name, but that didn’t really work. There were too many ghosts from my past, too many people who knew Jake Trundy. So when I chose this path, I changed my name. I’m not the same person I once was. I’m Reverend Jacob Truman now. And I’d like to think I’m doing some good with the people here.”

Emma smiled sadly. “They robbed me of knowing you—Mama and my grandparents.”

“I’m sorry for that. But they were right in doing so. I wasn’t a man worthy of you or your mother. I left her, but I did love her, Emma. I left her because I was no good, still thieving and betraying people. It took ten years of my life, but going to prison changed me. I like to think I’m a better man now.”

Emma’s heart broke with sorrow. She’d had a father all these years and, though she’d only found out recently of his existence, she realized how much she’d missed in knowing him.

Emma sat in the pew while her father recounted his past with her, being fully honest and explaining about the man he once was and how he’d changed for the better. She listened carefully as he warned her of the danger of holding on to bitterness. And once again he reminded her that her family had been right in keeping him out of her life.

But now they had a chance at a new beginning.

Emma rejoiced. Yes, she wanted to take that chance. She wanted to know her father. She wanted a relationship with him. In her heart, she knew she would forgive her mother and her grandparents eventually, but right now, the pain of their betrayal was too fresh and raw. The thought that she might never have found the letters or learned the truth from her grandmother was unbearable. Jake Trundy, the man they feared would ruin her life, didn’t exist anymore.

Instead, she’d found a man she hoped would become a very important part of her life.

“Emma, what’s keeping you?”

Emma whipped her head around toward the back of the church. Bodine stood just outside the vestibule. She couldn’t rid herself of him. But, in truth, she was glad he was here to share in her good news. If anyone could appreciate the fact she’d found what she was looking for, it was Bodine, a bounty hunter who banked on that very thing.

But it was more than that with Bodine. Aside from sharing her joy with him, she wanted him to see he’d been wrong in assuming she wouldn’t succeed in her quest. She hadn’t gone off on a silly chase. She’d done exactly what she’d set out to do.

When she rose from the bench, the reverend stood up, too. “Bodine, I’d like to introduce you to Reverend Jacob Truman.” She grinned and took Jacob’s arm. “My father.”

Shortly after, Bodine sat at a diner with Emmy and her father, sharing a noontime meal, wary of Tucker Hill’s minister. He’d seen enough betrayal and deceit in his lifetime to tread with care and not accept a man at his word. Good instincts and fast reactions had kept him alive so far, and Bodine relied on those traits now.

He dug into a meat pie and listened to Trundy’s accounting of his life. He explained how he’d begun preaching the Lord’s word while in prison, helping inmates find comfort and peace, and learned to put the past behind them. Bodine didn’t think it possible. People didn’t change their ways. Plain and simple, an outlaw knew little of redemption.

Emmy stared at her father as if she’d discovered a gold treasure, her eyes glittering with delight. She’d swallowed his story, but Bodine had to be sure. He spent the next hour questioning him, gaining Emmy’s glaring disapproval.

Bodine didn’t care what she believed. He had to keep her safe. And as soon as he checked out Trundy’s story and knew for certain that he could be trusted, then Bodine would be free to pay a visit to Rachel Metcalf.

“I’d like to introduce Emma to some dear friends I have in town. They’re expecting me. Would you care to join us today, Mr. Bodine?”

Emmy pushed eggs around on her plate, refusing to meet his eyes. Reverend Truman on the other hand, sized him up, and Bodine liked that about the man. He appeared every bit the concerned father, wondering about Emmy’s initial introduction and claim that Bodine was her friend and traveling companion. Naive, innocent Emmy hadn’t read the question in her father’s eyes when she’d made that pronouncement, but Bodine had.

He wiped his mouth, tossing his napkin down. “Thank you, but I have some things to tend to today. I’m sure you two would like time to get to know each other better. I’ll catch up with you later, Emmy.”

She glanced up, sparing him half a smile.

Bodine left Emmy with her father and headed straight to the telegraph office to send Mrs. Rourke another post. Then he went about finding out all he could about the upstanding Reverend Truman of Tucker Hill.

Bodine knocked on Emmy’s hotel door an hour before her performance. “It’s me, Bodine,” he said.

Emmy opened her door without a word and let him in.

She was dressed, her hair done up pretty, her gown on but for the buttons that had become his pleasure and his torment. “Thought you’d be smiling like a cat who caught the canary.”

“I’m happy, Bodine.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She gave him her back and he did up the buttons quickly, making damn sure not to touch her skin any more than he had to. When he was through, she turned to him. “I’m ecstatic. Thrilled beyond belief that I found my father. I’m just not happy with you.”

Bodine didn’t press her. He’d hurt her last night and he’d angered her today by daring to question the reverend. “That so?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know why.”

“I know why,” he immediately replied. “The reverend’s who he says he is. He’s a good man. Hell, from what I’ve heard today, he could sell butter to a milk cow. He’s been here four years and has done a world of good.”

“I already know that.”

Bodine remained silent. He couldn’t bank on one man’s word. He had to check him out, but he couldn’t tell her why he’d done all that checking.

“You’re a suspicious man, Bodine.”

Bodine drew a deep breath. “I didn’t come here to argue, Emmy. I assume you invited your father to your performance tonight.”

“Of course. He’s coming.”

“Good. I’ll walk you to the theater, but I’m leaving straight away. Make sure your father walks you home afterward.”

“I’m sure he will. Why?”

“I got a tip from Curly, the stagehand who works the curtains at the theater. He believes that Metcalf might be hiding out at his sister’s house. I’m planning on a surprise visit.”

“Tonight?” Emmy’s voice rose. Bodine witnessed fear in her eyes. Her concern touched him and made him wish they’d met under better circumstances. She loved him. Though he never meant for that to happen, somewhere deep inside he admitted that he was glad of it.

“You knew this day would come, Emmy.”

Emmy turned away from him. She walked over to the window and stared out at the cool winter night, bright stars twinkling overhead. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I have to.”

“It won’t bring Josh back.”

Bodine gritted his teeth at the mention of his brother’s name. He hadn’t had so many nightmares since he’d met Emmy. She’d brought peace into his life. But she’d also confounded the hell out of him. “He’s got to pay.”

“What about the marshal?”

“This is something I have to do, Emmy.”

She whirled around, tears welling in her eyes. “You always manage to ruin my happiness, Bodine.” With a trembling voice, she added, “Why is that?”

Bodine watched her pain but couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He simply shook his head.

Emmy looked at him a long time then finally she grabbed her coat, her handbag and walked out the door. “Sometimes, I wish you’d never rescued me from Red Hurley.”

Emma stared out at the audience in the theater, really only seeing one face, that of her father. He sat in the first row, sitting tall and looking at her with pride in his eyes. Oh, how many times had she dreamed of this moment! She sang with joy tonight that her father was in attendance, but with trepidation as well. Her worry over Bodine was never far from her mind, though she could honestly say that both her dreams had come true; she’d managed to find her father and to perform on a real stage with paying patrons. The irony struck her anew. Both had occurred in the same town, in a place where she might very well lose the man she loved.

Emma experienced the glory of singing on a beautifully constructed stage to a willing audience while having her father’s full blessing and encouragement. She’d been introduced today as Reverend Jacob Truman’s daughter to many of his congregation and they had accepted her graciously into their homes. Finally, Emma felt she had a chance at happiness. But for Bodine and the outlaw he would soon face, Emma’s joy would have been complete.

Something Bodine had said earlier had niggled at her and she couldn’t let it go. After her performance, Emma raced backstage for a moment to question the stagehands. When no one seemed to know anything about a theater worker named Curly, her stomach knotted.

Mr. Robard approached wearing a grin. “Miss Marie, another wonderful performance,” he said. “I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“Thank you,” she said, distracted, her attention darting past backstage props looking for the man Bodine had described to her. Distressed, she turned her attention to the manager. “Mr. Robard, did you hire a man named Curly to work the curtains for my performances?”

Mr. Robard appeared thoughtful. “No, dear. I can’t recall anyone named Curly.”

Emma’s heart sank. “Maybe that’s not his given name. He’s on the shorter side, completely bald, with a mustache?”

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t hire anyone like that. My stage men have been with me for several years.”

“But he was here last night,” Emma pleaded, working through her confusion. “Backstage.”

Mr. Robard cast her an apologetic look. “Sorry, Miss Marie. If he were working backstage on the curtains, he wouldn’t get compensation from the theater. I know all of my employees.”

“I understand,” she said, her mind reeling. “Thank you.”

“You’ll have an escort home tonight?” Mr. Robard asked.

“Yes, my father.”

The theater manager smiled. “I’m happy that your search ended here. The reverend is a good man. And maybe now you’ll think about staying on a while longer.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” she said honestly, the events of the past day too overwhelming. “But thank you for your kindness, Mr. Robard.”

Emma said good-night to him and turned to find her father approaching, his arms open wide. She went to him and settled into his embrace. “You are so much like your mother,” he said genuinely, with a hint of regret. “She was a special woman, too. Emma, I hardly feel I deserve having you for a daughter, but know that you make me proud.”

“Oh, Father.” They were words Emma had dreamed in her wildest imagination, but she hadn’t the time to relish this special moment. She feared for Bodine. “I’m very glad you were here tonight to see my performance. It has always been a dream of mine and now I have you here to witness it,” she said in earnest, then pulled away to search his eyes. “But Father, I’m worried. I’m sure Bodine is in trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you that Bodine is a bounty hunter and he’s been after his brother’s killer for weeks now. Last night, someone who claimed he was a stagehand told him where he might find Metcalf. Only,” Emma said, biting her lip as new alarm entered her heart, “the man who gave him the notion doesn’t work for the theater. No one knows him. No one recognized his description.”

“You’re saying that this mystery man told your friend where he might find the outlaw?”

Emma nodded. “Yes, he gave Bodine directions, miles out of town. Bodine thinks the outlaw is hiding there. And now, he’s gone after him.”

Her father inhaled deeply then sighed. “Emma, I’m not only speaking as a man of the cloth now, but as a man who spent his young life lying and cheating. I’m afraid for your friend. I think Bodine has been set up. He’s walking into a trap.”