Colorado Dawn (51 page)

“Why aren’t you?”

“That might be right for some pastors, and I know a lot who would jump at the chance, but my calling is to preach and serve in a smaller congregation. My father didn’t mind my getting a few years of experience in a church in Kansas City, but he’s never approved of my taking this position. In fact, he’s sending someone out to review my performance soon, and I have a suspicion if there is the tiniest blemish on that report, he’ll see that I’m recalled to Philadelphia before the summer is over.”

“He can do that?”

“He’s the head of the denomination, and he’s determined to bring me to my senses.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “It’s hard to live up to other people’s expectations. Sometimes it’s impossible. Opportunities arise, and you realize you have to take them, even if someone else is let down because of them.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

She shrugged. “I have a couple of decisions facing me at the moment.”

“Anything I can help with?” He chuckled and covered her hand with his, thrilling at the jolt of pleasure that shot up his arm at the contact. “I’m a pretty good listener.”

At that moment the cork float on her line jerked under the water. “What do I do?” She sprang to grab the rod before it landed in the stream.

The boys dropped their poles on the bank and pelted toward them.

Phin reached for her rod, but Silas stopped him. “No, let her do it. Everyone should bring in their first fish by themselves.”

“Silas, please.” She cast him a pleading glance. “Help me. What do I do?”

“Keep the line tight. Don’t let it go slack, or he’ll get a run and maybe break it. Keep the tip of the pole up.”

The boys all shouted encouragement and advice.

Willow tucked her lower lip in, set her jaw, and braced against the tug of the fish and the current. In no time at all, she’d landed the trout.

“That’s a beaut.” Phin bent over the fish flopping on the grass. “Biggest trout I’ve seen.”

“Is it?”

“What a whopper. Wait till Dad hears about this.” Tick shoved his hair out of his eyes.

The Hebig boys whistled and crowed.

Willow seemed to take this for the applause it was. “What do we do with it now?”

“Take the hook out, put it on the stringer, and peg the line to the bank. Fish for supper.”

“Oh no, don’t do that.” Willow knelt on the grass beside the fish. “The poor thing. I want to let it go.”

“What?” Phin jammed his hands on his hips. “After all that work you ain’t even gonna eat it?”

Willow cast Silas a pleading glance.

It hurt him to let the fish go—after all, people caught fish to eat them. But he said, “It’s her fish. She can do what she wants with it.” He lifted the trout and removed the hook. “But you have to let it go yourself. The fisherman in me can’t do it.”

With a squeamish grimace, she took the slippery animal and leaned over the bank. “There you go, you poor thing. I’m sorry for hauling you out of your home like that.”

With a flip and a flicker, the trophy fish disappeared under the rippling water. She rinsed her hands in the stream and wiped them with her handkerchief. “I’m afraid I’ll never make a fisherman.”

“Just like a girl.” Phin grabbed a rock and flicked it at the water where it bounced four times and sank.

“I’ll tell you something I am good at though.” She picked up another rock and sent it winging over the water. “Seven. Beat that.”

The battle was on. They laughed and threw rocks and challenged one another to impossible feats until finally the boys declared they were starving. Willow brought out the turnovers. They ate, licking their fingers and dabbing at the crumbs, not wanting to waste a bite.

Silas leaned back on his palms and stretched his legs out. “You boys can play for another half hour or so. Then we need to head back.”

As they bounded away, Willow shook her head. “You’re very good with them.”

“I was just thinking the same about you.” And more. All afternoon he’d been captivated by her. Everything about her pleased him, and he could see her as the mistress of his home and his helpmeet in the church. He could envision her directing the Christmas play and organizing a children’s choir. Better yet, he could see her opening his home to hospitality and welcoming him in after a long day at the church.

Silas leaned closer to her and lowered his head. His heart knocked against his ribs, and his palms sweat. He had a feeling his future happiness rested squarely on her answer to his question. “Willow, is there someone I should speak to about courting you? Someone I should ask?”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He wasn’t worried though. The light that had come into her eyes—a look of wonder, hope, expectancy—was answer enough. He threaded his fingers through hers and pressed their palms together.

She found her voice. “There’s no one you have to ask but me.” She swallowed, pink coming to tinge her cheeks.

“And?”

“I’d like nothing more.”

When they returned to the church, Silas introduced Willow to a waiting Sam Mackenzie, a handsome, easygoing man who put his arms around each of his sons while he thanked Silas for taking them for the afternoon. Mr. Hebig shook Silas’s hand and gave Willow a quizzical look and bustled his boys into the wagon for the ride home.

“Let me drop this stuff off at the house. Then I’ll walk you home.” Silas lifted the bundle of fishing poles and the bait bucket.

“I’ll take the basket and the blanket.”

They rounded the church to the parsonage. “Just through here. Estelle doesn’t work on Sundays, so there’s no one here but Sherman.” He set the poles on the porch and reached for her burdens. “I’d love to invite you in, but…”

“I understand.” How nice to have someone so concerned with her reputation.

The minute Silas opened the door, an enormous cat stepped out, wound around his legs for a moment, and regarded her with brilliant green eyes. “This is Sherman. Now you be nice, cat, or you’ll be sleeping outside tonight.” He ducked into the house to put away the picnic paraphernalia.

Willow sank to the stairs. “Hello, Sherman. My, but you’re a handsome fellow in your evening dress.”

The animal tilted his head, listening to her, before approaching with his tail held high. She rubbed his cheek, and he butted his head against her hand and let loose a deep purr. Without fear, he climbed into her lap, lay down, and turned over, exposing his white belly for her to rub.

“I’ve never seen him do that before.” Silas leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “What a mush.” He’d donned his suit coat and tie and smoothed his hair.

“He’s just a big baby, aren’t you?” She stroked his soft fur, and he wriggled with pleasure. “I’ve never had a pet before. We moved around too much. One of the actors in the troupe had a parrot once, but it bit and said naughty words, so my mother made me keep away from it. Sherman seems like a friendly fellow.”

“He’s usually content to rub against someone’s leg, but he never lets a stranger pet him like that. I guess he’s got good taste.” Silas bent and rubbed Sherman under the chin. “Come on, you silly cat. I’ve got to get her home.”

Walking to the hotel on Silas’s arm felt so right, Willow didn’t want the trip to end, but her stomach tightened as they approached the theater. What had she done agreeing to Silas’s courting her? The offer from New York and all that hung upon her acceptance of it dragged at her like a ball and chain. The company was counting on her to get them to New York City, so much so that they were already making plans, assuming she’d said yes. Only Clement knew she’d asked for time to consider. “You don’t have to walk me in. My sister will be waiting for me. She was going to run lines with Philip late this afternoon, and I was supposed to join them.”

“Nonsense. I’d like to see where you work, and I’d like to meet your sister again.”

Apprehension feathered across Willow’s skin as she let them in through the side stage door. Though she knew Francine would eventually need to know about Silas, Willow was loathe to reveal their relationship so soon. What she felt for Silas—feelings that were growing every day—was private. And his desire to court her was so new and fresh that she feared laying herself open to her sister’s criticism or judgment would somehow tarnish it. “We can peek in and see if they’re here. If not, she’ll be at the hotel.” They walked down the narrow hallway full of doors. “This is my dressing room. Well, Francine’s and mine. We share.”

Passing into the wings, Francine’s voice came to them, and Willow’s heart sank. “Where has Willow been all day? When she left, she said she was going to church of all places. I don’t know where she gets these odd notions.”

Footsteps tapped on the stage floor, and heat rushed up Willow’s cheeks. She called out before Francine could say anything else to embarrass both of them. “Is anyone here?”

“You’re certainly late enough. Do you have someone with you?”

“I’m sorry for being late, though there was no set time for this rehearsal,” Willow gently reminded Francine. “And yes, I’ve brought someone with me.” Half the lanterns along the footboards had been lit, casting odd shadows on the painted backdrop depicting Ferndean Manor. “This is Silas Hamilton. You met him earlier this week. Silas, my sister, Francine Starr, and this is Philip Moncrieff.”

Francine’s eyes glittered. “So that’s where you’ve been disappearing to. I might’ve known it. Meeting a man on the sly.”

Philip rubbed his chin and leered. “Hmm, you’ve got some unsuspected depths, my dear.”

Willow’s back stiffened. “This is the
Reverend
Silas Hamilton. He pastors a church here in Martin City.”

The transformation from petulant to flirtatious happened in an instant. Francine’s eyelashes fluttered, her mouth went into a pout, and she held out her hand. “My, my, Reverend Hamilton. It is a pleasure to see you again. Willow tends to wander off at every opportunity, and I do worry about her. I had no idea she was in your company.”

Silas took her hand briefly. “Miss Starr, Willow was kind enough to help me this afternoon. I had five small charges eager for a picnic. She accompanied me, helping me keep them entertained.”

“You must call me Francine.” She folded her hands at her waist and raked her gaze over Willow. “An afternoon shepherding children at a picnic explains Willow’s windblown and disheveled appearance.”

Instinctively, Willow’s hands started up to smooth her hair, but she forced herself to lower her arms and stand still. It wouldn’t matter anyway. The damage had been done. How many times had first her mother then Francine drilled it into her that she must appear professional at all times in public? It was her duty as an actress to preserve the illusion of perfection, lest the patrons of the theater decide she was a mere mortal, breaking the spell and thus the desire to believe in the performance.

“Willow always looks charming.” Silas sent her a smile, his eyes seeming to drink in her face.

Philip strolled over to Willow’s other side, standing way too close, nearly gagging her with the cloying scent of hair oil and cloves.

Silas squeezed Willow’s elbow and guided her closer to his side. “Miss Starr—Francine—I’d like to invite you and Willow to dinner at the hotel tonight. I would enjoy getting to know you better.” He turned to Philip. “You’re invited as well, of course.”

“Oh, he hasn’t the time, since he’s supposed to be blocking a scene with Clement in just a little while, but I’d be delighted to take supper with you.” Francine edged between Willow and Silas, taking his arm and not bothering to look at Willow. “Thank you for looking after my little sister this afternoon. I’m sure she and the boys had a nice time on that picnic. It’s so rare she gets to spend time with children her own age.” She led him away, and Silas cast a helpless glance over his shoulder to Willow.

Willow ground her teeth. Just like Francine to put her in her place, relegating her to the rank of child who needed to be watched. She followed them, and Philip fell into step with her.

Philip’s laugh slid over her like axle grease, thick and black, and he lowered his voice. “I thought there was something different about you lately. You’ve got even more of a dreamy-eyed look than usual. I suspect yonder swain is the cause? A preacher? How quaint. But don’t expect Francine to take it lying down.”

Willow said nothing and kept walking.

He leaned closer. “I always suspected your still waters ran deep.” He reached for her hand, and she flinched. “A little seasoning will be the making of you, get you ready for New York.” He laughed again and turned in at his dressing room.

“Willow? Are you all right?” Silas turned at the stage door to wait for her.

She straightened. “Of course.”

Silas frowned. “Was that man pestering you?”

“Philip was just being Philip. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Come along, Willow.” Francine crossed her arms. “Stop dawdling with Philip. You’ve still got to clean up and change. I’m not going to be seen in public with you looking like that. While you’re doing that, I’ll freshen up as well.”

Willow kept her chin high and refused to let her hurt or embarrassment show. One would think she would be used to the constant criticism, but somehow having it happen in front of Silas made it so much worse.