Stealing the Preacher (11 page)

“Miss Robbins?”

Joanna pivoted and bit back a groan of despair. Crockett Archer was even more handsome than she’d remembered. Somehow his rancher’s clothing made him seem more approachable, more . . . within her reach. And if that wasn’t the most ridiculous notion, she didn’t know what was. A man with his looks and kind heart could have any woman he chose. He’d never settle for a shy, freckly redhead with an ex-outlaw for a father. She was everything the ideal preacher’s wife was
not
.

“Brother Archer. What a surprise.” Joanna forced her lips to curve in welcome, praying there wasn’t a big blotch of dirt on
the end of her nose where she’d rubbed an itch a moment ago. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“I hadn’t anticipated a reunion this soon, either, but it seems the Lord had other ideas.”

His smile was so warm, it took a moment for his words to penetrate. “The Lord?” Joanna scrunched her eyebrows as she tried to puzzle out his meaning. “What ideas?”

The parson removed his hat and held it before him, worrying the brim as if he were actually nervous. “If you’re still looking to fill the local pulpit, ma’am, I’d like to apply for the job.”

“You’d like to . . . apply . . . ?” Joanna couldn’t even form all the words. In fact, she barely managed to hold herself upright. No, truth be told, even that meager feat was beyond her, for she was listing dangerously to the right.

In an instant, Crockett Archer was by her side, steadying her elbow with a solid grip. He angled himself slightly behind her, as if he were a stake propping up a drooping bean plant. “Miss Robbins? Are you all right?”

When she continued teetering, he slapped his hat back on his head and wrapped his right arm around the back of her waist. Her knees quivered from the close contact and from the way his decadent brown eyes searched her face in concern.

His arms felt heavenly about her, and his attentive regard left her breathless, but she needed to clarify his words. Bracing her legs more firmly beneath her, she steadied herself and stepped away from his support. “Are you saying you’d like to . . . to preach here on a regular basis?”

His furrowed brow eased a bit as he nodded. “Yes’m. Every Sunday, if I can find work to support me until the church can pay my salary.”

“But what about Brenham?”

From the moment he disarmed Jackson Spivey with nothing but a calm demeanor and a display of respect, Joanna had
known in the depths of her soul that Crockett Archer was the minister she needed to reach her father. But she’d watched him leave—twice. Had God truly brought him back to stay?

“They apparently filled their vacancy yesterday.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. For him. He’d been so excited, so full of plans when they spoke on Saturday. He must have been devastated.

And it was her fault.

If her father hadn’t abducted him, he would have auditioned on schedule, and she knew firsthand how marvelously he could deliver a sermon. A day later, her heart still swelled when she recalled his passionate oration. The man had a gift. A gift she’d stolen from the people of Brenham.

Joanna pushed her father’s floppy hat off her head, letting it dangle down her back from the string around her neck. She needed to see Brother Archer’s face, his eyes. “How could you want to preach here when it is because of me that you lost your position?”

“Ah, Joanna.” Her given name fell from his lips as his gaze melted into hers. “It was never my position to lose. If it had truly been God’s will that I preach in Brenham, no abduction could have prevented my appointment. You are not to blame. And I know your rascal of a father’s not, either—despite my carrying on the other day. God is the one in charge, and it is he who led me back here. Will you have me?”

Although she knew he only meant in an official preaching capacity, her heart fluttered with a little thrill at his words as she let herself imagine for the briefest of moments what it would be like to have Crockett Archer ask her the same question with a much more personal implication.

Foolish girl.
She stood on the verge of having her dearest wish granted. Why did she have to go and start hungering for more?

Joanna resolutely turned her mind back to the gift Brother Archer was offering her, and a genuine smile burst across her face. “Of course I’ll have you!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, heat sprinted to her cheeks. Heavens, that wasn’t how she’d intended to answer. She cleared her throat, and dropped her gaze. “Having you here would do our community a world of good, Brother Archer. We’d be honored to have you serve as our minister.”

There. That sounded better. More formal. Perhaps that would cover her earlier blunder. However, when she looked up, the parson’s eyes twinkled with far too much merriment for her peace of mind.

“Wonderful!” he declared, and his enthusiasm eased some of her embarrassment. “Now, all I have to do is find sufficient employment to keep me in food and supplies until we can get this church of ours established.”

This church of ours.
It was amazing what that simple phrase did to her insides. Ours. This was
their
project. Both of them. Together. She wasn’t alone in her mission anymore. And she’d make sure he wasn’t alone in his.

“I can ask around. Introduce you to a few . . . ” An idea struck her so hard while she was speaking, she almost felt the blow. “Wait! I know the perfect person to ask.” Excitement buzzed over her nerve endings faster than a message on a telegraph wire. She’d taken three steps toward the barn before she remembered she was leaving a thoroughly bewildered preacher standing in the middle of her squash rows. She couldn’t stop, though. Not now. Not when her mission was so clear.

“Go take stock of the parsonage,” she called over her shoulder as she picked up speed. “See what you’ll need to make it habitable. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

Crockett watched Joanna dart through her garden like a rabbit fleeing a shotgun blast. Only it wasn’t fear that drove her. It was purpose. She was definitely up to something.

Once she disappeared into the barn, Crockett broke out of his bemused stupor. He grinned over his own foolishness. What was it about Joanna Robbins that took his attention hostage whenever she was near? The expressive features that displayed her every thought? The delightful way she blushed when he teased her? Or perhaps it was the way she threw herself wholeheartedly into those things that were important to her. Whatever it was, it was certainly compelling.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Crockett glanced around. Apparently he wasn’t the only thing Joanna had abandoned in the garden. Her hoe lay fallen atop the winter squash plants she’d been tending so carefully moments ago. And near the garden gate, a small burlap sack with a head or two of cabbage peeking out from between the folds sat forgotten.

Since Joanna was off to do him a kindness, it was only fair that he return the favor. Crockett retrieved the hoe and collected the cabbage on his way through the gate. He was halfway to the house, thinking to set the cabbage inside the kitchen door, when a brown blur thundered past him.

Joanna Robbins tore out of the barn astride a magnificent chestnut quarter horse. She leaned forward in the saddle, hat flopping against her back, hair streaming out behind her in a wild, curly mass as she urged her mount to a full-out gallop. Unable to do anything but stare, Crockett stood dumbstruck as she raced past.

She was the most amazing horsewoman he’d ever seen.

Joanna Robbins. The shy creature who claimed painting and reading were her favorite pastimes had just bolted across the yard like a seasoned jockey atop a Thoroughbred. She might have inherited her mother’s grace and manner, but the woman rode like her outlaw father. Maybe better.

13

S
weat dripped down Silas’s neck as he set his hatchet aside and signaled to Jasper. “Ease ’er back slow.”

“You got it, boss.” Jasper nudged his mount forward, and the rope that tethered the gelding to the fallen tree stretched taut.

Carl had discovered the deadfall on his rounds that morning. One of the post oaks had collapsed into the fence. Probably fell victim to the high winds they’d had last week. They’d been hacking at the branches the past half hour, trying to free it from the barbed wire so they could drag it away without taking half the fence line with it.

“Whoa!” Frank called out from the opposite side. “She’s catchin’ on my end.” He groaned heavily as he forced his way past the outer branches to reach the spot where it had snared. “Confounded limbs, stabbin’ a man like he was some female’s pincushion,” he grumbled as he strained forward. “I oughta just set ya on fire and let you burn your way free. Then I’d take my shovel and poke ya ’til there was nothin’ left but ashes. Wouldn’t be stabbin’ me then, would ya?”

Silas rolled his eyes and reached for his bandana. After being
partnered with the man for over twenty-five years, he knew better than to interrupt Frank during one of his rants. Not if he wanted to get the job done before sunset. So he held his tongue and swiped the bandana along the back of his neck, rubbing away his perspiration. He twisted his neck to the side to work out a kink, and caught sight of his daughter riding toward them as if a hangin’ posse were in pursuit.

“Jo!” His gun clearing leather in an instant, Silas sprinted away from the tangled branches, planted his gloved palm against the rounded trunk, and vaulted over the tree that stood between him and his daughter. As he ran to meet her, his eyes scoured the landscape in search of whatever threatened her, but he saw nothing.

He held up his arms to slow the racing horse, but Joanna had the beast well under control. In a flash, she reined in the horse and bounded off its back.

“Daddy! I have the most wonderful news!” She jogged up to him and flung herself into his arms like she used to do when she was just a little bit of a thing. He caught her against his chest, and the laughter that bubbled out from her calmed his thundering pulse.

He embraced her tightly, a father’s tenderness momentarily overriding his common sense. Then he shoved his weapon back into his holster and took her by her upper arms, setting her away from him as he schooled his face into a stern line.

“You scared a year off my life, ridin’ in here like that. I thought fer sure a pack of coyotes must be on your heels.”

“Sorry, Daddy.” Her smile dimmed slightly, but not enough to count. The little scamp wasn’t the slightest bit sorry. “I promise not to go over a trot on the way home. And I’ll give Gamble a thorough rubdown when we get there. I swear. I was just too excited to hold him back, and you know how he loves to run.”

Of course he did. He’d handpicked the animal for just that
reason. He just didn’t expect his genteel daughter to be the one tearing across the countryside on his back.

Although he couldn’t fully suppress his pride in seeing her do so. No doubt about it—his girl could ride.

“Everything all right, boss?” Silas turned to find Frank, hatchet in hand, a few steps behind him. Jasper and Carl stared in his direction, as well.

Silas waved him off. “Yeah.” He lifted his voice to carry to the others. “Nothin’ to worry about. Go on and see to that tree. We need it hauled off and the fence repaired before the end of the day.”

Jasper saluted and started calling out instructions to Carl, while Frank let out a beleaguered sigh and muttered under his breath before plodding away.

Once the men returned to their duties, Silas steered his daughter back toward Gamble, using the horse’s body to shield them from the curious looks he knew would be darting his way the moment he turned his back.

“All right, girlie. Spill it. What’s got you in a dither?”

Jo bounced on her toes, fixin’ to explode with her news. “Brother Archer wants to pastor our church! Can you believe it? I know I fussed at you for bringing him here against his will, but it’s turned out to be the best birthday present ever. It’s exactly what I wanted! Oh, Daddy. I’m so happy!”

That preacher man was worse than a bad penny. He just kept turnin’ up. “What’s he doin’ back here? I thought he had some all-fired important engagement to get to.”

“God changed his plans.” She reached out and clasped his hand, and he swore he could feel excitement dancing through her veins. “He’s back to stay. All he needs is a place to work until the church gets established. That’s where you come in.” She gave his hand a squeeze, and Silas’s throat closed up.

“He’s not working here,” he choked out. Just the thought
of it gave him hives. “I ain’t no charity house for out-of-work sermonizers. And you know how I feel about strangers. We’ve never had an outsider workin’ on the Lazy R, and I ain’t about to start now.”

“But what about Frank’s rheumatism and Jasper’s bad knee? Just think of how much help Mr. Archer could be.”

“The gal’s got a point, Si,” Frank said from a few paces away. The fool dropped a handful of twigs from the dead tree into a pile that had no business being so close to where he and Jo were talking. “My rheumatism
has
been flarin’ up lately.”