Stealing the Preacher (23 page)

The river.

24

M
rs. Grimley bulldogged her way through the crowd, dragging Crockett in her wake. The woman could have given Moses instructions on sea parting. She refused to rest until she had him firmly planted at the head of the line. Not used to being mothered, Crockett shrugged apologetically at the men whose places were being usurped, but none of them seemed to mind. They just grinned and slapped his back as he passed.

Once the lady had shoved a plate at him and ordered him to heap it full, she apparently considered her duty accomplished, for she left his side in order to shoo away a pair of boys who were trying to stuff extra cookies into their trouser pockets down at the dessert table. Crockett recognized the scamps from the group that had been playing with Joanna earlier.

She’d been so good with the kids. Laughter and squeals had carried to the work crew from the field, bringing smiles to many of the fathers’ faces. He’d smiled, too, though not because of the children. Because of Joanna.

His eyes had followed her all morning. He’d been aware of her when she assisted at the food tables, and again when she
helped unload an elderly couple’s wagon and set up their rockers beneath the shade of a large oak. He’d noticed, too, when she lingered to visit with them so they wouldn’t feel excluded from the activities. More than once, his arm had gone slack, leaving paint to drip unused from his brush before he roused himself and got back to work. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from searching her out. Even when he’d opened his eyes after offering the blessing, a flash of pink in his periphery told him she was near.

Crockett glanced back to the place where he’d last seen her, hoping to meet her eye or share a smile. This was
their
day, their success. Something inside him stretched toward her, needing to connect, to share the moment in whatever way possible.

But she wasn’t there.

He craned his neck to see over the heads of the people milling about the yard. There. Was that her by the chapel? Where was she . . . ?

A red-haired pixie in a fancy pink dress bolted down the side of the church and disappeared around the corner, swiping a hand across her cheek as she ran—the way a woman would swipe at a tear.

If someone had hurt her . . .

Crockett’s gut hardened to stone.

He turned to the man behind him in line and forced his lips to curve enough to pass for a smile. “Go ahead of me, brother. I just realized there’s something I need to attend to.” He set the plate Mrs. Grimley had given him well out of the way of the lunch traffic, and squeezed between the men huddled around him and the food.

“Can’t it wait, preacher?” one of the men he was pushing past asked. “You’re gonna miss the best pickin’s.”

“I won’t be long,” Crockett said. “Besides, the way the women around here cook, they’re all good pickin’s.”

“You ain’t tried my Maybelle’s corn pone, then. Stuff’s drier than a dust storm in August.”

That set the men to cackling, and Crockett used the distraction to make his escape. He stretched his stride as long as the crowded yard would allow, but the minute he reached the far side of the chapel, he broke into a loping run.

He crossed the field in the direction he’d assumed she’d gone but had to halt when he couldn’t find her. He scanned east, then west, his heart thudding against the wall of his chest. Where was she?

Fighting the urge to cup his hands around his mouth and shout her name, Crockett bit the edge of his tongue and scoured the landscape again. As his head turned south, a red cardinal shot into the air above the water oaks that lined the river and chirped an alarm.

Joanna.

Crockett made for the trees.

He found her beneath the branches of a pecan, her back to him. Her left arm was braced against its trunk, her head hanging low, her shoulders heaving with quiet sobs. The sight broke his heart.

He stepped forward, every instinct screaming at him to take her into his arms and soothe away the hurt, but she must have heard his approach, for she gave a little squeal of distress and dodged behind the tree.

“Jo, wait. It’s me.” He hurried after her, reaching out to capture her hand and draw her to him, but she recoiled. She scooted farther around the tree, forcing more distance between them and keeping her face averted.

“Go away, Crockett.” Her voice hitched as she struggled to subdue her tears. “You should be at the picnic. You’ll be missed.”

He dug a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over
her shoulder, careful not to crowd her. “You’re more important to me than the picnic.”

She clasped the white cotton but offered no thanks. “I know we’ve been friends,” she said between sniffs and a delicate blow, “but you shouldn’t say things like that to me. Not when you’re courting someone else.”

“Courting?” The idea jarred him so thoroughly that his response shot from his mouth like a bullet from a gun, throwing him back a step. “What are you talking about? I’m not courting anyone.”

At least not yet. And certainly not someone other than the woman standing before him.

“Maybe not officially,” Joanna allowed, “but from what I heard, the young lady in question seems to believe that a certain understanding has been established.”

“What young lady? I swear to you, Joanna, any
understanding
this person believes she has is a
mis
understanding. I’ve made no promises. I’ve not even hinted at promises.”

She spun around to face him then, her eyes the dark blue-gray of a stormy sky, her chin jutting, her reddened nose sniffing in disdain instead of distress. “A kiss is more than a hinted promise, Crockett Archer. At least for an honorable man. But maybe you’re not as honorable as I thought.”

“Now, hold on a minute.” Crockett raised a hand to ward off her accusations, his clenched jaw clipping the ends off his words. “Before you go impugning my honor, let me make it perfectly clear that I have kissed no one.”

“So you deny being with Holly outside your personal quarters less than an hour ago?”

Crockett’s brow furrowed. What did that have to do with anything? “No . . .”

“I heard her describe the encounter to Becky Sue in vivid detail.” Joanna advanced on him, hands fisted at her sides. “The
way you wrapped your arms around her and pressed your lips to her forehead.”

“Heaven help me!” Crockett’s arms sliced upward through the air like twin sabers, then slapped down against his thighs. “If she considered that a kiss, the woman is deranged.”

“Deranged? Just because you’re too ill-mannered to consider such a gesture a kiss doesn’t make her deranged. How dare you toy with a woman’s affections in that manner? You . . . you . . . toad!” She flung his soggy, crushed handkerchief directly into his face along with her ridiculously innocuous insult.

Suddenly Crockett wanted to laugh. Either that or show the little firebrand exactly how he defined a kiss. But he dared not let his mouth so much as twitch for fear she’d assume he was belittling her pain. For he saw now that that was exactly what it was. Her pain. Not Holly’s. Hers.

And though he hated himself for finding joy in her distress, that pain gave him hope. Hope that her feelings might run deeper than friendship.

Stepping over the handkerchief that had bounced off his nose and fallen to the ground, Crockett gently clasped her upper arms. He’d not let her back away from him this time.

She trembled at his touch, and a tiny gasp echoed in the air between them.

“Joanna,” he said as he stroked the bottom of her shoulder with his thumb. “The contact I made with Holly was nothing personal. I ran into her—almost sent her tumbling to the ground, in fact. That’s why I put my arms around her. To keep her upright. Nothing more.”

The skin between her brows scrunched, and her eyes searched his. “But—”

“Shh. Let me finish, sweetheart.” Her damp lashes blinked in surprise at the endearment, bringing a smile to his face. “When we collided, my chin banged against Holly’s forehead. That’s
it. I separated myself from her as quickly as I could, made my apologies, and hurried back to the gathering. There was no rendezvous. No embrace. And definitely no kiss.”

“So Holly was wrong about your feelings being engaged?” She tilted her head farther back to examine his reaction to her question. Of course, that only strengthened his reaction to
her
. Joanna’s face was at the perfect angle for a kiss. Her lips parted ever so slightly as she awaited his answer.

Oh! His answer.

“I have no feelings for Miss Brewster beyond gratitude for her help with the picnic.” That and a bit of suspicion of her motives. Holly had a way of twisting the truth to suit her purposes, and he was leery of what exactly those purposes might be since they seemed to involve him. He needed to keep her at a distance from now on.

“You don’t intend to court her, then?” Joanna’s soft mouth curved ever so slightly, and his stomach clenched in response. Heaven help him, but he wanted to kiss her.

“No.” The hoarse reply came out so low, he added a slight shake of his head for clarification.

“I’m glad,” she whispered. At least he thought she whispered. It might just have been the increased thudding of his heart against his rib cage that kept him from hearing.

“If I were going to instigate a courtship with a kiss,” he murmured, “it wouldn’t be a quick peck on the forehead.” He tightened his grip on her shoulders as he spoke.

“It wouldn’t?” She swayed toward him slightly.

Crockett shook his head, his eyes never leaving her upturned face.

“What would it be?” Her breathy question dissolved the last of his reserve.

“This.” Crockett drew her toward him and lowered his head. He stopped a fraction of an inch from her mouth. Gave her a
final chance to change her mind and pull away. When she made no move beyond shifting her focus from his eyes to his lips, he closed the last of the distance.

His mouth covered hers. Instinctively, he tugged her closer. She came to him—her hands on his waist, the feathery touch speeding his already charging pulse.

Releasing her shoulders, he slid his palms around to her back. She felt so good in his arms, so right. He wanted to hold her there forever, to kiss her until they both forgot everything else.

He deepened the kiss.

She startled at the change, then softened against him. But her momentary shock was enough to bring him back to his senses.

Swallowing a groan of reluctance, Crockett lifted his head. Joanna rose up on her tiptoes as if to follow, but his greater height kept her from her goal.

His hands shook slightly as he released her. Merciful heavens. He’d never experienced anything so intense. So exhilarating. And terrifying. It was as if some element of his very being had been altered.

Had she felt it, too?

Joanna’s eyes flickered open, and a pretty pink blush washed over the pale freckles bridging her cheeks. Her eyes, now more blue than gray, gazed at him with a wonderfully bemused expression—one that filled his heart with tenderness.

And protectiveness.

“Joanna.”

She blinked, her eyes slow to focus. “Mmm?”

“You need to get back to the picnic, sweetheart. Before someone notices that both of us are missing.”

“Oh . . . yes . . .” She stepped back and darted a glance behind her. “But you better stay here for a while. Daddy is probably looking for me by now, and we wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

Crockett imagined Silas would get precisely the
right
idea, but it wouldn’t do to have the man jumping to unsavory conclusions before Crockett had a chance to declare himself. And to do that, he and Joanna needed time to explore this new direction their relationship had taken. Not to mention the time still needed to break through Silas’s distrust of preachers. As long as her father held on to his prejudice, Joanna would be caught in the middle. Having to choose would tear her heart out, and Crockett refused to put her through that. No, he’d have to win Silas’s favor first. Only then could he ask Joanna to be his wife.

25

S
omehow Joanna navigated the busy churchyard and ended up at her blanket with actual food on her plate. Her father brushed the crumbs from his lap and stood to assist her, taking her plate and then her hand as she lowered herself to the ground.

He started to hand the plate down to her but stopped halfway, his brow furrowing. “Playin’ with them kids sure stirred up an odd appetite in you, girl.”

Joanna accepted the plate from him, puzzling over his comment. Until she got a fresh look at what sat upon her dish—three carrot sticks, a spoonful of pickled beets, a slice of chocolate cake, and two helpings of Maybelle Parker’s atrocious corn pone. She had to press her lips together with extreme force to keep a burst of laughter from exploding into the air. She had no recollection whatsoever of serving herself such a strange assortment. Beets? Really? She hated beets.

“Things were rather picked over by the time I went through the line.” Not that she remembered, but it was bound to be true since nearly everyone had already eaten. Although why she’d taken beets, she couldn’t possibly imagine.

Her daddy raised an eyebrow at her, so she stabbed one of the magenta circles with her fork and popped it into her mouth. The briny taste assaulted her tongue as she chewed, puckering her face against her will. She managed to swallow, though, and considered that a great triumph until her father hunkered down beside her and felt her head with the back of his hand.

“You feelin’ all right, Jo? You look a little flushed.”

Which, of course, only made her flush more. Especially when his mouth curved down in a frown, and his eyes narrowed as if he could see the truth of what had happened to her written across her features.

“I’m fine, Daddy.” Except that she wasn’t. She was better than fine.
Much
better. So much better, in fact, that even a plate of pickled beets couldn’t sour her mood.

Her father let out a noncommittal grunt as he settled back on the blanket beside her, but Joanna ignored the sound along with the scowl that accompanied it and stuck a carrot stick in her mouth to keep from smiling too big.