Stealing the Preacher (40 page)

“Hey, Parson!” Her father loosened his hold on her in order to include Crockett in their circle. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“What’s that, Si?”

This time her father was the one to wink. “Find me some water.”

Joanna was slow to understand, but when the Deanville preacher stepped up and pounded her daddy on the back, saying he knew just the place to do the deed, comprehension dawned. Joanna’s stomach swirled in jittery delight as her former minister led the way down the aisle, his pulpit voice ringing out in song.

“Shall we gather at the river,

Where bright angel feet have trod,

With its crystal tide forever

Flowing by the throne of God?”

The man gestured to the crowd to follow them, and soon an entire throng was singing and laughing on their way down to the town creek. Joanna grinned through the tears pooling in her eyes and added her trembling voice to the mix as she allowed herself to be herded along with the rest.

“Yes, we’ll gather at the river,

The beautiful, the beautiful river,

Gather with the saints at the river,

That flows by the throne of God.”

The longer she sang, the stronger her voice became. Crockett grabbed her hand, his deep baritone blending with her alto as they escorted her father to a tree-shaded area out behind the schoolhouse.

The Deanville preacher stepped aside once they arrived at the swimming hole, giving the three of them some privacy as he led the congregants in another hymn.

“What can wash away my sin?

Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

What can make me whole again?

Nothing but the blood of Jesus . . .”

The singing continued, but Joanna’s voice faltered. The reality of the moment pierced too deeply.

“Archer?” Her father shrugged out of his suit coat, and then paused and regarded Crockett with an intense gaze. “Son, would you do the honors?”

“Nothing would make me happier, sir.” Crockett clapped him on the shoulder, then quickly divested himself of boots, coat, and tie and waded into the water.

Joanna collected the discarded clothing and held it tight to her breast, as if doing so would enhance her connection to the two men she loved more than life.

Can you see this, Mama? Your prayers are being answered.

The men ventured away from the bank until they were waist-deep in the creek. The crowd hushed. Crockett asked her father for his confession, and when her daddy claimed Jesus as his
Lord, Joanna couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. Tiny sobs of long-awaited joy shook her shoulders as Crockett buried her daddy in the water and brought him back up a new man in Christ.

And as the crowd shouted their amens and burst into a rousing rendition of “Let Every Heart Rejoice and Sing,” Joanna could have sworn she heard her mother’s clear soprano joining in the praise.

Epilogue

C
rockett stood before his congregation three months after that triumphant day, a pile of ravaged nerves. Knots twisted his stomach and tiny pinpricks needled his neck as he gazed over the heads of the crowd, a condition that hadn’t beset him since his first day in the pulpit. But then, he wasn’t in the pulpit today. His mentor, Amos Ralston, had that distinction. After all, a man couldn’t perform his own wedding ceremony.

Jackson waved at him from the back of the sanctuary, sporting his new duds. Silas had offered the kid an official position at the Lazy R along with a set of clothes and an assigned horse to ride while on duty, and Jackson had been strutting around the ranch ever since, his pride nearly busting the buttons off his store-bought shirt. He still showed up early at the church every Sunday to ring the bell, and that was where he stood now—manning the pull rope in order to set the church bell to ringing the instant Brother Ralston pronounced Crockett and Joanna husband and wife.

Husband and wife.
Crockett swallowed hard.

“If you tug on your collar one more time, Crock, the thing’s gonna pop clean off.”

Crockett glared at his big brother. “You know, Trav,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, “Jackson volunteered to stand up with me. It’s not too late to switch you out.”

“Yes it is.” Travis chuckled softly and nodded toward the back of the church. “Your bride’s coming.”

Crockett’s pulse leapt at the telltale squeak of hinges. The gap in the door widened. Silas, wearing the new suit coat Joanna had bought him for the trial all those months ago, stepped through the entrance and held his arm out to his daughter somewhere behind him.

Straining to see past his soon-to-be father-in-law, Crockett stretched his neck only to have his breath catch in his throat.

Joanna glided through the doorway, resplendent in a dark green gown dripping in ivory lace. Her glorious red curls hung loose past her shoulders with a halo of golden wildflowers and streams of ivory ribbon as adornment. Her chin dipped in demure shyness, she was halfway down the aisle before she raised her lashes and met his gaze.

When she did, Crockett felt the impact clear through his chest. Soon this beautiful woman would be
his
. His helpmeet, his partner, his wife. The love glowing in her blue-gray eyes banished his nerves, and his heart swelled with pride.

His attention never leaving her face, he stepped forward and accepted her hand from Silas. Her gloved fingers curved around his and his pulse thrummed. Her pixie face, delicate within the mass of those burnished curls, blushed at the intensity of his stare. Reeling in his desire, he winked at her to break the tension, then grinned like an idiot when she smiled at him.

As Crockett turned to face the minister, he caught Travis rolling his eyes at his smitten behavior. But then a gurgling noise from the front row transformed his brother’s mocking
expression into one of indulgent adoration as his six-week-old son, Joseph, flailed his arms in happy, jerky motions from where he lay cradled in Meredith’s lap.

Yep, the Archer men were soft as cornmeal mush when it came to their women. Apparently their children, too. Even Jim, the most stoic of the bunch, hinted at a smile when his Cassie snuggled close as the minister began addressing the congregation. Maybe Neill would be different when his turn came around, but as Crockett hugged Joanna’s arm into his side, he sure hoped not.

Loving a woman might soften a man’s heart, but receiving her love in return made him infinitely stronger than he could ever have been alone.

Two-time RITA finalist and winner of the coveted HOLT Medallion and ACFW Carol Award, CBA bestselling author
Karen Witemeyer
writes historical romance because she believes the world needs more happily-ever-afters. She is an avid cross-stitcher and shower singer, and she bakes a mean apple cobbler. Karen makes her home in Abilene, Texas, with her husband and three children. Learn more about Karen and her books at
www.karenwitemeyer.com
.

Books by Karen Witemeyer

A Tailor-Made Bride

Head in the Clouds

To Win Her Heart

Short-Straw Bride

Stealing the Preacher

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