The Marshal Meets His Match (14 page)

When they arrived, she slipped away to speak to Pastor Willis, thanking him for his prayers and asking him to pass along her gratitude to the church family. Squeezing into the end of a pew as the opening hymn was announced, she thought she’d been successful in putting some distance between herself and the marshal, but the rustle of cloth against the wooden pew behind her warned her as someone leaned close and whispered.

“My plan worked. Everyone arrived safely.”

The pastor asked the congregation to rise and join in song, and Meri gratefully sprang to her feet, hiding her face behind the hymnbook. As she filled her lungs to join the congregational hymn, the fresh piney scent of shaving lotion filled her nostrils and, distracted, she forgot to sing. Her eyes were on the hymnbook, but her attention focused on the man behind her, his fine baritone voice lifted in joyful praise.

In her perplexity, she nearly missed the pastor thanking the congregation on her behalf, but the smattering of applause when he announced Mr. McIsaac was well on the way to recovery recalled her wandering attention. Other prayer requests were voiced and, after he prayed, Pastor Willis reminded the congregation that the church social was coming up the following Saturday. He then began his message.

Meri opened her Bible to follow along, but her mind drifted over the events of the week until her father’s name grabbed her notice.

“We had a pretty big answer to prayer this week in the recovery of Mr. McIsaac. But what about those times when it seems our prayers don’t reach any higher than the top of our head?”

Meri looked up expectantly. She’d felt that way many times recently.

He continued, “God hasn’t moved, and His grace hasn’t failed, but maybe we’ve let something come between and hinder our relationship with Him. Look at this list in Ephesians 4:31. ‘Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice…’ Have you allowed one or more of these to fester in your heart and damage your walk with God? The good news is, it doesn’t have to be permanent. Put it away from you. He’s waiting to forgive and restore sweet fellowship. All you have to do is ask Him. Let’s pray.”

Meri bowed her head with the rest of the congregation, her thoughts in turmoil. Convicted spirit warred with proud flesh as the pastor’s words rattled around her head. A hand touched her shoulder.

“You’re coming to lunch with us, dear.”

Mrs. Van Deusen’s statement startled Meri, and she jerked her head up in surprise. She’d missed the end of service, and her mind scrambled to register what the woman had said.

“Don’t worry about your father. Doc announced that anyone who wanted to visit him could come today after lunch, and I’ve already overheard several people planning to stop in and say hello. He’ll have all the company he can stand.” She chuckled.

Meri’s brow furrowed; she’d missed that particular announcement, too.

Mrs. Van Deusen continued speaking, leaning closer in a conspiratorial manner. “Marshal Cameron is joining us for lunch. It will give you two a chance to get acquainted before the picnic.”

Meri surged to her feet, pulse racing. She was not going to get caught in the woman’s matchmaking plot. Just the thought of lunch with Wy—that man…made her feel…what? Excited?

“What’s wrong, dear?”

Meri hadn’t realized she was shaking her head. Reaching for her Bible, she scraped together some much-needed poise. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m…I’m not feeling very well. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. You can rest in the parlor and chat with the marshal while I finish lunch. You just need a good meal and some time to relax.” Mrs. Van Deusen patted Meri on the arm.

“No. I’m not hungry. I—I should go lie down. I’m sorry.” Meri edged away from the woman as she spoke, heading for the nearby side door.

“Well, okay. Maybe I can have both of you over for lunch later this week before you and your father go home.” Stepping closer to Meri, she leaned in and whispered none too quietly, “The marshal is a wonderful man, and all the single girls have been trying to get their hooks in him already. I know you’ve been busy with your father’s injury, but if you don’t hurry and fix his attention, some scheming female will lure him away, and you’ll lose your chance.”

A muffled sound made Meri look over her shoulder straight into the eyes of Marshal Cameron. He stood a couple of pews away, but from the look on his face, he’d overheard every word Mrs. Van Deusen had said. Meri’s cheeks heated, but she squared her shoulders and looked back at the matchmaking woman.

Raising her voice slightly and speaking firmly, she spoke to Mrs. Van Deusen but addressed the marshal. “They can have him.” Meri left the woman sputtering and escaped out the side door, feeling two pairs of eyes on her back until the door closed behind her.

* * *

Midafternoon Wyatt strode toward the livery stable to check on his horse after a cutthroat game of checkers with Mr. Van Deusen. Lunch had been delicious—Mrs. Van Deusen was nothing if not a good cook—but by the time the meal was over, Wyatt’s ears were tired from the woman’s constant chatter. Most of her conversation had been reserved for singing Miss McIsaac’s praises, but he had a sneaking suspicion Miss McIsaac would not appreciate being described as a “poor, motherless lamb.” He’d nearly choked on his food at that remark. The last time he’d checked, lambs didn’t carry firearms and pursue fleeing gunmen.

Or wear Sunday-go-to-meeting dresses that made their skin luminous.

He’d welcomed the distraction of the three women joining them on their way to church this morning because he had been having trouble remembering his reasons for not pursuing Meri. Unfortunately those overdecorated females had only succeeded in making Miss McIsaac shine like a rare gem amid a pile of imitations.

Wyatt shook his head to dislodge the fanciful thought and entered the barn, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the shadowed dimness.

“Oomph!” His arms instinctively closed around the slight figure that plowed into him, saving them both from hitting the dirt.

A startled squeak reached his ears the same time that it registered he was holding a decidedly feminine form. Firm hands shoved at his chest, and wide eyes blinked up at him from a smudged face.

Meri McIsaac. Except a much-disheveled version of the one he’d escorted to services.

Reluctantly he let his arms fall away, and she stepped back.
Did she have to pull away quite so fast?
He wouldn’t think about the empty feeling she left behind. She swiped at a strand of hair that had worked its way loose from her fancy twist, leaving another smudge on her cheek. In the shadowed light of the barn, the wet smear looked like blood.

Wyatt snagged her arm, ignoring her protest. “Where are you hurt?”

She tried to tug away, but he turned her where the light from the open barn door fell across her. He couldn’t see the source of any blood, but something smudged her hands, arms and clothing. His heart pounded painfully as he demanded an answer. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She pried her arm out of his grasp and started for the barn door.

Wyatt stepped in front of her. “Then what’s wrong?”

Her voice was frantic as she tried to sidestep him. “I have to get Franks. One of his mares is foaling, but she’s having trouble, and I can’t get the foal turned.”

He grasped her shoulders and peered into her face; she vibrated with worried energy. “Show me. I can help.”

“But…” She glanced toward the door as if deciding whether to go for Franks.

“We’re wasting time.” Wyatt pulled his hands away, unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and began to roll up his sleeves.

His calm actions seemed to refocus her attention, and she nodded abruptly. “Over here.”

She led him to a large corner stall in the back of the barn where a chestnut mare lay in a thick bed of straw. Stepping inside the stall, she quietly crooned to the sweating, groaning horse and knelt to stroke its head. “I think the foal is in a breech position, but I couldn’t get it turned.”

Wyatt knelt beside the horse and stroked it softly before reaching to feel for the foal. “I think you’re right.” He held still as a contraction tightened around his arm. When the contraction eased, the mare struggled to rise to her feet. “Hold her still. I’ll try to work with her contractions and turn the baby.”

Meri murmured soothing words and stroked the distressed mare, preventing her from rising.

Wyatt worked as quickly as possible and finally maneuvered the foal into a better position. Wiping his arm on the straw, he sat back on his heels to let the mare finish her job. “Where is Franks?”

“He went to play checkers with Faither. I said I would keep an eye on her, but we didn’t think the foal would come this early. They usually wait ‘til late at night to foal.” She moved away from the mare to watch. “I was outside with the other horses, so I don’t know how long she’s been pushing, but when I checked on her, I knew she was in trouble.” She drew in a quick breath. “Oh. Here it comes.”

Wyatt and Meri watched as a tiny horse quietly entered the world. The tired mare didn’t immediately notice her newly arrived offspring, so Wyatt cleared the sac away from the foal’s face and head. “Come on, momma. This is your job.”

The foal began to struggle, and one little hoof kicked the mare, bringing her head up and around. Meri sank down in the straw with her back against the stall and watched as the mare began to lick her baby.

Wyatt sat down beside her. “It never gets old, does it?”

She shook her head, wonder and excitement filling her face as she brushed back the loose strand of hair again.

Wyatt turned slightly, resting his shoulder against the stall, and studied her. She’d changed from this morning’s pretty dress into a simpler skirt and blouse. She had smudges on her face, arms and clothes; her hair was falling out of its fancy twist and bits of straw clung to her, but she didn’t notice them. She’d seen a problem and dived in to fix it, heedless of the damage to her clothes and the rather unpleasant task.

Her attention focused squarely on the foal struggling to get to its feet. “Is it a colt or a filly?”

“A good-looking colt.” Wyatt’s attention never wavered from her. He didn’t have to look, he’d checked earlier.

A pleased smile stretched across her face. “Franks will be happy.” She rested her head against the stall and let it roll to one side until she was looking at him.

Wyatt grinned back at her, but he was finding it a bit hard to think straight. Or breathe for that matter. She was a tousled mess, and she’d never looked more beautiful. When she smiled at him the way she was doing now, her eyes warm and shiny, it was downright dangerous. A man could get addicted to seeing it. He leaned in closer, not stopping to second-guess himself.

Her eyes flickered, and her breath hitched. She straightened away from the wall and looked down at her hands. “Thank you.”

Would he have kissed her if she hadn’t pulled away? He settled back against the boards of the stall and took a much-needed lungful of air. “For what?”

“For helping her.” She motioned to the mare now on her feet grooming her baby. “I was scared we would lose them both.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I’m tired of things dying on me.”

The despair in her voice made Wyatt’s heart ache. He gently reached over and tucked the wayward strand of hair behind her ear as he spoke softly. “I’m glad I could help.”

Raw, open vulnerability filled the brown eyes that turned to look at him, and Wyatt forcibly restrained his hand from touching her face. If her smile was dangerous, this look was downright deadly.

To his plans.

He forced a grin onto his face. “The would-be horse thief and the marshal. We make a pretty good team of nurses.”

She blinked, and that fast, the look was gone. Replaced with a shielded wariness that made Wyatt regret the teasing comment.

“Miss Meri, where is you at?” Franks’s deep voice rattled the silence.

Meri sprang to her feet. “In here.” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “You have a new colt.”

The moment was gone. Wyatt had the cold comfort that his plan to remain unattached until he had a safer profession and a place of his own was still intact. Which was exactly what he wanted.

Wasn’t it?

Chapter Ten

M
onday morning after her father again ordered her to quit hovering about him, Meri wandered over to the mercantile. Bored and feeling a little guilty about missing lunch with the Van Deusen’s the previous day, she volunteered to help around the store for a spell. Mr. Van Deusen took her up on her offer since his wife was at her weekly quilting circle, and Meri worked off some energy wielding a dust rag over the many items in the store. But the quiet morning and even quieter storekeeper left her mind free to brood over Pastor Willis’s nagging sermon.

The message and scriptures resonated in her spirit even as her mind argued against the conviction that had settled in since yesterday. Bitterness wasn’t her problem. Yes, she had lost her mother, but she’d had her far longer than some people had their mothers. She’d had a relatively easy life: wonderful parents, wonderful place to grow up, a life she loved. The knot in her chest was grief not bitterness, she reasoned, but her spirit wouldn’t accept that answer, and the argument continued.

She was carefully dusting some delicate china dishes displayed in the front window when a tap on the glass pulled her out of her thoughts. Marshal Cameron smiled as he tipped his Stetson, and Meri’s heart skipped a beat before hastily correcting its lapse and inserting a few extra. He resettled his hat, and Meri forced her eyes back to her task as she replaced the dusted dishes. It was time to get back to the ranch. Being in town this long was affecting her thinking! She was
not
going to become one of those silly females who got all flustered and—and
silly
whenever a good-looking man happened to glance their way.

And a good look at herself in the mirror upon returning to her room yesterday showed she was nothing a man, good-looking or otherwise, would do more than glance at. What a scruffy mess she’d been. Dirt and dried blood all over her face and clothes, hair in a tangle with straw in it.