The Outlaw's Return (12 page)

Still looking down, he spoke to his dog. “What do you say, Fancy? Can we handle supper with church folk?”

When the dog wagged her tail, J.T. chuckled. “I guess so.” He looked back at Mary. “I'll do my best to keep talk away from Abilene, but Caroline's determined to find out what happened between us.”

“I know.” She grimaced. “If you want to back out, I'll make excuses for you.”

“Not a chance,” he muttered. “Gus needs to know a man keeps his word.” His tone implied that
she
needed to know he'd keep
his
.

Her brother came back with more cookies. “Wh-where's Gertie?”

“She went home.”

He turned to J.T. “My s-s-sister's mad.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

Mary couldn't go into details with Gus present, but J.T. deserved to know she'd taken his advice. “I told Roy no for both of us.”

“I want to hear about it,” he said casually. “I'll walk you home.”

She didn't want to be seen leaving with him. “I wish I could say yes, but—” she indicated the crowd in the room “—well, you know.”

“Yeah. I understand.” He sounded snide. “I'll go with Gus. You can deal with Gertie.”

“That would be nice.”

The boy grinned. “We can teach Fancy a new trick.”

Had she imagined Gus's smooth speech, or had the stammering eased? J.T. looked at him with the same question, then he turned to her. “I'll see you in a while. Be ready, because I want answers.”

“You'll get them.”

Somehow she had the feeling he was talking about more than her dealings with Roy. He'd come to church today, something she'd never expected. He'd also been gracious to her friends and careful with the past. It was getting harder not to trust this man. With a final nod, she left him and went home to smooth the waters with her sister.

J.T.
watched Mary pass through the door, silently wishing her luck as she went to check on her sister. He'd seen the girl leave the church, and he'd been struck by the cocky tilt of her chin. Gertie had Mary's fire but none of her experience. She'd be easy prey for Roy, a thought that filled J.T. with familiar bitterness. He didn't want Gertie or anyone else to have scars like his own.

It was a long walk to Swan's Nest, so he decided to fetch his horse from the livery and ride double with Gus. After he spoke with Mary about Roy, he'd get ready for the camping trip. Yesterday he'd finished the roof except for the bell tower, which required a batch of smaller shingles that had to be cut. Josh had been pleased to hear about the trip with Gus and had offered to loan them fishing poles.

Until this morning, J.T. had liked the minister, even respected him. While working on the church, Josh was just…Josh. He laughed when other men laughed, and he sympathized with their troubles. That man had preached today, and he'd thrown down some hard words. Halfway through the sermon, J.T. had been so angry he'd stopped
listening. “Come on,” he said to Gus. “Let's get out of here.”

They were close to the door when Josh blocked their path. “Good to see you, J.T.”

J.T. scowled. “Reverend Blue.”

Josh's lips tipped up. “I wear a preacher's collar for church, but that's the only difference from the rest of the week. I'm still Josh. Do you have a minute?”

“Nope.” He turned to leave, but the minister gripped his arm. No one stopped J.T. from leaving, and he indicated that fact to the good Reverend Blue with a steely look. “What do you want?”

Josh released his arm. “A minute of your time.”

“What for?”

“You started snarling halfway through the sermon. I want to know why.”

J.T. put a hand over his heart. “You gave a
fine
sermon, reverend. It was downright glorious, chock-full of sweetness and light. I was blessed indeed to hear you talk about turning the other cheek.”

Josh raised one eyebrow. “You're good at sarcasm.”

J.T. said nothing.

“There's more to this message,” Josh said in a firm tone. “Next Sunday we're going to talk about when it's right to fight. I suspect you know something about that.”

“I do.”

“Good,” he said. “Come back. You can tell me if I'm getting it right.”

The minister was toying with him. Fine. If Josh wanted to argue, J.T. would give him an earful at Swan's Nest.

As the man stepped aside, J.T. muttered, “See you later,” and headed for the door. Gus, imitating him,
repeated his words and they left, walking in silence until they got to the livery. The old man running the place saddled J.T.'s horse, brought it out and accepted a tip. J.T. swung into the saddle and pulled Gus up behind him. He could feel the buckskin prancing as they passed the alley where Gus had been attacked.

The boy tensed. “L-l-ook!”

Turning, J.T. saw the three boys who'd beaten Gus, no doubt lying in wait for him. He reined the buckskin to a halt. “What do you want to do, kid?”

“I w-w-want them d-d-dead!”

J.T. knew the feeling. He also wanted Gus to become a far better man than himself. He thought of Josh's sermon about cheek-turning and his mention of a time to fight. How did a man put the pieces together? J.T. didn't know, but he knew one thing with certainty. He didn't want Gus to be like him. Before he influenced the boy for the worse, he needed to puzzle out what he'd heard today.

He spoke more to himself than Gus. “Maybe later, kid.”

“Yeah, later.”

As they rode past the alley, J.T. felt none of the rage that should have spurred him on. What kind of mess had he gotten himself into? Not only had he given up liquor and cards, he'd lost some of his meanness. A month ago he'd have bullied the bullies with pleasure. Today the rage was a mountain in the distance, no less real than the dirt below his feet but somehow less personal. The thought made him ornery. By the time they arrived at Swan's Nest, he wanted to fight someone. Gus slid off the buckskin first, followed by J.T., who tied his horse to a fence. His gaze skipped the front porch and went to a garden where he heard conversation.

Gus scampered down a narrow path. “Th-this way.”

J.T. followed him past a vegetable garden, then to a cut in a hedge of blooming rosebushes. The sweet fragrance filled his nose, but he refused to enjoy it. Gus indicated the house. “I—I have to h-help carry food.”

“Go on ahead,” J.T. replied.

With Fancy Girl at his side, he looked around the garden. Tables and chairs had been set up, but what caught his eye was a white marble bench. It reminded him of the gravestones he'd seen in a New York cemetery, not the paupers' field where his mother had been laid to rest but the church cemetery two blocks away. Covered in lush grass, it had been surrounded by a black iron fence two feet taller than he'd been. Behind it he'd seen markers the color of the bench in this garden. When he'd asked why his mama couldn't have a nicer resting place, the minister who'd buried her told him there were different places for rich people.

That day J.T. decided that the Almighty didn't deserve respect. If his mother wasn't welcome in that sacred place, he wanted nothing to do with the God who owned it. He still felt that way. Looking at the bench in Josh's garden, he saw swirls of gold in the white marble. Superior and unwelcoming, the stone gleamed in the heat of the day.

Feeling smug, he walked to the bench and sat on it. As Fancy laid at his feet, the heat of the stone went through his trousers. It was a bit too hot, but he stubbornly stayed in place. No one, not God or the sun, was going to tell him where to sit. Hunkering forward, he looked at the people chattering to each other. Josh had spotted him and was coming at him with a glass of lemonade.

The preacher bit off a grin. “Comfortable?”

“More or less.”

“That bench gets a tad hot this time of day.” He held out the dripping glass. “Have some.”

The lemonade looked delicious, but J.T. hesitated. He didn't want to talk to Josh, not with his backside on fire. He wished he hadn't sat down. He wished other things, too—that Josh hadn't talked about turning the other cheek, and that his mother had been buried in a cemetery with an uncomfortable bench. He hadn't been expecting such thoughts. They'd come from nowhere, but he couldn't shake the old anger, or the picture of that droopy-eyed minister telling him the nice cemetery was for rich folks.

He was thirsty, so he accepted the glass with a snide look. “Hoop-di-doo. Christian charity.” He raised the lemonade in a mock toast. “Thanks, preacher-man.”

Josh had the nerve to look pleased. “The sermon got to you, didn't it?”

He could say no and hide behind the lie, or he could admit that the sermon had upset him. Neither choice appealed to him.

Josh stepped slightly to the side, casting a shadow across J.T.'s face. Memories spun through his mind, joining with fragments of the past week to create a disjointed picture of his entire life. He thought of the good times with Mary and then about the men he'd killed. He thought of Gus, then about Fancy Girl and playing fetch with a stick, and how he used to wonder if she'd really come back. When he thought of his mother's last breath, and then his brothers holding him down and the knife cutting his flesh, his thoughts turned black.

He shoved to his feet. With his hands dangling as if ready to draw, he squared off with Josh. “Tell me, preacher-man. Why all this?” He waved his arm as if swat ting away his life. “Why can't Gus talk? Why do
mothers get sick and die, and why do brothers hurt each other?”

Sadness filled the minister's eyes, but they were still blue like the sky. J.T. didn't usually notice such things, but he felt as if the sky were falling down around him.

Josh spoke in a hush. “You've seen a lot of life.”

“You bet I have,” he said, dragging out the words. “I've seen way too much to believe in turning the other cheek.”

“I know.”

“No, you don't.” He was close to shouting. He never shouted, but he couldn't stop his voice from rising. “Tell me, preacher-man. Have you been pinned like a bug on your back? Maybe shot or cut with a knife?”

“No knives,” Josh acknowledged. “But I've been shot and beat up.”

The answer caught J.T. off guard. He thought of Gus wanting to kill the boys who'd hurt him. For Gus's sake, he'd give the preacher a chance. “What did you do?”

“I protected Adie.” He stared hard at J.T. “I'll choose talking over fighting every time I have a choice. But if a woman's being hurt, or a child, I'm going to protect that person any way I can. If it means inflicting a bit of pain, I'll do it. If it means dying to save them, I'm willing.”

J.T. felt the same way about Mary.

The minister's eyes turned to blue fire. “It's a choice a man makes on the fly. I've made it. You have, too. Don't think God doesn't understand. He knows more about justice and suffering than you or I ever will.”

J.T. didn't know what to make of Josh's little speech, especially the mention of justice. J.T. survived by selling his gun. That didn't strike him as especially wrong, but his feelings about it did. He'd enjoyed every battle, every bullet that had drawn blood.

The minister removed a chapbook from his coat pocket and handed it to him. “Here.”

J.T. took it and looked at the cover. He saw a picture of a lamb and a title he didn't recognize. “What is it?”

“The Gospel of John. It's a piece of the Bible.”

J.T. didn't want it, but he was tired of arguing. Scowling, he tucked it inside his vest next to the Deringer he kept hidden.

A little girl called in their direction. “Pastor Josh! Miss Adie wants you.”

“I better get moving.” The minister shook his head as if he were henpecked, but J.T. saw through him. Josh loved being needed by his wife. J.T. wanted Mary to need
him
the same way. He expected her any minute, so he kept his eye on the path from the street. Fancy Girl lay at his feet asleep in the shade of the bench. She'd been napping a lot lately, and he was beginning to think they were both getting soft.

Brick walked over and asked how the roof was coming along. J.T. didn't mind chatting with the man, and it helped to pass the time. When the barkeep moved on, Caroline brought him another glass of lemonade and asked if he'd be staying for the fiddle music. J.T. accepted the tea to be polite, but he had no desire to stick around for the music. He wanted to speak to Mary and leave.

Another five minutes passed. Adie and Caroline were bringing food out to the tables, trading whispers and glancing at him until Adie finally walked up to him. They hadn't been officially introduced, so she offered her hand. “I'm Adie Blue, Josh's wife.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied. “I'm J. T. Quinn, Mary's friend.”

“Is she here?”

“No, but I'm expecting her.”

“Me, too.” Adie glanced around the garden. “It's not like her to be late. Would you mind checking the café?”

“I'll go right now.” He'd had the same thought. “Will you tell Gus?”

“Sure.”

He wasn't coming back, so he woke up Fancy. “Come on, girl.”

She jolted awake and followed him to his horse. Eager to be gone, he rode at a gallop until he neared the train depot. Wagons and carriages slowed him down, but his thoughts were running at full speed. Something had kept Mary away from Swan's Nest. It probably involved Gertie, which meant the trouble harkened back to Roy.

J.T. turned on the street where the café sat like a buttercup in row of weeds. Leaping off his horse, he saw that the café windows were dark, so he took the stairs to the apartment two at a time. At the top, he heard Mary weeping. He didn't bother to knock or call her name. He walked straight into the apartment, where he saw her huddled on the divan. Before she could protest, he pulled her into his arms and did what he should have done in Abilene. He held her like he'd never let her go. “Tell me what you need,” he crooned. “Whatever it is, I'll find a way.”