The Parson's Christmas Gift (14 page)

Her throat tightened. So this was it: the next step revealed, courtesy of Hank’s controlling mind. She turned and nodded, brushing imaginary crumbs from her bodice.

“Hand her my cape, Zane,” Miss Rose said. “And don’t be out long, dear. I want to speak with you before I retire.”

Bless the woman. The departure would be quick now that Miss Rose had given her an excuse.

Zane grabbed the wrap from the peg, and Journey shivered as he settled it over her shoulders, his hands lingering a moment. She turned and saw his eyebrows creased over questioning gray eyes. She shook her head once, cutting off any voice he might put to his concern. He couldn’t understand all the stakes. No matter how much she wanted him to. Besides, she was only seeing Hank off. Minutes, that’s all. She’d spent years with him—what were a few moments more?

But the closing door thudded with a finality that frightened her, as if she’d just created a barrier she could never cross again.

J
ourney tugged the heavy wool cape around her neck, burying her hands deep within the thick folds. The wind had died, with only the cold remaining.

Hank stepped off the porch and motioned for her to follow. She avoided the hand he extended to help her down the stairs and walked behind. He didn’t force the issue, and she allowed herself a deep breath. She stopped in the yard, halfway between the porch and the post by the barn where he’d tied his horse.

“You might as well get on with it, Hank,” she said, mustering any scrap of bravado she could lay claim to. “I can’t be out here all night.”

He tightened the cinches of his saddle. “Of course not, my dear. We can’t have you coming down with something now. We’re at a critical juncture.”

She flinched. “Which is?”

He didn’t bother to face her. “I’ve laid the groundwork, but Mrs. Bishop is a tougher sell than I’d anticipated. You’ll need to convince her to buy into this deal, Maura.”

“Journey,” she whispered.

Hank turned, loosening the lead and walking toward her. “That’s right—Journey. Miss Journey Smith, formerly known as Maura Sojourner Baines, formerly known as
my wife,
currently wanted for murder.”

“Please, keep your voice down.”

Hank swooped closer. She shivered at the icy fingers of air that pierced her cape.

“Of course, my dear. Keep things nice and quiet. We can’t have your new beau finding out he’s chasing after a married woman, a murderer and a two-bit—”

“Don’t say it, Hank. I never was that and we both know it. And Zane’s not my beau, I told you.” She glanced back at the house. Warm light glowed from the windows, in stark contrast to the chill outside.

“You may not think so. He may not think so. But he’s interested, Journey. A little lost lamb, you are. Pastor Thompson wants to help you find your way. And truly,” Hank said, stretching his hand out to spring a curl by her cheek, “you can’t blame him, darlin’. My, you are still as beautiful as the first day I saw you in that shop in Savannah.”

Every muscle tensed as he touched her. Her face ached from it. She couldn’t breathe. Her feet refused the command her mind screamed to run.

Hank backed off. The accent he had worked so hard to cultivate eased, too. “They weren’t all bad times, Maura—Journey. Not all of them.”

The moment passed, leaving Journey to wonder if she’d heard him at all.

“I’m going out of town for a few days—business, you know,” he said, the accent back in place. “I should return by the end of next week, in a few days. You have until then to convince your Miss Rose to buy into this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And by all means, let the good reverend know he can get in on this, too. He runs a small horse trade, and there’s money in that. More importantly, his congregation has to be convinced to invest as well. After all, who would attempt to dupe a minister?” He laughed and his teeth gleamed, like a wolf’s.

“But what if he won’t?”

“He has feelings for you. He hasn’t sorted it all out yet, but he wants to trust you. Use that.”

Journey shook her head. How could she take advantage that way?

Hank’s clenched fist drew her attention and she ducked. He chuckled. “I see we still have an understanding.”

She glanced back at the house. She’d been out too long already. “Can’t you see that this will ruin me? I could have a place here, maybe even a real home. I can’t do this. I—I won’t.”

“I’m sorry, my dear.” His voice grew gruff as he swung atop his horse and edged it to stop at her side. He leaned down so close that she could smell the stench of his breath. “I didn’t mean to imply you had a choice in this matter.”

She pinched her lips together. “I want to be left alone. I’m not helping you anymore, Hank. Hit me if you’re so inclined.” She drew back. “Turn me in if you want. There’s nothing you can say or do this time that will change my mind.”

He straightened in the saddle and gathered the reins. “You’ve been many things, my dear, but never foolish. Don’t ruin this.”

She glanced away, looking over the snowy waves of bluffs to the west. Would the fear in her eyes give her away?

A jerk on the chin drew her eyes back to Hank’s, too close and too cold, like black stones. “And don’t even imagine you’ll get away again, Maura. Not like the first time. I found you without even trying.” He pinched her jaw in his fist. “Believe me. If I have to hunt you down, I will. And the reunion won’t be nearly so joyous the next time.”

She tore herself from his grip with a shake. “You do what you have to. But you’ll do it without me.”

“How noble you’ve become! Perhaps I can’t force you to cooperate.” He pulled his coat tighter and stared at the skyline with a faint smile. “But I can make you wish you had. Such a fine young minister. Such a shame for him to be out on his own so much, checking on his congregation, shepherding the fine people of this community.” Hank clucked his tongue and his shadowed form shook in the darkness.

“Whatever would they do without him?” He paused. “Remember, I gave you a chance to protect your new friends.”

He galloped off, dark coat, hair and horse blending in with the black horizon. She blinked back tears. Minutes passed before her frozen mind compelled her into the warmth of the house. Once Hank had his way, only coldness would remain.

Zane raked his fingers through his hair, peering out the window into the darkness, and chuffed out a breath.

“She’s only on the other side of the door, Zane. What could happen?”

He turned to see Miss Rose hobble into the great room, having stacked the supper dishes for Journey in the kitchen. “Hard to tell. Everything’s been flying like robins caught in an early snowstorm ever since she rode into town.”

“You have been spending a fair amount of time keeping your eye on her. There’s no one who could fault your ministerial concern for her, but you’ve done what you could. You have no further obligation toward her.” Miss Rose settled onto the couch. “Some folks are determined to cause themselves trouble.”

“You’re the last person I would’ve thought would ask me to forget about her problems.” He sat in the rocker and pulled it closer to her side.

Miss Rose rested her head against the tall cushion, her gray hair pressed wide around it. “I’m not telling you to forget, Zane. Not about Sarah, not about Journey’s problems. I just want you to see that your concern is beyond what your job as our minister requires. Journey certainly doesn’t expect it. What’s more, she doesn’t want it.”

“She’s alone and needs someone to help,” he insisted.

“See, even as a boy, if anyone needed someone to come to their defense, you were there. Your mother told me once you gave a boy a black eye for throwing stones at that old stray dog.” She smiled. “But now that Hank is here, I would think you’d be happy to pass along the responsibility.” Miss Rose closed her eyes.

“What if this is only the start of her problems? That man leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. What if I let her face this trouble alone and it turns out to be more than she can handle? What if the very thing she’s running from has found her here?” He leaned forward, tugging his hair and resting his elbows on his knees. “How can I let her stand against him by herself?”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Miss Rose smiled without opening her eyes.

“You don’t trust him either?” He raised his head in surprise.

“Not further than I can throw him.”

“But—”

“He’s entertaining, I’ll give him that.” She wiggled down into the cushion. “There was nothing false in enjoying his tales. But it doesn’t mean I think we should sell the ranch and give him the proceeds. The whole deal smells too sweet—like fruit when it’s starting to rot.”

Zane rocked back in the chair and boosted himself up, resting his hands at his waist. “I agree. I’m taking a trip to Virginia City the first of next week to see what I can dig up.”

Miss Rose opened her eyes and leaned forward, tapping her cane on the floor. “What if you get snowed in? Can’t this whole business wait until spring? Mr. Baines won’t be pushing anything before Christmas, surely.”

“That’s the trouble. We need to know what we’re dealing with so we can protect Jour—protect the town, before he starts pushing.” He stood and walked to the window.

“There’s no shame in wanting to protect her,” Miss Rose said.

“It’s not only her. There’s a whole town to consider. What if we’re wrong and this is a legitimate offer? Folks around here—”

He turned at the feel of a warm hand on his shoulder. Soft blue eyes met his. “You’ve been thinking about me, about Sarah, about everybody else but yourself for too long, Zane.”

He grasped Miss Rose’s hand. “I couldn’t help Sarah the night she died. She cried for me, Miss Rose. She cried for me to get out of that house without her, and I did…and she died.”

Miss Rose stretched a bony arm around him. “We’ve gone over this before. You were hurt, too. We could’ve lost you both. The Lord had other plans.”

His breath caught on the hard knot in his chest. “I know that. It’s taken a lot of time and a lot of prayers. I still don’t understand it, but I know it. But maybe this is my chance. Maybe the Lord needed me here to help Journey, to keep whatever mess Baines is set on bringing to Walten from happening.”

Miss Rose gasped, a soft puff of indrawn air. “You think the Lord took Sarah so you’d be more focused on Him, don’t you? I wondered why all those young gals at church never caught your eye before now.”

“I’m willing to live life as a bachelor if that’s what the Lord requires,” he said, his voice straining. Surely Miss Rose understood that. But the ache he never had been able to dismiss entirely burned around his heart. “If I had only known before we married, I would’ve spared her.” His breath caught on the ache in his chest, and he rubbed his hand over his face.

“Oh, honey,” Miss Rose said, draping a warm arm around him. “I didn’t realize. You have to know that God planned that man and woman would help each other to get through this old world together. If ever a woman was created for a man, it was Sarah for you.

“Now, I’m not saying Journey can’t fill that job. She’s not a suitable choice at the moment, but I don’t know what the Lord has in store for the two of you ahead. All I’m saying is you need to let your heart open to the possibilities, not close yourself off because you’re afraid.”

He faced the window. The two shadowed forms outside drew closer, then suddenly apart. He wondered about their conversation. “All I know is that I have to follow this trail until it forks or flat out stops. I’m not being stubborn. I’ve prayed and I believe I’m where God would have me.”

“In that case, my boy,” Miss Rose said, pushing herself away with a firm grip on his forearm, “let me pack some biscuits for you to take along. I’ll send a wire to Reed so he knows to expect you. Whatever storm’s brewing, I’ll feel better knowing both of my boys are working it out together. And I’ll be praying for you both.”

He focused on the window, watching Journey’s shadow pull away from the other. Fear seemed very real any time she was near Hank. Zane knew she needed help.

But the question never stopped nagging at the back of his mind: what if she was fooling them all?

Z
ane nudged his horse closer to the wooden boards along the wide street. Buildings rose up and pressed in on him, blocking his view of the mountains surrounding Virginia City.

A stiff wind blew through him, but the sun shone overhead, trying its best to offer a little heat. He pulled his sheepskin coat closer around his neck and drew a slow breath. After two frigid nights on the trail, he wanted nothing more than to stretch out in a soft bed and sleep until the light of day woke him.

Virginia City had grown more civilized in the years since the gold strike in 1862. The town had sprung up overnight, but there had been over a hundred murders in the first two years. Now, Wallace Street’s main thoroughfare boasted three churches, a fine courthouse and several good hotels. The town had tamed considerably.

Two cowboys slammed out from a saloon, trading blows and rolling from the sidewalk. Zane sidestepped the men and crossed to the other side of the road.
Well, maybe it’s not totally tamed yet.

First things first, he thought. Let Reed know he’d arrived, then stable his horse.

Moving along the mile-long street toward the courthouse, he stopped at the sturdy building of stone that sat next to it. Reed met him outside, the word SHERIFF inscribed in block letters above the door where he stood.

“Well, what brings you out this way, Pastor?” Reed slid his hat back with one hand. The other held a rolled wad of handbills. “Or should I say, ‘horse trader’? I’m guessing it’s only one or the other that would bring you to town in this weather.”

Zane joined the older man on the open porch. “Guess you could say neither this time. Or maybe a little of both.”

“Come on in and set yourself by the stove a bit, then.”

Zane tramped into the warm office, guided by Reed’s handshake and a welcoming clasp on the shoulder. “I trust Aunt Rose is well.”

“Fit as a fiddle. She’ll outlive us all.”

“If spunk will do it, then I’m sure she will. Have a seat,” he offered.

Zane pulled his hat down and drew his fingers through his matted hair. “I need to find somewhere to stay, get settled in. But I figured I’d talk to you first, let you know I was in town.”

“Aunt Rose sent a telegram.” He reached into the narrow front drawer of his desk and pulled out a pale yellow paper. “Zane arrives Wednesday STOP Watch for him STOP Love Aunt Rose STOP.”

Zane laughed and tugged his gloves from his frozen hands. “That’s like her.” His fingers soaked up the heat, making them tingle.

“I figure this must be pretty significant if you’re coming here this time of year.” Reed handed him a steaming mug of coffee from the stove. The scent roused Zane from the drowsiness that’d crept up after the long, cold ride. The sheriff pulled up a chair and propped his boots on the low stool at his feet, tipping back and clasping his hands behind his head. “How long are you planning to stay?”

“I head back tomorrow if I’m to make it for Sunday service.” Zane gulped the rich coffee, melting his insides. He hunched over the steaming mug, digging his toes into his boots as they began to thaw and burn.

“So this must be some kind of important,” Reed said again. He tilted back a little farther and scratched his jaw. “What’s on your mind?”

“What have you heard about more gold strikes along Alder Gulch?”

“The stories turn out better than the strikes, for the most part. But I suppose the luck is still fair. More folks are arriving down along the way. Especially since we’ve settled down a mite. But I’m guessing you’re looking for something more specific.”

“Have you heard about the likelihood of a strike near Walten?”

Reed laughed, a deep, rich sound. “Wouldn’t that be something? So many folks moved out to get away from all the trouble gold’s caused here. I guess stranger things have happened, but I’d be surprised if the line played out that far. Why do you ask? You figuring on going into prospecting?”

Zane shook his head. “Not hardly. We had a visitor come to town who claims he has maps that prove there’s gold right near Walten. He’s talking of selling shares to the people to set up a gold-mining company of sorts. Everyone pays in, everyone shares in the profits.” He followed Reed’s gaze to the fire, watching him consider the information.

“Do the people seem inclined to buy in?”

“It hasn’t been set out before everyone yet. I know he wants to get a few of us on board first. Me, your aunt, people who have been around long enough to have some say.”

Reed straightened in his seat. “He picked the wrong crowd then. Gold nuggets have never been what you’ve searched for.”

“But what if it’s there? Word’s bound to get out. The man says if the town sets up as one big claim, it’ll keep lawlessness from taking over our town.” Zane rubbed his tired eyes with the heel of his hand. “You remember what this place was like a few years ago, Reed. I’d hate to see that come to Walten.”

The sheriff stared at the fire. “Not much better now,” he murmured. “No, I’d hate to see that, too. But do you think his plan would stop it?”

“Let’s just say, I don’t think the man would have a problem with a criminal element coming into the town. In fact, I get the feeling he would be the forerunner.”

A pause lengthened before Reed spoke. “Are you going to give me a name?”

He stretched, feeling each ripple of his spine, and cracked his knuckles, absentmindedly thumbing an old rope burn.

Reed cleared his throat and his boots pounded the floor as he stood. “Does this have something to do with Journey?”

Zane jerked his head up. “What makes you say that?”

“Never mind. You just answered my question. Aunt Rose has been concerned,” Reed said, walking over to fill his mug from the coffeepot on the stove. Zane waved off the offer of a refill.

The sheriff sank to his seat and curled his lips over the bitter drink. “It doesn’t surprise me that she’d make a difference. Listen, Zane, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you know. Especially if Journey’s involved.”

“I don’t know that she is.”

“But you suspect—”

“I suspect she could be in danger if she is. She’s been acting peculiar lately. Ever since this Baines fellow found her.”

“Found her?” Reed asked.

“Remember the stranger from Thanksgiving? Turns out Journey knows him. I knew she was running from something. Turns out it’s a someone. They claim he’s an old family friend. Well, he claims that and she doesn’t correct him. She isn’t very excited about him being there. I’ve had colts that had been whipped before I got them that didn’t act as skittish as she does.” He bent low in his chair, rubbing his temple.

“So she’s asking for your help?”

He scratched his eyebrow and grinned. “Not exactly. She’d be happier if I signed up for foreign missions.”

Reed laughed and stood to stoke the fire. “I was there, Zane. I saw her, and I don’t think you could be further from the truth.” He took another gulp of coffee. “What can I do to help?”

“I thought we could look through some old posters.”

“You came all this way to look through posters? Why not send a wire?”

“I’ve seen this guy. I thought it might move things along a bit, in case he hasn’t always gone with the same name.”

Reed eased back into his seat, rubbing his thick fingers along his lip. “This isn’t like you to be so suspicious.”

“I know. That makes me even more sure that something’s up. I’ve prayed about this. I believe the Lord sent me here.”

“I’ve never known you to miss on something like this, Zane. But you look done in. Why don’t you settle in over at the hotel? Get some hot food in you and come back over after supper to look through the posters.”

Zane stretched and stood, swirling the last of the coffee in his cup before draining it down. “You won’t get an argument from me. If you could point me in the direction of the livery, I’ll untack my horse and get him settled in.”

“You’ll find it down a piece from the hotel. Tell Beans I sent you.”

Zane pulled his heavy coat back on, now toasty from its placement near the roaring fire. His fingers felt stiff as he tugged on his still-damp gloves. Supper sounded good. Sleep sounded better. But too many questions still rumbled in his head, and he’d come for answers. A pale, freckled face framed by tight rings of ruby-brown hair came to mind. Yes, the sooner he figured out her story, the sooner he could put Journey out of his mind.

The wind grew stronger as the sun set. Clouds billowed in overhead, promising more snow. As he walked toward the courthouse, Zane was thankful for the muffler Miss Rose had forced on him before he’d left. The sidewalk changed its width and rise seemingly at will but was easier to walk on than the snowy street.

Passing up the nap for a bath had been a good choice, he decided. The hot water had eased aches he’d gotten from sleeping on the ground that the lumpy bed would not have.
I’m getting soft,
he thought.

The streetlamps had not been lit yet, but inside the jailhouse Reed had lanterns burning brightly. They’d need the light if they were going to search through the stack of wanted posters Reed had pulled—an entire year’s worth.

His friend turned as he walked in, a pile of papers in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. “Have a seat, Zane. I figure we might as well start with the most recent posters and work our way back.”

Zane took the offered seat with a nod and tipped it back, pulling the first poster closer to the light to study the face drawn on it.

“It might be helpful if I knew what we were looking for,” Reed said. “Does this guy have any distinguishing marks?”

“He has really dark hair. Wears it longish, with a mustache to match. He’s tall. I suppose some ladies might consider him handsome.” Zane flipped to the next poster.

“I’ll warn you, the likenesses usually aren’t as helpful as the written description, and even then you probably know ten other folks who’d match it.”

“I see that,” Zane muttered. “But I still think we need to try. It could prove important to a lot of people. My parishioners could lose everything.”

Reed slid into the chair across the narrow table. Zane looked up when he cleared his throat. “Your only concern is your congregation?”

“Walten is a good town. I want what’s best for it and the people who live there.”

“And that’s all there is to this?”

“You’re fishing.”

Reed harrumphed. “A devout bachelor like myself?”

Zane settled back and flipped to another yellowed leaflet.

“But no one would blame you if you happened to notice how pretty she is.”

He shook his head, never lifting his attention from the papers in his hand. “Journey needs me to get her away from this guy.”

“Are you so sure she wants to get away from him? And what makes you think I’m talking about her?” Reed slid closer to the heat of the stove.

He snapped his glance to his friend. “Because no one likes to live in fear.” He grinned. “And because I know you.”

Reed nodded, his expression sober. “I reckon you’re right, Zane. Reckon you’re right. Can you use some more coffee?”

He nodded and turned his full concentration back to the papers on the table.

A few hours later, night had taken a firm hold over the city, and Reed turned up the lanterns. Zane rubbed his eyes.

Reed’s voice broke the silence. “You want to finish up tomorrow?”

He tilted his head, holding out his mug for a refill. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No,” he said. “Just checking.”

“So make yourself useful.” He laid the last of his posters on the pile at the table while the sheriff disappeared down a narrow hall.

“You want to go back another six months?” Reed called from the back room of the office.

“We might as well.” He stretched his legs, pacing around the dusky outer room.

Reed returned with a smaller stack. They settled in to search the ink pictures. Zane feared they were all melting together in his mind. One big criminal. He wondered how Reed dealt with it all.

“Zane? Look at this.”

He stood and looked over Reed’s shoulder at the poster he held, pulling it from the sheriff’s hand to ease it under the light. The hair was drawn loose, but the curls were unmistakable. The lines were harsh but the composite utterly recognizable.

And under that familiar face, he read the words:

“WANTED: Maura Sojourner Baines.”