The Parson's Christmas Gift (19 page)

Z
ane picked his way along the path, surrounded by ghostly figures of snow-covered rock as he moved into the mountains. When Sam said he’d be moving quickly, he wasn’t kidding. He’d covered a lot of ground in an hour, but Zane expected to reach him soon, if the tracks gave any indication. Though he’d only been a fair tracker, his friend had left an easy trail to follow.

Despite the drive to push on and get back, the beauty of the land never failed to calm him. The land rose up to the west, the valley rolled out toward the east. The skies, clearing from the heavy snow clouds of the past few days, were brushed blue and white, sweeping along with the wind that blew, a little warmer than it had been. But the snow would keep the ground white for months to come. It promised to be a beautiful Christmas, though little thought had been given to it over the past few days.

C’mon, Sam. Where are you?

A thud and a groan answered him from ahead. Sliding from his horse with one hand, he headed into the scrub pines up the knoll on foot.

One shot rang out. Zane ducked and heard the bullet whistle through the tree behind him.

“I believe you’ve come far enough, sir.” Hank’s voice wheezed from behind snow-covered shrubs.

He slipped back and raised his arm slowly.

“I’m not carrying a gun, Baines, and I have no intent to hurt you. I’m looking for Sam. He’s on his way to Virginia City, but his wife took sick and needs him. Has he passed through?”

Hank shook his head, his face glistening in the streams of light. “I haven’t seen him. An’ I’m tired of seeing you, Preacher. I should have finished you off when I had the chance.”

Zane watched Hank stumble into the shrubs, gasping for air, and moved forward to catch him.

“Don’t you come any closer, I say.” Hank’s revolver bobbed a little before his grip steadied. “I got plans for you, Preacher. Plans for you, for Maura, for this whole little town of yours. As soon as Roy gets here, you’ll see.”

He forced his muscles to relax, easing away. Hank didn’t appear too focused, yet he held the gun.

“Let me help you, Hank. You’re sick.”

“Ah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He laughed. “I wouldn’t imagine that act of kindness would endear you to our darlin’ Journey, now, would it?”

A glimpse of deep blue fabric caught Zane’s attention. Sam was out there. Baines made no sign that he’d noticed.
Keep him talking.

“You know it was Roy that found her in the first place? He tried taking up honest work, riding herd up here when he spied her. I understand there was a little trouble that night. Roy didn’t take so kindly to the good parson cozying up to his buddy’s wife.”

Hank’s mustache drooped and his eyes glazed over. He slumped toward a tree to support himself, but the revolver barrel seemed plenty steady.

Zane caught Sam’s attention as he appeared through the trees. He lifted his chin a little, signaling Sam to move in.

“You know that’s not how it is, Hank. Besides, it seems to me she wants to be left alone—”

Hank’s head snapped up. “She told you that?” He took several slow steps forward.

Zane held his ground. “I can see for myself she’s afraid of you.”

“That was before. We were in a bind—things were tight. It’ll all be different this time.” Hank’s voice grew louder, more insistent.

He ducked his head and shuffled his feet, hoping to distract Hank as Sam edged closer. “I don’t reckon she’ll be going anywhere with you.”

The storm that smoldered in Hank’s eyes washed over his pale face. “I daresay she will. She’ll recall how good things were, soon as we are away from here. Away from you!”

Hank lunged forward on unsteady feet, finger tightening on the trigger. From the corner of his eye, Zane watched Sam’s dash, and he tucked his arm in close to dive at Hank’s feet.

Strange how the quietness of the snow magnified the echo of the gunshot. It was Zane’s last thought as he fell into the unmarked snow.

J
ourney jolted, startled from her sleep by unfocused dreams. She glanced around, finding herself at the church, and eased back against the pew.

So many were sick. Evie Wilson, looking pale, spooned water into her son, Jimmy. The first day they brought people into the church to set up the makeshift hospital, the boy had thrown up until she wondered what could be left. Now she found his stillness unsettling. She would try to get Evie to rest a little—as soon as she could force her own limbs to move.

Abby’s quivering form caused Journey to cast aside all weariness. She got up and brushed her palm against her friend’s face and found it scorching. Grabbing the cloth from a fresh bucket of snow, she laid it over Abby’s forehead. Pale green eyes, fever-bright, blinked open.

“Sam?” Her voice cracked and she struggled to sit up. “Sam!”

Journey pulled the covers higher and tried to settle her. “It’s me, Journey. Sam’s on his way, Abby. Zane went after him, and they’ll be back soon. You need to rest.”

Abby didn’t seem to hear but fell back with a sigh. Journey hadn’t thought to get her to drink some water. Doc Ferris said that was important.

“Journey? Journey, are you there, dear?”

She grabbed the corner of the heavy wooden pulpit to drag herself around to Miss Rose’s side. The woman’s blue eyes opened only a slit but appeared clear. “Let me get Doc,” she said.

Miss Rose grasped her arm with bony fingers. “In a minute. Where’s Zane?”

“Sam went for more quinine, but when we found Abby collapsed in the store, Zane set out to fetch him. They should be back any time.”

She could almost feel Miss Rose’s exhaustion as she rubbed the woman’s head.
Any time now, Zane. Please, please get back here. Miss Rose needs you.

She almost missed the weak voice. “Miss Rose?”

A cough with a tight, dry rattle answered. “Tell Zane I said to take care of you.”

Journey shook her head. “You concentrate on getting yourself well. I’m not telling him anything.”

The warm hand stroked her sleeve. “Don’t be stubborn. He’ll be stubborn enough for both of you. He cares for you, Journey. Let him.”

Forcing a smile on her face, she rose with a squeeze on her arm. Miss Rose couldn’t know all that had happened since Zane’s trip to Virginia City. “I’ll get some tea for you. We’ll see how it sits.”

“Fine, dear. I’ll be here a while yet.” Her eyes closed and a smile eased the lines on her face. At least she seemed peaceful.

Lengthening rays from a cold disk of sun cast an eerie light through the window. She went for her coat and headed outside for some hot water to make the tea. The weight in her pocket reminded her of the pistol she’d started keeping there since Hank’s last visit.

She searched the path Zane would have taken and then looked toward town. The whole community seemed to hold its breath, waiting in the quiet to see how the epidemic played out. Looking west, the jagged spines of the hills lay under a blanket of white, rising to blue-toned mountains farther back. It struck her as odd that she hadn’t thought of the land that lay beyond them in quite some time. The urgent plan to get as far west as solid land allowed no longer drove her.

The calmness of Walten had crept in on her, and she found herself wishing that she could belong there.

She shook her head. Where were Zane and Sam? Shouldn’t they have returned by now?

God…
she began. She concentrated on the fire. What could she say? That she wanted to stay? It seemed too big a miracle to ask. For Hank to leave her alone? That was more than she deserved. She had brought this mess on herself, after all.

God, please be with Zane and get him back here soon. I wouldn’t ask it for myself. But Miss Rose needs him around, and Abby needs Sam.
She paused, wondering how to end her prayer.
And if I could stay until I know they’ll be all right, I’d consider it a real gift. I appreciate it, God.
The name sounded strange coming from her lips. Who was she to call on God?

Journey threw another log onto the bonfire. The need for hot water for cleaning the sick, boiling cloths and making tea never ended.

Dipping into the kettle of water warming over the fire, she poured it over the willow bark powder at the bottom of the mug and set it on the pile of wood to steep. She leaned back and rubbed the tired muscles in her lower back. She’d gotten more sleep those cold nights on the ground coming west than she did on the hard pews these past few nights.

Motion caught her eye, and she turned to find three riders trotting into the far end of town. She ran around to the front of the church for a better view. The figures looked tiny, framed by the buildings on either side of the street, the sky wide and blue-gray overhead. Two men rode upright, the third lay over the back of his horse. Her throat tightened. Then her feet pounded forward, until she met the riders in the middle of the road.

She looked up at Sam, who didn’t seem to notice her as he traveled on to the church. His mustache twitched, and his eyes blinked in rapid succession.

Zane, on the other hand, stared down at her, looking like he had in his cabin the night Gypsy had gone wild, crashing through the trees, leaving both her and the horse with broken legs. The night he’d had to shoot Gypsy. His jaw worked in and out with tension under the shadows of his hat brim.

“What’s happened?” She craned her head, trying to see around him and his horse. Who else had fallen sick?

Zane slid from the saddle and stood in front of her. Only then did she see the fresh bruise forming over his eye. She reached up to brush his thick brown hair away. “Zane?”

“It’s nothing. I fell, is all.” He cocked his head in the direction of the other horse that trailed beside and slightly behind, out of her view. “Journey, it’s Hank.”

She narrowed her eyes and stepped away, arms stiff at her sides. He reached out to grasp her, but she jerked back, freeing herself. Could he hear her heart pounding?

“How could you? How could you bring him here, Zane? After I told you—”

“Listen to me. He’s sick. I couldn’t leave him out there in the hills to die.”

“I trusted you. And now you’ve brought the fox to the henhouse!”

“We’ll keep a close watch on him. He won’t be able to hurt you or anyone else anymore, I promise. But he’s burning up with influenza, like the others. He needs a doctor.”

“If this God you’re always telling me about is truly just, he’d have died out there.”

“We’re better off with him here, where we can keep an eye on him. He won’t be turning you in to the law anytime soon, and he won’t be trying to sell shares in some nonexistent mine.”

“No!” She tried to catch her breath. Miss Rose had said he would take care of her. Thankfully, she knew better than to rely on him. It seemed only right that his concern lie with the town. She understood that.

She couldn’t blame him for not trusting her, but at the same time something heavy settled over her. The fear that slipped away when Zane held her close and safe that night in the barn returned with a vengeance.

She shook until she thought she’d rattle apart. Hank couldn’t win. She fumbled in her coat pocket and touched cold, sharp metal. She lunged forward, holding the revolver steady in her hands.

Zane watched Journey’s expression change in an instant. Fear aged her more than mere years would show.

A flash of metal appeared as she darted forward, hands withdrawn. Her fingers shook from the weight of the pistol in her tiny hands.

He stepped close, thankful that the deserted street kept them from prying eyes. Hank’s eyes blinked open, looking like muddy puddles. They focused on the barrel pointed high at his chest.

Zane’s heart hammered. He laid a hand on Journey’s arm, grateful when she didn’t flinch at his touch.

“Leave me be,” she said, her voice deep and tight. She never looked away from Hank, whose mustache trembled and throat convulsed.

“You know it can’t end this way.” He kept his voice low, stretching his other arm around her.

“It can end any way I want. You’re the one who reminded me to watch my back. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Not this way.”

“Once Hank’s gone, I’ll never have to worry about him again. You’ll never have to be bothered with
me
again. I’m already wanted for his murder. For once in my life the stories about me will be true.”

Zane shifted his weight and nodded Sam off when he turned back toward them. “If you do this, you’ll never be free of him. He’s here, Journey, but he can’t hurt you. Look at him. He isn’t going anywhere. We’ll contact Reed—get him to come and tell us how to handle this. We’ll get a lawyer from Virginia City to come if you need one. We’ll—”

“No!” She thrust the barrel closer to Hank’s heart.

Hank wheezed. “Listen to him, Maura—Journey. I promise you, I won’t stay around to bother you anymore.”

“You lie!”

Zane stretched an arm forward, pushing the barrel tip toward the sky. The jolt knocked the gun from her hand, and it fell to the ground, slowed by the thick folds of her skirt.

She turned on Zane. Her fists pounded against his chest, and he crushed her to him. This only served to free her feet, which she dug sharply into his shins. An elbow poked his tender side, and he released her, sucking in a breath.

“Journey?” Zane edged closer. “C’mon, sweetheart, come inside. We can work this all out.”

Hank silenced her response with a moan. His eyes darted like a cornered cat, and he sucked in a great breath of air and held it, bowing low over the saddle. Only the slightest movement told Zane he hadn’t stopped breathing.

Zane watched Journey, her bottom lip quivering as great tears gathered in her deep brown eyes. He leaned forward, hoping to offer comfort. But she staggered back, then turned and ran before her tears made good on their threat to fall.