The Parson's Christmas Gift (5 page)

A
knock at the door woke Journey. The final glow of sunlight slanted lower through the back window. At least she hadn’t slept as long this time. She eased up and swiped the curls clinging against her cheek from her face. Miss Rose stood from the nearby rocker and shuffled to the door.

“Zane! What a nice surprise!”

She slid lower under the covers. Maybe if she closed her eyes…

But Miss Rose’s voice called her. “Journey, are you awake? Pastor Thompson is here to see you.”

Not Zane this time—Pastor Thompson. This must be a business call. She pushed herself up again but kept the blanket close. The room swam slightly and the pressure in her head felt as if it would push her eyes right out of their sockets. She nodded to Miss Rose, who continued to block the doorway.

“Come on in, Zane,” she said as she opened the door wider. “Have a seat and I’ll put some coffee on. Journey, I’ll get that medicine for you. Your head’s probably feeling rocky again by now. I’ll be right back.”

Miss Rose slid off to the kitchen, leaving Zane to stand in the doorway. He grabbed the Stetson hat from his head and shut the door but seemed to linger longer than necessary before he faced Journey. She watched him rock heel-to-toe once, his eyes scanning the room for a place to lay his hat before sitting in the ladder-back chair at her feet. He finally capped it over his knee and ran his hand over his thick hair.

“Miss Smith,” he began, leaning forward. “Journey, I wanted to see you, wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your horse.”

She stared at him a moment and he paused. His gray eyes held shadows but didn’t flinch. He was looking for something. She rubbed her throbbing head.

“I’m sure you are.” She smoothed unseen wrinkles from the quilt.

His broad shoulders sagged a little. “I know horses, been around them all my life. I hate to see that kind of thing happen, but I want to assure you, there was no other option. That foreleg was busted up good.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. She would have liked to have made that call herself.

“Believe me, I’d have liked nothing better than for you to have given the order. If you’d been in any shape, I’d have let you. But the horse was suffering. I know you would have done the same.”

She nodded. She knew it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d taken the thing she needed most.

Zane sat up in the chair, crossing a booted foot over his knee. He slid his hat across the bridge of his leg and hung it from the heel. “Could’ve been worse for you. What were you doing out that far from town anyway?”

“Exploring,” she said but refused to meet his gaze.

He tapped the brim of his hat. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you let me know. Part of my job around here is to help wayfaring strangers…and explorers.” He had the audacity to smile.

“I’ll work it out.” Her voice sounded gritty and harsh to her own ears. The day had been too long. She cleared her throat delicately and tried again. He’d only done what he had to. “It’s good you were there to find me.”

“Glad I was there. I wish there’d been more I could’ve done. How are you feeling?”

Miss Rose returned with a tray of steaming mugs. “I expect she has a headache the size of the Beartooths. Here, Journey.” She filled the spoon from the tray with laudanum.

Journey swallowed the bitter liquid. “I appreciate you taking me in, but there’s no need to fuss over me, too. I’m feeling fine.”

But Miss Rose just waved the empty spoon. “Nonsense. You take advantage, missy. Once you’re back on your feet, you’ll wish it back. Now, what would you like, coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please.”

She took the cup and saucer. The pastor was handed a steaming mug of coffee without being given a choice.

“You have to let Miss Rose fuss at you. Otherwise, she’s fussing at me.” He smiled and took a swallow. “And you do look much better than you did last night. But with the knock you took, I dare say you’re not feeling all that fine just yet.”

Journey said no more and looked into her cup. It made no sense to argue. Besides, he was right.

“So where were you headed?” Zane asked.

She stared at him over the edge of the mug she held to her lips. She moved it stiffly to her lap, breaking eye contact to glance at the door. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

He set his cup down on the little table beside him, keeping his fingers wrapped around the handle. She slid back against the armrest but tried to pull herself upright.

His eyebrows shifted and quirked. “I thought if someone was expecting you somewhere, I’d send a telegram for you.”

“No!” She jolted forward and pain shot down her leg. Tea sloshed over the blanket that covered her lap. Zane moved to pull it away before the heat could soak through. “I’m so sorry! I’m forever making a mess of things.”

“It’s all right.” He shook out the quilt and brushed at it with his handkerchief. “There,” he said, laying it back over her. “Good as new.”

“Thank you.” He looked down at her, waiting for an explanation. “It’s just that, well…there’s no one expecting me.”

His look told her he was skeptical. “You’re sure?”

She looked away from him and Miss Rose. “I’m sure.”

Placing his mug on the tray, he stood to go, and for a moment she thought he was angry. But his lips pulled into a smile, though his teeth didn’t show.

“If you think of anything—anything at all I can do to lend a hand, you let me know. Like I said, I’m sorry for the way things worked out for you.” He squeezed the old woman’s thin shoulder. “But you couldn’t be in better hands. Miss Rose is a fine woman and very good at taking care of folks.”

“I appreciate all your help, Pastor.” She shook her head. “Zane. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful. It’s just…”

“I know,” he said, in a tone that told her he somehow did. “Life has a funny way of throwing us once in a while.” He turned to Miss Rose. “Thank you for the coffee. Hot and black, just how I like it.”

It surprised Journey to see him bow and place a soft kiss on the old woman’s cheek. “Let’s pray before I go.”

Pray? Mama said she had prayed with that skinny little parson at the end of town before she died. It hadn’t changed her situation any, and Journey couldn’t imagine it would change her own. But apparently the job of pastor required it. If it meant he was leaving, she’d sit through it. He asked questions requiring answers that would only make things more complicated for everyone. It wore her out. The less they knew about her, the better they’d all be. And she never could lie well. No, she’d have to keep her distance from Pastor Zane.

“…Lord, we thank you, too, for our visitor. She’s hurting, and we ask that You heal her and help her to find a home here. Be with Miss Rose as she cares for her, and may they find comfort in each other’s company. Guide us, Lord, to live lives pleasing to You. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

Miss Rose startled Journey by echoing his amen. So now he’d leave.

Zane put his hat on and ambled toward the door. The sky was a muted evening gray. He turned as he stepped onto the porch.

“Thank you, ladies, for the visit. And, Journey, I meant what I said. You let me know if you need my help. To tell the truth, I feel responsible for the horse.”

Miss Rose nodded to her as if she expected a response.

“It’s not your fault. And I’m not your problem,” Journey said slowly. “I know it’s not something you wanted to do, and I’m glad you were there to do what I couldn’t. Gypsy was a good horse and we’ve seen a lot of trail together. I’ll miss her.” She paused to steady her voice. “But accidents happen.” She tried to spout all the expected responses, hoping she’d get to the proper one quickly so he’d go. The only help he could give would be to provide her a horse.

He tipped his hat. “Glad you see it that way, ma’am. Take care of that leg, and let Miss Rose fuss at you some, like I said. Just so she stays in practice.” He grinned and grabbed Rose’s hand with a squeeze. “I’ll check in on you,” he told her.

And then he was gone. But as much as she wished it otherwise, Journey knew it wasn’t the last she’d seen of Reverend Zane Thompson.

“Well?”

Zane turned at the bottom step to face Miss Rose, who had followed him out to the porch. “‘Well,’ what?”

“Is everything set to right between you two?”

He dropped his head to hide his smile. “I don’t suppose she’s any too fond of me, but she’s not liable to shoot me anyway. At least, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

Miss Rose leaned a shoulder against a post. “She’s a sweet girl. You’re a good man. Allow an old woman some hope.”

“Now, Miss Rose, don’t start. You know I’m not ready to think along those lines with anyone and definitely not with someone I know so little about.”

“Caution is good,” she agreed with a nod. “I just want to start you thinking along those lines.”

They’d had similar conversations before. “Why are you so determined to play matchmaker with me?”

“Because you’re too good a man to not allow yourself to make another woman happy. Sarah would not have expected you to live the rest of your life alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have my friends, my congregation and this town. That’s plenty to keep me busy, and it wouldn’t be fair to saddle another woman with that.”

“Let a woman make that choice for herself.”

He looked to Miss Rose, her eyes lit with the setting sun. She couldn’t understand. “It wouldn’t be fair. I’m too used to being on my own now. Besides, I’d always be comparing them to her.”

“Then I’ll be praying in that direction. Remember, you’re not replacing Sarah to open your heart to new possibilities.” She sighed and stood upright, wrapping her arms around herself in the growing chill of dusk. “Did Journey forgive you for putting down her horse?”

He tipped his hat back and shrugged his shoulders. “She claims she’s not upset about it. She knows I wouldn’t have put the horse down if I didn’t have to, I think. But I’m still the one who did it.”

“She’ll come around.”

“I hope so,” he said. The smile on Miss Rose’s face hinted at more than his words intended.

“Me, too, young man,” she said, turning back toward her door. She stopped before opening the latch. “In more ways than one.”

J
ourney’s heart throbbed in time with the thud of her foot on the wooden floor as she made her way to the window.

Her request to be awakened before the women left for the church had been denied. The mantel clock chimed ten o’clock, so she guessed they’d return before long. Having been confined to the great room and a cot in the kitchen for the past four days, she was elated when Abby had reminded Miss Rose about the ladies’ Bible study or some such midweek church meeting. But Miss Rose wouldn’t dawdle in town.

The sunny breeze from the open windows was no replacement for a peek of the horizon. She paused to catch her breath at the door. Sweat broke out across her forehead. Perspiration, Mama would say. Not even pigs sweat.

The day was warm, as summer flaunted itself before giving in to autumn. Journey hobbled out to the porch and sank into the chair beside the door.

She inhaled until her lungs wouldn’t stretch anymore. The scent of sage wafted in the air, and she remembered riding through it with Gypsy. It had filled the landscape as far as the eye could see, rolling along with the brown hills, climbing higher and higher. It was the first time she realized she was alone—no one following behind, no one waiting ahead. It gave her hope that she’d found her escape. But now…

She listened for approaching wagons and fingered the pistol in her pocket.

Journey leaned against the chair post, glad for the chance to rest her leg. Her head barely hurt at all this morning, and the ache in her leg was tolerable without the pain medication that she’d refused the past two days. Doc Ferris had been out yesterday to rebind it and check the lump on her head. He’d proclaimed both on the mend but recommended keeping the leg raised as much as possible for another week at least. And Miss Rose followed his recommendations to the letter.

The stable stood, weathered but sturdy, across the dusty yard. She remembered Abby mentioning a riding horse and felt a pang of loneliness for her own. She and Gypsy had traveled the whole way from Georgia together. The hostler had laughed at her choice, but the mare was all she could afford, and she took a chance on the intelligence she thought she saw in the fine dark eyes. Some of the conversations held with the gentle brown horse were more enjoyable and wiser than any of the ones she’d had with Hank. What kind of horses would Miss Rose keep? It wasn’t so awfully far to the barn.

She stood and lurched to the edge of the porch, grasping the banister. It took a couple of false starts before she found a rhythm of dangling the broken leg before her, leaning toward the banister, then hopping down on her bare foot. She hadn’t planned on treading out into the yard, but to go back now would cost precious minutes of fresh air. Her feet would be tough enough to handle the rough ground for the distance.

Hopping several feet at a time before stopping to balance, she made her way to the barn and tugged the door, which caught a bit before sliding open enough to slip through. She leaned against a railing to ease her breathing and let her eyes adjust to the cool dimness inside. A soft whinny to the right drew her attention.

Two horses stood in the stalls, one a broad chestnut with a black mane and tail, the other a smaller paint. She hobbled over and stroked the white blaze across the paint’s forehead, holding the harness to steady herself. She blew softly on its nose.

“And what’s your name?” she whispered.

“Homer.”

She drew the revolver from her pocket, pivoting on her good leg. Reverend Thompson fell back against the open door frame, holding up both hands in defense.

“What do you mean by sneaking up on me?” Her voice came low, ragged. “Moves like that can get you shot.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed just above his shirt collar, but his voice showed no strain. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It seems to me you don’t mean to do a lot of things you end up doing.” She thought her heart would pound out of her throat.

He lowered his hands. “I saw the barn door open and knew Miss Rose had gone with Abby to the Ladies’ Mission Society meeting. I thought I ought to check things out. After all, you’re to be inside resting, with that leg up.”

“Why were you out here?” She didn’t know why she continued to question him. Did she really think he’d lie?

He moved farther into the barn with a calm confidence. “I made a call on the Hamlers. Listen, can you put that thing away?”

She looked at the gun palmed in her hand and lowered it into the folds of her skirt, hoping to hide the shake in her hand.

“You—you startled me. And…and, well, I’ve learned it never hurts to have a little help in backing up your words. I apologize, Reverend Thompson.”

“It’s still Zane.” He shifted and ran a finger along his collar before stepping closer. “You must be feeling a little better if you’re making your way outside.”

The matter of the gun seemed set aside but not forgotten. “I couldn’t resist the sunshine,” she said. “I’m afraid we won’t have too many more fine days like this one. Then I remembered Miss Rose said she kept horses and I wanted to take a peek at them.”

He walked over to the larger of the two horses, and scratched its nose. “This is Zeb, short for Zebulon, and that’s Homer.”

“Funny names.”

“Ah, but fine horses. Homer would make a great mount for you while you’re here.” He smiled and turned to face her. “That is, once your leg heals. You really should listen to Doc Ferris. It is what we pay him for around here.”

She didn’t need to be reminded about her debt to the kind, quiet man who had tended to the injury. “I could use a seat,” she conceded.

“Can I help you?”

She tensed, wondering if he meant more than the leg. “No. No, I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

She stepped across the dirt, the thin layer of loose hay tickling her feet, then back toward the yard. Journey tensed when Zane reached toward her as she faltered. But he drew back and merely followed close behind.

Beads of sweat dribbled down her cheeks by the time she reached the porch steps. The thought hit her that going up wouldn’t be nearly as easy as the trip down. It wouldn’t do to have an audience.

She turned toward the preacher, grasping the banister in both hands. “Listen. About the gun…]I—You startled me and I reacted too quickly. It won’t happen again, I assure you. I’d appreciate it if we could forget about the whole thing.”

A shadow crossed his face, as though his mind were a hundred miles from where they stood. As if he could see beyond her secrets.

“Zane? Can’t we keep this between us? I’d hate to startle Miss Rose. Or worse yet, have her kick me out.”

His attention jerked back as he looked at her, turning his head to either side. “Right. But look, if you’re in some kind of trouble, she deserves to know. Let her make up her own mind. Besides, maybe we can help.”

“It’s no trouble I can’t handle, I assure you, Pastor.” She leveled her gaze to his.

He rested his hands at his waist and stared at her a moment, then out across the dust-colored bluffs to the east. His jaw twitched. She backed up onto the first step with her good foot.

“Trouble you can handle has a way of turning into trouble you can’t,” he said, still not looking at her. “If you let us know what’s going on, we’ll figure a way out.”

Her face grew warmer but this time not because of the temperature. “The only thing going on here is I’m trying to figure a way to pay my debts, buy a horse and be on my way. The only thing going on here is a pastor who thinks he can save every soul he meets, fix every problem. Well, there are some problems you can’t fix with a sermon.” She clamped her lips together as a shiver of fear shot through her. What possessed her to speak to him like that? Hank would have wailed on her before she spoke out. Mama would have been appalled. “We must always be nice to the gentlemen,” she would say, in that soft drawl.

Zane bent his head but his stance held no anger. “I’m only trying to help. You may need it more than you think.”

His sincerity softened her fear as well as her anger, more than she would have liked. But aggravating him would only increase his suspicions. “I appreciate the offer, but this is my trouble and I’ll handle it my way. Getting more folks involved will only make things worse. Believe me, it’s not worth it.”

He looked at her, his eyebrows quirked. “We’ll play this your way for now,” he said after a pause. “I won’t mention the gun to Miss Rose, but you watch yourself. You have to let us know when you need a hand.”

She pulled her shoulders back, determined not to skitter away from him, no matter how her thoughts pleaded with her to. She didn’t have to do anything as far as she was concerned. Why wouldn’t he just go away?

She gave him a short nod. “I’ll tell Miss Rose you stopped by.”

He strode to his horse and paused with his foot in the stirrup. “I’d appreciate it,” he said, easing his broad frame into the saddle. He grabbed his hat from the saddle horn and clamped it over his dark hair.

She thought he would leave with a tip of his hat, but instead he slid the brown leather brim back from his wide face and looked down at her. “Journey?”

“Yes.”

“We have a saying here in the West that you might not have heard. But it’s good sound advice.”

“What’s that?” She crooked her neck to look up at him, squinting an eye to block out the sun, and tightened her grasp on the banister.

“Watch your back.”

She stared hard at his retreating form. How little he knew. She was already backed into a corner.