The Parson's Christmas Gift (6 page)

“W
hoa, Malachi!”

Zane leaned back in the saddle and pushed upright in the stirrups, pulling the reins at the same time.

His thoughts had unraveled from the moment Journey cocked her gun his way in the barn. Lost in a jumble of possibilities, each worse than the one before, he had nudged the horse into a full gallop by the time he’d made it halfway to town. He gave the horse its head until he found himself almost at Norwood’s Mercantile. Sliding from Malachi’s high back, he landed in front of Mrs. Decker. She stepped back with a gasp, her hand patting her heart.

“Pardon me, ma’am.” He swept his hat from his head. “I didn’t see you coming.”

She tucked her hair back into place with a dainty sniff. “I should think it would be hard to see much of anything coming in that cloud of dust you raised, Reverend.”

Zane swiped his face in the crook of his elbow. She would have to be the one to catch him in a moment of recklessness. “Forgive me, Mrs. Decker. I’m afraid my mind was distracted and I allowed the horse too much leeway. I never meant to startle you.”

She walked off with a huff, but he heard her mumble. “What that man needs is a good woman to settle him. I should think a minister and widower would maintain greater decorum. Now, my Mary…”

Widower.
He hated that word. All the love and joy he and Sarah had shared, all the hopes and dreams and plans, cut down into that one word. He sobered, stroking Malachi’s mane a moment before tromping up the steps.

Lost in thought, he plowed into Abby as he stepped through the door, catching her by the elbow. “Whoa! I’m sorry, Abby! You’re the second person I’ve done that to in as many minutes.”

She slipped a stray hair behind her ear. “Where’s the fire then?”

“I’m in too big a hurry, I reckon. I—Wait, weren’t you to take Miss Rose home after the Mission Society meeting?”

“Yes, she needed to pick up some things in town. Did you want to see her? She should be back any minute. I thought I’d straighten up a little while she finished.”

“I need to talk to Sam if he’s around.”

Zane forced his glance to the storeroom, avoiding Abby’s level gaze. “He’s out back. Is everything all right?”

He smiled at her raised eyebrow. “Nothing you need to pester me about. I just was hoping to catch Sam.”

“Fine. But you know he’ll tell me anyway.”

With a smile and a soft squeeze to her wrist, he cut through the room and around the counter to the back of the store.

He found Sam outside unloading supplies hauled from his weekly trip to Virginia City. “Need a hand?”

“You know I never turn away good cooking or a helping hand.” Sam slid a box at him from the rig where he stood.

He hefted the crate and lugged it the few yards into the storage room. After several trips back, the wagon was soon cleared.

“I take it this isn’t a social call,” Sam said.

Zane watched him hop to the ground, the stubby Irishman who’d been his friend through everything from leaving grammar school to entering seminary and beyond. “What makes you say that?”

“I made you do all the heavy lifting, and you didn’t rail at me about it.”

Zane laughed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve railed at you. But I did have something on my mind.”

Sam folded his arms across his chest and focused on the ground at his feet, a sure sign he was listening intently. “Figured as much. What is it?”

He opened his mouth and then shut it, only to start again. Now that he had Sam’s attention, he didn’t know for sure what to say. Or leastways how to say it. He scratched the back of his neck. “What do you think of Miss Rose’s new boarder?”

The look of surprise on Sam’s face was unmistakable when his head cocked up to look him in the eye. “Journey?”

“Yes.”

Sam grinned and quirked an eyebrow. “I think she’s a pretty lady—seems like a sweet gal that’s hit a jagged trail.” A sly smile spread beneath his mustache. “Why do you ask?”

Zane shook his head. This wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. “Not for the reason you’re thinking. I’m asking if you think it’s safe to let her stay with Miss Rose.”

Sam’s mustache twitched. “Since when do we
let
Rose Bishop do anything? What are you getting at?”

He wondered himself. He couldn’t exactly cast unfair suspicion. And he had startled her there in the barn. But not just startled her. She’d been downright afraid.

“You don’t think she’s, well…dangerous?”

Laughter rumbled out of his friend. “Dangerous? The lady’s barely five feet tall. She has a busted leg, no horse, no home to call her own. How dangerous could she be?”

“I’m serious, Sam. Don’t you think it’s a little odd, her coming into town alone? No mention of family. Winds up way out of town on a little evening ride? None of that gives you any cause for concern?”

“It makes me concerned for her. Come on, Zane. I’ll admit it’s unusual but not enough to put her on trial. This ain’t like you. There something you’re not telling me?”

He paused. If Sam didn’t find any reason for alarm, there was no point in pushing the issue. Sam’s sense of character seldom fell short, and if Sam had no qualms about Journey, Zane would try to put his aside as well. “I guess I just wanted your opinion on it.”

“You sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”

“I’m looking out for Miss Rose. I’d hate to see anyone take advantage of her.”

“Right.”

Sam seemed all too ready to agree. “What is it you’re wanting to say?”

“I’m saying she’s a lovely young lady in need of help. I’m saying you’re in a place to help her. And I’m saying there’s no need for you to feel guilty about that.”

“Why would I?”

“You’ve been dodging every available female around these parts for the past year. It’s been three years since Sarah died, Zane. She’d want you to go on.” Sam turned to straighten a few boxes.

Zane’s chest felt as if it were made of bricks, and he drew in a deep breath to ease the heaviness. “I know.”

“You might know it, but you ain’t been acting like you believe it. I’m not pushing. I’m just reminding.” Sam clamped his shoulder, moving them both toward the rear door and through it into the whitened walls of the storeroom. “But if you’re really that concerned, I’ll keep an eye out with you.”

“Thanks, Sam. I don’t want to alarm anyone if there’s no need. I just have this funny feeling about her. There’s more than she’s telling.”

“Of course there is. A woman always carries that air of mystery, my friend. Part of the charm. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that?”

Zane moved around the counter, but Sam stayed behind it, pounding a soft beat on the weathered wood. The sound of footsteps on the stairway leading to the Norwood home above the store got his attention. Abby smoothed her shawl around her shoulders and adjusted her hat as she stood at Sam’s side.

“I’m glad I caught you before you left, Zane,” she said. “Miss Rose and I thought it might be nice to have a little ‘Welcome to Walten’ dinner for Journey. Sunday after church at Miss Rose’s.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Nonsense. We’ll see you there.” She moved around the counter and out to the porch. Zane waved out the door to Miss Rose, who sat waiting in the buggy.

Abby stopped at the bottom step. “Dinner will be served hot and delicious if the minister doesn’t get too long-winded.” She smiled. “Oh, and, Zane—that blue shirt Miss Rose gave you last Christmas? I’m sure she’d love to see you in it again on Sunday.” With a wave and a swirl of her skirt, she climbed into the wagon and headed out of town. Miss Rose winked and waved a hand behind her as they pulled away.

Zane turned in time to see his friend smother a laugh.

“You think Journey can be more dangerous than those two?” Sam said. “Wonder what color they’ll have
me
wearing?”

T
he house creaked in the Sunday-morning quiet. Journey hobbled around the couch on the crutches Doc Ferris had dropped off the night after Zane had caught her in the barn. The slender old man with the slight stoop never mentioned the preacher but simply said, “You seem to me to be a woman who’s hard to keep down, so I thought we’d better get you onto these. But don’t be thinking you can traipse all over creation with them. No farther than the porch for the next couple of weeks, you hear me?”

His fuzzy eyebrows had slouched over his sharp blue eyes. But the crook of a smile added to the stern look made her agree. The fact that Miss Rose stood behind him with her arms folded over herself didn’t hurt, either. For reasons Journey could not understand, the woman had made her a personal responsibility and would see to it that she complied.

Hunched over the wooden frames, with dish towels wrapped to cushion the arm supports, she made her way to the cot. Miss Rose had set it in the corner of the kitchen for her, around the doorway from the parlor and near the stove. She sank onto the thick blanket with little grace, wondering if the crutches were intended to make getting around a little more cumbersome to discourage her from moving around so much.

“I should be thankful it wasn’t any worse. They could have laid me up the entire six weeks.” Doc Ferris assured her it wasn’t a bad break, and by keeping the splint and binding tight, she could maneuver around some. Given the rough-and-tumble boys she’d played with as a little girl and her time with Hank, it was more a wonder she hadn’t broken something before now.

The injury did excuse her from church, but Journey knew it wouldn’t be long, unless Miss Rose thought the verses she read every morning at breakfast from the worn black book were enough. She seemed especially fond of “But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Her soft voice emphasized the
my
as if she couldn’t help it. No, part of her job would be to attend services with her employer. But no mention had been made as yet, and Journey didn’t bring it up, either. Church was no place for a woman like her.

She stretched a hand under the cot and dragged her saddlebag over, pulling out a tiny mirror. She’d gone the past several days with her hair in no more than a low, loose chignon. The first few days her head had ached to the point where she thought a brush would kill her. But she determined to have it up today by the time Miss Rose, the Norwoods and Reverend Thompson arrived. She moved the mirror around to catch the wild mass from various angles. She should’ve tried harder before this. Pulling out the brush next, she tugged through the thick tangle of curls.

This whole dinner had her on edge. Why would someone hold a gathering to welcome the new hired hand? Well, not actually working yet, but the sentiment was the same. It didn’t make sense. But then a lot of things about these people didn’t make sense.

Miss Rose, for all her no-nonsense approach, had something very warm at her core that she couldn’t explain. Even her own mama, whom she knew loved her dearly and had never been harsh to her, had been a hard woman. She’d had to be.

Maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Those last few days before Mama died, even though she’d been sick, something soft and strong had taken root. Maybe it had something to do with her talk with that parson. Maybe it was just what happened to folks when they knew they were dying. Or maybe the memories had been brightened by her youth.

Journey pulled through the last knot of hair with a jerk when she saw Miss Rose’s wagon top the ridge through the front window. Journey swept her hair up with her fingers and tied it in place before adding a few hairpins to hold it in a smooth coil at the back of her head. Then she stowed everything away and pulled up on one crutch so she could bank the fire with another piece of wood.

She heard Miss Rose and Abby being helped from their wagon seats by Zane and Sam and sank down into the overstuffed couch. It seemed rather out of place in this simple wooden house but beautiful nonetheless, with its rose-pink upholstery flecked with tiny blue cornflowers. She eased her broken leg onto the pillow, glad she had already set the table, then blew a wayward curl from her line of vision and rested.

Zane stepped through the threshold first and held the door for Miss Rose. His blue chambray shirt made his eyes look bluer than the stone gray she remembered. She shifted her focus to Miss Rose instead, rather than risk looking him in the eye.

“We’re home,” Miss Rose said. “How’s your leg feeling? I hope you weren’t up and around too much while we were gone.”

“Not too much,” she said. “I’d imagine Doc Ferris will let me out of the house when he stops by later this week.”

“We’ll see about that,” Abby said. She stepped through the door with what looked to be a loaf of bread, wrapped in a cloth. “Let me see that knot on your head. How’s that feeling?”

Journey touched the small lump that remained. “Not bad.” She forgot about it unless she turned to lie on it in her sleep. The blue swelling had almost faded.

Sam stepped through the door last and wiped his feet on the braided rug, more out of habit than of need, she guessed. “I’d say she looks better than Zane with that hammer mark on his eye,” he said, helping Abby with her shawl. “’Course, Journey was further ahead in looks before he had the bruise, too.” He laughed as Abby pretended to swat him with her hat.

Journey flushed. She wondered what Zane thought. Miss Rose stood in the kitchen, tying an apron over her Sunday dress. “You gentlemen have a seat while we get dinner on the table. And, Journey, I appreciate your setting the table, but I don’t appreciate the fact that you were wandering around on that leg to do it. You have to rest if it’s going to heal.”

She allowed a small smile to crease her cheek. Somehow that warm spirit of Miss Rose’s overtook her words and soothed them down, like taking medicine with honey when she was a girl. “It wasn’t much, really. I’m glad to help.”

“Well, we’ll take it from here,” Miss Rose said.

Zane sat on the chair he’d sat to make his apology about her horse. Had it been only a week ago?

Sam remained by the door. “I should have time to unhitch the horses before dinner, right?”

“Here, I’ll help,” Zane said, moving to stand.

“Nope, I got it.” Before the pastor could argue, Sam continued, “Even the Lord Jesus had things that had to be done on the Sabbath. I figure preaching is yours. Besides, no sense in both of us smelling like the barn. It won’t take me long. You can give Journey the highlights of your message.”

Sam slid out the door with a wink before Zane could protest further. He turned to her and eased back in his seat. She twisted the blanket between her fingers.

“I hope you don’t mind, Pastor, if I leave you on your own for a moment. I should help Abby and Miss Rose in the kitchen. There’s surely something—”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Abby stood at the back of the sofa, tying her own apron. “You’ve done plenty. Sit there and let that leg mend. We’ll holler when we’re ready for you all.”

“I guess we’ve been sequestered to the parlor,” Zane said.

Journey forced a smile and huffed a breath of air. She watched Abby return to the kitchen, leaving her to face Zane. Now what?

“Listen…”

“I need to…”

Zane gave a full grin, a row of fine white teeth showing. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said with teasing propriety. “You first.”

She glanced over her shoulder to the kitchen, making sure neither of the women worked near the doorway. The ring of the kettle lid and clink of tin plates confirmed their location near the far window. “I wanted to thank you for not saying anything about the other day. I need this job—well, when I can be up and working—and Miss Rose was very good to take me in like this. She doesn’t seem the type to approve of my carrying a gun at all, not to mention pulling it on her pastor.”

She licked her dry lips. “Please, believe me, I’m not out to hurt anyone. I’m looking after myself, and I’m counting on your honor as a minister to keep this quiet.” She hoped her face carried her sincerity.

“I don’t like the fact that you have it, let alone the fact that you feel the need to use it.” He leaned forward with a huff. “I know we got off to a bad start when I had to put your horse down. But I have to tell you straight, I don’t like the fact that someone with the kind of trouble you obviously have is hiding out here with one of the dearest women God made for this earth.”

“There’s no trouble here, Zane,” she said, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. “There’s no sense in creating problems where there aren’t any.”

He seemed to look through her. How much did he see?

“Zane, please—”

He held his hand up to stop her. “I don’t like the fact that you won’t let me—let any of us—help you.” He kept his voice low.

“Most of all, I hate the fact that you’re in this trouble, whatever it is. There’s not much I can do about any of that, except pray. But let me tell you this,” he said, pointing at her with one hand. He leaned even closer to put his other hand on the end of the couch. “I’m keeping my eye on you until I can figure out what kind of trouble you’re into. I owe Miss Rose a lot, and I’ll not have anyone hurt her in any way if I have it within my power to stop it.”

Journey realized she had leaned toward him in an effort to keep their conversation private, but she edged away as he pressed forward. She drew back from the fire in his eyes. Yet his voice held no heat, only concern. What would his sermons be like?

“Answer me this—who will come for you first? The law or someone else?”

“The less you know the better,” she said, her voice soft. “You’re the one who warned me to watch my back. I can do that fine on my own. All you have to know is that I did what I had to do to survive.”

“I’m watching your back, too. I want to know what I’m looking for. I hope you’ll come to know there’s more folks to rely on here than yourself.”

“I won’t be here that long, honestly. You’ve all been so good to me. I’d never want to bring you into my problems.”

“You might as well face the fact that you’re here until spring. Do you really think your trouble is that far behind?” Zane leaned forward, his voice at a whisper. His gray eyes never wavered.

Blood pounded in her ears and she swallowed hard, drawing back as far as the arm of the couch allowed.

“Suit yourself. You’ve already answered my question.”

Don’t cry. Don’t let him see you cry.
She drew in a deep breath. “I’m warning you to stay as far away from my problems as you can. I can’t be looking out for myself and for you as well.”

He breathed deeply and the tight lines around his eyes eased.

“Don’t you worry about me. I know Someone who can watch out for us both.”

Steps on the porch ended any comment she would have made, if any had come to mind. Sam wandered into the room, rubbing his hands together. “It’s getting mighty chilly out there. May have our first snow by Sunday next if this keeps up.”

Journey shivered in the cold draft. Another reminder that Walten was where she’d be spending the long winter. Zane smiled and somehow she couldn’t be angry with him. Wary, yes. Frightened even. But angry proved difficult.

He could ruin everything if he started meddling. And she didn’t trust him not to. He was determined to involve himself in her trouble, but how could she stop him? She was thankful when Miss Rose called them to the dinner table, giving her mind a break from her tumbled thoughts.