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The Parson's Christmas Gift
Kerri Mountain


Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesDesperate to escape her past, Miss Journey Smith heads deep into Montana Territory. Then a terrible accident strs her in the tiny town of Walten during the Christmas season. The townspeople welcome Journey into their hearts homes, leading her to dream of a normal life, full of happiness, holidays– the town's hsome parson.Enchanted by the troubled beauty, Zane Thompson knows Journey is not what she seems. But she can't–or won't–trust him with her secrets, especially when her past reappears with a vengeance. Soon the parson must risk his life his faith to offer Journey the greatest Christmas gift of all–his heart.







“Trouble you can handle has a way of turning into trouble you can’t,” Pastor Zane said. “If you let us know what’s going on, we’ll figure a way out.”

“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,” Journey said. “The only thing going on here is a pastor who thinks he can fix every problem. Well, there are some problems you can’t fix.”

Zane bent his head, but his stance held no anger. “We’ll play this your way for now, but watch yourself. And let us know when you need a hand.”

She was determined not to skitter from him, no matter how her thoughts pleaded with her to. Why wouldn’t he just go away?

Zane slid his hat back from his face and looked at her. “Journey, we have a saying here in the West that you might not have heard. But it’s good sound advice.”

“What’s that?”

“Watch your back.”

How little he knew. She was already backed into a corner.




KERRI MOUNTAIN


grew up surrounded by books and storytellers, and credits her family for instilling in her the love of a good story in any form. An avid reader, the idea came to her that she ought to try writing a story of her own, but it didn’t take her long to realize it was easier said than done. So when she had the opportunity to pursue a master’s degree in Writing Popular Fiction, it seemed a natural fit. She tries to write the kinds of stories she would want to read. The Parson’s Christmas Gift is her first novel.

Kerri lives in rural western Pennsylvania with her parents on their small family farm, and teaches in the district where she attended school as a child. She enjoys the quiet pace of country living and spoiling her niece and nephews on a regular basis.




Kerri Mountain

The Parson’s Christmas Gift















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This is what the Lord says: Stand at the crossroads and look, ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.

—Jeremiah 6:16


To Mom and Dad—there aren’t enough words to

say thanks for all the love and support you’ve given

in any adventure God allows. Love you both!

And a big thank-you to all the critique partners,

mentors, friends and family who have helped

develop and improve this story far beyond anything

I might have imagined it could be. I praise God for

putting each of you in my path at just the right time.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty




Chapter One


September 1870, Montana

She’d pay ten dollars for a hot bath if she had it.

Journey wiped the grit from her eyes and slid from her horse. She felt as if she’d been born in the saddle—and spent all of her twenty years there.

She checked her saddlebags. Eight dollars and some hairpins.

She scanned the town as it started to wake. Slowly the sun stretched over buildings, quiet and fresh as the barren peaks surrounding the settlement. Nothing like Savannah, still fighting to recover from the destruction of the War Between the States some five years past. Nothing like Independence, always bustling with folks coming from and going to parts unknown.

“It looks like we may be in luck, Gypsy,” she whispered to her horse.

The shop she was looking for sat near the end of the street—one with a plain, honest front, a quaint little porch and a worn sign proclaiming General Store in faded blue letters. Underneath, smaller letters spelled out a wide variety of items.

Journey slipped along the shadowed side of the building and pulled a small silver mirror from her satchel. Dust muted the freckles over her round cheeks, and she debated as to which was the worse. Her skin had darkened over the miles, despite the broad-brimmed hat she wore. But no amount of color hid the exhaustion from her dark brown eyes. Pulling the hat from her head, she ran strong fingers through the curls that coiled around each other until she could feel the tangles before she touched them. She remembered the brilliant red of her mother’s silky waves and wondered what had happened that it had translated to her as a dingy auburn, uncontrollable mass.

She tugged none too gently at her tight locks and poked hairpins in strategically. “If they catch me talking to you, Gyp, I guess it won’t matter how civilized I look.” She tugged the horse toward the front of the store.

Her dress barely showed its original flowered print and she didn’t know how much shorter she could cut her petticoats to reinforce the material. But she brushed the dust off as best she could and looped the horse’s reins around a post. With a deep breath she pulled on her shapeless hat and mounted the steps to the open door.

A cloud of grime swept over her worn skirt.

“Sorry, ma’am! I didn’t see you there.”

She drew her lips up in a gracious smile. So much for looking civilized.

The man stopped sweeping and leaned against the broom, nodding her through the doorway on his way out. “My wife’ll be with you in a little bit, ma’am. Take a look around.” Journey watched a grin peek from below his full mustache.

Whitened walls gave the store an open feel, much as the landscape did for the little town. An inviting stove glowed in the center near the back. Canned peaches, harness fittings and an odd conglomeration of pans and kettles rested on shelves and pegs behind the counters on either side. Barrels marked Flour and Sugar sat in front.

She tried not to notice the curious stares following her as she browsed her way along the bolts of yard goods, but still started when a young woman asked her, “Anything I can help you with?”

Pulling a bolt of navy broadcloth from the wall, she responded with a flash of smile, determined to be calm. “I’d like a dress length of this, please.” It would cut into her meager funds, but a purchase always made an impression when she needed information. She’d need a new dress before winter anyway. Tattered hems made only wrong impressions.

She stepped toward the counter. Though she’d always been short of stature, the shopkeeper’s wife dwarfed her by a good eight or nine inches. The woman must’ve been about her own age, judging from the smooth skin and bright green eyes. Honey-blond hair hung in a low tail down her back.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the lady said as she measured the cloth. Journey nodded when the woman glanced up. “I’m Abigail Norwood—Abby to most. Have you met my husband, Sam?”

“Yes, she did, I’m afraid,” the low voice called from the porch. He wedged through the door and made a show of putting the broom in its corner space. “I gave her a right unfriendly greeting, though.”

The woman shook her head in mock despair. “The one time I get him to sweep up in here.” A sheepish grin drew across her lips. “Anyway, it’s always nice to see a new face in town.”

“Thanks,” Journey said. She hoped her smile didn’t waver.

“You visiting family?”

She shook her head, making a show of fumbling with the latches on her saddlebag.

“Just passing through, then?”

Sam Norwood stepped back into the room from what Journey guessed was a storage area. He smiled under his thick mustache again, and his eyes twinkled at his wife. “You’ll have to forgive her,” he said. “She has a soft spot for the curious cat.”

A blush lit Abby’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just like to meet new folks. My apologies if I’ve overstepped, Miss…?”

“Smith…Journey Smith. Actually, someone with a little curiosity could be exactly the person to help me.” She breathed deeply, gathering any poise and confidence she could muster. “I wondered if you know where I might find work around here.”

“So you’re planning on staying? Most folks pass through on their way to Virginia City. What type of work are you looking for?”

“I’ve done a little bit of a lot of things. Tended children, waited tables—”

“Ever done housekeeping?”

“My own.”

Journey stood steadily under Abby’s gaze. She thought if she held her breath she could probably hear the gears whirring in the woman’s brain.

Abby turned to her husband then, looking down slightly to meet his eyes. “What about Miss Rose? She’s been hoping to find someone to help out around her house. I’m not sure what arrangements she’s thinking on, but I could take you out there if you’re interested.”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town. I was thinking—”

“Nonsense. Miss Rose is a fine woman. Once you meet her, you’ll never want to leave.”

“It’s not that…” Journey stammered.

Abby looked up from where she was cutting the thick cloth. “At least speak with her. You never know how well things might work out.”

Journey searched for an inoffensive excuse. “I don’t want to be a bother. If you’ll direct me to her house, I’d—”

“It’s no bother at all. She lives on a ranch outside of town. Let me get my things and I’ll take you there,” Abby said, tying a string around the fabric Journey had purchased. “If you like, you can leave your trunks inside until you return.”

Fear fluttered like a moth in her throat. “I’m traveling rather light. All I have is my horse tied out front. I’m certain I could find the place on my own.”

As Abby patted the package and pulled her coat from a nearby hook, Journey caught her questioning glance but noticed it didn’t stop her motion. “It’d be easier to show you. Sam knows I need to get out on days like this, anyway. He can handle the store for a few hours until we get back. I haven’t had a chance to visit Miss Rose in a while myself. We’ll take some sandwiches and have a nice little picnic. It’ll give you a chance to get to know her.”

“You can tether your horse around back, if that’ll suit,” Sam offered. “My wife’s a natural guide, born and raised right here in Walten. Montana grows them pretty, that’s for sure.”

Journey forced her arms and legs to relax. There seemed no way around it, short of racing out the front door and galloping away on Gypsy. “If you’re sure.”

Sam moved back toward the storage room. “I’ll hitch up the team. Oh, and, Miss Smith—”

“Please, call me Journey.”

A dimple joined the grin on Sam’s face. “Journey, if things don’t work out with Miss Rose, come back here. We can’t offer much more than a cot, but we might be able to find some work for you.”

She nodded once, turning her head in time to catch the knowing smile Abby directed his way. Journey wrinkled her brow, wondering what these people expected from her.

“Thanks. I’ll just go and tie my horse around back.”

“Wait! Take your cloth—on the house.” Abby thrust the neat package her way.

“I don’t need charity.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true.

But she heard the insistence in Abby’s voice. “Not charity. I guess Sam owes you for the mess he swept over you. We can’t be treating our customers that way or we won’t have them long.”

She studied Abby. She seemed sincere enough, and she had made a point of not noticing the tattered seams in her dress. “I appreciate your kindness,” Journey said, looking away as she slid the wrapped cloth into her satchel.

“I’ll meet you around back,” Abby said.

Journey nodded. Their kindness overwhelmed her a little. Maybe Hank’s training had become more ingrained than she thought. They were just the type of people he had always sought—helpful and unsuspecting. Fortunately for them, she’d rid the world of at least one of his kind.



Journey slid farther into the corner of the narrow wagon seat. Abby had peppered her with a dozen questions before they’d even left sight of town. The sparse grass crackled under the wagon wheel, and she considered her odds of surviving a leap of escape.

“How far to the ranch?”

Abby paused. “Oh, probably three or four miles. Did you live—”

“It’s easy to get caught up in the scenery here,” Journey said.

“It is beautiful. Some folks complain about it being drab, with all the browns. They don’t pay attention to the shades of the mountains in the light, or the pockets of sage tucked in everywhere. I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else. But listen to me jabber about myself. Where’d you hail from?”

“Back East.”

“Yes, of course. I suppose most folks around here do, what with all the families settling in the area. What part?” Abby turned a smile her way.

Most folks took the hint when she answered in such an obviously vague way. “Well, I…I traveled quite a bit before coming here.”

“I’ve never been out of Montana,” Abby said. “But my pa’s family came once to visit…”

Journey’s attention wavered as she tried to ease her pounding heart. She considered making up something but hesitated. Lies had cost her plenty in the past. Weren’t lies part of the reason she found herself here now? Hopefully the woman would lose interest.

“I’ll bet you have a lot of stories about your trip west,” Abby said.

“I suppose I’m one of those who’d rather hear the stories of other folks,” Journey countered. She eased her lips into a smile, but it didn’t come so easily to her eyes.

“Then Montana’s the place for you. Plenty of storytellers around, waiting for a willing ear.”

Journey nodded. She’d met grandmothers who adored their grandbabies less than this woman adored her home.

Tension quivered down her limbs. How could she end this line of conversation? “You—y’all do seem real friendly. I do appreciate your kindness.”

Abby’s thin fingers tapped her knee. “Oh, let me guess—you’re from the South, right? Maybe somewhere in Georgia? My aunt Beth lives there. I remember when I was little and she came to visit us. She had the most delightful accent. I just recognized a little of it there in your voice. Am I right?”

“I, ah, I am from the…from the South, but—”

“You’ll have to describe it all for me sometime. I always hoped to go back and visit my pa’s family, see where he grew up. He and my ma moved back last fall, so to hear about it would make them feel a little closer.”

The wagon lurched to the right and climbed steeply, bringing a large two-story ranch house into view. Journey breathed in the dry air, glad for the break in Abby’s too-friendly curiosity. She had to stay alert. If something so minute as a tint in her voice could connect her back to Georgia, she wouldn’t be safe even through Christmas.

She examined the ranch. A sturdy barn with an empty corral faced the broad porch of the home, with about thirty yards of grass-pocked dust between. The bluff they’d crossed boxed around one edge of the property, but the view beyond scooped across the wide valley. Sage and scrub brush were the only thriving plants she could see across the landscape. The property was secluded from the casual traveler but not closed off.

A pounding hammer echoed and drew her attention to a broad-shouldered figure on the roof.

“That’s Zane—Reverend Thompson. He’d said he was going to see about patching some leaks for Miss Rose,” Abby said. “The last time Zane visited, it rained, and he said he had to move three times when water started dripping down his back. Each time Miss Rose just pulled out another pot to catch it.”

Journey knew what it was like to have to make do with what you had. She watched the man kneeling along the roof, sleeves rolled back over deeply tanned arms, shirt clinging between his shoulder blades despite the cool day. His dark brown hair glistened in the midmorning sun.

“You know him well?” She licked her dry lips.

“Oh, Zane and Sam grew up together. Their families came west together. I knew Zane long before he became our pastor. They say a prophet isn’t honored in his hometown, but somehow Zane has made it work. He’s a wonderful pastor, a true man of God. And of course those gray eyes of his don’t hurt him, either.” Abby patted her knee with a light laugh. “You’ll get to hear him tomorrow.” Journey forced another smile.

Tomorrow? She’d be long gone by then. She didn’t need any pastor to make her see her guilt. She knew it well enough already.

“Journey? Is everything all right?”

She nodded, swallowing hard. Everything would be perfect—just as soon as Walten and all of its fine and overly welcoming citizens were miles of trail dust behind her.




Chapter Two


Everything moved so fast—too fast. Abby’s chattering wearied her. She couldn’t keep up. Journey rubbed her aching temples.

The wagon rolled to a stop beside the porch. “Hello, the house!” Abby called, climbing down over the wheel. Journey did the same and stood close to it.

“Thought I heard a wagon,” a deep baritone answered. Reverend Thompson.

She watched Abby dig a sandwich out of the picnic basket and hand it to him as he stepped down the ladder and drank a dipper full of water. “We’ve come to share a lunch with Miss Rose.”

“And this is?”

Journey felt his gaze as he unwrapped his sandwich. With a deep breath to steady her shaking, she tilted her head up to introduce herself. “Journey. Journey Smith.”

“Now there’s an unusual name. Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I imagine Abby’s introduced me already.” She stared at the hand he held out for a moment before shaking it. He smiled, crinkling his eyes at the corners and revealing a wide row of straight teeth and a cleft in his cheek. A shock of dark brown hair ruffled off his forehead, and a small thatch tufted at the back, making him look more like an unruly schoolboy than a minister. His square jaw proved more convincing, though his lips curved into a smile that seemed etched onto his face and had a depth she doubted lessened in many circumstances. “I’m Reverend Thompson to most folks, plain Zane to Abby. What brings you all this way?”

“Journey’s new to the area, looking to settle in for a while. I thought maybe we could work something out with Miss Rose. She’s been talking about hiring some help around here.”

“That so?” Zane bit into the sandwich and nodded once slowly as he chewed, as if considering the idea. He swallowed. “Could work fine for you both. Miss Rose is inside. I’m sure she’ll be glad to talk with you.”

He gazed directly at her, his gray eyes alight in the sun. “So how’d you come by a name like that?”

Breath caught in her throat, choking her. One of the few questions Abby hadn’t thought to ask.

“It’s a family name.”

His eyebrow tilted in a question, one she couldn’t read. “Well, that’s nice,” he said. “I—We’ll look forward to having you in our town.”

Had they all assumed she’d decided? She wasn’t staying here. She couldn’t. She scanned the landscape again. Could she?

The young pastor continued. Before she could force a sound from her dry throat, his attention spread to both of them. “I expect we’ll see you tomorrow at church. Hope everything works out for you, Miss Smith.”

“Reverend Thompson.”

“Please, feel free to call me Zane,” he said, seeming not to notice her wavering voice. He grinned, glancing up to the roof. Sunshine burnished the planes of his face a deep bronze. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have a few more boards to replace. I’ll leave you to your visit. Thanks, Abby,” he added, waving the sandwich. He snatched another bite as he headed up the ladder.

Journey watched him climb to the roof before following Abby.

An elderly woman with white-gray hair opened the door before they could knock. Her round blue eyes lit with a warm smile for Abby, and with a question for Journey.

“Who do we have here? Come on in, and bring your friend. My, but I haven’t seen you in a spell,” she said. “What’s brought you ladies out today? Come in, come in.”

Warm sunlight streamed in two wide windows on either side of the far wall, making the room bright and airy with a view of the distant mountains. A few delicate vases sat on shelves below them. Two daguerreotypes stood on a high shelf, shrouded with a layer of fine dust. Otherwise the room held little adornment beyond the ornate couch and a simple wooden rocker.

The fireplace in the middle of the house glowed with faint embers. On either side, a doorway opened. One led to the kitchen and Journey guessed the other led to Miss Rose’s bedroom. Simple in design and decoration, it was so unlike the garish and cluttered rooms she’d lived in up until now. She liked it, quiet and unobtrusive.

They followed the tiny figure into the kitchen. Freshly baked bread steamed through cloths on the sideboard. The scent filled the room to the farthest corners.

“I was about to slice some bread for lunch,” the woman said. Journey noted her slow, sure step and the steady voice.

Abby rested the basket she carried on the table. “Then we’re just in time, Miss Rose. I’ve brought some chicken sandwiches for all of us. Zane already took one, and there’s plenty more.”

Miss Rose sat, then slid out a chair and nodded Journey into it. “I’m assuming your friend has a name you just haven’t got around to sharing.”

Abby’s light laugh held none of the nervousness Journey felt. “This is Miss Smith. She wandered into town this morning, looking for work and a warm roof to sleep under. Journey, this is Mrs. Rose Bishop.”

Journey forced her hand forward in greeting. Something about the woman reminded her of the ladies who would pass by the saloon on Sundays, all fine and proper. Except that this woman seemed to possess a kindness, a fairness—confidence born of something more than money and position. She tried to hold her fingers and voice steady. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bishop. Please, call me Journey.”

“Only if you’ll call me Miss Rose,” she said, getting up to set a kettle to heat. “Everybody does. Make yourselves at home, and I’ll get the settings.”

It seemed Mrs. Bishop—Miss Rose—could well handle the affairs of her own home. It didn’t appear as if much needed to be done on the grounds that Miss Rose couldn’t find a nearby rancher to lend a hand. She moved slowly but with a fairly steady step. While the house wasn’t spotless, it wasn’t unlivable, either. What would she want with hired help?

But Journey needed to find a more stationary hideout, and after months on the trail, eyeing every shadow, she was tired. The warmth and comfortable feeling this house offered could seep right in. She’d be inclined to let it.

She couldn’t afford to let it.

Abby sat down across from her and placed sandwiches on the three plates Miss Rose brought out. Journey clasped her hands together, squeezing one thumb. Her knee bobbed as her mind raced to come up with a way to bring this meeting to a close before she agreed to something. She wanted to stay. She wanted to think she could belong in such a home. But where had her instincts taken her in the past? She was no longer fit for these fine people.

Miss Rose smiled, skin pulled paper-thin over her round cheeks. She seemed about to say something when Zane’s hammer interrupted. Journey caught her motion to take a plate and pass a cloth-wrapped sandwich her way. Then the ladies bowed their heads without a word while she twitched in her seat.

“So you’d be willing to help out an old lady like me?” Miss Rose said when the pounding stopped. “You might find I’m too ornery for your liking.”

“I’m not the easiest person to live with, either, ma’am.” Hank had shown her that often enough. “I wouldn’t want to obligate you.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been looking for someone to move out here and help me some. My old bones can’t go like they used to. I’ve been praying the Lord would send just the right person. To be honest, I’m looking for the company as much as the help.”

Journey nodded and drew her eyebrows together. “You really think I could do that?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Abby’s own furrowed brow.

“Now that’s hard to tell from this side of it,” Miss Rose said. “Can you clean? Wipe windows?”

“Yes.”

“Muck out a few stalls?”

“Sure.”

“And you’re in need of a place to stay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, then it seems like we’re in a position to help each other. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that you’d wander into town, into Abby and Sam’s store, when here I am looking for someone like you.”

“Like me, ma’am?”

Miss Rose looked her over, and Journey sensed the woman knew there was something more than met the eye. “Yes,” she said. “Someone just like you.”

“What about the preacher? He seems handy enough.” Why argue the matter? She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t.

“Pastor Zane’s been helpful to a lot of folks around here. He considers it part of his ministry. But he has plenty ministry beyond playing ranch hand. I found myself expecting it of him, and that’s wrong. So I told God He’d have to send someone else along, so I could let Zane focus on more important things.”

“You don’t even know me.” The steadiness of her voice surprised her. “I could only be looking for a handout from you.”

A dignified sniff from the woman punctuated the air. “You might find you’ve gotten the harder end of the bargain. I’m set in my ways and terrible stubborn about some things. My Lord’s had many a year to help me improve, and I still struggle with it—” she interrupted with a grin “—so that tells you what I was like at your age. I’ll be after you to do some things both here in the house and around the property, but something tells me you’re heartier than you look. Pay’s not much—maybe a dollar a month, plus room and board, and of course, Sundays off. I’m figuring we could both win on this gamble, if you’re willing.”

Journey nodded. There was no way this could work. Who was she to involve this woman—this community—in her mess? The pounding on the roof matched the pounding in her head.

“So what do you say?” Abby’s voice rose over the din.

Journey’s muscles grew stiff. She needed to think. What would it matter if she darted for the door and never looked back? She waited for the hammering to stop.

“I appreciate your kind offer, Miss Rose, but I can’t—”

The ring of the hammer interrupted again. It stopped, breaking the rhythm they’d grown accustomed to with a rough scrape. A heavy thud punctuated the instant of silence. For a moment, all three of them sat stock-still. Journey’s heart leaped and she grasped the edge of the table, ready to push herself up and away.

“Zane…” Abby voiced Journey’s own thought. They jumped from their seats as one.

“Go!” Miss Rose said, her voice calm and firm. “Make sure he’s not hurt.”

Journey thought that her very tone insisted that he was fine. Somehow that tone was comforting in itself. But that thought didn’t keep her from flying out of the house, close at Abby’s heels, wondering why it should matter to her.




Chapter Three


Journey turned the far corner of the house to see Zane struggle to his elbows. His gray eyes searched the skies above, unfocused. She watched as Abby knelt at his side, and followed her glance to the old woman. Miss Rose stood with a white-knuckled grip on the corner porch post, peering over the edge.

“Zane? Zane, are you all right?” Abby grasped his shoulders in both hands, holding him steady.

“What happened?” Journey asked. Zane’s head jerked back, focusing his gaze on her. She fumbled for a handkerchief from her pocket and tapped it against Abby’s shoulder but couldn’t draw her gaze away from his. The woman took it to dab at the wide scrape on his right cheek with the limp cloth.

He blinked several times in his daze, thick lashes fluttering, but a small grin appeared. “Wasn’t being careful enough, I suppose. I must have stood too heavy on a loose shingle board.”

“If the pupils of his eyes aren’t even, he could have hit his head,” Journey said. Someone had told her about that once, after a rough bout with Hank.

She looked across the landscape. Even in the months and miles since his death, she couldn’t shake the sense that he waited out there. She shivered in the cool mountain air.

A soft groan drew her attention back to the man on the ground as he tucked his feet and stood, taking the handkerchief from Abby. A wince crossed his face when his full weight rested on his ankle. He wobbled a little, but laughed. “Shows how great the wisdom of the Lord is, calling me to preach instead of to become a carpenter.”

“Take it easy, there, Zane. Are you sure nothing’s broken?” Abby inspected his elbow.

Journey wondered what the congregation might think of their pastor showing up with a nice shiner for Sunday service. He’d no doubt have one.

He pulled the thin cloth from his eye and examined it. “I’m fine, ladies. Really, I rolled right off, nice and gentle-like onto my hammer. Won’t look too pretty for a while, but then, I don’t reckon any of my parishioners come to see a pretty face.”

Journey imagined his handsome face and strong build drew more than his share of coy glances. How could he not know it?

A rattled wheeze sounded behind her. Miss Rose had been forgotten in the excitement. “Well, he’s standing and his tongue’s working along with his brain same as usual. My goodness, Zane, you might have considered the rest of us. I declare, you took a good six months off my life. Now come inside a bit and rest yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, waving the offending hammer toward the roof. “There’s only a little more to do before I’m finished. This time I’ll pound an extra nail or two in this one.” He tapped the fallen shingle with his boot and moved back to the ladder.

“Be careful this time!” Abby smiled at his retreating back.

Journey studied his broad form until he turned, catching her off guard. He shook out the mangled handkerchief to find a clean spot before touching it again to the cut.

“I’ll wash this up and return it to you Sunday, ma’am.”

“You needn’t go to any bother, really.”

“I appreciate it all the same, Miss Smith.”

She thought to remind him to call her Journey, but then she realized it didn’t matter. It would be just as well if he forgot her name altogether. He wouldn’t be preaching to her on Sunday. She turned to follow Abby.

“Pardon me, ma’am. You prefer Journey, right? A name that pretty, I don’t blame you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He made her name sound like a complete sentence. But he seemed to look past her, over her. The wind blew his dark hair from his forehead, exposing the length of the hammer’s cut.

The faint rustle across the porch drew her attention, reminding her that the others had already returned to the house. She nodded her leave. He smiled again and began pounding.

A job, a place to stay, and nothing more. Lie low for the winter, and be gone with spring thaw. What could be wrong with that? Right now, Walten, Montana, felt a world away from Georgia. Maybe it was.



“I declare,” Miss Rose said, her voice puffing as they stepped into the warmth of the house, “sometimes I think that boy won’t be happy till he’s knocked his fool head off.”

Journey couldn’t help but smile at her exasperated tone.

“Anyway, where were we?”

“Maybe Journey would like to see the rest of your place?” Abby suggested.

She flinched, startled at the tug on her sleeve. Before she could protest, Abby drew her across the sitting room to the stairway directly opposite the door. Her brow curled, but thankfully, the woman didn’t voice any question. Journey flushed with embarrassment as she followed her up the narrow stairs.

“Well, what do you think?”

Journey peered around. “It’s…light,” she said. “I’ve never seen an upstairs so bright.”

Instead of being divided into tiny, airless closets, two smaller rooms beckoned with open doors on either side of the hall. Light wooden boards made the rooms appear large and inviting. She walked toward the far end of the hallway, and the space broadened to the width of the house, windows bright with reflected sunlight. The cobwebby corners and dusty floors didn’t dim the cheeriness of the room. How could four walls feel so unconfining?

“I haven’t been up there in some time.” Miss Rose’s voice strained to reach them from the bottom step. “You’d be welcome to use the space. We cleared a lot out after my husband passed on.”

She felt Abby’s hopeful smile on her. “So? What do you say?”

“I think…]Well, I just arrived in town, and here I am with a job offer and a roof over my head. It—it’s all happened so fast.” She glanced around the room and back over her shoulder. “I think I should catch my breath and consider it before I agree to anything. It’s all so much kindness.”

“It’s you who’d be doing the kindness. It’s a worry to me, knowing she’s alone out here. I know she’s lonesome, too. But what with the store and all…]Oh, listen to me. You have to do what you feel is best, Journey.”

She sounded sincere. Maybe she did want to help them both—Miss Rose and her. But that’s not how people worked. A few folks might look out for a dear friend, most would take up a cause for family but no one cared for a stranger. So what did Abby really want? What did any of them want?

“I’ll have to take your offer into consideration.” She hoped she gave the impression there were other options.

“We’ve been praying for the right person to come along to help Miss Rose. Then you come along, looking for work.” Abby sighed, her hands fluttering. “It’s so exciting. Maybe I’ll be proven wrong, but the Lord has blessed me with a pretty accurate sense of character. I’d be willing to take the chance. You seem like someone who needs a chance used on you.”

Journey stared back, unsure of a response. She forced out a tense breath. “I am obliged for the offer, either way. You’ve been most kind.”

“Will you at least go down and talk with Miss Rose awhile? It can’t hurt, right?”

“I suppose not.” She hoped not.

Abby stretched her arm toward the stairway. “Let’s go, then.”

Miss Rose waited in her rocker. Journey noticed she patted her hand over her heart until she saw them.

“Have a seat,” she said. “I imagine you have some questions of your own to help you decide whether this would work for you.”

Journey sat in the ladder-back chair near the door and tried to keep her breathing even. How could this woman treat her so well? She didn’t even know her and yet had offered her so much. What would Miss Rose think if she knew what brought her here?

“It seems you keep the place well enough on your own.” She didn’t accuse, but she couldn’t understand, either.

“I’m not completely feeble yet, but I can’t get after this place like I used to. Still, I can’t bear to part with what few animals I have left, either.”

“You could hire someone from town to clean a few times a week and hire a ranch hand for the animals. Then you wouldn’t be bothered with a boarder in your house,” Journey said.

Miss Rose’s laugh caught her by surprise. “I reckon you’re right. It shows you have common sense. But the truth is, I need someone around more than that. It gets too quiet for my liking anymore. But town is too big and busy. I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think.”

Journey considered that. “I’m not one to chatter much.”

Again the laugh. What a shame Mama never laughed like that. “So I’ve noticed.”

Journey found the corners of her mouth curling up in spite of herself. “Please understand, I can’t decide a thing like this before I think it through.”

“Take all the time you need, darlin’. It’s not like there’s a flock of people knocking down my door for the job, Lord knows.” Journey felt cool, wrinkled skin pat her hand.

“So when will your nephew be able to visit?” Abby asked. Journey figured the topic must be settled until she decided on her next move.

“Not soon enough for me, but I received a letter from him last week. He’s going to try to make it for Thanksgiving, Lord willing.”

Journey tightened her grip on the chair. A dollar a month plus board would help her save a little. If she held her purse strings very tightly, she’d be ready to move on by spring with money to get her to Oregon. Or even California. She scanned the warm wooden walls, the solid mantel above the all-but-dead fire. A certainty filled her. Yes. A good, safe home to rest in and regroup. Surely no one would look for her through a Montana winter. She’d be gone with spring thaw. Or, if things worked out well enough, maybe she’d stay on in the spring. Who could find her in a town as small as Walten?

“…some of the cases he works on, I declare. I wish he’d find a safer way to make a living.” Miss Rose waved her hand before smacking it down on her knee.

Cases? Her nephew was a lawyer?

“Does he live far from here?” she asked. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Over in Virginia City,” Miss Rose said, turning to face her with a smile. “He’s a lawman there.”




Chapter Four


Zane dismounted without his usual ease. That fall would have him stiff tomorrow but no lasting harm done. With a pat to Malachi’s flank, he took off his tack and led him into his stall. After taking care of his mount, he moved to check on the other two horses he kept.

When he had heeded the Lord’s call to the ministry, he thought his dreams of owning his own horse ranch were gone. It was a trade he’d been willing to make, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss it. Sarah had been the one to encourage him to do both.

It hadn’t been easy on a pastor’s wage to get started, but he and Sarah had both made sacrifices enough to give them a start. He looked around now at the barn with the three horses. Not a grand beginning but room to grow. Without the horses to focus on after the fire and to fill those few hours when he was forced to be alone, he might’ve lost sight of their dream altogether.

He rubbed his tired eyes, wincing when he nudged the lump on the side of his head. He’d gladly trade it all to be rebuilding his dream with Sarah, rather than continuing it without her.

Zane made his way into the little house he’d built for himself. The Lord had called him to the ministry, and he had believed at one time that Sarah had been the one to be his helpmate in it. But hadn’t the Lord shown him otherwise by taking her so soon from him? He’d failed somehow—failed to protect his family when they needed him most.

He rubbed his face and moved his hand back to his neck. He needed to wash up and finalize his sermon notes, then make a visit to the Culpeppers’ and see how Agnes was faring with her gout. Then he’d ride upstream a bit and practice his sermon before turning in.

It would be a productive day. It had been a productive week. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d come home to an empty house tonight.



Journey gave the ropes a final tug, securing her bedroll to the saddle. The horse sidestepped and pranced. Journey watched the evening sun drip into the horizon behind the peaked hills. She pinched her lips and let go a long breath, then nudged Gypsy toward the west.

Her cheeks ached from holding a tight smile for the better part of the afternoon. It took a firm hold to keep her horse at a walk tonight. They crossed the bridge leading out of town.

“I thanked her for the offer, of course, Gyp.” She used low tones to calm the skittish horse. “But there’s no way we can stay here. It wouldn’t be right to drag her into our mess. Besides, her nephew is the law in Virginia City. We can’t risk being caught. I’m not the fool I was when we first left Georgia.” Her horse skittered and neighed. “Well, not quite.”

Gypsy tossed her black mane and whinnied. “I know. I liked the lady, too. I think we might have gotten a fair shake from her.”

She felt guilty taking supper with the Norwoods, but Abby had all but tied her to a chair. Besides, she knew she’d do well to fill up before hitting the trail again. She excused herself before Abby brought out the pie, saying she wanted to explore the town before dark. But the wide, friendly streets and small, boasting businesses didn’t attract her as much as the gurgling river and mountain views. They gave her space to breathe. She could appreciate Miss Rose’s desire to be away from Walten’s streets. There was no way she could stay. But she thought again of Miss Rose’s ranch. Was there?

“We’ll try the next town,” she said. “We can’t expect comfortable. Maybe when things have settled down more, we could come back. Everything is too messed up now.”

She stroked the horse’s brown neck. There was no time to be looking back. She’d had her chance. Stupid, stupid, stupid…]Leaving Hank at the start would’ve been so much smarter. There’d been no reason to stick around after that first slap. There probably hadn’t been much of a reason to stick around before it, for that matter.

She shivered, rousing herself back to the moment at hand. With the glow of the sun in the twilight sky being all that remained of the day, the cool of night drew up a breeze. It would be cold sleeping out on the trail tonight. She thought a moment of the airy upper floor of that ranch house. She could picture Miss Rose poking the fire, banking it for the night.

Journey buttoned her coat up to her chin and shifted in the saddle. She’d cut through toward the bluff and camp in the stand of pines there, then keep heading west at first light. Quiet sounds of the night echoed over the bluffs—the hoot of an owl, soft wind from the hills. Her arms and legs lost some of their tenseness. The trail narrowed, but the trees brushing overhead gave the comfort of shelter.

Her eyelids drifted closed until her horse balked, refusing to move on. “A little farther, Gyp, and we’ll bed down.” She dug her heel into the flank.

But the horse reared back, snapping her fully awake, fingers tensed over the reins. She grabbed the saddle horn before she slid too far. Just as quickly, the forehooves clapped the packed dirt. It jarred the breath from her. The horse raced farther into the trees, heedless of the commands she bellowed. She stretched her arms as far as they’d reach around the horse’s neck, muscles pulling as she hung tightly.

She bounced, her vision rattled as she tried to stay mounted and, at the same time, watch the direction the animal was taking.

The horse squealed, then lurched to a stop. Stars, leaves and dirt tangled before her. She felt weightless for an instant, then all of gravity’s force came back to her with a crunch. The dimness of sunset faded to dark.




Chapter Five


Zane reined his horse to a stop, breathing hard. “Feels good to stretch the legs, eh, Malachi?” He patted the steamy neck as he dismounted by the stream. Closer to town, the brook broadened and slowed into a river. But here, it still gurgled and bounced over rocks.

He hunched down by the edge and trailed his fingers in the water a moment, then scooped a handful to drink. It ran fresh and cold down his throat, and he smoothed the back of his wet hand over his lips and chin. He’d need to shave before service.

Stretching out on the stubbled grass with his hands clasped behind his head, he stared up at a night sky of the deepest blue, covered with stars high above. Miss Rose would have a piece of his hide if she knew he’d come out without his coat.

For as long as he’d lived here, the beauty of the land had never failed to awe him. “Lord, I thank You for Your hand I see in all creation. It’s a comfort to know things are in the order You made them to be.” The scent of sage carried on the wind. He traced the swollen lump around his eye with his fingers.

“I pray, Lord, that You’ll bless the folks here. Make sure I preach the words You give me to their benefit as well as my own. And thanks for watching out for me today when I fell. It could’ve been worse, I reckon. Turns out just my pride got hurt. Keep a special eye on Miss Rose, too, Lord. She’s a dear old soul who’s loved and served You a long while. I’m asking You to send the right person to help her.”

Journey seemed an unlikely choice. She reminded him of a colt his father had bought from a rancher known for poor handling of his animals. That colt never lost the suspicious gleam in its eyes. It always flinched when touched, bolted often and busted fences more times than he could count.

“Until You do, Lord, help me look after Miss Rose. And thank You for putting her here to take care of me like she has ever since—”

Since Sarah died. He scratched his chin and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. A fire blazed in his chest. Sarah. Their baby she carried. The flame that took them burned in him still. Three years without them—where would he be now without Miss Rose’s prayer and love and support?

“I still miss them. I know they rest with You, Lord. It makes it easier, but I still ache that they’re gone. Help me, Lord.”

He stood and brushed himself off, clearing his dry throat. “All these things I lay before You, in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

He nickered to his horse, who trotted over and nuzzled his shoulder. “C’mon, Malachi. Let’s get back. You can listen to my sermon before I turn in.”

He’d always been a fair tracker, but when the Lord had called him to preach, he was sure he’d misread the signs. His palms still sweat when he stood before his congregation. Sarah had always listened to the sermon twice—once the evening before so he could practice and again during Sunday service. Her soft laugh would echo through the tiny home he’d been able to provide, and she’d run her fingers through his hair. He could still feel her wide, moist lips on his cheek.

“Preach it with the fire God’s given you for His Word, for others, and you’ll be fine,” she’d say.

Now he had Malachi. Captive audience, little response. He mounted up and spurred the horse to a trot farther along the stream before heading home. It was too nice a night to head back early.

A cry broke through the night. He grabbed the Spencer gun holstered behind his saddle. He hadn’t heard any talk of bobcats in the area, but it sure sounded like a woman’s scream coming from the stand of trees ahead. He edged Malachi closer, picking his way into the darker night of the woods. What would a woman be doing out at this time of night?

He slid from the saddle and readied the gun in case he’d guessed wrong. A whinny sounded to his right as he drew closer, and it didn’t take the brightness of the moon to find the broad, crooked path of broken twigs. Zane followed.

The thrashing horse caught his attention. The mare’s eyes rolled back to white in panic as she neighed and struggled to get up from her side. He ground-tied his own mount, then moved toward the frightened animal.

“Easy, easy there, girl.” He slid the halter off, stroking her wide brown head. The horse seemed to quiet, kicking only occasionally with her hind hooves.

He patted the heaving side, continuing to comfort the horse in low tones as he slid his other hand along her right foreleg. He grimaced when the bone shifted beneath his touch. Busted.

A soft moan drew his attention to the still, small form lying nearby. Peering through the dimness, he found a floppy brimmed hat lying against a tree trunk. The same one he’d seen on the woman Abby had introduced earlier. Journey? What was she doing all the way out here?

If not for the unnatural angle of her left leg, Zane could’ve believed she’d fallen asleep. She lay on her side, head cradled on her outstretched arm. A few loosened curls draped over her shoulder. He dropped down beside her and eased her over to her back. A bruise formed near her temple, stark against her pale skin. She moaned again and he leaned back on his haunches, pulling her tattered skirt down from where it bunched at her knees.

“Journey? Miss Smith?” He tapped her cheek. “Journey, wake up.”

She tossed her head once to either side as if to refuse him. “Don’t touch me. I—I mean it.” Her voice slurred.

“Journey? Ma’am, it’s me, Zane—Reverend Thompson.” Her eyes fluttered. “That’s it. Come on now.”

He watched her eyes slit open, and she struggled to sit up. He saw her grind her teeth rather than cry out at the pain the movement had to have caused her leg.

“Gypsy?”

He guessed she meant the horse by the way she searched about with her deep brown eyes. She blinked at him as if he’d just appeared. She moved to touch the lump on her head, but he pulled her icy fingers away and held them in his hand.

“Hold on, there.” Zane stayed her with a hand at her arm, not quite touching. “Let’s check you out, first. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Squinting, her head wobbled slightly. “Four. How’s my horse?”

“Three. And she’s not good,” Zane said. He slid down and picked up her left foot in both hands. “Neither are you. I need to check your leg.”

She didn’t protest, only turned her head and squinted in the direction of her whimpering horse. He slid the tattered fabric back to just past the smooth knee. Moving his hands along the leg, he felt the bone move beneath the stockings, much as the horse’s had. Fortunately for her, unlike with the horse, it wasn’t a fatal injury.

She shivered. Wind blew through the trees. “Journey? Are you with me? Your leg’s broken. We need to get you inside.”

“My horse…”

Her white skin glistened in the moonlight, like some ghostly beauty from an old story. Her head bobbed with no particular rhythm as she scanned the space around them.

Zane grabbed a blanket from her now-still horse. He balled it up and placed it under her head.

“Ma’am, my house isn’t far from here if we cut straight through the field. It seems best if I carry you there, then go for the doc in town.”

“I need my horse,” she said, as if that should be his only concern.

He moved his head, trying to keep himself in her field of vision. “We’ll get you inside, I’ll get the doc and then I’ll come back and take care of your horse. Ready?”

She stiffened as he moved to lift her. “I’ll ride Gypsy.” Her voice fairly shook.

He settled back on his heels and slid his hat off to scratch his head. The horse panted behind them, and he knew she hadn’t gotten a good look at the damage. But then, she didn’t seem to register her own damage.

She scrambled to her feet, slender arms swinging to gain balance. The instant she rested her weight on her broken leg, a low moan ripped through her throat. Zane saw her eyes flutter closed and caught her as she collapsed.

Her breath puffed warm on his neck. He knew he needed to get her indoors but set her back to pull a coil of rope from the horse’s halter. He patted the horse’s head and she quivered at his touch. “Hold on, gal.”

Journey moaned softly. He found a few branches nearby to splint her awkward leg before bending to lift her. “I hope you’re as light as you look, ma’am,” he said, peering through the pine boughs waving overhead to the starry sky above.

Malachi was a sturdy sort. Not fast, but steady. Zane was thankful now as he lifted Journey to the saddle. He held her head in one hand and pulled himself into the saddle with the other. Her teeth clenched as he reached for the bridle.

“I mean it, Hank. Don’t you touch me,” she said. He leaned forward, but her eyes never opened.

“Don’t worry, lady,” he said. He lifted soft curls of hair to check the cut on her head again. “You’ll feel a whole lot better, soon’s we get the doc to take a look at you. Giddap, Malachi.”



Journey listened, straining to catch the sounds of the room beyond the pounding in her head. Creaking boards told her she wasn’t alone.

She opened her eyes a slit, peering through her lashes. She could barely make out a window frame opposite where she lay. The glow at her right side could’ve been only a lamp, but the warmth made her think of a fireplace. How did she get here? And where was here? She couldn’t think with this stampede running through her head.

Gypsy. She remembered the horse stumbling, going down.

A shadow crossed over her. She sat up with a gasp as pain flashed hot like lightning down her leg.

“Take it easy,” a voice spoke from the shadow. She jerked her head and opened her eyes wide, but the ache forced her back to the softness of the pillow.

“Abby?” She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the light. “Wh-what happened? Where am I?”

Abby pulled a chair closer to the edge of the bed and smiled down at her. “You’re at Zane’s. He found you in the woods, thrown by your horse.”

“Gypsy? How is she?”

Abby smoothed the blanket over her and leaned back in her seat. “Sam and Zane went to check. Doc Ferris was here. He said your head should feel better in a day or so. It’s a good thing Zane was there.”

Journey shifted, biting her lip against the pain.

“That leg’ll take a while longer. Doc left something to help ease the hurt.”

She slid her leg under the quilt, feeling the stiff binding around it. “How much longer?”

Abby’s lips quirked to one side. “At least a month, maybe more, Doc said.”

She could be snowed in by that time, if the chill in the night air held. Where would she stay? She wouldn’t be able to afford a room longer than a week, and that’s if she didn’t eat. She knew enough to realize Reverend Thompson couldn’t extend his hospitality to her that long. And the doctor! How was she to pay him?

She had to leave before that. She’d give herself the day and let Gypsy rest. Then she’d be ready to move on. If she went slowly, they’d make out fine. She could just take it easy, not push the horse too much and keep her leg bound.

“I’ll need to settle up with the doctor before I leave.”

Abby patted her arm. “Don’t you worry. Once you get settled in at Miss Rose’s, you can work it out with her. I’m sure she’ll help you. You can pay her back when you’re on your feet again. Let me get that pain medicine. You’re about due.”

Abby moved to the table behind her. It seemed this room served as kitchen, sitting room and sleeping area for the pastor. It must be his bed she lay on. Her leg throbbed in time with her head. She had to get out of here.

“Here you go.” Abby nudged a spoonful of liquid to her. “This’ll help you rest, too. You’ve had quite a night. I should’ve told you to stick closer to town.”

She swallowed the liquid, but Abby’s words burned her with embarrassment. What would she think if she knew there had been no plan to stay? Not that it mattered now. Did it? Was there any way to explain how grateful she was for the kindness they’d shown and make them understand that she couldn’t allow it anymore? It didn’t seem likely, not without telling too much.

“I’m not one to be hemmed in,” she said. She fisted the blankets around her and slid down into the pillow.

“Believe me, I can understand that,” Abby said. Her eyebrows lifted, and Journey braced herself for more questions. “I didn’t expect you to ride so far out of town. We were looking for you to come back any time when Zane came pounding on the door. He’d found Doc Ferris at the Wilsons’ and sent him out here, then came for Sam to help with your horse. I had Sam hook up the wagon and bring me along to see what I could do. I thought you might feel better if you came to with a familiar face around, instead of a complete stranger here.”

Journey fought the gathering tears. She nodded and her throat felt tight. “You’re right. Thank you.” She didn’t know this woman well, but it was better than waking up with an unknown doctor prodding around. “Where are they?”

“Doc Ferris figured you’d rest quietly awhile, and he needed to get back to the Wilsons’ to check on their new baby before he headed back to town,” Abby said. “Zane and Sam should be back any minute now, soon as they get your horse checked over.”

Journey felt the bandage over her temple as she brushed a curl from her forehead. She smoothed the blanket at her waist with the other hand even though Abby had already done that. Her leg felt better since taking the medicine, and her head slowed its throbbing. She yawned.

“Did Reverend Thompson—Zane—say how she was?”

“Your horse?”

“Yes.” She yawned again. “Gypsy.”

Abby turned away, as if she suddenly remembered the spoon and bottle she still held. They clinked together on the table. “Zane didn’t say. He was more anxious about Doc Ferris getting out here to see you. He said you were in and out, calling him ‘Hank’ or something like that.”

Journey kept her eyes down, staring at her hands on the quilt. A chill fell over her. She no longer felt drowsy. What else might she have said?

But Abby chattered on, unaware that she’d struck a nerve. “If anyone can patch up your horse, it’s Zane. He worked with his father raising horses before Mr. Thompson passed away. What he didn’t know about horses wouldn’t fill a thimble, and he taught Zane everything.”

She slid back down on the bed, pulling the covers all the way over her shoulders, and Abby put another log on the fire. “Keep warm. Doc was worried you’d fall into shock, being out in the cold air like you were. But you look better already than you did when I first arrived. Your color’s back.”

Boots on the porch boards outside the front door roused her. She and Abby turned as the door swung open, revealing Zane and Sam. Journey caught the shake of Sam’s head when he looked at his wife. The sharp whinny of the horse echoed in her memory. How bad could it be?

Zane looked haggard. The bruise around his eye from his fall at Miss Rose’s was dark and swollen. He rubbed a hand over the shadow beard on his chin, and she felt sorry for the trouble she’d caused him. He shrugged her saddlebag from his shoulder and hung it on a peg near the door, then hooked the gun he carried above it. He turned and stared at her.

She grew uneasy, self-conscious, thankful the doctor hadn’t needed to disrobe her to splint the leg. She felt bare toes scrape the blanket only on that foot, the other stocking still in place. Why didn’t he say something?

He swiped a hand through his hair and cleared his throat, then placed his hand on his hip.

“How bad is she? I have to know.”

Zane cleared his throat again and looked over to Sam and Abby. Then his gray eyes turned in her direction and he drew in a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am—Journey,” he said. “I had to put her down.”

The coldness swept through her again, and this time her injuries weren’t to blame. She covered her face with her palms.

Slender fingers squeezed her shoulder. Journey looked up to see Abby’s teary face. She’d cry herself if she thought it would do any good. She’d come all this way. She couldn’t let herself get caught now. But without Gypsy…

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Abby said. “We’ll help you. Miss Rose has plenty of space and a good little riding horse she’ll let you use, I know it. We’ll work things out with her.”

“I have nothing to bargain with. I can’t stay here. I’m sorry, I should have said before, but I couldn’t possibly—”

“Sure you can,” Sam said. “I’m sorry about your horse. Believe me, I know what it’s like to lose a good mount like that. It feels like you lost your best friend. But the Lord works in mysterious ways, right, Zane?”

Zane nodded. “Don’t worry about anything, Journey. It’ll work out.” His voice rasped as he stood in the flickering light.

You don’t know! How could you take my horse? She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to shove him out the door and demand he bring Gypsy back.

“I’ll stay with you tonight, and we’ll let you get some rest,” Abby said. “Zane and Sam can stay out in the barn. Then in the morning they can ride over and talk to Miss Rose, let her know what’s happened. After church we’ll ride you over in our wagon.”

“But how can I work for her now?”

“It’s the company she needs most,” Abby said.

“And we’ll be around to give her a hand,” Zane added. “I guarantee she’ll not consider you a bother.”

Her options had been shot out from under her. It was all decided. She’d stay in Walten until her leg healed. Until she could afford another horse. Until she paid all the debts this one night had cost her. She sighed. Or until the law caught up with her.




Chapter Six


Zane dragged his feet across the rug at the door. Journey lay across his bed on top of the quilt Sarah had made. He’d had it in his buckboard the night of the fire, and it was the only tangible thing he had left of her.

“Zane? What’s wrong?”

Abby’s voice drew him from the memories that never were very far away. “Nothing. I was just…nothing.” He nodded toward the patient. “She ready?”

Abby nodded. “She’s tuckered out. I helped her wash her hair, so between that and the laudanum Doc Ferris left her, she sleeps hard.” She looked from him to the tiny form on the bed. “I get the feeling she hasn’t had a good rest for a long time.”

Zane remembered her wild-eyed fear the night before when he’d found her in the woods. Something about her tugged at him, and he didn’t know himself yet what it was. “Well, maybe that’s why the Lord led her here. He definitely wanted her to stick around awhile. What did Doc say?”

“Six weeks. By then the snow will be through the pass and she’ll be here until spring.”

“Did she say where she was headed yesterday?”

Abby shook her head. “I have a feeling she wasn’t planning to be here long, though.” Her shoulders rose with a forceful breath. “Does Sam have the wagon ready?”

“He’s ready and waiting.”

“Good. I’ll go out and get the blankets ready, and you can bring her out,” Abby said, pulling on her sweater from the back of the chair.

Zane started. He hadn’t thought of how they would get Journey to the wagon, but looking at her now, he knew she wouldn’t be managing it on her own.

“It’ll be good if she stays asleep. I know from experience that leg will pain her these first few days especially.” He didn’t add the fact that she hadn’t been too fond of him the last time he’d tried to help.

Abby grinned and patted his shoulder on the way out. “Don’t be nervous, Zane. It’s not like she’ll bite.”

“You didn’t see her last night when I brought her in here.”

Abby got a strange look in her eyes, the one that told him her thoughts were moving the conversation into a different direction entirely. “Maybe in time both of you will change your perceptions, then. You deserve to give some girl the chance to make you happy again.”

He laughed softly as she swept out the door with a wink. Abby, the eternal matchmaker. She’d been the one to introduce him to Sarah.

Striding over to Journey’s prone form, he adjusted his hat and bent down to pick her up. Instead of the tense fear that weighed her down last night, she felt no heavier than a new colt. He pulled her head against his shoulder before managing to get a grip under her knees to lift her up.

Her hair followed in a trail that swept past his elbow, a fiery wave of still-damp curls. She smelled of lavender soap, and he knew Abby had been adding any little thing she could to comfort their newest resident.

Standing upright, he felt her shift against him, burrowing her face into his shoulder with a soft murmur. Thick lashes brushed her tanned cheek, which blurred a fine spray of freckles that could be seen only from this close. Her wide mouth parted open slightly, and he felt her soft breath at his neck.

Zane tightened his hold and focused on moving her out the door without jarring her bound leg. But had she been awake and not fighting against him, he knew she would feel his pounding heart in the hand that brushed his chest.

Abby needed to stop putting ideas into a man’s head.



The rumble of pans being placed in a cupboard roused Journey. She ran her fingers over the heavy brocade of the couch where she lay. The fire crackled and cast a soft light over the room, which had grown darker since her arrival that afternoon.

Her throbbing head reminded her why she was there. A groan escaped before she could stifle it. She eased into the pillow as Miss Rose came into view, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a drying towel in her hand.

“Did you sleep well?”

Journey stretched her leg, the one that wasn’t broken. “I must’ve. I forgot where I was for a moment. What time is it?” Her whole body felt stiff.

“Nigh onto seven o’clock.”

“I guess I slept the day away.”

Miss Rose smiled. “It’s the best thing for you. You had enough excitement last night to wear a body out. And I’ll bet the ride here this morning didn’t help any. Are you hungry?”

Her stomach rumbled before she could deny it. “A little.” She mustered a small grin.

“Good. You dropped off before supper and we hated to wake you, so I saved you a plate. Let me warm it a bit and I’ll bring it in for you.”

Journey pulled herself up further with her arm. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. I can come out.” She paused as her vision swam.

Miss Rose had already moved back into the kitchen, but her crackling voice carried through. “You’ll do no such thing. Doc Ferris said you’re to keep that leg up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Doc Ferris’s word carried a lot of weight, Journey already knew. Pain medication was given every two hours, no matter how she tried to beg off. No weight on that leg meant being carted to the house by Zane Thompson in his arms, much to her embarrassment. She’d slept through the move from his house, at least. But now here she sat, being waited on by the woman she’d been hired to care for.

The steaming plate placed on her lap aroused her hunger even more. She smiled her thanks and leaned forward as Miss Rose propped more pillows behind her. The chicken leg and green beans smelled delicious, and a thick slice of bread with a generous spread of butter and a drizzle of honey made her mouth water. She calculated the cost of such a meal and made a mental note to keep a ledger. But for now there was nothing to do for it. She’d have to eat if she was going to stay strong and mend quickly. She poked a bean with her fork.

Miss Rose must have been satisfied, because she smiled and said, “I’ll leave you to your supper. I figure you’ll want some time to ponder your situation.” Then she moved back toward the kitchen.

Journey sat back into the cushions, grateful for the solitude. But ponder? There wasn’t much she could do. Miss Rose welcomed her with open arms and seemed pleased with the arrangement. Tears fought their way into her eyes as she thought about the kindness these people had shown. How could she tell them why she had run? Didn’t they deserve to know? What if they threw her out? What would she do then?

Her options had been cut off. She tried to think what had spooked the horse in the first place, but a fog surrounded all the particulars of the night before. Now here she sat. No horse. No money. No job. Broken leg. She tore a corner from the bread and chewed, trying to slow her jumbled thoughts.

Part of the reason she’d taken up with Hank back then had been because she’d felt she had no choice. But the day she had stood up to Hank was the day she’d realized she was never without options. Even now, looking over her shoulder, waiting to be caught for her crime, she was better off than she’d been with Hank.

Biting into the tender chicken, she thought about her predicament. She couldn’t walk around, but there was nothing wrong with her hands. There had to be something. No great loss without some small gain, Mama had always said. Where was the glimmer of hope?

Journey licked the salty crisps from her fingers. Cooking meant standing. Tending children was out of the question. She drew in a deep breath. Something would come to her. The one thing she did have was time to think—a lot of time to think.

She silently thanked Abby for taking the time to help wash her hair before she had dozed off. She’d need some pins to put it back up. She yawned. Maybe it could wait until tomorrow.

The shuffle of feet from the kitchen drew her attention. “I thought you might want your saddlebag,” Miss Rose said, nodding toward the floor by her side. “Zane left it there for you.”

She glanced at the buckles. They didn’t seem to have been opened since she’d fastened them yesterday. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You might as well get into the practice of calling me Miss Rose,” the old woman said.

“I’ll work on it.” She squirmed under the blanket, trying to shift her aching leg into a more comfortable position. “I appreciate what you’re doing, honestly I do. I’d be at a loss without your kindness. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll pay you back for everything, somehow. I hate to be beholden.”

“Nonsense. I’m glad to help. And I don’t want you fretting about it. This gives me my chance to play the Good Samaritan.” She patted Journey’s good leg and took her empty plate. “We’ll even it out when you’re able, dear.”

“You’ll find I’m not very ‘dear,’” she whispered. “Please, just call me Journey.”

“I think there’s more ‘dear’ in you than you give yourself credit for.” Miss Rose stroked a hand over Journey’s hair. Like Mama used to do. Warmth for this woman grew no matter how she tried to stop it.

“Zane left this package for you. He brought it in with your saddle.” Miss Rose handed her a lump tied in brown paper, then returned to the kitchen.

The fabric she’d bought at the store. She’d have a fine dress, plenty warm for winter. At least she could work on that.

She always could sew a fine seam. Mama had taught her to stitch and to sew in the afternoon hours before she’d go to work. If she could find sewing to do, it might not be much, but at least she could pay something toward her board until she was up and around again. She would ask Abby to post a notice in the store.

She turned her attention to the saddlebag, listening for Miss Rose to return. Looking over her shoulder, she fumbled the buckle open and hefted the bag to her lap to reach the bottom of the deep pocket.

The touch of cool metal brought a sense of relief. They hadn’t found it. She pulled the Double Derringer gun from the pack and slid it into her skirt pocket. The smooth nickel barrel and walnut handle felt secure in her fingers.

Yes, there were options. Spring was a long winter away. She had to wait and not tip her hand. Because if they knew she had killed a man, her only options would be prison or a rope.




Chapter Seven


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.”




Chapter Eight


Journey’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.




Chapter Nine


“Whoa, 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?”




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