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The Maverick Preacher
Victoria Bylin
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 centuriesOnce upon a time, he was one of Boston's most righteous ministers. Now Joshua Blue is a guilt-stricken man scouring the West to find the sister he drove away with his pride. When the trail leads him to Denver, a beautiful boardinghouse owner might be the key to unlocking past secrets. . . .By sheer determination, Adelaide Clark has raised her young son alone. When Joshua arrives at her door, Adie fears he'll tear her family apart. As she gets to know the charming preacher, however, she sees he's come to make amends for past wrongs. Soon his strong faith sparks Adie's long-buried hope for a future with a God-sent partner at her side. . . .



“The baby…Who’s the mother?”
Joshua asked.
Adie raised her chin. “I am.”
The flash in his eyes told her that he’d assumed she’d given birth out of wedlock. Adie resented being judged, but she counted it as the price of protecting little Stephen. If Mr. Blue chose to condemn her, so be it. She’d done nothing of which to be ashamed. With their gazes locked, she waited for the criticism that didn’t come.
Instead he laced his fingers on top of his Bible. “Children are a gift, all of them.”
“I think so, too.”
“He sure can cry. How old is he?”
Adie didn’t like the questions at all, but she took pride in her son. “He’s three months old. I hope the crying doesn’t disturb you.”
“I don’t care if it does.” He sounded defiant.
She didn’t understand. “Most men would be annoyed.”
“Crying’s better than silence…I know.”

VICTORIA BYLIN
Victoria Bylin fell in love with God and her husband at the same time. It started with a ride on a big red motorcycle and a date to see a Star Trek movie. A recent graduate of UC Berkeley, Victoria had been seeking that elusive “something more” when Michael rode into her life. Neither knew it, but they were each reading the Bible.
Five months later, they got married and the blessings began. They have two sons and have lived in California and Virginia. Michael’s career allowed Victoria to be both a stay-at-home mom and a writer. She’s living a dream that started when she read her first book and thought, “I want to tell stories.” For that gift, she will be forever grateful.
Feel free to drop Victoria an e-mail at VictoriaBylin@aol.com or visit her Web site www.victoriabylin.com.

The Maverick Preacher
Victoria Bylin





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Be kind and compassionate to one another,
forgiving each other, just as God in Christ
forgave you.
—Ephesians 4:32
To my husband, Michael…
Your faith inspires me,
and your love sustains me.

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
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion

Chapter One
Denver, Colorado
July 1875
If Adelaide Clarke had been asleep like a sensible woman, she wouldn’t have heard the thump on her front porch. As moonlight streamed through her window, she stopped breathing to block out the smallest sound. Last week a shadowy figure had broken the same window with a rock. She had an enemy. Someone wanted to drive her out of Denver and the boardinghouse called Swan’s Nest.
Trembling, Adie listened for another noise. None came.
The thump had sounded like a rotten tomato. The sooner she cleaned up the mess, the less damage it would do to the paint, but she worried about waking up her boarders. The women in her house would fill wash buckets and gather rags. They’d scrub the door with her, but all four of them would tremble with fear.
Whoever had caused the thump could be lurking in the dark, waiting to grab her. Adie had been grabbed before—not in Denver but back in Kansas. Shuddering, she closed her eyes. If she’d been on speaking terms with God, she’d have prayed until she dozed. Instead she counted backward from a hundred as her mother had taught her to do.
Before she reached ninety, she heard a low moan. The timbre of it triggered memories of gutters, bruised ribs and the morning she’d met Maggie Butler. Adie knew about moaning. So did the women in her house. Mary had arrived bruised and angry in the dead of night. Pearl, thin and sick with pregnancy, had appeared at dawn. Bessie and Caroline, sisters from Virginia, had arrived in Denver on a midday train. Bessie had served with Clara Barton in the War Between the States and suffered from nightmares. Caroline had seen her husband lynched.
If a woman needed shelter, Adie opened her door wide, just as Maggie Butler had once opened her door to Adie.
She slid out of bed and reached for her wrapper. As she slipped her arms through the sleeves, she looked at the baby in the cradle next to her bed. No matter how Stephen Hagan Clarke had come into the world, he belonged to Adie. Grateful he hadn’t been colicky as usual, she touched his back to be sure he was breathing. He’d been born six weeks early and had struggled to survive. Maggie Butler, his natural mother, hadn’t been so fortunate.
Comforted by the rise of his narrow chest, Adie hurried down the staircase, a sweeping curve that spoke to the house’s early days of glory. She crossed the entryway, cracked open the front door and looked down at the porch, staying hidden as she took in a body shrouded in a black cloak. A full moon lit the sky, but the eaves cast a boxlike shadow around the tangle of cloth and limbs. Adie couldn’t make out the details, but she felt certain the person was a woman in need. She had owned Swan’s Nest for three months and word had spread that she rented only to females.
She dropped to a crouch. “Wake up, sweetie. You’re safe now.”
Her visitor groaned.
Startled by the low timbre, Adie touched the dark fabric covering the bend of a shoulder. Instead of the wool of a woman’s cloak, she felt the coarse texture of a canvas duster. She pulled back as if she’d been scalded. In a way, she had—by Timothy Long and his indulgent parents, by the people of Liddy’s Grove, by Reverend Honeycutt but not his wife. Adie hadn’t given birth to Stephen, but she could have. Timothy Long had accosted her in the attic. If she hadn’t fought him off and fled, he’d have done worse things than he had.
Moaning again, the man rolled to his side. Adie sniffed the air but didn’t smell whiskey. If she had, she’d have thrown water in his face and ordered him off her porch. Before meeting Maggie, she’d supported herself by cleaning cafés and saloons, any place that would pay a few coins so she could eat. The smell of liquor had turned her stomach then, and it still did.
Adie worried that the man had been shot, but she didn’t smell blood, only dirt and perspiration. Judging by his horse and the duster, he’d been on the road for a while and had come straight to Swan’s Nest, not from a saloon in the heart of Denver. Maybe he was a drifter or even an outlaw on the run. Adie didn’t rent to men and didn’t want to start now, but her conscience wouldn’t let her close the door.
Neither would her common sense. What if the stranger died? A dead body meant calling the sheriff. Calling the sheriff meant exposing Swan’s Nest to scrutiny. A reporter would show up from the Denver Star. The next thing she knew, she’d be answering questions that came dangerously close to revealing the truth about her son and Maggie Butler. Calling for help, even the doctor, put Adie and her son at risk. She saw only one solution. The man had to wake up and leave. Using all her strength, she rolled him to his back. “Wake up!”
He didn’t stir.
None too gently, she patted his cheek. Black whiskers scraped her palm, another sign of his maleness and time spent on the trail. She pulled back her hand. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
The circumstances called for drastic measures. She hurried to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, then opened the high cupboard where she kept smelling salts. She lifted a vial, picked up the glass and went back to the porch. If the ammonia carbonate didn’t wake the man up, she’d splash his face with the water.
Dropping back to her knees, she tried the smelling salts first. They stank worse than rotten eggs.
Her visitor got a whiff and jerked his head to the side. His eyes popped wide, revealing dilated pupils and a sheen of confusion.
“Wake up!” she said again.
He looked at her with more hope than she’d ever seen on a human face. “Emily?”
“I’m not Emily,” Adie replied. “Are you ill or shot?”
He groaned. “I’m not shot.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Not a drop.” His voice faded. “No laudanum, either.”
Why had he added that? Thoughts of opium hadn’t crossed Adie’s mind. “Here,” she said, holding out the water. “This might help.”
He reached for it but couldn’t raise his head. Setting aside her reluctance, she put her arm behind his shoulders and lifted. As he raised his hand to steady the cup, she felt muscles stretch across his back. His shoulder blades jutted against her wrist, reminding her again that he had a physical strength she lacked.
He drained the glass, then blew out a breath. “Thank you, miss.”
She lowered his shoulders to the porch, then rocked back on her knees. “Who are you?”
“No one important.”
Adie needed facts. “What’s your name?”
“Joshua Blue.” He grimaced. “God bless you for your kindness.”
Adie’s lips tightened. Considering how God had “blessed” her in the past, she wanted nothing to do with Him. “I’m not interested in God’s blessing, Mr. Blue. I want you to leave.”
“Blessings aside,” he murmured, “thank you for the water.”
Adie didn’t want to be thanked. She wanted to be rid of him. “Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
“Can you ride?” she asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “I came to rent a room.”
“I don’t rent to men.”
“I’ll pay double.”
The money tempted her in a way nothing else could. Before meeting Maggie, Adie had been homeless. She valued a roof and a bed the way rich women valued silver and jewels. It had taken a miracle—and Maggie Butler—to make Swan’s Nest Adie’s home. She owned it. Or more correctly, she owned half of it. Franklin Dean, the new owner of Denver National Bank, held the promissory note Adie had signed with his father. The older man had viewed banking as a way to help hardworking people, but he’d died a month ago. His son lacked the same compassion, and Adie had clashed with him the instant they’d met. They’d done battle again when he’d tried to call on Pearl against the girl’s will.
Adie’s blood boiled at the thought of Dean, all slick and shiny in his black carriage. She’d managed to keep up with her mortgage but not as easily as she’d hoped when she’d signed the papers. Her guests paid what they could and she didn’t ask for more. So far, she’d made ends meet. She’d also served broth and bread for supper when the pantry ran low. No one ever complained.
A few extra dollars would be welcome, but she had to be careful. Swan’s Nest lay on the outskirts of Denver, several blocks from the saloons but close to the trails that led to Wyoming and places notorious for outlaws. Before she rented a room to Joshua Blue, she needed to know more about him. Double the money could mean double the trouble.
“Are you an outlaw?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.”
Adie wrinkled her brow. Human beings lied all the time. Timothy Long had lied to her in the attic she’d called her room. Reverend Honeycutt had lied to the town. Maggie had been as close as a sister, but even she’d had secrets. Adie studied the man on her porch for signs of deception. In her experience, evil men bragged about their misdeeds. Joshua Blue had offered a humble denial. She took it as a good sign, but she still had to consider Stephen. He’d been born too soon and had almost died. She feared bringing sickness into the house.
“What about your health?” she asked. “If you’re ill—”
His jaw tightened. “If I had the pox, I wouldn’t be here.”
“But you fainted.”
He grunted. “Stupidity on my part.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“It’s honest.”
Looking at his gaunt face, she wondered if he’d passed out from hunger and was too proud to admit it. She’d had that problem herself. Sometimes she still did. If she skipped breakfast to save a few pennies, she got weak-kneed and had to gobble bread and jam. How long had it been since Joshua Blue had eaten a solid meal?
“All right,” she said. “You can stay but only until you’re well.”
“I’d be grateful.”
“It’ll cost you four dollars a week. Can you afford it?”
“That’s more than fair.”
“You’ll get a bed and two meals a day, but your room won’t be as nice as some. It’s small and behind the kitchen.”
“Anything will do.”
Maybe for him, but Adie took pride in her home. She’d learned from Maggie that beauty lifted a woman’s spirits. The upstairs rooms all had pretty quilts and matching curtains Adie had stitched herself. She picked flowers every day and put them in the crystal vases that had come with the house. She thought about brightening up Joshua Blue’s room with a bunch of daisies, then chided herself for being foolish. She had no desire to make this man feel welcome.
“The room’s not fancy,” she said. “But it’s cozy.”
“Thank you, Miss—?”
She almost said “it’s Mrs.” but didn’t. Necessary or not, she hated that lie. “I’m Adie Clarke.”
“The pleasure’s mine, Miss Clarke.”
For the first time, he spoke naturally. Adie heard a clipped accent that reminded her of Maggie. Fear rippled down her spine, but she pushed it back. Lots of people traveled west from New England. When she walked down the Denver streets, she heard accents of all kinds.
“Can you stand now?” she said to him.
“My horse—”
“I’ll see to it after I see to you.”
His eyes filled with gratitude. “I’ll pay for feed and straw. Double whatever you charge.”
Adie had forgotten about his offer to pay twice what she usually asked. She felt cheap about it, especially if he’d fainted from hunger. “There’s no need to pay double.”
“Take it,” he said.
“It’s not right.”
“It’s more than fair,” he insisted. “I’m intruding on your privacy in the dead of night. Please…allow me this small dignity.”
Adie saw no point in arguing. If Mr. Blue wanted to protect his pride with money, she’d oblige. “Let’s get you into that room.”
She stood and offered her hand. When he clasped her fingers, she felt strength inside his leather glove and wondered why he hadn’t eaten. Grimacing, he pushed to a sitting position and put on his black hat. Using her for leverage, he rose to his full height and faced her. Adie’s gaze landed on his chin, then dipped to the Adam’s apple above the buttoned collar of his white shirt. She judged him to be six feet tall, rail thin and too proud to lean on her.
She let go of his hand and turned. “I’ll show you to your room.”
She stepped over the threshold, paused at a side table and lit a candle. As she held it up, Joshua Blue stepped into the room and took off his hat. The candle flickered with the rush of air. Light danced across his craggy features and revealed a straight nose that struck her as aristocratic. His dark hair curled around his temples and brushed his collar, reminding her of crows gleaning seed from her mother’s wheat field. Everything about him was black or white except for his eyes. They were as blue as his name. In a vague way, his gaze reminded her of Maggie except her friend’s eyes had been pure brown. Stephen’s eyes hadn’t found their color yet. Adie hoped they’d turn brown, a closer match to her hazel ones.
Blocking her worries, she led her new boarder down a corridor with green and pink floral wallpaper, through the kitchen and down a short hall that led to his room. As she opened the door, she raised the candle. The tiny space looked as barren as she feared. The room had a cot and a dresser, but mostly she used it to store odds and ends she donated to charity or tried to sell herself. Dust motes floated in the gold light, and a cobweb shimmered in the corner of the ceiling. Not even daisies would have lifted the gloom. A mouse scurried away from the glow.
Adie felt embarrassed. “I’ll clean it out tomorrow.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s dirty.”
“Not as dirty as I am,” he said dryly.
She stepped into the room, lifted a rag from the pile on a trunk and swatted the cobweb. It broke into pieces and fell on her face. The vague sensation sent her back to the attic in the Long house, where Timothy Long had threatened to smother her with a pillow if she cried out. The storeroom had the same smell as the attic, the same dust and collection of unwanted things.
Adie wanted to run from the room, but Joshua Blue was standing in the doorway with his hat in one hand and his eyes firmly on her face. He’d trapped her. Or more correctly, she’d trapped herself. What a fool she’d been. Thanks to Timothy Long she knew better.
Show no fear. Stay strong.
The voice in Adie’s head belonged to Maggie. As always, it gave her strength. She coughed once to recover her composure, then looked straight at Mr. Blue. “Do you need anything else?”
He looked pinched. “Do you have another candle?”
His tone made her wonder if the dark bothered him as much as it bothered her. She indicated the top of the dresser. “There’s a lamp—”
“I see it.”
He lit the match and wick, then adjusted the flame. Adie stepped to the door. As she turned to say good-night, Mr. Blue took off his hat and tried to stand taller. He looked weary to the bone and frail enough to pass out again.
She had no desire to fix him a meal, but he needed to eat. “Would you like a sandwich?”
His face turned pale. “No, thanks.”
Adie wondered if he had a bad stomach. “Broth?”
He swallowed as if his mouth had started to water. She could see him thinking, weighing her inconvenience against his hunger. She took pity on him. “How about bread and butter? Maybe with strawberry jam?”
“No bread,” he said. “But I’d be grateful for a glass of milk.”
Adie knew all about bellyaches. In addition to a cow, she kept a goat for Stephen. “I have goat’s milk. Would that—”
“Yes, please.”
“It’s in the kitchen.”
Holding the candle, she led the way down the hall. She set the brass holder on the table, indicated a chair and opened the icebox where she had two pitchers. The prettiest one, blue crystal etched with cornflowers, held the cow’s milk she served her boarders. The other was smaller and made of pewter. She set it on the counter, took a glass from the shelf and poured.
As the stranger lowered himself to the chair, she heard a stifled groan. She turned and saw him sitting straight, but he looked as pinched as Stephen with a bout of colic.
“Here,” she said, handing him the milk.
He took it, sipped, then drank more deeply. As he lowered the glass, he closed his eyes and exhaled.
The contented silence reminded Adie of her son after a late-night feeding. She glanced at the clock. Soon Stephen would wake up hungry and she still had to put the horse in the carriage house. If she hurried, she’d be back before her son stirred. If he woke up early, Rose or Pearl would check on him.
“I have to see to your horse,” Adie said to her guest. “Will you be all right?”
“I’m much better.”
His voice rang with authority, as if he were used to speaking and being heard. Adie could scarcely believe she’d taken him for a meager drifter. With the candle flickering, he filled the kitchen with the shadows of a giant. He frightened her, yet he’d just guzzled milk like a baby. Confused by her thoughts, she set the pitcher on the table. “Help yourself.”
He lifted it and poured. “Just so you know, Miss Clarke. I’m an honorable man. You have nothing to fear from me.”
As he raised the glass from the table, his eyes found hers and lingered. Adie felt as if he were looking for her soul. He wouldn’t find it. She’d left that part of her heart in Liddy’s Grove. Ever since, she’d drawn lines and expected people to stay behind them.
“I have a few rules,” she said.
“Whatever you say.”
“Under no circumstances may you go upstairs.”
“Of course.”
“Dinner’s at six o’clock. If you miss it, you can make yourself a sandwich.”
“That’s fair.” His eyes twinkled. “Anything else?”
If she made the list long enough, maybe he’d leave. Adie searched her mind for male habits she recalled from her days as an orphan. She’d lived with six families in four years. She’d also cleaned saloons and cheap hotels. She knew about bad habits.
“No cursing, drinking or smoking,” she said.
“That suits me fine.”
“No shouting,” she added. “I can’t abide by it.”
Joshua Blue looked amused. “I’ll try.”
“If you use a dish, wash it.”
“All right.”
“I don’t want you sitting on the front porch. If word gets out I rented to you, other men will knock on the door.”
“I’ll keep to my room or the stable. How’s that?”
“Fine.” Except his courtesy annoyed her.
The man’s eyes locked on to hers. “I know where I stand, Miss Clarke. You’ve opened your home and I won’t betray that trust. I have urgent business. Once I see to it, I’ll be on my way.”
What business? Adie wanted to ask but sealed her lips. If she didn’t ask questions, she wouldn’t have to answer them. “Then we’re agreed.”
“We are.” He lifted the glass of milk, sealing the deal with a mock toast, a gesture that looked strangely natural considering his appearance.
Adie headed for the front yard where he’d left his horse. In the moonlight she saw a gray mare waiting patiently. Glad to be dealing with another female, she led the horse to the carriage house. The hens twittered as she passed the chicken house. Several yards away she saw her milk cow at the fence marking a small pasture. The cow spent most of her time grazing on the sweet grass, but Adie kept the goat, a cranky thing named Buttons, inside the outbuilding. Her son depended on the nanny goat and she couldn’t risk it getting loose.
When she reached the carriage house, she lit the lantern inside the door, then turned back to the mare and inspected the things strapped to the saddle. Her gaze went first to a rifle jutting from a plain leather scabbard. A canteen hung from the saddle horn and a set of saddlebags draped the horse’s middle.
Adie felt ashamed of herself for what she was about to do, but a woman with a secret couldn’t be too careful. Only her friends knew Stephen wasn’t her natural born son. Somewhere he had a father, a man Maggie had loved and protected with her silence. Adie didn’t know the whole story, but she’d loved her friend and had admired her.
She felt otherwise about Maggie’s powerful family. Maggie had said little about them, but she’d once let it slip that her brother was a minister. Rather than shame him with an illegitimate child, she’d left home. Maggie never mentioned her family’s wealth, but Adie had seen her fine things—silk chemises and embroidered camisoles, stockings without a stitch of darning, shoes with silver buttons. Adie had been in awe, but it was Maggie’s education that made her envious. Her friend had spoken French, played the harp, knew mathematics and could recite dozens of poems.
Adie’s assumption of Maggie’s wealth had been confirmed the day she’d died. Bleeding and weak, she’d told Adie to remove a velvet bag from a drawer of her trunk and look inside. Adie had gasped at the glittering gems. Maggie’s dying wish still echoed in her ears. She had begged Adie to take Stephen and raise him as her own; then she’d squeezed Adie’s wrist with her bloodless fingers.
“Leave Topeka tonight. Break all ties with me.”
“But why?”
“Don’t let my brother near my son. He’ll send Stephen to an orphanage.”
Adie had stood alone as an undertaker buried Maggie in a run-down cemetery; then she’d taken the jewelry and backtracked to Kansas City where Maggie had sold a few pieces of jewelry before coming to Topeka. The sixty-mile train ride to the bustling city had given her two advantages. She’d gotten a better price for Maggie’s jewelry, and the railroad left Kansas City in four different directions. If Maggie’s family found the jewelry, they wouldn’t know where she’d gone. If by chance a detective, or Maggie’s brother, traced her to Topeka, the man would reach a dead end.
Adie had sold only what she needed for a fresh start, then bought a ticket to Denver because of its size. She wanted to open a boardinghouse, a place for women like herself and Maggie. For two days she’d held Stephen on the crowded train, struggling to keep him fed until they’d arrived in a city full of gambling halls and saloons. Pretending to have Maggie’s poise, she’d stayed at a hotel, visited the bank and explained her ambition to the elder Mr. Dean, who had shown her Swan’s Nest. The mansion had reminded her of Maggie and she’d bought it, using what cash she had from the jewelry sale and signing a two-year promissory note for the balance.
She could have sold more jewelry and paid for the house in full, but she feared leaving a trail for a Pinkerton’s detective. Nor did she want to squander Stephen’s inheritance. The remaining jewels—a sapphire ring, a pearl necklace, a bracelet and some glittering brooches—were his legacy from his mother, a gift from the woman who’d given him life but had never held him.
As Adie led the mare into a stall, she felt the sting of tears. Maggie had died three months ago, but she still missed her friend. She also feared strangers, especially men. If Stephen’s father tried to claim him, Adie would have to make a terrible choice. On the other hand, she had no qualms about hiding from Maggie’s brother. Considering how he’d shunned his sister, he didn’t deserve to know his nephew. In Adie’s book, he didn’t deserve to breathe.
She lifted the saddle off the mare, set it on the ground, then stripped off the scabbard, the canteen and the saddlebags. She set everything aside, filled a bucket with water and gave the horse a measure of hay. Satisfied, she closed the gate to the stall, stepped to the saddlebags and dropped to a crouch. She had no business going through Joshua Blue’s things, but she had to be sure he had no ties to Maggie Butler.
With shaking fingers, she worked the buckle on the bulging leather bag.

Chapter Two
As soon as Adie Clarke left the kitchen, Josh drained the glass of milk and poured himself another. He’d been aiming for her boardinghouse when he’d left Kansas City, but he hadn’t intended to faint on her doorstep. Before he’d left, he’d seen a doctor who’d told him what he already knew. He had a stomach ulcer, a bad one that could bleed and threaten his life. At the very least, it offered daily torture.
Josh didn’t care. He had to find his sister. Ten months ago, Emily Blue had left their Boston mansion with a satchel, her jewelry and Josh’s bitter words ringing in her ears. He’d never forgive himself for that night. He’d said unspeakable things, calling her a name that shouldn’t be uttered and accusing her of being a Jezebel. He’d made hateful accusations, all the time wearing the collar that marked him as a minister.
The memory sent fresh acid into Josh’s belly. He had to find Emily and her baby and make amends. Until he found them, he refused to rest.
Never mind the stomach ulcer. The Apostle Paul had written of a thorn in his flesh. It had kept him humble. The ulcer often humbled Josh, though not as profoundly as it had tonight. Fainting on Adie Clarke’s porch hadn’t been in the plan when he’d left Kansas City on the word of Wes Daniels, a gunslinger who’d frequented the saloon where Josh had been preaching on Sunday mornings. Wes had told him about a boardinghouse called Swan’s Nest.
“It’s for women in trouble,” he’d said, winking at Josh. “Maybe your sister’s there.”
Josh had left the next morning. Halfway to Denver, his stomach had caught fire and he’d stopped eating. Pure and simple, he’d fainted on Adie Clarke’s porch out of hunger.
As he raised the glass to his lips, he said a silent prayer for Emily and her child. Somewhere in the world he had a niece or nephew he’d never seen. A little girl with Emily’s button nose…a boy with the Blue family chin. Josh was imagining a child with Emily’s dark curls when he heard a baby cry. High pitched and needy, it cut through his soul. For all he knew, Emily was sleeping right above his head. The baby could be his niece or nephew.
He wanted to charge up the stairs, but his common sense and Miss Clarke’s stern rules kept him in the kitchen. Closing his eyes, he prayed for the child and its mother. He knew how it felt to wake up with a bellyache.
Above his head, the ceiling creaked. He heard the pad of bare feet on the wooden planks and imagined a mother hurrying to her child. The footsteps faded, then stopped. An instant later, the baby’s wail turned to a hopeful whimper. He imagined the mother taking the baby in her arms, sitting in a rocking chair as she nursed it back to sleep. He listened for the creak of the rockers, maybe the hint of a lullaby. Instead the baby shrieked in frustration. Footsteps scurried back down the hall while the baby’s cry stayed in the same room, growing louder. The pacing stopped over Josh’s head, paused, then went halfway down the hall. He heard a door open, then another pair of steps, muted now as if two women were trying to be quiet on floors that wouldn’t allow it.
When the stairs squeaked, Josh shot to his feet. Adie Clarke knew she’d rented him a room, but the women coming down the stairs would see a drifter in black, maybe an outlaw. Common sense told him to leave the kitchen, but he stood frozen with the hope of seeing Emily.
“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot you dead.” The female voice, shaking with sincerity, had come from the shadow in the hall.
He froze.
“Get your hands up!”
As he raised his arms, his duster pulled open. Josh believed in turning the other cheek, but he wore a Colt Peacemaker on his hip. He’d learned early in his travels that riding unarmed into an outlaw camp caused more of a stir than a cocked rifle. Carrying a weapon was his way of being a Greek to the Greeks. The Colt made him familiar to the rough men with whom he felt called to share the Good News. Unfortunately, the woman in the doorway wouldn’t see the gun as a calling card. Josh felt the weapon pulling on his belt and winced. He’d lost weight. If he didn’t hike up the belt soon, he’d lose his trousers.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded.
“I’m a new boarder.”
“Liar,” she said in a stony voice. “Adie doesn’t rent to men.”
“She took pity on me.” Josh peered into the hallway. He couldn’t see the woman, but candlelight glinted off the double barrel of a two-shot Derringer. The weapon shook, a sign of her nerves.
“Where’s Adie?” she demanded.
“Tending my horse.”
“Why aren’t you tending it yourself?”
Pride kept Josh from admitting his weakness. Before he could correct the mistake, the woman hollered down the hallway.
“Pearl! Get Bessie and Caroline! We have an intruder.” The gun stayed steady. “Find Adie now.”
With his hands in the air, Josh heard doors open and the tap of feet on the stairs. In Boston, he’d enjoyed the Women’s Auxiliary meetings. The ladies had fawned over him and the compliments had gone to his head. The women of Swan’s Nest wouldn’t be so appreciative.
Pain stabbed past his sternum and around his ribs. If he’d been alone, he’d have fallen to his knees, clutched his middle and curled into a ball. With a gun trained on his chest, he didn’t dare move. The pain hit again. His shoulders hunched as he cringed, causing his arms to drop as if he were going for his gun.
The woman fired.
The bullet slammed into Josh’s shoulder. He took a step back, caught his boot on the chair and fell against a hutch filled with china. Plates crashed to the floor and so did Josh. He didn’t want to die. He had to find Emily. He’d shamed himself as a man and a minister. He had to make up for his mistakes.
“Don’t shoot,” he said. “I mean no harm.”
The woman kept the pistol trained on his head. “We’ll see what Adie has to say.”
Josh lay on the floor, clutching his belly and smelling sulfur and blood. He’d seen men die before. In Boston he’d prayed with elderly gentlemen fading in their own beds. In camps west of the Mississippi, he’d seen men die from gunshot wounds, infections and disease. Curled on the floor, he listened to his own breath for sucking air, a sign he’d been hit in the lung, but he heard only a rasp in his dry throat. His heart kept an even rhythm, another good sign.
Judging by the pain, he’d been hit high in the shoulder. Silently Josh thanked God the woman had owned a Derringer and not a Colt .45. He’d live as long as she didn’t panic and shoot him in the head.
He heard footsteps in the kitchen and opened his eyes. Bare toes and the hems of robes filled his vision.
“You shot him!” said a new female voice.
“What happened?” demanded another.
Could one of the women be Emily? The voices hadn’t matched hers—one sounded Southern and the other was too high pitched—but he’d seen four pairs of feet. Josh wanted to look but realized it would be fruitless. He’d become thin and ragged, but Emily would have recognized him. He closed his eyes in despair.
In a breath of silence, he heard the hopeful cooing of a baby and looked up. The fourth woman had an infant in her arms. The goat’s milk, he realized, was for the child. Expecting to be fed, it had settled into its mother’s arms but was growing impatient with the delay. The cooing turned to a complaint, then a wail that dwarfed everything in the room, including Josh’s pain.
“The baby’s hungry,” he said.
“Quiet,” ordered the woman with the gun.
Josh could barely breathe for the pain. “Please. Feed it.”
No one moved.
He raised his voice. “I said feed the baby.”
He flashed on the night he’d clashed with Emily. Three times he’d told her to leave, betraying her love as surely as Peter had betrayed his Lord. Like the fisherman, Josh felt lower than dirt.
The wailing grew worse. The woman with the gun called to one of the others. “Get the milk, Pearl. I’ll keep watch.”
Emily had loved their mother’s pearls, a strand so long it reached to her waist. Was she using an alias to avoid him? Maybe she hadn’t recognized him. He’d changed in the past year. Even more worrisome, maybe she’d seen him take a bullet and wished him dead.
Bare feet, slender and white, padded across the wood floor. Josh tried to call Emily’s name, but his belly hurt and the words slurred to a groan. He watched the woman’s feet as she retrieved the pitcher of goat’s milk, filled a bottle and warmed it in a pan of water on the stove. The baby, smelling food, shrieked even louder. Wise or not, Josh raised his head. The baby’s mother wore a yellow robe, his sister’s favorite color, but she had white-blond hair. Emily’s hair was dark and wavy like his. He hadn’t found his sister after all, but neither was this woman the baby’s mother. Her belly promised new life and promised it soon. Closing his eyes, Josh prayed for the mother and child, wishing he’d done the same for Emily instead of driving her away with his foolish pride.

Adie heard a gunshot, dropped the unopened saddlebag and ran for the house. Mary, a former saloon girl, kept a pistol in her nightstand and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
Had Joshua Blue betrayed Adie’s trust? She didn’t think so. The man could barely walk. It seemed more likely that Stephen had awoken early and Mr. Blue had lingered over the glass of milk. Whoever went for Stephen, probably Mary, had seen Adie’s empty bed. Maybe she’d heard the thump on the door and jumped to ominous conclusions.
She ran up the back steps and flung open the door.
“Adie!” The cry came from Pearl. “We thought—”
“I know what you thought.” She dropped to her knees at the man’s side. “He’s hurt. We’ll have to call the doctor.”
Stephen shrieked. He needed to be fed in the worst way, but Adie feared for the wounded man’s life.
Groaning, he rolled to his back, revealing the bullet hole in his duster. When she opened his coat, she saw a red stain blooming on his white shirt. With each breath he took, the blood spread in a widening circle.
Looking at her face, he mumbled something unintelligible.
She hunched forward. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I said…feed the baby.”
Joshua Blue was lying on her floor with a bullet in his shoulder, bleeding inside and out, and he was thinking of her son. What kind of man put a baby before his own life? Using the hem of her nightgown, Adie wiped his brow. “Be still. We’ll get the doctor.”
“No.” His voice sounded stronger. “No doctors.”
“But you need help.”
Someone lit a lamp. As it flared to life, Mary stepped closer. Adie smelled the residue of gunpowder and looked up. “Maybe Caroline can go for Doc Nichols.”
The man lifted his head. “I said no.”
His refusal made Adie wonder if he was on the run. It wouldn’t have surprised her. Everyone at Swan’s Nest had run from something, including herself.
Mary scowled down at her. “Who is he?”
“I rented him a room.”
“But you don’t rent to men. You promised—”
“This isn’t the time,” Adie said.
She looked past Mary and saw Pearl at the stove. With her back to the rest of the kitchen, she lifted the bottle out of the pot of water and whisked Stephen into the front room where she could feed him in peace. Adie looked at Caroline. “Where’s Bessie?”
“She went to get her nursing kit.”
Mary finally lowered the gun. “Maybe she can take out the bullet.”
Adie studied the man on her floor. His color had come back and his breathing seemed steady. Maybe they could avoid Dr. Nichols after all. Bessie hurried into the kitchen and dropped down next to Adie. She looked at the wound, checked the man’s back for an exit hole, then lowered him gently to the floor. “The bullet’s still in you, sir. It’ll have to come out.”
“Can you do it?”
“I can try,” Bessie said. “I’m a trained nurse, but it will hurt.”
“Go ahead,” he said.
Bessie looked at Adie. “Get that pint of whiskey.”
Adie kept it with the smelling salts for medicinal purposes only. Before she could stand to fetch it, the stranger clutched her hand. “I don’t want it.”
Why would he deny himself a painkiller? Adie was about to argue with him when Bessie interrupted. “It’s not for your belly, sir. It’s to clean the wound.”
He relaxed but didn’t release Adie’s hand. She felt awkward comforting him, but they were both aware of the coming pain. When Adie didn’t move, Caroline went to the cupboard for the whiskey. She gave the bottle to Bessie, then lifted the instruments from the nursing bag, put them in the boiling water and set out clean rags for blotting the blood. Bessie had opened the two buttons on the man’s shirt, but it wouldn’t pull wide enough to reveal the wound. Using delicate scissors, the kind most women kept for embroidery, she cut the shirt and tugged it back from a small hole oozing blood.
Adie’s stomach churned. The hole in Joshua Blue’s shoulder wasn’t much bigger than a man’s finger, but it had the potential to kill him with infection. In his weakened condition, he might not be able to fight it. Adie squeezed his hand. She feared for his health. She also feared for herself and Stephen. She’d just opened the first saddlebag when she heard the gunshot. Later, when he’d fallen asleep, she’d search his things.
“Whiskey, please,” Bessie said matter-of-factly.
Adie watched as Caroline splashed whiskey into her sister’s palm. As Bessie rubbed her hands together, Caroline dampened a patch of cotton and gave it to her sister. Bessie looked at the man’s face. “This is going to hurt, sir.”
He closed his eyes. “Just do it.”
Bessie took a probe from the instruments Caroline had put on a clean towel. As she inserted it into the wound, Joshua Blue arched up. Bessie pulled back.
“Adie, Caroline. You’ll have to hold him down.”
The two women moved into position. On their knees, they each held a shoulder. As Bessie went to work, Adie felt the man straining against her hands. She also sensed acceptance. The bullet had to come out.
“I found it,” Bessie said.
She removed the probe and lifted a pair of forceps. After a glance at her patient, she inserted the instrument, pinched the bullet and pulled it out. Joshua Blue groaned with pain. Adie wondered which hurt more, his chest or his belly.
Bessie held the bullet up to the light and examined it. “It’s in one piece. We’re done except for stitching this gentleman up.”
He let out a breath. “Thank you.”
“You’ll do fine as long as the wound doesn’t fester. Of course you’ll have to rest up for a while.”
He grunted. “How long?”
Adie had been wondering the same thing.
“As long as it takes.” Bessie took a stitch with a needle and black thread. “Judging by your appearance, you’re half starved. You need a week in bed and a month in a rocking chair.”
Adie cringed. “That’s so long.”
Bessie gave her a motherly look. “It’s what the man needs, honey. We’ll be all right.”
Leave it to Bessie to calm the waters. Mary would pitch a fit. Pearl, conscious of her belly, would stop coming downstairs. Caroline judged no one. She’d befriend Mr. Blue without hesitation, posing a problem of a different kind. Adie watched as the nurse stitched up the wound, snipped the thread and wiped the incision with whiskey. She inspected her handiwork, then wiped the man’s brow with a clean rag. “We need to get you to bed. Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
With Adie on one side and Caroline on the other, he leveraged to his feet. He looked like a kicked-in chimney pipe, but he managed to move down the hall. Adie started to follow, but Bessie stopped her. “I’ll see to him. Go hold Stephen. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Thanks, Bessie.”
“By the way,” said the older woman. “Who is this man?”
“I wish I knew.” Adie told her briefly about finding him on the porch. “He was in pain even before Mary shot him.”
“Maybe an ulcer,” Bessie said. “I’ve got a small bottle of laudanum. I’ll fetch it for him.”
Adie thought of his earlier comment about the drug but said nothing. She wanted Joshua Blue to fall asleep so she could finish going through his saddlebags, but first she needed to check her son.
“Whatever you think,” she said to Bessie. “The sooner he heals, the sooner he can leave.”
“He needs time,” the nurse said gently.
Adie sighed. She’d cook meals for Joshua Blue and nurse his wounds. She’d change his sheets and wash his clothes. But time to heal—what he needed most—was the one thing she didn’t want to give. The sooner he left, the safer she and Stephen would be.
As Bessie went down the hall, Adie headed for the parlor where she heard Pearl humming a lullaby to Stephen. She rounded the corner and saw both Pearl and Mary on the divan. Pearl looked lost, but Mary had crossed her arms and was glowering. Adie had hoped to check Stephen and escape to the carriage house, but she couldn’t leave without explaining to her friends.
“Who is he?” Mary demanded.
“I don’t know,” Adie said. “But I’m certain he means no harm.”
Mary groaned. “You can’t possibly know that.”
Adie couldn’t be sure, but he’d come to the door sick and weak. “Look at him. He’s downright scrawny.”
“He’s also dressed like a gunfighter,” Mary insisted. “I know his kind.”
Adie felt naive next to Mary, but she couldn’t stop worrying about the stranger. She didn’t want to argue, but she needed to set Mary straight. “He fainted on the porch. What else could I do? Leave him there?”
“You could have gone for the sheriff.”
To protect Stephen, Adie kept to herself as much as possible. If a Pinkerton’s detective visited Denver, he’d go straight to the law and make inquiries. The less the sheriff knew about Adie and her home, the safer her son would be. She gave Mary an impatient look. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“You’re too trusting,” Mary insisted.
Pearl sighed. “I wish you hadn’t shot him.”
“He went for his gun!”
Adie worried, but only for an instant. A man intending harm didn’t tell a woman to feed a hungry baby. “He has belly trouble,” she said to Mary. “He probably bent over in pain.”
Recognition flitted across Mary’s face.
Pearl went back to crooning to Stephen, who’d fallen peacefully asleep. Adie envied him. She wouldn’t sleep that well until Joshua Blue left Denver. “I have to see to his horse.”
Mary pushed to her feet. “I’ll help.”
“No.” Adie waved casually, but her stomach had jumped. She wanted to go through his things by herself. “It’s been a long night. You and Pearl should get some sleep.”
“If you’re sure—”
“I am.” Adie forced a smile. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”
Before Mary could ask another question, Adie headed for the back door. As she turned the knob, Bessie came down the hall. “Mr. Blue wants to see you.”
The saddlebags would have to wait but only for a bit. With rubbery knees, she thanked Bessie and went to see Joshua Blue.

Chapter Three
In spite of Josh’s protests, the woman nursing him had left a bottle of laudanum on the nightstand. He knew all about the drug and the lies it told. He’d first used it in Boston. With the renown that came with his sermons, he’d gotten an ulcer. The doctor he’d seen, a stranger because he’d wanted to hide his weakness, had given him something to calm his stomach, but it had led to embarrassing bouts of belching, something a man in Josh’s position couldn’t allow. He’d gone to a second physician, then a third. The last one had given him laudanum. It had helped immediately.
Looking at the bottle, Josh knew it would help right now. If he filled the spoon the woman had left—he thought her name was Bessie—he’d be free of pain. He’d be numb to his guilt, too.
The laudanum tempted him.
The craving humbled him.
Reverend Joshua Benjamin Blue, the best young preacher in Boston, maybe in America, had become addicted to opium. Thanks to Wes Daniels, the biggest sinner on earth and Josh’s only friend, he’d kicked the habit three months ago in a Kansas City boardinghouse.
Thoughts of Wes made Josh smile. He hadn’t succeeded in saving the gunslinger’s soul, but neither had Wes corrupted him. They’d had some lively debates in the past few months…a few quarrels, too. Wes had understood Josh’s guilt, but he didn’t share his worry. As long as Emily had jewelry to sell, Wes insisted she’d be sitting pretty. Josh hoped so. For months he’d been visiting pawnbrokers in search of pieces he’d recognize. He knew from Sarah Banks, Emily’s best friend, that his sister had bought a train ticket to St. Louis. Sarah had given Josh a verbal beating, one he’d deserved.
“How dare you cast stones at your sister! I know you, Josh. You’re as flawed as the rest us!”
She’d been right, of course. With Sarah’s remarks in his ears, he’d traveled to St. Louis, where he’d spotted a familiar brooch in a jewelry store. Emily, he’d learned from the shopkeeper, had sold it and moved on. A clerk at the train station recalled her face and thought she’d gone to Kansas City. Josh’s only hope of finding her lay in a trail of pawned jewelry and the Lord’s mercy. If he could have moved, he’d have hit his knees. Like Paul, he counted himself among the foremost of sinners, a man sorely in need of God’s grace. With the laudanum calling to him, he needed that grace in abundance. It came in the tap of Adie Clarke’s footsteps.
Bessie had left Josh a lamp, but she’d dimmed it to a haze that turned Miss Clarke into a shadow. Josh recalled her reddish hair and the glint in her gold-brown eyes. She’d struck him as young and pretty, though he wished he hadn’t noticed. He’d dedicated his life to serving God with every thought and deed. He wasn’t immune to pretty women, but he felt called to remain single. A man couldn’t travel at will with the obligation of a wife and family.
Thoughts of children made him wince. Without Emily the family mansion in Boston had become a tomb. For the first time, Josh had taken his meals alone. Listening to the lonely scrape of his knife on fine china, he’d wondered how it would feel to share meals with a wife, maybe children. Tonight he’d envied the woman who’d fed the baby.
Adie Clarke studied him in the dim light. “Are you awake?”
“I am. I need something.”
“Milk?”
“No,” he said. “The laudanum…take it away.”
Her gaze went to the bottle, then shifted to the cot where Josh lay wrapped in a blanket and wearing a silk nightshirt. Bessie had bandaged his shoulder, extracted the garment from one of the trunks in the storeroom and helped him into the shirt. Even in Boston, he hadn’t worn anything so fine.
Miss Clarke stayed in the doorway. “Are you sure? Bessie says—”
“Bessie doesn’t know me.”
“She’s a good nurse.”
“I don’t doubt it, Miss Clarke.” Josh felt ashamed, but the truth set a man free. “Until a few months ago, laudanum had a grip on me. I’ll never touch it again.”
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t want her pity. “I’m over it.”
“Of course.” She walked to the nightstand, lifted the bottle and hurried for the door.
“Wait,” he called.
She stopped and turned, but her eyes clouded with reluctance. “Do you need something else?”
“Would you bring in my saddlebags?”
She froze like a deer sensing a wolf. Why would she hesitate? Considering he’d been shot in her kitchen, fetching his saddlebags seemed like a small favor. He could live without the laudanum, but he desperately needed the Bible packed with his clothes. “I’d get them myself, but—”
“No,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.”
As she headed down the hall, Josh rested his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. He hoped she’d hurry. His shoulder ached and his belly burned, but his soul hurt most of all. He thought of David writing Psalms in the midst of battle and loss.
Search me, O God, and know my heart… Love swelled in Josh’s chest. He prayed for Emily, the women of Swan’s Nest and the baby crying for milk.
Try me and know my thoughts… If an ulcer, a gunshot wound and a craving for opium didn’t test a man, he didn’t know what did. Would ever find Emily? Was she still alive? And her child…He grimaced.
See if there be any hurtful way in me… He prayed for purity of thought and a generous spirit.
And lead me in Your way everlasting. Amen.
As he finished the prayer, he looked expectantly at the door. Any minute Adie Clarke would be back with his Bible. More than ever, Josh needed the mercy of the God who’d walked the earth in a tent of human flesh. Jesus alone knew how he felt. He alone could bring comfort.

Adie ran to the carriage house. If she hurried, she could look in the saddlebags before giving them to Mr. Blue. On the other hand, she saw a risk. If she took too long, he’d wonder where she’d been. He also seemed more alert than she’d expected. If she rummaged through his bags, he might realize his things were in disarray and she’d have to explain herself.
As she entered the outbuilding, she considered another approach. Mr. Blue wouldn’t be able to lift the heavy bags. He’d need her help. If she dumped the contents on the floor, she’d see everything and be able to gauge his expression. Adie didn’t like being sneaky, but her motives were pure. She’d do anything to protect Stephen.
Not bothering with a lamp, she found the saddlebags where she’d left them, draped them over her shoulder, picked up the rifle and went back to the house. She went down the hall to Mr. Blue’s room where she leaned the gun by the door and set the bags against the wall. They’d be in his line of sight but not so close that he could see her expression.
He pulled himself upright so he could watch. “I’m not sure which bag it’s in.”
Adie didn’t ask him what he wanted. The less information she had, the more reason she had to riffle through his things. She lifted the first bag, worked the buckle and dumped the contents on the floor. Pots, two plates and utensils clattered against each other, and a can of beans rolled away. She’d found his mess kit but nothing of interest. She put everything back, then unbuckled the second bag. She could tell from the softness that it held clothing. Before he could stop her, she removed trousers, a shirt and a frock coat, all tightly rolled and as black as coal.
“Keep going,” he said. “What I want is at the bottom.”
Adie removed dungarees, a denim shirt and two pairs of store-bought socks. She checked the edges for darning, found none and decided Joshua Blue was a single man and always had been. Wanting a reason to check his pockets, she picked up the clothing and stood. “I’ll hang up your things.”
“I’d be obliged.”
Feeling like a fox in a henhouse, she went to a row of nails on the back wall. She turned her back, gave the coat a shake and searched the pockets. She felt a few coins, lint and a scrap of paper. A quick glance revealed notes about a man named Peter and something about catching fish. Seeing no mention of Maggie, Adie slipped the paper back in the coat and lifted a pair of trousers. She repeated her search and found nothing.
She went back to the saddlebag. “What is it you want?”
“My Bible.”
She knew very little about Maggie’s brother, but her friend had let it slip that he was a minister in a big city. Maggie had never said which one, though Adie had surmised she’d come from New England. Trembling, she looked up from the saddlebag. “Are you a preacher?”
“Of a sort.”
“Do you have a church?”
“I do, but not like you mean.”
Her hand shook as she checked a pocket. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t preach in a building,” he explained. “I go from place to place.”
Adie let out the breath she’d been holding. Maggie’s brother had been wealthy. He’d have arrived in Denver in a private railcar, not on the back of a tired horse. He’d have never gone from town to town, preaching to the poor. She relaxed until she recalled his interest in Stephen. Not many men cared about hungry babies. Her nerves prickled with worry. Aware of his gaze, she reached into the saddlebag. She felt past a pouch holding shaving tools, found the book and lifted it from the bag.
The words Holy Bible caught the light and glowed like fire, taking Adie back to the evenings she’d spent with the Long family. Old Man Long had often read from the book of Jeremiah. Adie had felt sinful and condemned and confused by a God who treated people so poorly. She’d cast Maggie’s brother in the same mold. Even without her promise, she’d have protected Stephen from such a man.
She stood and handed him the Bible. Their fingers brushed on the binding, but their hearts were miles apart. Adie believed in God, but she didn’t like Him. Neither did she care for preachers. Carrying a Bible didn’t give a man a good heart. She’d learned that lesson in Liddy’s Grove. She let go of the book as if it had singed her.
Mr. Blue looked into her eyes with silent understanding and she wondered if he, too, had struggled with God’s ways. The slash of his brow looked tight with worry, and his whiskers were too stubbly to be permanent. Adie thought about his shaving tools and wondered when he’d used them last. Her new boarder would clean up well on the outside, but his heart remained a mystery. She needed to keep it that way. The less she knew about him, the better.
“Good night,” she said. “Bessie will check you in the morning.”
“Before you go, I’ve been wondering…”
“About what?”
“The baby…Who’s the mother?”
Adie raised her chin. “I am.”
Earlier he’d called her “Miss Clarke” and she hadn’t corrected him. The flash in his eyes told her that he’d assumed she’d given birth out of wedlock. Adie resented being judged, but she counted it as the price of protecting Stephen. If Mr. Blue chose to condemn her, so be it. She’d done nothing for which to be ashamed. With their gazes locked, she waited for the criticism that didn’t come.
Instead he laced his fingers on top of the Bible. “Children are a gift, all of them.”
“I think so, too.”
He lightened his tone. “A boy or a girl?”
“A boy.”
The man smiled. “He sure can cry. How old is he?”
Adie didn’t like the questions at all, but she took pride in her son. “He’s three months old.” She didn’t mention that he’d been born six weeks early. “I hope the crying doesn’t disturb you.”
“I don’t care if it does.”
He sounded defiant. She didn’t understand. “Most men would be annoyed.”
“The crying’s better than silence…I know.”
Adie didn’t want to care about this man, but her heart fluttered against her ribs. What did Joshua Blue know of babies and silence? Had he lost a wife? A child of his own? She wanted to express sympathy but couldn’t. If she pried into his life, he’d pry into hers. He’d ask questions and she’d have to hide the truth. Stephen was born too soon and his mother died. He barely survived. I welcome his cries, every one of them. They mean he’s alive.
With a lump in her throat, she turned to leave. “Good night, Mr. Blue.”
“Good night.”
A thought struck her and she turned back to his room. “I suppose I should call you Reverend.”
He grimaced. “I’d prefer Josh.”
Adie preferred formality. She had her differences with the Almighty, but she’d been taught to respect God and honor His ways. Being too familiar with a man of the cloth seemed wrong. So did addressing a near stranger by his given name. She avoided the issue by murmuring good-night.
Before Mr. Blue could ask another question, she closed the door behind her and went to her bedroom. Too anxious to sleep, she stood next to Stephen’s cradle and watched the rise and fall of his chest, treasuring every breath he took. Someday she’d tell him about Maggie Butler and pass on the things hidden in the trunk at the foot of her bed. Maggie’s jewelry lay wrapped in a red velvet bag, untouchable, except in a matter of life or death. Adie expected to support herself and her son, though earning a living had proven more difficult than she’d expected. With the loan payment due on Friday, she would have to go to the bank where Franklin Dean would harass her.
Stephen hiked up his legs. Adie tucked the blanket across his back and thought of the other things in the trunk, particularly Maggie’s diary. In the last weeks of her pregnancy, the two of them had spent their evenings on the porch of a Topeka boardinghouse. While Adie did piecework, Maggie had taken a pen to paper.
“It’s my story,” she’d explained. “If something happens to me, I want Stephen to have it when he’s older.”
Blinking back tears, she recalled the day Maggie had written the last words in the journal. She’d asked for the book, scrawled a final sentence and taken her last breath. Stunned, Adie had lifted the book from Maggie’s still hands. Without opening it, she’d buried the journal deep in the trunk.
Looking at her son now, Adie thought of the diary and trembled. Maggie had lived with secrets. The book, Adie feared, held revelations that could tear Stephen out of her arms. She had no desire to read it. Instead she kept it hidden with the jewelry and the picture of his natural mother. Someday she’d give everything to her son. The book held truths he deserved to know, but its presence made Adie tremble. She had no intention of opening the trunk for a very long time.

Josh opened his Bible to the Psalms. Tonight he needed comfort and he’d find it in the words of David, a man with God’s own heart but human inclinations. Josh understood that tug and pull. In Boston he’d been inclined to protect his own pride. He’d been an arrogant fool and he hadn’t even known it. Others had, though. As the pages fluttered, he recalled preaching in front of a thousand people. Gerard Richards, the leading evangelist in America, had been in the crowd. Josh had been eager for the man’s praise. Instead the famed minister, a stooped man with a squeaky voice, had looked him up and down and said, “You have a gift, young man. But you’re full of yourself. You’ll be better after you’ve suffered.”
Josh had been insulted.
Now he understood. Emily’s flight had knocked him to his knees. He’d fallen even lower when he’d lost everything in a river crossing. It had happened on the Missouri at the peak of the spring flood. The barge pilot had steered into an eddy and lost control. When water lapped the logs, the passengers had all run to the side closest to the shore. The raft tipped, sending everything—people, animals and their possessions—into the racing current.
Josh had made it to shore, but he’d lost the satchel he’d carried from Boston. The clothing could be replaced, but he’d grieved the Bible. It had belonged to his grandfather, the man who’d mentored Josh until he’d died of apoplexy. Even more devastating was the loss of Emily’s letter and the tintype she’d had made a few months before she’d revealed her condition. Josh had tucked them in the back of the Bible for safekeeping, but the river had swallowed them whole.
Stripped of his possessions, he’d found work in a livery. That Sunday, he’d preached to a trio of bleary men who’d come for their horses after a night on the town. They’d each given him two bits for his trouble. Josh had put those coins toward the purchase of the Bible in his hands now. The men had come back the following Sunday and they’d brought a few friends. Josh had preached again. He’d used that collection for laudanum.
Recalling that day, he lingered on David’s plea to the God who knew his deepest thoughts. He prayed, as he did every night, that the Lord would lead him to Emily. Before the river crossing, he’d shown her picture to everyone he’d met. Now he could only describe her. He missed the letter, too. The night she’d left, she’d put it on top of the sermon notes on his desk. He’d been preaching through the gospel of John and had reached the story of the adulterous woman and Jesus’ famous words, “Let him whose slate is clean cast the first stone.”
Sermons usually came easily to Josh, but he’d been unable to grasp the underlying message.
Now he knew why. He’d been a hard-boiled hypocrite. When Emily came to him for help, he’d berated her with words that bruised more deeply than rocks. Blinking, he recalled her letter. He’d read it so often he’d memorized it.
I love you, Josh. But I don’t respect you. You judged me for my sins—I admit to them—but you don’t know what happened or why. You don’t know me or my baby’s father and you never will. I’m leaving Boston for good. Someday, Reverend Blue, you’ll get knocked off your high horse. I’ll pray for you, but I won’t weep.
Your sister, Emily.
That Sunday, Josh had taught on the same passage, but he’d changed the message. Instead of focusing on the woman and Christ’s command to go and sin no more, he’d talked about throwing stones. In front of three hundred people, he’d admitted to his mistakes and resigned his position. A broken man, he’d packed a single bag and bought a train ticket. Based on Sarah’s knowledge, he’d headed for St. Louis, worrying all the time that Emily would travel farther west. Josh hadn’t found her in St. Louis, but he’d spotted a piece of her jewelry in a shop owned by a pawnbroker. It had given him hope. Over the next several months, he’d traveled far and wide.
Someday he’d find Emily. He’d hit his knees and beg for forgiveness. Until then, he had to live with his regrets. Exhausted, he blew out the lamp. As always he prayed for his sister’s safety. Tonight, he added Adie Clarke to that list. He couldn’t help Emily, but here at Swan’s Nest, he saw a chance to do some good. What he couldn’t give to Emily, he’d give to Adie Clarke and her friends. The thought put a smile on his face, the first one in a long time.

Chapter Four
“Don’t let him inside!”
“I won’t,” Adie said to Pearl.
The two women were in the front parlor. They’d been on the porch when Pearl had spotted a carriage coming down the street. Terrified of Franklin Dean, she’d run inside with Adie behind her. Together they were peering through the lace curtain at a brougham that belonged to the banker. In the front seat sat Mr. Dean’s driver, a stocky man dressed in a frock coat and black bowler.
Adie’s gaze skittered to the back of the open carriage where she saw the banker folding a copy of the Rocky Mountain News. Some women would have found Mr. Dean handsome. He had dark blond hair, brown eyes, a mustache and what her mother had called a lazy smile, the kind that curled on a man’s lips with no effort at all. In Adie’s experience, smiles were rare and had to be earned.
She didn’t trust Franklin Dean at all. She’d felt uncomfortable the instant they’d met, and those suspicions had been confirmed when she’d heard Pearl’s story. A preacher’s daughter, Pearl had been engaged to the banker when he’d taken her for a buggy ride. Dean claimed that they’d succumbed to temptation, but Adie knew otherwise. Pearl had told her about that horrible afternoon. She’d protested. She’d pushed him away. He’d pushed back and left her ashamed and carrying his child.
Adie put her arm around Pearl’s shoulders. “Go upstairs. I’ll see what he wants.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“Yes, you can.” Adie made her voice light. False courage, she’d learned, counted for the real thing if no one saw through it.
“But—”
“Go on.” Adie pointed Pearl to the stairs. “I can handle Mr. Dean.”
The carriage rattled to a stop. With her eyes wide, Pearl stared at the door, then at Adie. “I’ll hide in the kitchen. If he tries anything, I’ll scream for help. I’ll get a knife—” Her voice broke.
Boots tapped on the steps. Adie nudged Pearl down the hall, then inspected herself in the mirror. She’d planned to walk to the business district to pay the mortgage and had already put on her good dress. Thanks to the rent from Reverend Blue, she had enough money for the payment and roast beef for supper. She’d put Stephen down for a nap and had been looking forward to a peaceful walk. Quiet afternoons were few and far between. She refused to let Franklin Dean steal her pleasure.
He rapped on the door.
Adie opened it. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dean.”
He tipped his hat. “Miss Clarke.”
It galled Adie to be pleasant, but riling him would only lead to trouble. She forced a smile. “What can I do for you?”
“May I come in?”
She stepped onto the porch and closed the door. “It’s a lovely day. We can speak out here.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve come to see Pearl.”
“She’s not accepting visitors.”
“I believe I’m the exception.”
No, he was the reason. The July sun burned behind him, turning the street into a strip of dust and giving his face craggy lines. Adie couldn’t stand the sight of him. He’d hurt Pearl the way Timothy Long had tried to hurt her. He swaggered the way she’d imagined Maggie’s brother strutted in his fancy pulpit. She had to convince him to leave.
“Pearl’s resting,” she said.
“You’re lying, Miss Clarke.” His lips curled into the lazy smile. “She was sitting by the window.”
“How would you know?”
“Am I wrong?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
Her voice rang with confidence, but her insides were quaking. He’d been too far away to see Pearl through the glass. Had he been watching her house? She thought of the rock that had shattered her bedroom window. Fear gripped her, but she met his gaze as if they were discussing lemonade.
Dean rapped a walking stick against his palm. Over and over, he slapped his own flesh as if he didn’t feel a thing. Adie had been beaten with bigger sticks and knew when to keep quiet. She also knew that Franklin Dean wanted to drive her out of Swan’s Nest so he could sell the property for a higher price than she’d negotiated with his father. Between silver mines and gold strikes, farms, ranches and the arrival of the railroad, Denver had been dubbed the Queen City of the Plains. Adie’s house stood on prime land and Dean wanted it back.
He couldn’t have it. She forced herself to appear blasé.
He slapped the walking stick against his palm a final time. Gripping it tight, he smiled as if nothing ugly had passed between them. “I’m rather thirsty, Miss Clarke. I’d enjoy a glass of sweet tea.”
“I’m fresh out.”
“Water, then.”
He wanted to get in the house and corner Pearl. No way would Adie open the door. “I was about to leave for town, Mr. Dean. If you’ll excuse me—”
“No, Miss Clarke. I won’t excuse you.” His eyes burned into hers. “I want to see Pearl.”
“Like I said, she’s resting.”
He glared at her. “The mortgage is due today, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“My timing’s excellent,” he said. “I’ll collect payment and save you the trip to the bank.”
“No, thank you.” Adie never dealt with Dean when she made her payment. She always visited the same teller, asked for a receipt and stowed it in the trunk. They were that precious to her.
Craning his neck, Dean peered through the lace curtain hanging in the parlor window. Adie turned and followed his gaze to Pearl, her belly large and round, as she peered around the corner and out the window.
He rapped on the glass. “Pearl!”
Startled, the girl slipped back into the hall that led to the kitchen. Dean made a move for the front door, but Adie blocked him. He pivoted, went down the steps and turned down the path that led to the garden behind the house. Adie raced after him.
“Stop!” she cried.
“I have business with Pearl.”
“You’re trespassing!”
Ignoring her, he strode past the vegetables she’d planted in place of flowers and rounded the corner to the back of the house. He was headed for the door, but he hadn’t counted on Joshua Blue blocking his path. The scarecrow in the garden had more meat on its bones, but the reverend had a fire in his eyes that scared Adie to death.

After two days in bed, Bessie’s care and a gallon of goat’s milk, Josh had felt the need for fresh air. He’d gone out the back door, taken in the garden and stepped into the carriage house. He’d been checking his horse when Pearl had run into the outbuilding. Shaking and out of breath, she’d closed the door and hunkered down behind a partial wall before she’d seen him.
Josh approached as if she were a downed bird. “Are you all right?”
She gasped. “It’s Franklin Dean. He—” She burst into tears.
Josh didn’t know a thing about Franklin Dean, but he knew about evil men. “Where’s Miss Clarke?”
“He tried to get in the house,” Pearl said, whimpering. “Adie stopped him.”
Josh strode out of the carriage house. As he emerged in the sun, he saw a man headed for the back door of Swan’s Nest. Adie was running behind him, ordering him to stop. One look at her face and Josh knew she’d fight this man. Pearl’s fear explained why. Her belly testified to a deeper reason, one that made Josh furious. Stifling his anger, he looked the man up and down. The stranger didn’t match Josh in height, but he weighed at least fifty pounds more. The difference came from both Josh’s belly trouble and the man’s indulgence. Whoever he was, he didn’t skip dessert.
Josh blocked the path to the back door. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Who are you?” the man demanded.
“A guest.”
He smirked at Adie. “I thought you didn’t rent to men.”
“I don’t.”
Dean huffed. “I see.”
“No, sir,” Josh said calmly. “You don’t see. You’re trespassing.”
“I’m Franklin Dean.”
He said it as if he expected Josh to bow down.
Adie interrupted. “Mr. Dean owns Denver National Bank. He holds the note on Swan’s Nest.”
Josh didn’t care if he owned the entire town. “That doesn’t give him the right to trespass.”
“You have no business here, Mr.—”
“My name is Joshua Blue.” Josh spoke with his richest Boston accent. “My family—”
“Has shipping interests,” Dean finished.
“Among other things.”
Dean’s smile turned oily. “What brings you to Denver, sir?” He smelled money and it showed.
Josh found him revolting. “It’s a private matter.”
The banker’s eyes narrowed. “So is my business with Miss Oliver.”
Not in Josh’s opinion. Her belly made the matter between them public. He didn’t know the details, but he knew Pearl feared this man. At the sight of her, he’d recalled Emily and felt all the inclinations of a brother. Looking at Dean now, he wanted to deck the man for his arrogance. He settled for being direct. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Not until I speak to Pearl.”
Short of violence, Josh didn’t see a way to get rid of the man. He’d have to outlast him. Josh had his flaws, but impatience wasn’t one of them. He’d spend all afternoon with Dean if meant protecting Adie and her boarders.
“Fine,” Josh said. “I’ll wait with you on the porch until she’s ready.”
Dean frowned.
Adie interrupted. “I have a better idea, Mr. Dean. I’ll tell Pearl you’re concerned about her health.”
“I am.”
“If she’s up for a visit, I’ll send word to you.”
Josh watched the banker’s face. He didn’t want to leave, but Adie had given him a way out that saved his pride.
“Very well,” Dean said. “When you bring your loan payment, I’ll expect a note from Pearl.”
Adie gave a crisp nod. “I’ll speak with her.”
Dean glared at Josh, tipped his hat to Adie and walked down the path to the street. Josh followed him with his eyes, watching as he batted at a weed with his walking stick. When he rounded the corner, Josh turned to Adie. When he’d seen her chasing after Dean, she’d reminded him of a robin chasing down a worm. Now, in spite of the sun on her reddish hair, she looked subdued.
Josh raked his hand through his hair. “He’s trouble, isn’t he?”
“The worst kind.”
“If there’s anything I can do—”
“There isn’t.”
As she straightened her spine, Josh noticed her gown. Instead of the brown dress she usually wore, she’d put on a blue calico that made him think of the ocean. Adie Clarke, he decided, had the same sense of mystery. She seemed calm on the surface, but unseen currents churned in her hazel eyes and turned them green in acknowledgment of the dress.
The door to the carriage house creaked open. Pearl peeked from behind the heavy wood. “Is he gone?”
Adie hurried to her friend’s side. “He just left.”
“Good riddance!”
Josh thought so, too.
Adie put her arm around Pearl’s huge waist. “If you’ll excuse us, Reverend. Pearl needs to lie down.”
“Of course.” Except Adie had a need as well. She had to deliver the mortgage payment. Josh decided he needed a walk. He fell into step with the women, held the door and followed them inside.
Adie gave him a harsh look. “Do you need something, Reverend?”
“No, but you do.”
“I can’t imagine what.”
Josh liked her spirit. After the ordeal with Dean, some women—and men—would have been cowering in the closet. Not Adie Clarke. She’d walk on hot coals for someone she loved. So would Josh. Adie wasn’t Emily, but for now he could treat her like a sister. “I’m going with you to the bank.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Pearl dropped onto a chair. She looked exhausted. “He’s right, Adie. You shouldn’t go alone.”
“And I need the fresh air,” Josh added.
“But your shoulder—”
“It’s much improved.” He rolled his arm to test it. His belly still hurt, but he didn’t pay attention. It always hurt, and it would until he found Emily.
Adie looked annoyed, an expression Josh found refreshing. In Boston, the members of his church had deferred to him. On the open trail, outlaws had put up with him. Adie didn’t belong in either camp. She treated him with common sense, as if he were an ordinary man. He also admired her sweetness with Pearl. In spite of the pressure from Dean, she hadn’t asked her friend to write a note.
Pearl looked at Josh. “She’s stubborn.”
He smiled. “I noticed.”
“I am not.” Adie wrinkled her brow. “I don’t need company to go to the bank. Besides, I have errands to run.”
“Good.” Josh hooked his thumbs in the trousers. “I need to pick up a few things, like suspenders.”
He’d hoped to lighten the mood and it worked. Pearl patted her tummy. “I don’t have that problem.”
When her friend smiled, Adie’s face lit up with pleasure. “I’ll bring you some peppermint candy. Would you like that?”
Pearl’s eyes brightened. “I’d love some. It settles my stomach.”
Josh had known expectant mothers in Boston. They’d all been wealthy and married, secure in love and protected by their husbands. Franklin Dean had robbed this sweet girl of that sanctuary. Someone else had robbed Adie of a husband. Emily had been robbed, too. Josh felt good about escorting Adie to town. He couldn’t change the past, but he could help these women in the here-and-now.
“It’s settled,” he said. “I’m going with you to the bank.”
Adie frowned. “You’re pushier than Mr. Dean.”
“Only for a good cause, Miss Clarke.”
She sighed. “If you insist, but—”
Pearl interrupted. “I insist. This is all my fault.”
Adie put her hands on her hips. “Nothing is your fault, Pearl. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Except she looked down at her toes.
Josh’s mind flashed back to Emily asking to speak with him in his study. Like Pearl, she’d mumbled and stared at her feet. Josh would regret his first words until his dying day. He’d called his own sister a foul name. He’d ordered her to give the baby away. And for what? His pride…his reputation. What a hypocrite he’d been. In truth, he’d committed worse sins than Emily. By condemning her, he’d denied her the very mercy Christ had shown him and every other man.
Looking at Adie and Pearl, he felt the full weight of his failings. Men had a duty to protect the women they loved. Mothers. Sisters. Wives. He’d failed on two counts. Not only had he harmed Emily, but his mother had died two years ago when he’d been numb with laudanum. If he’d been clear-headed, he might have convinced her to see a doctor for her dizzy spells. As for the third kind of woman—a wife—Josh had vowed to never marry. Without a wife and children, he could pursue his work every minute of the day.
Even without the inclination to marry, he felt protective toward all females. That included Adie and her friends…especially Adie. Annoyed by the thought, he pushed it aside. So what if he liked red hair? He had a call on his life, and that would never change.
“I’ll get my coat,” he said to the women.
He went to his room, where he lifted the garment off a nail and put it on. After Adie made the payment, he’d excuse himself for a bath and a haircut. At the barber, he’d ask about pawnbrokers.
He went to the entry hall, where he saw Adie at a mirror, tying the ribbons of her bonnet. She’d lifted her chin, giving it a defiant tilt. She looked too young to be a mother, but Stephen was living proof. As she gave the ribbons a tug, Josh found himself admiring the way she faced problems. She didn’t duck the truth, neither did she shy away from facts that couldn’t be denied. He wished he’d had a friend like Adie in Boston, someone who’d have made him look in the mirror as she was looking in it now.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“Me, too.” She lifted a drawstring bag and clutched it with both hands.
Josh opened the door and let her pass. It had been a long time since a woman’s skirt had brushed over his boots. In Boston, he’d put that awareness out of his mind. He tried to do it now but couldn’t. Losing Emily had made him conscious of the simple things women did to soften a man’s hard edges, things like smiling and noticing flowers.
As he followed Adie through the front door, he took in the walkway and manicured shrubs. He’d arrived at Swan’s Nest in the dark and hadn’t noticed the surrounding area. Another mansion stood catty-corner across the street. As they walked down the road, he saw a third home. Set back on a large parcel of land, it was half-demolished. He wrinkled his brow in surprise. “Why is it being destroyed? The house looks almost new.”
“It’s five years old.”
“Seems like a waste.”
Adie stared straight ahead. “It is, unless you plan to build five houses in place of one.”
Josh put the pieces together. “That’s why Dean’s harassing you. He wants Swan’s Nest so he can tear it down.”
“That’s right.”
She glanced at the demolished remains, now three hills of ragged gray stone. “Mr. Dean bought that house last month. I knew the couple who owned it.”
“What happened?”
“Bad investments.” Her lips tightened. “The husband owned a silver mine. When it went dry, they lost everything.”
“And Dean bought the house.”
“For a song.”
Josh thought of his cousin in Boston. Elliot liked money, but he wasn’t a squirrel about it. He gave away as much as he kept. Sometimes more. A little competition might do Dean some good.
“Tell me more,” Josh said.
“That’s all I know.” Adie made a show of inhaling and raising her face to the sun. “It’s a beautiful day.”
Small talk couldn’t get any smaller than the weather. Josh gave her a sideways glance and saw the set of her jaw. In his experience, people were quick to talk about news and scandals. Considering Dean’s visit and the demolished house, he found the change in subject odd, even suspicious, but he followed her lead.
“Summer here is dry,” he said. “It’s quite a change from Boston.”
“I’d imagine so.”
Was it his imagination, or did she look frightened? As they passed a third mansion, a stone monstrosity with turrets and a flat roof, she changed the subject again. She told him about the vegetables she’d planted and why she preferred beans to squash. In other words, she told him nothing. Women usually bragged on their children. Adie didn’t mention her son once. Neither did she breathe a hint of how she’d come to Denver.
Josh knew about secrets. He’d kept his own. He’d also ridden with men who said nothing and others who told lies. Adie was intent on building a wall of words. Josh didn’t mind. After months of gruff male talk, he was enjoying the singsong quality of her voice and the simple pleasure of walking by gardens filled with flowers.
As they neared the heart of Denver, her chatter faded to stray comments about the shops. She stopped talking altogether when they reached a church. Made of rusticated stone, the building had a tall bronze steeple and massive stained glass windows. He’d never seen such beautiful work, not even in Europe. He looked at the pitch of the roof and imagined a vaulted ceiling and the echo of a choir. He blinked and saw mahogany pews filled with people. He pictured a podium carved with an eagle. He’d used such a podium in Boston. He’d never use one again, but he could appreciate the beauty of the church simply as a man.
He glanced at the double doors, then at Adie. “Let’s go inside.”
“No, thank you.” She clipped the words.
Josh would respect her wishes, but he needed to open the door for himself. He turned up the steps. “I’ll just be a minute.”
She kept walking.
The church could wait. Adie couldn’t. He caught up to her in three strides and saw a glint in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s none of your business.”
Josh had used the same tone when a church elder questioned him about the laudanum. “I don’t mean to pry—”
“Then don’t.”
“You seem upset.”
“Upset?” Her expression turned murderous. “Franklin Dean goes to that church. Pearl’s father is the pastor.”
He knew that Dean had harmed Pearl. Even if a woman welcomed a man’s advances, he had an obligation to protect her, to say no for both of them until the benefit of marriage. As for Pearl’s father, had he shunned his daughter the way Josh had rejected Emily? He needed to know. If he could spare Pearl a minute of suffering, he’d tell his story to her father.
“Tell me more,” he said to Adie.
She stopped in midstride. When she looked into Josh’s eyes, he knew he’d hear the truth and it would hurt.
“He raped her,” she said in a dry whisper. “They were engaged. He took her on a buggy ride and he forced her.”
Emily’s face, tearstained and afraid, flashed in front of his eyes.
“Go on,” he said.
Adie’s voice quavered. “The next day, Dean went to Pearl’s father. He ‘confessed’ that they’d gone too far and asked for permission to marry her immediately. Reverend Oliver ordered her into the parlor. He made her stand there and listen to that snake apologize. Her own father acted as if she’d been as sinful as Dean.”
A year ago Josh hadn’t listened to a word Emily said. He still didn’t know who’d fathered her child, if she’d been raped or seduced by a scoundrel. Maybe she’d been in love. Josh had stayed beyond such feelings until the disastrous river crossing. Cold and shivering, he’d watched husbands and wives cling to each other, sharing tears and kisses. That night, he’d known the deepest loneliness of his life.
Looking at Adie Clarke, he felt that loneliness again. She had a way of standing up to people, including men like himself. He liked her spirit and wondered how it would feel to have her fighting at his side. He blocked the thought in an instant. He had no interest in marriage, no plans to settle down. He had to find Emily.
Adie’s cheeks had faded back to ivory. “Pearl left home that night. I found her the next morning, throwing up in my garden.”
“Did she ever tell her father?”
“She tried, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Poor fool, Josh thought. “He needs to know.”
Adie huffed. “He said what happened was private and he didn’t want the whole church gossiping about his daughter. He told her to get married and keep quiet.”
Josh grimaced. “Dean committed a crime. What about the law?”
Adie glared at him. “Who’d believe her? They were engaged. She went with him willingly. Alone.”
“But—”
“But nothing.” Her cheeks flamed again. “Franklin Dean owns half of Denver. That’s why he’s still on the elder board. People are afraid to confront him, even the other elders. I don’t know if Reverend Oliver tried to get him thrown off or not, but I doubt it. From what I can see, he cares more about his reputation than his daughter.”
The same shoe fit Josh. “I see.”
“Do you, Reverend Blue?”
He bristled. “I know about sin, Miss Clarke. I’ve seen arrogance, greed and male pride. None of it’s pretty.”
Her expression hardened. “You don’t know what it’s like to be Pearl. I do.”
Her eyes turned shiny and she blinked. Josh had seen women cry. He’d visited sick beds and spoken at funerals, but he’d never been alone with a woman’s tears except for the night he shunned Emily. He’d pushed his own sister away, but the urge to hold Adie flashed like lightning. It startled him. The lingering thunder unnerved him even more. A reaction, he told himself…A man’s instinct to protect a woman and nothing more. He settled for offering his handkerchief.
“No, thank you.” Adie frowned at the monogrammed linen. “I shouldn’t have told you about Pearl.”
“I’m not naive,” he said gently. “My sister got in trouble, too.”
Adie paced down the street, almost running to put distance between them. Josh didn’t understand her reaction. She’d already revealed the truth of her son’s birth, and he hadn’t judged her for it.
He wanted to ask her about Emily, but he knew she wouldn’t answer. Instead he caught up to her and walked in silence, recalling the times he’d asked strangers if they’d seen his sister. Most said no without thinking. He’d learned to ask less obvious questions. That’s how he’d traced Emily to Kansas City. He’d shown her picture to a clerk in a St. Louis pawnbrokerage. The man had shaken his head. Later he’d recalled a woman asking for directions to the train station.
The bank loomed on their right.
“We’re here,” Adie said.
He stepped ahead of her and held the door. As he followed her inside, he saw a teller cage, a cherrywood counter and a clerk in a white shirt. To the right, a waist-high railing surrounded a massive desk. A leather chair resembled an empty throne, and a low shelf boasted artwork. Josh found himself staring at marble sculptures depicting Greek gods, cherubs and women. The mix made him uneasy. Franklin Dean was nowhere in sight, so he stood back as Adie made the payment.
As she tucked the receipt in her bag, he guided her to the door. The instant it closed behind them, she looked jubilant.
“Thank you, Reverend.”
“For what?”
“Your rent helped to pay my mortgage.”
She made him feel like an errant knight. “My pleasure, Miss Clarke.”
“I’m making a roast for supper. I hope you’ll join us.”
Her hazel eyes shone with happiness. Josh liked roast, but he liked this woman even more. Common sense told him to avoid Adie and her autumn eyes, but supper would give him a chance to ask her boarders about Emily.
“I’d be grateful,” he replied.
Concern wrinkled her brow. “Is your stomach strong enough? I could make you a custard.”
Babies ate custard. Men ate meat. As kind as it was, Adie’s offer irked him. “My digestion’s much better.”
“Good.”
Having supper with five ladies made a bath a priority. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to run an errand of my own.”
“Of course.”
As Adie retraced her steps down Colfax Avenue, Josh headed for the part of town where he’d find a bathhouse among saloons and gaming halls. Tomorrow he’d come back to this sorry place and ask about his sister, praying he’d find her and hoping it wouldn’t be in an upstairs room.
Maybe she’d found a sanctuary like Swan’s Nest. The thought cheered him. It also raised questions. Adie’s dress, a calico with a high neck and plain buttons, spoke of a simple life. She worked hard to care for her boarders. How had she come to own a mansion, especially one with the air of old money? She kept one parlor closed, but the other had a marble hearth, cornices and wall sconces. An oriental rug protected the hardwood floor, and the latest flowery wallpaper lined the hall. While most of the Denver mansions were made of stone, someone had spent a fortune to haul in wood for siding.
Most notable of all, a stained glass window adorned the entry hall. Round and wide, it depicted a white swan with an arched neck floating on a lake of blue glass. Swan’s Nest struck Josh as a perfect name, especially considering its owner and her female guests. Tonight he’d eat a home-cooked meal in the company of good women. They’d chatter, and he’d listen to their birdsong voices. He wouldn’t be lonely for conversation, and he might glean news of Emily.

Two hours later, Franklin Dean entered the bank he’d inherited from his father. A review of the day’s business showed Adie Clarke’s payment. Irritated, he summoned Horace, his driver, and left for the Denver Gentlemen’s Club.
As usual, he’d eat supper alone. He blamed the unfortunate state of his evening on Pearl. Didn’t she know how much he loved her? He’d die for her. Sometimes, like this afternoon when he’d seen the foolish preacher at Swan’s Nest, he thought he could kill for her.
He hoped the circumstances wouldn’t come to that. He knew from experience that dead bodies raised questions. He hadn’t meant to strangle Winnie Peters, but she’d started to scream. Why had she done that? Frank didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He’d left her body in a ravine and paid Horace to remove her belongings from the hotel. No one missed her. She’d come to Denver alone and hadn’t made friends.
As the carriage passed through town, Frank considered today’s visit to Swan’s Nest. It hadn’t gone well, and he’d missed Adie’s visit to the bank. If it weren’t for her, Pearl would be living at the parsonage. By now, her father would have forced her to marry him. Instead she’d found refuge in a mansion that should have belonged to the bank.
Frank scowled at his father’s shortsightedness. Swan’s Nest was on Seventeenth Street, a dirt road that led to the outskirts of Denver. As the city grew, that street would fill with businesses. In a few years, the land would be worth thousands of dollars. Frank’s father had sold the mansion for a song, and Frank wanted it back.
He had to get rid of Adie Clarke and he had to do it soon, before Pearl had the baby and his son was born without his name.
“Horace?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you recall the job I asked you to do last month?”
“Of course, sir.”
Frank had asked his driver to send Miss Clarke a message, so Horace had thrown a rock through her bedroom window. Miss Clarke had replaced the glass and said nothing, not even to the sheriff.
“It didn’t accomplish what I’d hoped,” Frank said.
“Another plan, sir?”
He thought of the garden he’d seen on the side of the house. A smirk curled his lips. “I believe Miss Clarke’s vegetables need attention.”
“Yes, sir.”
Horace stopped the carriage in front of the Denver Gentlemen’s Club. Frank exited the rig, then pressed a shiny silver dollar into his driver’s hand.
Horace’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you, sir.”
With his walking stick in hand, Frank entered the club where he’d find fine food and drink. Tonight he had everything he needed…except Pearl. Only Adie Clarke stood in his way.

Chapter Five
“Good evening, ladies. May I join you?”
Adie had been about to carve the roast when she looked up and saw Reverend Blue, tall and lean in a black coat and preacher’s collar, standing in the doorway. His cheeks gleamed with a close shave and his hair, dark with a slight wave, wisped back from his forehead. Adie nearly dropped the carving knife. The drifter who’d fainted on her porch was nowhere in sight. In his place stood a gentleman. His eyes, clear and bright, shone with mirth. He’d surprised her, and he knew it.
He’d surprised her boarders, too. Pearl’s face had turned as pale as her white-blond hair. Mary, her cheeks red with anger, glared at him. Bessie beamed a smile, while Caroline stared as if she’d never seen a handsome man before.
Adie was as tongued-tied as Caroline but for different reasons. While walking to the bank, she’d chirped like a cricket to stop him from asking questions about Stephen. She’d kept her focus until they’d reached Colfax Avenue Church. She hated that building as much as she loved Swan’s Nest. She felt that way about all churches, especially ones led by men like Reverend Honeycutt and Maggie Butler’s brother.
Looking at Reverend Blue, she didn’t see the trappings of such a man, but still felt more comfortable with the drifter.
She indicated the chair on her right. “Please join us.”
As he approached, she glanced around the table. If he asked questions, her boarders would answer truthfully. The thought terrified her. They all knew she’d adopted Stephen after the death of a friend, but she’d never breathed Maggie’s name. As slim as the details were, Adie didn’t want a stranger, especially a preacher, knowing her business.
She positioned the meat fork, lifted the knife and sliced into the roast with too much force. As the cut went askew, the blade cracked against the platter.
Still standing, Reverend Blue indicated the roast. “May I?”
Caroline broke in. “Please do, Reverend.”
Irritated, Adie set down the knife and took her seat, watching as his fingers, long and tanned by the sun, curved around the handle. Maggie’s hands had been pale, but her fingers had been just as tapered. As he cut the meat into precise slices, her nerves prickled with an undeniable fact. Joshua Blue had carved a hundred roasts. Like Maggie, he’d sipped from fine crystal and knew which fork to use. Her stomach lurched. In the same breath, she ordered herself to be logical. Lots of men knew the proper way to carve meat.
Reverend Blue arranged the last slice on the platter and sat to her right. Adie had no interest in saying grace, but Bessie insisted on keeping the tradition. Tonight the older woman looked at their guest. “Would you give the blessing, Reverend?”

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