Stealing the Preacher

  Crockett, his hand still trapped in her death grip, raised her hand to his lips and kissed her whitened knuckles. “I promise. You’re my top priority, Joanna. Everything else but God comes second.”

  Finally, she let him go, clinging now to his vow instead of his hand. The marshal dipped his chin to Crockett when he strode past, then touched the brim of his hat in a salute to her.

  “If you don’t mind, miss, I’ll water my horse.”

  She forced a smile to her lips, hoping it didn’t look as quivery as it felt. “Of course, Marshal. Help yourself.”

  “I’ll see to your team, as well.” He dismounted and took hold of his horse’s bridle. “It’s only right since I’m the reason Archer won’t be around to do it.” He turned and led his horse toward the corral trough.

  “Thank you.” The words fell automatically from her lips as she watched him go. Then she remembered Crockett’s instructions and called after him. “Come up to the house and get some coffee when you’re finished. I’ll make a fresh pot.”

  “I’ll do that, miss. Thanks.”

  As Joanna walked into the kitchen and set about tossing out the old coffee and making up new, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just invited Disaster to dinner.

  35

  Silas reined in Marauder and stared down at the roof of the ranch house. He’d always enjoyed the view from this small rise. Many a time he’d ridden in from a long day on the range only to pause at this spot and absorb the vision of home. Martha had always seemed to know when he was there. Maybe she watched for him; maybe she just sensed his nearness. Either way, she’d usually come out into the yard and wave.

  Man, how he missed those waves.

  I got the law waitin’ on me, Martha. Waiting in our home. At our table. There ain’t no runnin’ this time.

  He closed his eyes and tried to visualize his wife, but her face didn’t appear. His gut clenched. Martha had always been his rock. His support. His conscience. Even after her death. She couldn’t abandon him now. Not when he needed her most.

  “‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee.’”

  Silas swiveled and stared at the man behind him. Archer sat peacefully atop his mount, not even looking in Silas’s direction, just spoutin’ verses into the wind.

  “‘Be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’” Finally Archer turned to look at him, and his gaze seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of his bones. “Whatever happens, Si, God is with you. Lean on his strength, and you’ll get through.”

  Then the parson nudged his horse and headed down the rise.

  Silas watched him go, a prickle in his chest. What if gettin’ through meant enduring a prison term? He’d been reading about that Paul feller, the one Jo told him had written so many of them church letters. Seemed he wrote most of ’em from jail. Not exactly the way Silas wanted to spend his twilight years. But what if that’s what God had in mind for him? Heaven knew he deserved it.

  “I can’t say as I trust where you’re leadin’,” Silas said, squinting up at the clouds as Marauder pranced beneath him, eager to follow Archer’s mount, “but I gave my word to stop running, and that’s what I aim to do. If you’re . . . uh . . . of a mind to send some of that help the preacher was yammerin’ about, I’d not turn my nose up at it. . . . Just so you know.”

  The clouds offered no reply, so Silas gave Marauder his head and plunged over the rise.

  The marshal stood waiting on the porch, hip cocked against the rail, coffee cup in hand.

  Silas scowled. The man looked downright comfortable.

  “I hear you’re lookin’ for me,” Silas said, swinging his leg over Marauder’s back. Archer appeared at the horse’s head and led the beast away, giving Silas an unobstructed view of the lawman trespassin’ on his porch.

  “Need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  Silas got the distinct impression it wouldn’t matter if he minded or not. The man’s casual pose failed to soften the steel in his eyes.

  “I reckon I can spare the time to answer a few.” Silas climbed the porch steps and eyed the marshal from head to toe, taking in the gun slung low on his hip, the badge pinned to his vest, and the hard lines of everything in between.

  The lawman straightened to his full height and met Silas’s stare with one of his own.

  Silas deliberately turned his back and stepped to the door. Pulling it wide, he waved the marshal ahead of him into the house. “I hear you’re an ex-Ranger. That true?”

  The man paused halfway over the threshold. “I hear you’re an ex-outlaw. That true?”

  Years of living by his wits kept Silas’s expression bland as milk toast. “Marshal, if that’s the kind of question you plan on askin’, this is gonna be a real short visit.”

  “We’ll see.” The marshal held his gaze for a long moment before continuing into the kitchen.

  Yep. He’d been a Ranger all right. Silas could see it in his eyes. Jasper had suspected as much, even warned Silas about him five years ago, when Coleson had taken over as town marshal.

  Now that he’d stared the man down, though, an eerie feeling of destiny crawled up Silas’s spine. Coleson knew who he was.

  “Daddy?” Joanna’s blue eyes rounded with concern as she skirted the kitchen table and hurried toward him.

  Something caught in his throat when he thought about the possibility of being dragged off in front of his little girl—of never seeing her again. He opened his right arm and pulled her into a half hug.

  “Everything’s all right, Jo.” His voice sounded like gravel under a wagon wheel, but she burrowed closer anyway. He patted her shoulder once and dropped a quick kiss against her forehead, turning slightly so the marshal wouldn’t catch the gesture, and stepped away. “Ya got some of that brew for your old man?”

  She nodded, blinking the moisture from her eyes. Then she stiffened her spine, lifted her chin, and marched past Coleson as if he were nothing more than a new piece of furniture in the room.

  Pride in his Jo would have brought a smile to Silas’s face if he hadn’t been so determined to keep his features schooled. Couldn’t give Coleson even the smallest advantage.

  “There a place we can talk, Robbins?” The lawman barely waited long enough for Jo to put the mug in his hand before starting in.

  “Here’s as good a place as any.” Silas deliberately moved to the head of the table and took a seat. “Pull up a chair, Marshal.”

  Coleson glanced meaningfully at Jo. “You sure you want your daughter hearin’ all I got to say?”

  Jo scraped chair legs against the floor and plopped into the seat to Silas’s right. “I’m staying.”

  Silas’s mouth curved a tad at the corners. Family stood by family.

  The marshal shrugged and chose a chair near the stove, probably so he could keep an eye on the door. “Suit yourself.”

  Coleson set aside his coffee and pushed his hat brim up onto the high part of his forehead with a bent knuckle. His focus never wavered from Silas’s face. “I understand there was a shooting here a few days ago.”

  Somehow Silas managed not to flinch. That was what this was about?

  “Yep. Hunting accident.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. “Scared the beans right outta me when I saw Jackson go down.”

  Coleson’s eyes widened a bit at his ready answer. Silas stifled a grin. Nothing like knocking a lawman off his high horse with a little straight shootin’. They never expected it.

  “Sam Spivey claims you’re the man who shot his son.”

  The accusation jabbed him right in the sore spot of his heart. Silas winced and dropped his chin. “It’s true.” Regret clogged his voice. He coughed a bit to clear it. “I wish it weren’t.”

  Triumph flashed in Coleson’s eyes. “So you admit to back-shooting the boy in cold blood.”

  “Now hold on a cotton-pickin’ minute, Marshal. I ain’t no
back-shooter!” Silas slapped the flat of his hand against the table with a loud crash. If Coleson thought he could twist a horrible accident around into a hangin’ offense, this friendly chat was gonna end up with Silas introducing the business end of his boot to the lawman’s backside.

  “Doc Granger confirmed that the bullet entered the boy from behind.” Coleson narrowed his eyes. “You saying the doc’s wrong?”

  “You’re making it sound like my father shot Jackson on purpose!” Jo sprang to her feet, her voice quivering. “It was an accident. Daddy was aiming at a buck and had no idea Jackson was even there until after he pulled the trigger.”

  Coleson raised an eyebrow at her. “Were you there, miss?”

  “No, but Crockett told me—”

  “If you didn’t witness the shooting yourself,” the marshal interrupted, “then I’ll thank you to refrain from spoutin’ opinions and hearsay. I’m interested only in facts.”

  “If you’re truly interested in facts, Marshal,” a deep voice echoed from the doorway, “perhaps you should interview the only other person who was there at the time of the shooting.”

  Archer.

  Silas never thought he’d actually be glad to have the man around, but when the parson crossed the room to stand directly behind Jo and placed his hands on her shoulders in a show of support and protection, an odd sense of relief washed over him. If this sorry excuse for a lawman managed to drag him out of here, Archer would take care of his little girl.

  “Jackson’s recovering quite nicely thanks to Silas’s quick actions in the field as well as his assistance with the surgery.” Archer’s usually polite tone carried an undercurrent of iron as he addressed the marshal. “I’m sure the boy would be happy to answer your questions with all the facts you need. I could even escort you to the Spivey place myself, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you, Parson. But I prefer to interview the boy without anyone around who might feel obliged to influence his testimony.”

  Silas grunted. “You interested in finding the truth, Marshal? Or you just lookin’ for someone to confirm the assumptions you already made?”

  “Usually my assumptions aren’t too far off, Robbins. Lucky for you, though, this badge keeps me from acting on them without proof.” He slowly unfolded his lean frame from the chair and rose to his full height. “I was planning on payin’ Jackson a visit anyway. His pa asked me to look in on the boy—maybe even stay a night or two. So you can count on me takin’ my time gettin’ to the bottom of this. I intend to be real thorough.”

  His hard expression lent credibility to his threat, but Silas stared right back, refusing to be intimidated. Finally the marshal turned away. He found a smile somewhere behind that iron wall of his and tipped his hat to Jo. “Thanks for the coffee, miss.” He lifted his gaze to Archer next. “Parson,” he said, and then ambled to the door.

  “I’ll see you out, Marshal.” Jo followed the man to the porch and accompanied him across the yard, all those manners her mother had drummed into her coming into play.

  Keeping his eye on Jo and the marshal through the open door, Silas got down to business, not knowing how much time he’d have.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at my daughter, Archer.” The words came out as much of an accusation as any of the statements Coleson had unleashed. “You intend to do right by her?”

  “I do.” The parson came up alongside him, his focus, too, on the redheaded angel beside the barn. “I aim to make her my wife if you’ll give us your blessing.”

  “Swear to me you’ll look after her if this mess goes south.”

  “You have my word.” Archer’s voice rang with conviction, and the pressure gripping Silas’s chest eased slightly. “She’s my heart, Silas. I’d give my life for her.”

  Silas nodded and extended his hand toward the preacher. Neither of them looked the other in the face, but as Archer’s hand moved to clasp his, understanding passed between them.

  The pact had been sealed.

  36

  Supper at the Lazy R that evening was a somber affair. Brett Coleson’s earlier presence lingered over the room like a burial shroud. The ranch hands picked at Joanna’s baked beans instead of wolfing them down with their usual gusto and even failed to finish off the corn bread she’d browned to perfection. Not that she’d noticed.

  Crockett eyed Joanna from across the table. Spoon tipped downward, she listlessly dragged a bean from the edge of her dish to the pile in the center, the same way he would’ve driven a stray calf back into the herd. The comparison tempted him to smile, but the fact that he couldn’t recall any of the little critters on her plate, stray or otherwise, actually making their way to her mouth stole his frivolity.

  “Well, aren’t we a bunch of sorry hangdogs?” Silas scraped his chair back, yanked his napkin from his shirt collar, and chucked it onto the table. “Enough of this moping. Frank. Carl. You boys have saddles to oil and harnesses to mend. Get to it. Jasper, meet me in the barn. We need to talk about Henderson’s bull and start makin’ plans.

  “Archer?”

  Crockett met his employer’s gaze while the men around him shuffled to fulfill their assigned tasks.

  “Don’t be late for your appointment.” Silas glanced briefly at Joanna and then back at Crockett before pivoting away and striding for the door.

  “Your appointment?” Joanna paused in the middle of collecting the dirty dishes from the table. “Oh, that’s right.” Crockett hadn’t thought it possible for her eyes to dim any further. He’d been wrong. “I had forgotten about Holly.”

  He wished he could forget about her, too. All he wanted was to hold Jo in his arms and lay tiny kisses on her head until she smiled again.

  Crockett moved to her side and took the stack of plates from her hands. “I don’t have to go just yet,” he said, setting the dishes on the table and tipping her face up with the crook of his finger. “Come sit with me in the parlor for a minute?”

  She responded with only a nod. Crockett slid his palm into the slight indention of her back and gently guided her toward the sitting room. He led her to the small sofa and took a seat beside her.

  “It’s going to be all right, Jo.” He cradled her hand in his. “Who knows? This trial might be just what your father needs to solidify his faith.”

  “But it’s so new to him!” Her fingers dug into the flesh of his hand with almost painful force. “What if he sees this as proof that God doesn’t care about him? He rejected God for so long. What if this gives him the excuse to revert back?”

  “What if God delivers him and thereby reveals his mercy?” Crockett stroked his knuckles along her cheek, needing to touch her, to soothe her. “Or what if Silas needs adversity to grow? He started out as an orphan without a penny to his name, and now he’s an established rancher supporting four men and a beautiful daughter. Who’s to say his spiritual maturity won’t be forged in the same fashion? We can’t know what is best for him. Only God knows. What we can do is stand by him, support him, and love him through it all.”

  An unexpected lump suddenly lodged in Crockett’s throat. That’s what he wanted to do for Joanna. Stand by her. Support her. Love her with every fiber of his being. Forever.

  He gazed into his love’s sweet face and knew. Now was the time. She was nodding and saying something about needing to trust God more, but in all honesty he could barely hear her over the thudding of his heart and the urgent demand ringing in his mind.

  “Jo, I . . . er . . .” He stumbled. He never stumbled over his words. Never. Yet his tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size in the time it took him to suck in a single breath.

  She glanced quizzically up at him, her mouth slightly parted. Only then did he realize he’d interrupted her. Heat crept up his neck.

  She nodded and gave him a brief smile. “Yes?”

  Crockett cleared his throat and tried again. “I know this might seem like an inappropriate time, but everything in my heart is telling me it’s exactly the right ti
me. For you. For me. For the two of us together.”

  The furrows in her brow deepened, and her head tipped at an odd angle. She stared at him as if he were spouting gibberish.

  Which, of course, he was.

  A laugh exploded from his chest. He shook his head at his complete ineptitude and tunneled his fingers through his hair, hoping to stimulate some cohesive thoughts. “Just my luck,” he muttered, “the one moment a man wants to be his most eloquent, and I fumble around like I haven’t a thought in my head.”

  “Crockett? What’s wrong?”

  “You.” He groaned. “No, not you.” He was making a complete muck of this. Desperate to find some way to salvage the situation, he surged to his feet, paced a couple steps, and turned back to face her. Drawing in a deep breath, he dropped to his knees by her feet and reclaimed her hand.

  “We can’t know what the future holds, but what I do know is that I want to share my future with you.”

  The frown lines on Joanna’s brow smoothed, and her eyes grew misty. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, her body going completely still.

  Crockett lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the soft skin above her knuckles. “Joanna Robbins, you’ve stolen my heart. I’ve fallen in love with your quiet smile, your tender soul, your compassionate nature. I love the way you rush to defend those you care about and stand and fight when danger threatens.”

  He lifted his hand to brush at a stray ringlet that had fallen to frame her face, marveling at how it wrapped itself around his finger as if it belonged there. “I love the way your hair curls with unleashed abandon.” He cupped her cheek in his palm, and she leaned into his touch. A surge of desire pulsed through him as her eyes warmed beneath his gaze. “And I adore those tiny freckles dancing across your cheeks.”

  Joanna dipped her chin and lowered her lashes as a pretty pink blush stole over her skin. But she didn’t hide herself for long. Her lashes lifted, revealing eyes rimmed with anticipation and love. The intensity nearly knocked the breath from his chest.