A Cowboy at Heart (17 page)

A noise from the kitchen drew his attention, a low female laugh. Katie. His head jerked up and he stared hard at the doorway, as though he could see through it and catch a glimpse of her smiling face and trim figure as she went about the task of preparing breakfast in
Maummi
Switzer’s kitchen. Speaking of decent women, there was a fine one right here under the same roof as him. But of course she wouldn’t spare a second thought for him. He had nothing to offer her.

But if I did lay claim to land, and start up a farm and a herd of cattle
…

He shook his head to dislodge the spark of hope the thought produced. He’d spent his good years in rowdy living, rolling in muck so disgusting he’d never get the stink of it out of his nostrils. Taking up with her would sully the fresh wholesomeness that was Katie’s nature. Besides, she was Amish, and he, most definitely, was not.

Emma used to be Amish before she married Luke
. The thought crept unbidden into his mind.
And Rebecca too, until she met Colin
.

But somehow he sensed Katie was different. When she spoke
of her Amish beliefs, he sensed not a shred of hesitance, not a single whisper of desire for any lifestyle other than the one she lived. He knew better than to expect a woman of her character to give up her whole life for a rowdy cowpoke like him.

With the gloom of certainty gathering to form a lump in the vicinity of his chest, he shoved his foot into a boot and thrust the disturbing thoughts from his mind.

Katie bit off the final thread and smoothed the wrinkles from the tiny white gown on her lap. There. Her gift for Rebecca’s babe was finished. Though after Sarah’s visit yesterday, perhaps she should have made something for the new Beiler daughter—Katie was positive Sarah carried a girl, though she could not pinpoint the exact source for her certainty—before Rebecca’s. No doubt Sarah would deliver first. Katie closed her eyes and formed a silent prayer that the Lord would seal Sarah’s womb long enough for the little one to be born healthy.

She opened her eyes to find Jesse observing her. He had resumed his place in the rocking chair after breakfast, and had watched her and Butch make a dozen trips from the water pump to the trough with a scowl. The unaccustomed exertion of joining the rest of them at the table had exhausted him, and he dropped off to sleep while she performed the rest of her chores. When she finished, she’d moved a chair quietly to his side to work on her sewing.

“You are rested after your nap?”

A grimace squeezed his features. “Whoever heard of a grown
man taking a morning nap after a full night’s sleep?” He scrubbed at his eyes with his left hand. “I’ve got no more strength than a newborn lamb.”

“You sleep less now than three days past,” she pointed out. “Your body is working to make up for the blood it lost. A man with less strength would not have recovered.”

He considered the statement, and then his expression softened. “It’s thanks to you I’m alive at all.”

She found herself unable to return his frank stare and fumbled to fold the baby garment. Fortunately, before she finished, the sound of a horse’s hooves clopping in the distance announced the arrival of a visitor. Welcoming the distraction, she stretched her sight to catch a glimpse of the approaching Amish buggy. A lone man on the bench this time.

When the figure drew near enough to recognize, her spirits sagged. Bishop Miller had come to pay a call. Or had he come to check on her? As he drew near, she became aware of his sharp gaze fixed on her. With a quick glance at Jesse, she rose and hastily shoved the gown into the sewing basket. She could go inside and prepare a light meal. Surely
Maummi
Switzer would want to offer the bishop a bite to eat and a cool drink. But though she intended to head for the door, she found herself held in place by the unsmiling countenance of her father-in-marriage. Her arms pressed the sewing basket into her stomach, and she had to lock her knees to keep them from trembling.

“Hey, you okay?” Jesse’s inquiry held a note of concern.

She gave a shaky nod. “It is the bishop come to call.”

“Yeah?” He turned narrowed eyes on the buggy. “I met him once, a long time ago.”

Later she might be curious about that, but at the moment she was too busy battling a fit of nerves as she watched the bishop stop his buggy in the same shady spot the Beilers had taken the day before.

Why am I anxious? I have done nothing to bring his disapproval
.

She spared a quick glance for Jesse. He was the reason behind her jittery stomach. Though she did not fully understand why, she did not want the bishop to see her talking with the
Englisch
cowboy.

Too late for that.

Maummi
Switzer, who had been in the vegetable patch teaching Butch to recognize the difference between weeds and bean plants, rounded the corner of the house wiping her hands on her apron. Katie relaxed her clutch on the basket. No one intimidated
Maummi
Switzer, not even the bishop.

Fader
Miller climbed down from the buggy and called a greeting toward the older woman. “A pleasant morning to you, Marta.”

“And to you. Always a treat to see our bishop.”

The two reached the porch at the same time.
Fader
Miller studied Jesse as he might inspect a lame horse someone was trying to sell him. Finally, when his brooding silence began to feel awkward, he dipped his head.

“I heard of your injury. I trust you are recovered.” Not a trace of sympathy appeared in the stern countenance.

Jesse replied with an easy smile. “I’m getting there, thanks to the care of these fine ladies. Without them I’d have been a goner.”

“Thanks are due to our Katie.”
Maummi
Switzer beamed at her. “She has an uncommon healing touch, and she has not left his side since she arrived.”

Katie kept her eyes lowered. Though she appreciated the good word, she wished the older woman had not chosen this moment, and this audience, to deliver her tribute.
Fader
Miller’s gaze, full of speculation, slid to her for a moment before returning to Jesse.

“Jonas will arrive in a few moments.”
Maummi
Switzer waved toward the field east of the barn, where Jonas could be seen making his way toward them. “Please sit here in the shade. Katie and I will bring a cool drink.” She indicated the chair beside Jesse’s rocker that Katie had vacated a moment before.

“A drink would be most welcome.” Bishop Miller cleared his throat. “Though I would like to speak privately with Katie first.”

Sparse gray eyebrows rose high on
Maummi
Switzer’s wrinkled forehead. She glanced at Katie before replying, “
Ja
, of course.”

Fader
Miller looked at Katie. “Perhaps a walk in the shade of the apple trees?”

Though he posed the question as an invitation, she knew she had no choice but to accept. Her stomach tensed into knots. What could he want to say privately? Rarely had he spoken to her since Samuel’s death, and then always in the presence of others. Swallowing against a throat tight with nerves, she set her basket on the porch near the door and followed him down the steps. She spared a passing glance at Jesse, whose questions lay heavy on his brow.

The bishop remained silent as he led her to the small stand of apple trees. Blossoms still clung to the branches, though many had fallen in the past week or so. A thin layer of wilted petals covered the ground, and tiny apples no bigger than a pea had begun to appear amid the leafy foliage. The petals swirled around Katie’s feet as she dragged herself after the bishop, and their sweet scent lingered in the air around her.

Once they were inside the grove, he ended his silence. “He is recovered from his wounds, this
Englisch
man?”

Katie had suspected that Jesse would be the topic of this conversation. “He is recovering,” she answered carefully.

He glanced toward the house. “I see no lingering signs of his injuries.”

“He lost much blood. The doctor said it will take weeks for him to fully regain his strength.”

“Weeks?” He halted and looked down at her from his towering height. “You would stay here for weeks, caring for this
Englisch
man?”

“Not weeks,” she replied. “One week more, perhaps.”

“Already you have spent a week. Marta Switzer is a capable woman. Why not leave him in her hands?”

“
Maummi
Switzer’s heart grows weak with age.” She sent a concerned glance backward to the house. “I fear placing an undue burden on her would be harmful.”

“She appeared well a moment ago.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, is there more behind your care than concern for an injured man?”

She found herself the object of intense study, and her thoughts turned to yesterday, when her pulse sped up in response to Jesse’s gaze. Her heart began a heavy thudding in her ears. Could the bishop see guilty thoughts on her face? A warm blush threatened to creep upward beneath the high collar of her dress.

“His injuries are extensive, and he is
Englisch
.” She nearly wilted with relief at the calm, measured tone she had managed to maintain. “What else would I feel but concern for his health?”

His eyes narrowed, and then he gave a tiny nod. He resumed his
slow pace, hands clasped behind his back. “It would be unseemly for my son’s wife to spend more time caring for an
Englisch
man than for one of our own.”

Thoughts raced in her mind. Was he accusing her of neglecting her Amish friends in order to care for Jesse? If so, it was an unjust complaint. “I am not aware of illness or injuries that need tending among those in our district.” Her reply contained the faintest hint of the insult that rankled inside.

The thin lips tightened. “Sarah Beiler complains of pain in her back.”

“Sarah was here yesterday.” A touch more heat slipped into her voice. “I advised a change in her diet to guard her health and her babe’s.”

“The cut on my Hannah’s hand—”

“Was closed and healing well when I saw her eight days past. Has something changed since then?”

She saw from his expression that it had not. She also saw that he was growing impatient with her, and guilt niggled at the realization. One should not argue with the bishop. To do so was disrespectful to him and to his appointed position of leadership.

But he is wrong!

Shame flared at the sinful thought. Wrong or not, he was the bishop.

He continued his slow pace, though she was aware he watched her closely from the corner of his eye. “Do you know what will occur seventeen days from this one?”

Seventeen days from now? Today was Thursday, so that would be the second Sunday of the month. It would be the week for church, and if she remembered aright, it was her parents’ turn to
host the church meeting. Was he giving her until then to return home?

“I will be home to help my family prepare for the meeting,” she promised.

He came to a stop and pierced her with an icy stare. “You do not remember. It is the twentieth of May.”

She closed her eyes. Yes, she had forgotten the date for a moment. May twentieth, the day her Samuel pressed a tender kiss upon her forehead before he went out to plow the far field and never returned.

“You dishonor the memory of my son.”

Katie’s eyes flew open, startled at the harsh accusation in his voice. “I-I merely forgot the date, that is all.”

“You have forgotten far more than the date. You have forgotten your place as Samuel’s widow.”

Her irritation of a moment before swelled. “And what place is that? To go about my days with a long face and bitter disposition? How would that honor Samuel’s memory?”

“Never have you shed a tear for him.” The bishop’s nostrils flared, and spots of color appeared high on his cheeks where his graying beard grew thin.

Breath entered her lungs with an outraged
whoosh
. “What do you know of my tears? Of the mornings I have woken with my bed stiff from salty tears shed in the night?” She snapped her mouth shut. Her private moments of grief were hers alone, not to be trotted out and displayed for approval by this man or any other. “Samuel loved laughter and pulling pranks and the joy of being the first to smile at the rising sun of a morning. Tears do not honor his memory.” She straightened and looked him full in the face, letting
him see the anger there. “Nor does a life lived in a dark cave of prolonged bitterness and grief.”

“You would chastise me for grieving his loss?” His eyes narrowed to slits. “You, who ensured that his line would die with him? It is thanks to your barren womb that he has no son to follow him. When I am gone, his memory will disappear with me, and that is your doing alone.”

Katie stepped backward as though slapped. The harsh words, sharpened by his fury, flew straight at her heart and hit their mark. Pain erupted inside her ribcage, so vivid it robbed her of breath, and she raised both hands to press against her chest.

The bishop’s shoulders heaved, whether from anger or unshed tears, she did not know. He tore his gaze from her face. “You have spent enough time tending this
Englisch
cowboy. Today you will return home.”