A Lady Like Sarah (20 page)

She lifted her face to him, her lips trembling.

Justin couldn't take his eyes off her. Something inside him broke loose. Some previously guarded part of him pulled free from its moorings and a feeling of wonder and amazement swept over him. Never before had he felt such overwhelming tenderness in his heart and he knew then, knew with every essence of his being, that nothing would ever be the same.

He lifted her chin. He stood so close to her that he could see the gold that tipped her eyelashes, count the freckles on her face.

Thunder sounded like marching soldiers followed by clashing swords of lightning. But no army could combat the temptation before him; no battle was fought harder.

"Sarah Prescott," he whispered in her ear. "I love you."

She stilled in his arms,
then
pulled away.

He laughed at her expression and reached out to her. "I do believe you're speechless."

She slapped his hand away. "What do you expect, you
joshin
' me like that?"

"I'm not joshing you. I mean what I say. I love you." He savored the feel of the words in his mouth, the sound in his ears. It wasn't new, this feeling. It had been there all along. Now that he had given it a name, he knew that pain would surely follow. He didn't care. No future misery could take away his present joy.

Her eyes round with disbelief, she stared at him. "You ain't got
no
business
sayin
'
somethin
' you don't mean," she said, sounding remarkably like her old self, considering her recent ordeal.

He pulled her close again and showered kisses across her forehead, down her cheek and jaw.

From inside the cave, Elizabeth's shrill cries could no longer be ignored. He stilled,
then
drew his mouth away from Sarah's. Kissing her nose and then her forehead, he reluctantly pulled away.

"Divine intervention," he said.

She laughed, and he thought he never heard a more beauÂtiful sound.

Together they climbed down the rocky cliffs and hurried up the path leading to the cave. By the time they reached Elizabeth's side, she was fast asleep.

Shaking his head at the improbability of Elizabeth falling asleep before her late-night feeding, he lowered himself upon a cot.

Sarah watched him, the cool assessing look she gave him at odds with the soft curve of her mouth still swollen from his kisses. Her tousled hair fell to her shoulders in disheveled waves.

"What you said before," she began, her voice small and trembling.

"I meant every word."

A worried frown flitted across her forehead. "You can't love me. You're a preacher."

"Preachers can love," he said. "Nothing in the Bible says we can't."

The frown deepened. "But I'm an outlaw."

"Your brothers are outlaws, not you," he said. "You simply have the misfortune of being a Prescott."

She shook her head. "This ain't right. Look at me. I'm no lady. I don't even dress like one. You can't hitch a horse with a coyote."

He rose to his feet and started toward her.

Holding her hand up, palm out, she backed away from him. Instead of embracing his feelings, she looked trapped. "I don't even know the proper way to talk to God."

"God doesn't expect you to talk any special way."

"Don't—"

"Don't what?" he asked closing the distance between them. He grabbed her by the wrists and backed her against the granÂite wall where she couldn't escape. "You said you liked it when we kissed."

"You ain't
talkin
'
about.
. .
no
kissin
'," she said. "You're
talkin
about
lovin
', and that's a leopard with stripes instead of spots. It ain't right."

"You don't want me to love you?" he asked.

She bit her lip and lowered her lashes. "It makes no sense to love someone you can't be with."

"Do you think I planned this?"

The eyes meeting his were filled with dismay.

"The truth
is . . .
Sarah,
God knows I've fought the truth. I was just too stubborn to know my own heart.
And . . . and . . .
I—" He shook his head in frustration. "I'm no good at saying what I feel."

"I'd say you're doing a mighty fine job," she said.

He threaded his fingers through hers. "The truth is," he began again and this time his feelings flowed from him as easÂily as
a song.
"I loved you from the moment I first set eyes on
you. I loved you when you were chin-deep in mire yelling your head off. I loved you when you were on hands and knees digging that marshal's grave. I loved you when you were swatting hoppers and singing to a bunch of crazy cows."

Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. "We can't do this," she said, her voice choked. She lowered her lashes. "I—I've got to leave. In two days."

"I know. I know." He cupped her chin in his hand and she lifted her eyes to his. "I just want to know . . . Do
you . . . do
you have feelings for me?"

"Oh, Justin," she cried.
She
flung her arms around his neck but just as quickly pulled away. "I don't think I'm ever
gonna
remember that a lady ain't supposed to throw herself at a man like that."

"Sometimes it's okay," Justin said.
"In extraordinary circumstances."

"Like when a prayer is answered?" she whispered.

"Like when a man declares his love."

Not waiting for a second invitation, she flung her arms around him a second time. "Oh, Justin, I do love you. I do."

His mouth pressed against hers, her lips soft and yielding next to his own. Her skin felt warm and smooth and soft as fine velvet.

"Are you folks okay?"

At the sound of the cattle spotter's voice, Justin jumped back.

"Yes," he called back, his voice shaking. "We're . . . we're fine."

"We'd like you folks to join us at the chuck wagon for breakfast in the morning," Frazier said.

"Breakfast?"
Justin mouthed and Sarah nodded. He called louder. "That's mighty generous of you."

"It's the least we can do for the trouble you folks had to put up with tonight. See you in the
mornin
'."

Justin waited for the sound of hooves to fade away,
then
turned to Sarah again. This time, he kept his arms to his side.

The longing in her eyes matched
his own
. Nonetheless, she shook her head. "I know. You're a
preacher . . . a
Christian."

"A Christian," he repeated out loud for his own benefit— a desperate attempt to quell the burning fires within.

Biting her lip, she nodded in agreement.

He watched the play of emotions on her face and her inner struggles mirrored his own. He felt a twinge of guilt for not validating her growing faith. In the face of temptation, it was often her strength more than his that saved him. Once he'd convinced her that her promise not to bother God again was invalid, she embraced her growing faith in God with childÂlike wonder.

At first, her short, simple prayers had startled Justin. "Keep her safe, God, You hear?" she'd say while holding
Elizabeth,
and that would be the extent of her prayer. Her prayers lacked formality but never substance. At times, he'd envied the simplicity of her faith. Her growing relationship with God was simple and pure. In contrast, his faith was often weakened by self-doubt.

"You're right," he said at last. "And I need to do the right thing. But not because of
who
I am. Because of
who
we both are."

He backed away but every inch that separated them added to his misery. "I'll . . . I'll check the horses." With that, he quickly turned and walked away. It was one of the most diffiÂcult things he'd ever had to do—and by far the most necessary.

He followed the path that led above the cave. Half walkÂing, half running, he fought the temptation to turn back.

As far as he was concerned, he hadn't escaped fast enough. Holding Sarah in his arms, kissing her, hearing her declare
her love for him had felt like paradise.
No, torture.
It had been torture because he wanted so much more.
Had so much more to give her.

He walked faster.

He was a pastor, a man of the cloth, someone whom othÂers looked up to and
yet. . .
He wanted to touch her, to fill her eyes with longing.

He walked faster, still.

He wanted her in every way that a man could want a woman. God forgive him.

This time, he broke into a full run.

At first he thought the campfire belonged to the cattlemen, but he realized his mistake the moment he stepped into the circle of light and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Hold it right there, mister," came a rough voice.

Justin stopped in his tracks, his hands held high. There were two of them, both dressed in black. The second man was younger, barely out of his teens. At first Justin thought he'd had the misfortune of meeting up with outlaws, but then he saw the silver badges.

Lawmen!

"Throw your weapons down."

"I'm not armed," Justin said. "I'm a preacher."

The man with the gun motioned for his partner to check Justin for weapons. The younger man stepped forward and patted Justin down with quick efficiency. He seemed overly eager, and Justin guessed he was new on the job.

"No weapons," he announced.

Satisfied that Justin was unarmed, the older lawman lowÂered his gun.

"Sorry to startle you," Justin said. "I thought you were cattlemen."

"I reckon we wouldn't be sitting here if we were," the
lawman said. "We'd be out chasing beeves." Even in the dim light of the fire, Justin could feel the man's scrutiny.

"You're out of breath. Hope you weren't trying to outrun those cattle."

"Just out for a walk."

"Sit for a spell.
Name's Marshal Watson.
This here is Deputy Marshal Massey."

Justin nodded to both men and since there didn't seem to be any way of avoiding it, added, "Justin Wells. Reverend Justin Wells."

Marshal Watson eyed him curiously. A rugged man whose craggy face looked like it was carved out of the same granite as the surrounding
hills,
he spit a stream of tobacco off to the side before sitting on a log.

"I reckon you'd either have to be a preacher or a fool to travel these parts unarmed."

Taking his cue, Justin sat on a tree stump opposite him. "Some people would say I'm both."

"Where you from?"
Watson asked.

"Boston."

"Thought as much," Watson drawled.

Massey threw another log onto the fire. "You got yourself some accent, there."

"What are you
doin
' in these parts?" Watson asked.

"I'm on my way to Texas."

"Texas, eh?
Any trouble on the trail?"

"Uh. . .
no
."

A less observant man might have missed the slight hesiÂtation, but not Watson. The marshal's eyes sharpened as if to weigh its significance. "No one travels through these parts without trouble."

"If by trouble you mean weather problems, then I had plenty. I also ran into a swarm of locusts and some over- friendly Indians."

"You're lucky that's all you ran into," Watson said. "Some of our worst outlaws are hiding in Indian territory."

"We're working out of Judge Parker's court," Massey said proudly.

"Deputy Marshal Massey is a new recruit," Watson added in a tone that indicated he'd already grown weary of the younger man's enthusiasm.

"Judge Parker picked me
hisself
," Massey said, puffing out his chest.
"Said my love of excitement and my desire to improve conditions made me a perfect man for the job."

Marshal Watson stuck a cheroot in his mouth, struck a match on the sole of his boot, and lit it. "We
gotta
telegram from Texas saying that one of our marshals has disappeared. He was bringing in a member of the Prescott gang."

Justin's mouth went dry. An icy chill shot down his spine and settled at the pit of his stomach. He wasn't good at deception.
Had no idea whether to act surprised, indifferent, or merely interested.

Watson never took his eyes off him. "The marshal and his prisoner were supposed to catch a train to Texas from Kansas City but never showed up. You didn't happen to meet up with them, did you?
A marshal with a woman prisoner?
Stands yea tall."
He held up his hand to indicate.
"Red hair.
Blue eyes.
Name's Sarah Prescott."

Justin's mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he managed to keep a neutral expression. "Afraid I can't help you."

Watson shrugged.
"Just thought I'd ask.
Stranger things have happened."

"We're
gonna
get the Prescott gang," Massey said with a conviction that could only come with youth. "That will show the rest of them outlaws that we mean
bus'ness
."

Not wanting to draw suspicion, Justin endured the silence that followed. It started to rain, giving him an excuse to leave. "I better get back to camp."