Stealing the Preacher (19 page)

Crockett absorbed her words. “Your father might be a stubborn man,” he said after a moment, “but he loves fiercely and has proven capable of radical change. Your story gives me hope for our other endeavor.”

“Do you think so?” Her eager face shone up at him as if he had just given her a handful of gold.

Crockett nodded, and her answering smile was glorious.

As he steered the team toward the general store, Crockett
couldn’t help but wonder what stories Joanna would someday tell her own children about how she met their father. Would it be a rousing adventure tale to rival her parents’ story, or would it be an ordinary account of a gentle romance that developed over time? Somehow the latter just didn’t seem to fit.

Crockett set the brake, climbed down, and turned to assist Joanna. His hands clasped her waist, and an unbidden image of Silas dandling a grandchild on each knee filled his mind—children who were begging to hear the tale of how Grandpa stole their daddy from a train as a birthday present for their mama.

He jerked his hands away from Joanna’s waist as if she’d burned him.
Slow down, Crock
, he warned himself. Admitting his attraction to Joanna was one thing. Imagining their future children was quite another.

“Let’s . . . uh . . . let’s go find that paint.” Crockett took Joanna’s arm and quickly steered her toward the boardwalk before the quizzical look on her face had time to become an actual question.

20

S
electing the paint didn’t take long, and when Crockett offered to cart the canisters out to the wagon, Joanna urged him to get out and explore the town afterward, thereby granting her some time for personal shopping.

“It’s so rare that I get the chance to wander through the store myself,” she explained when he offered to wait. “I usually just give Jasper a list and have him pick up the necessary items when he comes into town, but since I’m here, I’d love the chance to linger over the pretty ribbons and sweet-smelling soaps.”

Surely
that
would scare him off. What man wanted to be caught up in a cloud of perfumed soaps and toilet water?

“I’ll just stroll down to the livery for a bit,” Crockett said, his easy agreement rankling a bit, despite the fact that he was doing exactly what she wanted.

Botheration.
Why did her feelings always have to be in such a jumble whenever he was around?

“When you’re finished,” he continued, “we can have lunch.”

Joanna forced her mind back to the task at hand.
Fabric.
“That would be lovely.” She smiled and shooed him toward the door. “I’ll come find you when I’m finished here.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He winked and dipped his head to her before taking the last of the paint outside.

She hovered by the window, waiting until he’d situated the paint cans in the wagon bed and started making his way down the street toward the livery. Then she made a beeline for the fabric display along the back wall.

Dean’s Store didn’t boast a very wide selection, and most of it was simple calico, but Joanna eagerly fingered every bolt of cloth, imagining what each might look like done up into a dress. The golden brown material dotted with tiny maroon roses might work well with her coloring, but it was too subdued, too safe. For once, she wanted to stand out instead of blending into the background. A hard enough task when Holly Brewster was prancing around. It’d be even worse now that the woman had actually set her cap for Crockett. Joanna sighed as she considered the choices before her. All the tans and dark greens weren’t going to help much.

Taking the gold calico in hand, she reached for a bolt of deep russet, thinking it might be close enough in color to the rose pattern to make a pairing, but when she tugged it loose, she discovered a length of blushing pink polished muslin hiding underneath. Joanna sucked in a breath, the russet bolt falling from her hand to thud against the table.

She carefully extracted the pink fabric from the bottom of the pile. The sheen of it caught the light, drawing a sigh from her as she stroked her hand along its length. It had probably been left over from last spring; the color was far too pastel to be fashionable this time of year, but Joanna didn’t care. In fact, the lighter color suited her purposes precisely. Even better, it would pair well with the chocolate brown underskirt her mother used to wear with her lemon polonaise. The pale yellow hue
had always turned Joanna’s complexion rather sallow, so she’d never remade the gown, but the underskirt was a different story. It would add an elegant touch to the cheery pink muslin. Not to mention saving her a great deal of time in the sewing.

Joanna gathered the bolt into her arms and turned to walk to the counter, only to find a woman blocking her path. The lady’s hair was pulled back into a rather severe knot, her charcoal dress clean but nondescript. Yet it was her assessing stare that stirred Joanna’s unease.

“I seen you with him.” The accusation lacked heat and was almost conversational in nature, but Joanna still did a quick scan of the store to make sure she had a clear path to the exit should a mad dash become necessary.

“Who?” she asked, drawing the fabric bolt closer to her chest.

“The parson. Archer.”

“Yes. He works for my father and was kind enough to drive me to town.” Joanna pasted on a grin and retreated a step, thinking to make her escape down another aisle.

“He’s a good man.” The woman blushed slightly and fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve as her gaze slid to the floor. “If ya ain’t in too big a hurry, I’d be pleased to have the two of ya lunch with me at the boardinghouse. Archer knows where. Just tell ’im Bessie said come.”

Joanna halted her retreat, touched by the awkward invitation. This woman was no threat. She was simply uncomfortable around strangers, a trait Joanna understood all too well. What must it have cost her to initiate the conversation? It was obvious she held Crockett in high esteem—which proved her a woman of good sense.

“How kind of you, Bessie. We’d be delighted to join you for lunch. I’m Joanna.” She extended her hand.

Bessie nodded but barely touched her fingers to Joanna’s. As if she’d suffered through all the socializing she could manage,
Bessie spun around without further word and left Joanna alone with her new dress fabric.

“Care for some more greens, Parson?” Bessie held the bowl out to him, and Crockett accepted it, still in a daze over actually having the woman seated at the table with him. The presence of another female apparently made socializing a less threatening endeavor.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He placed a small spoonful on his plate and passed the bowl on to Joanna. “I’ll take another one of your yeast rolls, too, if you don’t mind.”

The woman couldn’t have blushed more prettily if he had named her the fairest maiden in the land.

“I remembered how much you liked ’em,” she said as she reached for the towel-covered basket.

“They are truly a piece of heaven, Miss Bessie.” As he reached under the towel to claim a roll, Crockett winked playfully at her. But he regretted his unthinking gesture when his hostess nearly toppled out of her chair from the shock of it.

Thankfully, Joanna quickly attempted to smooth things over. “You must meet a lot of interesting people, running a boardinghouse. Do you enjoy it?”

“Not particularly.”

Crockett ducked his chin and fixed his attention firmly upon his plate, intending to shrink from the conversation so that Miss Bessie could regain her footing.

“It must be hard work,” Joanna said, impressing him with how quickly and sensitively she adjusted to Bessie’s blunt response.

“It ain’t the work. I been tendin’ house since I was old enough to wrangle a broom.” She shifted in her chair, and her thumb tapped restlessly against the tabletop. “It’s havin’ strangers
showin’ up uninvited and expecting me to wait on ’em hand and foot that puts me in a foul mood.”

Crockett stuffed the roll in his mouth before she could catch him grinning. He could certainly attest to the truth of that statement.

“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t take on boarders at all.” Bessie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms with a huff.

“Why do you do it, then?” Joanna’s voice held no censure, only curiosity. It didn’t surprise him at all when Miss Bessie’s arms relaxed. Joanna’s calm manner invited openness. Though not the social whirlwind that Holly Brewster was, she had a way of reaching out to those society missed, those most in need of compassion and a listening ear.

“It was my brother Albert’s idea. All because of that wife of his. She wanted him to sell this place, our parents’ house, so that she and Bertie could move into a nicer one themselves up in Caldwell. He assured me I’d be given a room of my own—a room off the kitchen, I’m sure, so I can do all the cookin’ and cleanin’. Heaven knows that’s what I end up doin’ every time I go for a visit. At least here I can keep my independence and don’t have to put up with Francine’s hostility.”

Crockett gave up all pretense of eating and sat back to watch the two women, who seemed to have forgotten his presence.

“So how’d you convince your brother to let you keep the house?” Joanna asked.

“I think he knew what a disaster it would be to have me and Francine under the same roof, so he offered to let me keep the house if I would agree to take in boarders so that he could lower my monthly stipend. It was his way of tryin’ to make both of us happy, I guess.”

“Do you attract enough business to make up the difference?”

“Some months are better than others, but I got extra put aside, so—”

A loud knock cut off the rest of her explanation.

“Miss Bessie?” A gruff masculine voice echoed through the hall as the front door eased open. “I hear ya got comp’ny.”

A start of recognition hit Crockett, followed by a jolt of apprehension.

“Yep,” Bessie hollered, making no move to greet the visitor in person. “We’re in the kitchen, Marshal. You’re just in time for a piece of pie.”

Crockett looked to Joanna, his pulse growing a bit erratic. Had Marshal Coleson come to question him again? Or had he somehow figured out Joanna’s connection to a particular ex-outlaw? Was she in danger?

His eyes raked her face. She surely wasn’t acting like she considered herself to be in danger. After Bessie got up to retrieve another plate and cut the pie, Joanna simply wrapped her hands around the delicate china cup in front of her and lifted it to her lips for a sip, the picture of serenity. What she didn’t do, however, was meet his gaze, so he had no way of judging whether her composure was legitimate or strictly an act.

He had the oddest urge to grab her and dash out the back door.

Then common sense prevailed. He was pretty sure Silas couldn’t be arrested for crimes committed sixteen years ago, especially without witnesses or evidence. But when Brett Coleson strode into the kitchen, pulled his hat from his head, and sat in the vacant chair next to him, it dawned on Crockett that there
was
a crime for which Silas Robbins could be prosecuted—kidnapping.

Joanna eyed the marshal over the rim of her cup. She had too much of her father in her to be comfortable around lawmen, but too much of her mother in her to let it show. Slowly,
she lowered her cup to the table and smiled a welcome to the newcomer.

He nodded politely and took his seat. “Brett Coleson, ma’am,” he said by way of introduction.

She dipped her chin in return. “Joanna Robbins.” Thankfully, the marshal seemed more interested in Crockett than her. After he mumbled something perfunctory, he turned his full attention to the man beside him.

“I didn’t expect to see you ’round these parts again, Parson. You decide to take my advice and press charges against those yahoos that abducted you from the train?”

Her pulse bucked like an unbroken horse. Joanna darted a glance at Crockett, knowing even as she did so that the gesture would be telling if the marshal happened to notice. Crockett apparently had better self-control, for he kept his attention on the lawman. She told herself she was glad even while she ached for his reassurance.

“No, sir,” Crockett replied, and the denial soothed Joanna’s ragged nerves. “That misunderstanding was worked out weeks ago. I’m here because I took a job in the area. Came into town for supplies. That’s all.”