Stealing the Preacher (26 page)

27

T
wo days later, Silas was still puzzling over Crockett Archer’s declaration as he rubbed Marauder down after a long ride through the woods. Crazy preachers. Always talkin’ in riddles. He drew the currycomb through the gray’s coat, wishing he could use the same method to untangle his thoughts.

What in the world did a shooting contest have to do with God? And why would his losing be a message that God cared about him? More likely God was showing favoritism—helping Archer win. Silas wanted no part of a God who cheated. But then, he’d always known the Almighty didn’t play fair. For if he were truly interested in justice, Andy Murdoch would still be alive and that Bible-totin’, child-bashin’, sermon-spewin’ stepfather of his woulda had his brains fried by some holy lightning.

Instead, God had turned a blind eye to the preacher’s faults and let an innocent suffer.

Silas blew out a harsh breath, stormed out of Marauder’s stall, and flung the currycomb onto the shelf. He kicked the wall hard enough to jangle the tack above, then bent over the half
wall that sectioned off the milk cow’s quarters and pressed his forearms against the wood.

“Daddy?”

Silas bit back an oath at the sight of his daughter climbing down the loft ladder.

“Are you all right?” she asked, wiping her hands on the painting smock that protected her dress. “I heard a crash.”

He turned to face her, rubbing the dents out of his forearms. “I’m fine, Jo. Just had some bad memories sneak up on me and stir my temper. Nothing to worry about.”

She glided toward him, a penetrating look in her eyes that reminded him so much of her mother he wanted to spin on his heels and run. Martha had always been able to see past his bluster to the doubts and pain beneath. But he didn’t want his sweet Jo exposed to that darker side. It was his duty to protect her, to shield her from the ugly part of the world, even to the point of preserving her illusions about a loving God.

Jo halted in front of him and touched his arm. “Can I pray about it for you?”

He flinched.

“If it’ll make you feel better,” he grumbled. Silas turned away from the compassion in his daughter’s eyes. He knew she was only trying to help, but doggone it, prayer was the last thing he wanted. The very idea chafed like a pair of sandpaper drawers.

“I’m not the one who needs to feel better, Daddy. You do. God can heal those old pains if you let him. He loves you.”

“Ha!” Silas shoved away from the half wall and glowered at his daughter. Maybe he’d kept her too sheltered. Maybe it was time for a dose of reality. Something to protect her from the wiles of smooth-talkin’ preachers.

“If your God was interested in sparin’ me pain, he shoulda restrained the evil that caused it in the first place. You and Archer can go around spoutin’ off about how God cares, but
all I’ve ever seen from him is cold indifference. So forgive me if I’m not too eager to deepen our acquaintance.”

“Did he feel indifferent toward you when the soldiers stripped the clothes from his only Son’s body and plied him with whips until flesh was torn from bone?” Jo’s quiet voice knocked him back. He wanted to discount her example. God had sent his Son for all mankind, not for him individually. It wasn’t personal.

Yet somehow, when Joanna murmured the words, it felt personal.

“Did he feel indifferent when they pierced his Son’s hands with nails and spat upon his face? Was it coldness he felt when his Son’s tortured cry punctured the heavens, accusing him of forsaking him? It must have been agony for the Father to turn his back. Yet he could not gaze upon the sin clinging to Jesus.
Your
sin.
My
sin. Was it indifference that kept him from intervening? No, it was love. Love for you.”

Silas couldn’t answer. He couldn’t look at her, either. Why wouldn’t she just leave? He wished she would quit muddying the water. He was entitled to his opinions, to his anger—justified in them.

So why was he still listening?

She stepped closer. He could feel her, though she didn’t touch him again. “Evil exists in this world, Daddy. When people choose that path, there are harsh consequences. Innocents are hurt. Once in a while God chooses to intervene. Many times he doesn’t. Why? I don’t know. But what I do know is that he promises to work things out for good for those who love him. He finds ways to create blessings even in the wake of disasters.”

“I’ve never seen any such blessings.” Silas muttered this observation more to himself than her, but Jo must have heard, for a sad little laugh fell from her lips.

“Oh, Daddy. You blame God for the bad in your life, yet you refuse to acknowledge his hand in the good. How many times
have you bragged about the fact that you never get sick and can outwork any man? Who do you think blessed you with such a strong constitution? And Jasper’s always talking about how smart you are, how you can lay out plans to perfection.”

“Jasper should keep his mouth shut.”

“God gave you that intelligence,” Jo continued, determined to ride this train all the way to the end of the track. “And what about Mama?”

That brought his head around. “What about her? Your God had nothing to do with Martha. I found her on my own.”

“Did you?” She raised a doubtful brow. “So it was nothing more than chance that placed Mama in the very stage you were set to hold up. A woman who would eventually convince you to leave your life of crime, who would bring you joy and comfort. A godly woman who prayed for your salvation every day of her life, and whose last wish was for her daughter to take over her spiritual vigil so that she might one day see her beloved husband again in eternity.”

“She asked that of you?” Something rasped the back of his throat. Martha had always been a religious woman, but he never realized his lack of faith was such a burden to her. A burden she passed on to their daughter.

“She did. But she didn’t have to ask. I would have done it anyway. I love you too much to give up on you.”

Silas leaned his arm against the half wall behind him, suddenly unsteady. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

“Why do you think I wanted a new preacher so desperately? I didn’t have Mama’s support any longer. I needed help. And God answered my prayer by sending me a parson who is so much like you that he’s probably the only preacher in the country you could come to respect.”

Archer was in on this, too? Of course he was. Suddenly his comment at the end of the shooting match made sense. It was
all a plot, a plan. They were ganging up on him, herding him places he didn’t want to go.

“The best part of all, Daddy, is that God used
you
to bring him here. I never would have found Crockett if it hadn’t been for you.”

“I’ll send him back,” Silas threatened, panic setting in. He needed space to breathe, to think. He hated being chased, cornered.

“God’s pursuing you,” Jo pressed, relentless. “He wants you as his own. All you have to do is stop run . . .”

Her words died away as he sprinted out the barn door.

28

A
cool breeze ruffled Crockett’s shirt as he rode onto the Lazy R at the conclusion of his afternoon visits. He’d borrowed Joanna’s mount to pay calls on the folks who’d not attended services following the picnic and to check in on the few he’d heard were ill. Everyone welcomed him warmly, although most had been more eager to discuss the shooting contest than church attendance. But he wouldn’t complain. A foot in the door was a foot in the door, no matter how it came to be there.

The only true disappointment of the day came when he realized how much time those visits had consumed. He’d intended to spend only two or three hours paying calls and instead had spent nearly four. That didn’t leave much time for courting.

Crockett grinned as his mare trotted toward the barn. It was a good thing Archers knew how to make the most of limited resources.

Frank was washing up at the pump near the corral trough. Crockett waved, thinking it might be a good idea to freshen up a bit himself before searching Joanna out. He had just tugged the reins to steer Sunflower in that direction when Silas burst out
of the barn like a cat with his tail on fire. The mare reared, her shrill neigh a scream in Crockett’s ears. He instinctively tightened his knees and leaned forward in the saddle to keep his seat.

“Easy, girl. Whoa now.” He patted her neck, and Sunflower finally returned her forelegs to the ground.

Frank hobbled after his boss as fast as his stiff gait would allow. “Silas?” he called.

The fleeing man ignored his shout and soon pulled so far ahead, Frank was forced to give up the chase. He shuffled back to Crockett and ran a hand through his damp, graying hair. “What in tarnation was that all about?”

“I have no idea,” he said, staring after his employer’s retreating back. “It was like he didn’t even see us.” Which was odd. The man prided himself on his detailed awareness of all of the ranch’s workings.

“Didn’t hear us, neither.” Frank grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, obviously put out by Silas’s callous dismissal. “Something musta got him riled.”

Crockett dismounted, continuing to stroke Sunflower’s neck as she snorted and tossed her head. Her chest heaved, and a large breath expelled from her lungs. “That-a-girl,” Crockett crooned. He kept a snug grip on the reins, still leery of the mare trying to bolt.

Bolt.
Crockett turned to where Silas was disappearing into the trees out past the corral. “He’s not mad,” he murmured. “He’s scared.”

“Scared?” Frank scoffed. “You’re out of your gourd if you think that. I’ve known Silas Robbins for more than twenty-five years, and I can promise you that man ain’t afeared of nothin’.”

Nothing but preachers and religious discussions, Crockett thought with a smile. Then all at once, a picture of what must have happened crystallized in his brain, and his gut lurched.

“Joanna!” Her name echoed across the yard ahead of him. He spared only a moment to toss Sunflower’s reins to Frank before breaking into a run.

He found her huddled against the tack wall, arms wrapped around her middle, shoulders trembling. Her eyes lifted to meet his, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she fought to contain the tears that swam in her eyes.

“I’ve ruined ev-everything.” The hitch in her voice broke his heart. “I pressed him too hard. Said too much.” A fat tear crested the dam and rolled slowly down her cheek. “He ran from me, Crockett.” She swallowed a sob. “He ran from
me
.”

He opened his arms and caught her as she staggered toward him. Folding her into his chest, he laid his cheek against her hair and stroked her back. “Shh, sweetheart. He didn’t run from you. He ran from the truth.”

“I never should have said anything.” She tipped her head back, gently dislodging him. Her eyes shimmered, but she held the remaining tears at bay. “I thought it was the right time. He actually seemed to be listening. But then I went too far. I told him about my promise to Mama and the real reason you came here. I even pointed out how he’d unwittingly played a role himself by abducting you from that train.”

Joanna braced her palms against his shirtfront, her touch ricocheting through him as she leaned backward against his hold. “He threatened to send you away, Crockett. And heaven knows if he’ll ever let me speak of this again. You warned me to be subtle, to be patient, but I just blundered forward and made a mess of everything.”

Crockett released his hold on her waist with one hand and moved to cup her chin with his other. “There’s a time for subtlety, and a time to be bold. If the Spirit was moving you to speak, it would have been a sin not to.”

“But what if it wasn’t the Spirit? What if it was just me?”

Crockett sighed and snuggled her head back into his chest. “I battle the same question every time I write a sermon.”

“How do you know?” She mumbled the question against his shirt, leaving her head where it rested in the hollow between his shoulder and neck. The place that seemed to be made for her.

Crockett rubbed her arm and dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head before answering. “I don’t always know. Not for certain. The best we can do is ensure our hearts are right, our motives pure, and then listen for God’s guidance, praying that he will correct our path if we veer off course.”

“Do you think I veered off course?” The quiet question tugged at his heart.

“No.” The memory of Silas’s agitated dash convicted him. “I know you, Jo. For years, you’ve prayed for your father, wanting only what is in his best interest. If you believed the time was right for you to speak, it was right.”

“Then why did he run?” She didn’t pull away, but she did tilt her head to meet his gaze.

For a moment her upturned lips distracted him. Steeling himself against the ill-timed surge of desire, he dragged his focus back up to her eyes.

“He needs time to think,” Crockett said, “to examine his beliefs. You can’t make the choice for him. He has to choose it on his own. We’ll give him some time, see where the Lord leads next.”

“But what if he makes you leave?” Her fingers wrinkled the cotton of his shirt as if she meant to hold him captive.

If she only knew how captivated he already was.

Crockett smiled down at her, his heart full of promises as he covered her hand with his own. “He might fire me, darlin’, but he can’t make me leave the area. I’ve got a church to run, you know. Besides”—he winked—“I get the feeling the woman who hired me might fancy me a little. I think I can convince her to let me stay on.”

At last the clouds cleared from her eyes, and her mouth curved flirtatiously. “Oh, you do, do you?”

Crockett waggled his eyebrows. “I’m not above using my masculine wiles for a good cause.” He shifted his grip on her hand and raised it toward his lips. “Do you think she’d let me stay in exchange for a kiss?” He lowered his head and lightly caressed the skin just below the bend of her knuckles, in the valley where her first two fingers met.

Her breath caught, and a tremor passed through her, a delicate version of the one pounding through him.