Stealing the Preacher (32 page)

Holly captured his hand despite the fact that he hadn’t extended it to her. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

He wished he could say the same.

34

T
he following afternoon, Joanna steered her wagon through the Lazy R gate after a visit with Jackson and spotted Crockett striding out of the barn to meet her. He halted by the edge of the building and rubbed a bandana over the back of his neck before stuffing the blue cloth back into his pocket. He stood so tall; his long legs braced apart, the fabric of his shirt outlining the breadth of his shoulders and arms. Her heart fluttered as she rambled closer.

This man loved her. This strong, handsome, godly man truly loved her. It didn’t seem possible.

She bit her lip, yet her mouth stretched into a wide grin anyway when he raised his hand in greeting. Joanna returned the gesture, keeping one hand on the reins as the team plodded toward the barn.

“How’s Jackson today?” Crockett’s eyes danced as he waited for her to set the brake.

Joanna wrapped the harness straps around the brake lever and bent to retrieve the food basket from the floorboards. “Oh, as ornery as ever,” she said as she gathered her skirts to one
side. “He was outside trying to chop wood one-handed when I got there.”

Crockett’s warm hands circled her waist as he lifted her from the wagon, and they lingered even after her feet were solidly aground.

“I chopped a pile for him two days ago.” One of his brows arched, nearly disappearing beneath the rim of his hat. “Surely the kid hasn’t depleted it already. Especially with you doing all the cooking.”

“The woodpile was still stacked high in the shed. I think he was trying to prove something to himself,” Joanna said, finding it hard to concentrate on the conversation with Crockett’s fingers stroking her sleeves. “I don’t mind him testing his capabilities; I just wish he wouldn’t use such sharp implements until he’s sure of what those capabilities are.”

His fingertips had worked their way up to her shoulders and she abandoned all hope of coherent thought and leaned into the caress. His thumb brushed the edge of her jaw, and her eyes slid closed. The feel of his breath on her face was the only warning she received before his lips met hers.

Joanna reached up to stroke his cheek. Crockett tugged her closer and began to deepen the kiss, then suddenly drew back.

“Sorry.” His voice shook a little, then turned into a soft chuckle. “I hadn’t intended to do that when I came to help you down.”

Joanna lowered her lashes, not quite able to meet his gaze after the sweetness of the kiss. “I didn’t mind.”

He laughed outright. “Heavens, Jo. That’s not the thing to say to a man when he’s battling to hang onto his self-control and good intentions.” His words were lighthearted, but she didn’t miss the way he stepped back and released his hold on her.

Did she really tempt his self-control? Red hair, freckles, and
all? If she’d ever needed proof that he really loved her, he’d just given it to her.

“You’re a good man, Crockett Archer. I trust you.”

“That’s good, because I need to tell you something you’re not going to like.”

She frowned at the change that came over his features. Gone was the teasing suitor. Like a storm cloud blowing in to cover the sun, Crockett’s eyes darkened with a seriousness that immediately set her on edge.

“The horses will be all right for a minute,” he said, relieving her of the basket and taking her arm. “Let’s go sit on the porch.”

She didn’t want to sit on the porch. She wanted him to spit out the bad news. He wasn’t leaving, was he? If he was, would he take her with him? And what about her father? They’d been making such progress. And Jackson. He would be devastated.

By the time Crockett led her up the porch steps and into one of the rockers, Joanna felt as brittle as a week-old cookie, ready to crumble at the slightest tap.

“What is it?” She scooted to the edge of the seat and braced her feet against the porch floor to keep the chair from rocking. Her neck craned up to gauge Crockett’s expression, and her gaze followed him as he took the seat next to hers. The chair creaked as it accepted his weight, and Joanna feared she might scream right along with it if the man didn’t hurry up and end her suspense.

Finally he turned. He ran his palms down his pant legs and took a breath before looking up to meet her eyes. “I’m paying a call on Holly Brewster tonight after supper.”

Joanna frowned and blinked several times. Did that mean he wasn’t leaving? Relief whooshed the air from her lungs until the rest of the message sank into her brain. “Why are you going to see Holly?”

She fought to control the alarm rising in her breast. Just
because he was going to see Holly didn’t mean he had feelings for her. He couldn’t and still kiss her the way he had down by the wagon, right? “Are the two of you planning another church picnic?”

A picnic. That’s probably all it was. Holly always loved to be at the center of any event, and she
had
done a decent job with organizing the last one—even if she did stick Joanna with babysitting duty to keep her away from Crockett.

“No. We’re not planning another picnic.”

Not a picnic? Then what was he going there for? “Is she . . . uh . . . ill?”

She’d looked fine at church yesterday. Better than fine, actually. The lavender dress she’d worn had shown off every one of her feminine curves to perfection, and her pretty blond hair had practically shimmered beneath her stylish matching bonnet. She’d seemed in disgustingly good health.

“No, she’s not ill, either. I’m going to talk to her about a personal matter that I’m worried might soon have some serious spiritual implications.” The corners of his mouth pinched, and lines appeared on his forehead. This wasn’t a call he was looking forward to making.

Somehow that made everything better.

He ran a hand over his face but didn’t quite manage to erase his grimace. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any specifics since it’s a private matter. However, I didn’t want to keep my visit a secret from you. After Holly twisted events at the picnic to make you think something happened that actually didn’t, I worried that something similar might happen with this situation.” He bridged the space between them, covering her left hand with his right. “I love you, Joanna. I don’t want you to doubt that for a moment. No matter what anyone says.”

The fact that he knew her well enough to recognize her weaknesses and cared enough to help her fortify them spoke
volumes. “Thank you for telling me. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Pray.” Crockett’s eyes bored into hers. “Pray for the Spirit to provide me with the right words. And for Miss Brewster’s heart to be receptive.”

“I will,” she vowed, and started that very moment.

Lord, I don’t know what has happened or what the ramifications are, but I ask that you guide Crockett tonight. Give him the words you wish him to say and the courage to say them. May they find fertile ground in Holly’s heart.

Crockett must have been praying, too, for though his eyes were open they lacked focus. Not wanting to disturb him, Joanna simply held his hand and silently repeated parts of her own prayer until the sound of an approaching horse brought her head around.

A single rider trotted down the drive. From a distance, Joanna recognized neither the mount nor the man, but as the rider neared the porch, an awful tightening wound about her chest. Surely not . . .

Crockett slipped his hand from hers and pushed to his feet, sending his rocker into a gentle creaking motion. “Marshal Coleson. What brings you out to the Lazy R?” He stepped to the edge of the porch and leaned against the support beam. Tipping his hat back, he grinned a welcome that set Joanna’s teeth to grinding.

“Came to see Mr. Robbins. He around?”

Joanna’s hands fisted in the fabric of her skirt. What did the lawman want with her father? Had he figured out who Silas Robbins used to be? Or had this visit been prompted by something else? She’d been uneasy about the marshal ever since that odd exchange between him and Crockett at Miss Bessie’s place, and now he was here. At the Lazy R.

Crockett glanced up at the sky, then back at Coleson. “Silas
and Jasper are checking on one of the heifers out in the eastern pasture. She’s fixin’ to drop a calf.”

Saddle leather groaned as the marshal brought his mount to a halt and crossed his wrists over the horn. “Mind fetching him for me?”

“I’ll go.” Joanna sprang from her chair, her mind racing. She could warn him. Maybe even take him some food if he decided to run. There was cheese in the kitchen. And apples. She could pack the bread she’d baked this morning, too. She could have it together before the marshal even dismounted. All she had to do—

“If it’s all the same to you, miss, I’d prefer the parson fetch him.”

She swallowed nervously, looking from Coleson to the barn and back again. She couldn’t just stand by and let this man take her daddy away. He’d changed. He was a good man. A good father.

“Joanna.” Crockett’s voice echoed quietly in her ears. He was facing her now, his hands massaging her rigid shoulders. “It will be all right. Do you hear me? God is in control. It will be all right.”

She dragged her attention from the lawman and found Crockett’s face. He smiled. She latched onto that smile, desperate for a taste of the peace it offered.

“We don’t even know why the marshal’s here.” He brushed a stray curl off her forehead and back over her ear. “Just invite him in and give him some of that great coffee you make. Treat him like any other guest.”

But he wasn’t any other guest. He was a lawman. A lawman who wanted to talk with her father. She didn’t want to pour him coffee, she wanted to send him packing.

Yet a more rational part of her brain had her nodding agreement.

“That’s my girl.” Crockett started to pull away. Joanna grabbed his hand.

“Promise you won’t leave for Holly’s until we work whatever this is out. Please?” If he left, she’d shatter.

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

S
ilas 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.