The Parson's Christmas Gift (11 page)

Could she trust them?

She rubbed her hand over Miss Rose’s cool, textured skin. “Thank you,” she said, her voice straining to reach a whisper. She stiffened, suddenly wanting to say so much more and not knowing where to begin. “Thank you, all, for everything you’ve done. I’ll never be able to make it up to you.”

The voices quieted around the table, and her face grew warm under the sudden stares. Miss Rose blinked, emphasizing the wrinkles around her wide eyes. Journey tilted her head to check on her, but Zane drew everyone’s attention.

“Making this fine dinner is a start in repayment, so let’s not waste it.” He stood to carve the large bird.

The meal continued with laughter and stories. Dishes had been cleared in anticipation of the pies that waited in the kitchen. Suddenly a heavy knock at the door drew everyone’s attention.

They looked at one another a moment before Zane moved to answer. The light gleamed off the snow through the open doorway.

Something familiar in the voice that returned Zane’s greeting froze Journey inside and out. She dug her fingers into the seat of her chair to hold herself still. She’d never forget that voice.

Blood rushed from her face, and her eyes felt too large. The room grew dark as she heard Zane’s voice from a muffled distance. “What can we do for you, stranger?”

Stranger…
Even in the shadows, she knew him. Recognized the way he ducked into the room. The way the man tugged on his greasy mustache. She jerked to her feet, sending the chair crashing behind her.

“Pardon me.” She whirled, bent low, her breath heaving in sharp hitches, and staggered through the kitchen. Tiny black specks darkened her vision. She swayed and banged her hip into the sideboard. Unsteady already, she lost her balance, falling headlong toward the door. But she picked herself up and made her way outside.

She fell down the last step. Her stomach heaved and clenched as she knelt at the bottom of the porch.

Dead…dead…dead.

She’d been so sure. She thrust her hands into the snow that soaked into her dress, but nothing would wash away the blood. Why wasn’t he dead? She had swung the iron and left Hank bleeding and still on the bare floor of their room above the saloon. It was her chance to get away from the drunken beatings and conniving schemes.

The law hadn’t caught up to her yet and likely wouldn’t have, as long as she continued to lie low and mind her own business.

Had Hank risen from the grave?

The landscape around her swirled and darkened. She swayed to her feet but couldn’t find her balance. Terror and shock blurred her senses. She fell face-first into cold, wet snow as consciousness faded.

Z
ane knelt and rolled Journey to her back. Her skin blended with the snow she lay in. He leaned down and lifted her. Once inside, he’d find out what was wrong. Miss Rose had sent him out to check on her sudden departure.

Journey struggled as he pulled her close, supporting her in his arms. Her eyes fluttered under closed lids, and her breath became swift and harsh again. She lashed out and caught him on the cheek but too weakly to do anything but brush him. “Hank,” she murmured. “Hank, you get away from me. You’ll never—”

“Journey?” He squeezed her shoulders. “Journey! It’s me, Zane.”

She shuddered in his arms. “No…no.”

He looked into her upturned face, relieved to see a little color returning. Her eyes fluttered open, a solid ring of brown, and her nostrils flared slightly, reminding him again of a wild colt. She gulped air as if she couldn’t get enough. A sudden fierceness rose in him to tuck her away and protect her forever.

“Come on, now.” He moved slowly, not wanting to startle her. He eased her to her feet, grasping her waist as she swayed. Her hands fluttered over his outstretched arm.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I—I needed some air, that’s all.”

Zane challenged her with a look. “There’s more to this than feeling penned in. Who is that man?”

“Wh-who?”

He crossed his arms and rocked away on his heels. “Our new visitor. Who is he, Journey? Who’s Hank?”

“Don’t get involved in my problems,” she whispered. “Please.”

He drew closer and she ducked, raising her arm as if to ward off a blow. He ran a hand through his hair. “Why can’t you let me help you?”

“Where is he?” She shivered as her eyes darted around the horizon.

“He left. He stopped to ask for directions to Virginia City.” Zane eased his suit coat off and wrapped it around Journey’s shoulders. He let his arm linger at her elbow, nudging her into a walk toward the barn. It might help for her to move around in the cold fresh air before going back indoors.

When she stopped wobbling and he decided she wouldn’t bolt, he released her and stepped away before giving in to the desire to gather her close and sweep that one loose curl from her forehead.

“Feeling better?”

She nodded. “You’re sure he’s gone?”

He stopped and heaved a heavy breath. Instead of the paleness of moments before, Journey now flushed with a bright spot of color on each cheek. She looked embarrassed. No, scared. Vulnerable.

“He said he was headed farther west. I have no reason to doubt him. Should I?”

Journey’s breath steamed out in one long puff, clouding her face. “Did he ask about me?”

“I don’t know that he even saw you. By the time he’d stepped around the door, you were gone. Why?” He searched her face, hoping for a straightforward answer but not expecting one.

Zane stepped in front of her, forcing her attention toward him. “Who is Hank, Journey? You mentioned him twice now—today and the night you broke your leg.”

“Hank’s dead.”

Why fear a dead man? The more he learned, the more questions he came up with.

“Who was he then?”

“No one who mattered.”

Zane coughed, his breath catching in his tight throat. He followed her gaze across the horizon. The sky spread out blue and wide, but deceptive. The wind sliced along the rusty bluffs in the distance. “Let’s get you inside. We’ll sort it out later. It is Thanksgiving and pie’s waiting.”

She smiled and nodded, but it didn’t ease his suspicions. Instead it only confirmed them, and a desire to help overwhelmed him. Just what that fear had to do with the man who’d wandered by, he didn’t know, but he aimed to find out.

Miss Rose and Abby had looked forward to this for too long for this to be hashed out right now. He wouldn’t ruin their Thanksgiving plans. Journey’s past could wait one more day.

J
ourney scratched a hole in the frosted window and stared outside. Wind howled, blowing piles of powder snow into whirling puffs. The storm had hit hard Sunday afternoon and blew strong and steady well into midweek. The bitter cold sliced deeply. She shivered, pulling the shawl Miss Rose had loaned her closer.

Bundling up to face the biting weather as she made her way to the barn each morning and evening made her miss the balmy Georgia winters. Yet she welcomed the coziness of Miss Rose’s house and the forced quietness. Journey couldn’t hold back a smile. If time to think could solve her problems, she’d have none left to consider.

“No one will be out today.” Miss Rose entered the room and interrupted Journey’s thoughts. “I think I’ll read a bit this morning. Care for me to read aloud?”

“If you like.” She sat on the davenport, facing Miss Rose in her rocker. “I think the wind might ease up by afternoon. If so, I might take a ride into town and see how Abby fared during this storm.”

The look on the woman’s face told her what she thought of the idea.

“You’ll freeze solid out on a day like this.”

Journey could well imagine what she would think if she knew the entire story.

“I’ll bundle up. The fresh air will be wonderful, and you’ll be thankful for the break from me.” She hoped to make light of her announcement, despite her pounding heart. “I won’t be long.”

Truth be known, she didn’t relish riding out in the strong north winds. The chill settled deep into her bones; shivering was the only motion she could make until the warm fire thawed her. But it was time. Not to see Abby, but to face Hank, if he were to be found. Putting together the sense of being watched during the past weeks with Hank’s arrival on Miss Rose’s doorstep, she figured he would have sought her out.

The storm had forced her to wait for several days, giving her time to plan. She was thankful, knowing she’d have run if the weather had given her any opportunity.

She realized two things. First, Hank was alive. Hadn’t she sensed him the night those cowboys accosted her? She was certain now that Hank’s partner Roy had been the cowboy whose gaze she couldn’t shake at the church picnic. He’d looked leaner and had shaved his beard, but having Hank turn up on the doorstep confirmed her suspicions. Hank was alive, and he and Roy were up to their old tricks.

Even more dangerous, Hank knew she was in Walten. No coincidence had brought him to the door that day. He knew where she was, and he wanted something from her. It was time to take control because she couldn’t run forever. She had to find him first.

Miss Rose read from
Gulliver’s Travels
for nearly an hour before her eyes drooped. Journey wasted no time in bundling up and heading into town.

Walten was not large, and Hank was not at all inconspicuous. Tall, with a deep Southern drawl that oozed charm and sophistication, Journey knew the appeal. Knowing how he truly was made her think of the stores she’d seen since coming west. Large and impressive looking from the front but small and plain inside.

Eavesdropping outside the saloon revealed he’d been working at an abandoned mine outside of town. From there Journey had only to ask for directions.

She slid from the horse into snow that buried her ankles and loosened her chinstrap when she spotted the abandoned miner’s cabin at the bottom of the slope. It suited Hank, squatting in some tiny hovel so he could afford to maintain his wealthy veneer.

The frigid air stabbed her lungs as a gust of wind kicked and she moved forward. How was Hank handling a Montana winter? She hoped he sat shivering even now. He should’ve stayed in Georgia. He should’ve stayed dead.

Suddenly, Journey crashed to the ground, a heavy weight pinning her into a drift. Kicking into the layers of snow, she fought to free herself. She fumbled for the lead rope of the horse, but it slid from her mittens. For a moment she suffocated in the icy wetness. Then with a determined growl, she jolted back, smacking into a firm barrier that echoed her groan. There was a soft thump in the snow beside her as the weight rolled off and she was free.

“I surely do miss that fire!”

Journey whirled to face him, backing onto her feet. “What do you want from me, Hank?” Scared. She could hear it herself.

“Now, darlin’, is that any way to greet your dearly departed husband?” He drew to his full height and brushed the snow from his long coat, then smoothed his limp mustache. “I suppose you want to know why I’m here.”

“What do you want with me?” She struggled to catch her breath.

“Oh, my dear, don’t take things so personally. I didn’t know you were here until the night of that quaint little picnic. By the way, your gentlemen friends send their regards,” he said. “Roy was quite surprised to see you. Almost as much as you were to see him, I’d gather.”

Journey froze as Hank stepped closer. “I won’t bore you with details of my premature obituary. But I’ll share what plans I have for us here.”

“I won’t help you, Hank. I didn’t then, and I’m not now. There is no
us.
” She edged back but not fast enough to escape Hank’s grasp. Her arm twinged as he squeezed and jerked her forward.

“You’ve not willingly helped me, that’s true, Maura.” His stale breath hung close to her face. “Or should I say,
Journey?
”

“Journey Smith. Maura Baines died the day I thought you did. There’s nothing I can do for you, Hank. Ride on and leave me be.” She raised her chin, trying to look him in the eye. An icy glare met hers and she flinched. He’d been cruel, but generally his gaze had been dulled with liquor. Not now. His sobriety somehow made him more frightening.

Hank’s hollow laugh echoed on the wind. “Oh, I don’t think so. You have a delightful setup in this town. You owe me, Maura. You are still my wife, the woman who murdered me.”

She jerked her hand from his grasp, stepping out of his reach. “They think you’re dead, back in Georgia?”

“Didn’t you?” Hank smiled. “Roy convinced the authorities that I’d met my untimely demise at the hands of my beloved. Alas,” he said, his face a mask of feigned sorrow, “such a tragic story. It even made the newspaper. But then, you’ve made some papers of your own.”

“I protected myself, Hank. If you were any kind of decent man, none of this would have happened. I never meant to hurt you but was never sorry I had, until now.”

Hank shook his head. Waves of hair slid over his shoulders, longer than she remembered. “Such talk…]I’m loath to consider what your new minister friend would think to hear you. It’d be a shame to change his perception, when he seems so fond of you.”

“He’s the preacher here, that’s all. He doesn’t trust me as it is,” she said.

“What about that lawman? I’m thinking he’d be interested to find he had a wanted woman within his very grasp.”

“He’s the woman’s nephew, and he’s back in Virginia City. I’m not his concern now.”

“Working for his dear aunt makes you his concern. Would Miss Rose enjoy the fact she employs a criminal? Would she keep it quiet?”

“There’s nothing tying me here, Hank. I got away from you once, and I can do it again.”

He stepped forward, open palm out. She flinched, but his coarse fingers only caressed her cheek, then smacked her lightly. “What a shame if this town lost their pastor and Miss Rose in one fell swoop. And so close to Christmas.”

Journey bit her lip against the tension rising in her chest, glad for the cold that numbed her and kept her focused. Hank was out for blood.

“I understand.” She inhaled, filling herself with the icy chill. “Tell me what you want me to do. But after this, leave and never come back. I have a chance at something good here, and you won’t take that away from me.”

Hank threw back his head and laughed. “Little lady, you are in no position to make demands. But we’ll try to keep your part in this simple.”

“What do I have to do?”

He shrugged, palms open. “You’ll introduce me around town to these good people, find me a job to hold me over until things fall into place.”

“How will I explain how I know you? They’ve helped me, Hank, but they don’t trust me. Knowing me means nothing to them. You’d be better off on your own. Why do you have to do this here?”

Hank’s hand snagged her coat, jerking her forward. “You’ll do as I say.” His voice thundered and his gaze flared only inches away from hers.

Journey’s breath caught. Then his grip relaxed and his expression softened. “Actually, Roy and I were heading toward Virginia City. It’s a wild town, darlin’. We could make a fortune before the law even knew what we were up to.”

“So go there. Please, Hank.”

He grinned. “But
you
are
here.
And a pretty face is always an asset in my line of work.”

She couldn’t look at him or get her feet to move. “I won’t.”

A sneer tightened his features. She retreated under Hank’s advance, glancing about her.

“Oh, you’ll not find a flatiron so handy as you did in Georgia, Maura. Now it’s time to pay the piper. The way I see it, you owe me the two hundred dollars in cash you stole from me. Then there’s that little matter of the land deal you ruined for me when I became deceased in the eyes of the law.”

She fisted her hands in her coat pockets. Why hadn’t she brought the gun and ended it here? “Hank, won’t you listen—”

His temper flared. She knew it by the widened eyes, the sharp peaks that arched his eyebrows. She ducked on instinct, but no blow followed this time.

“There’s nothing to listen to!” He drew in a deep breath and seemed to compose himself. “We’ll start simple. You’ll do as I say until we seal the new deal. Then I’ll be out of your life for good. I only want my two hundred dollars back.”

She shivered, silent, hoping it would be enough for him to assume her agreement.

“Good, good.” He drew two fingers over his chin, his smile making her flinch. “So, who will I be, Maura? Uncle Hank, Cousin Hank or your dear old brother?”

It didn’t matter to her. The only thing Hank could ever be was trouble.