The Parson's Christmas Gift (13 page)

“He isn’t a friend.” She sighed. “I knew him a long time ago.”

Zane’s gray eyes scanned her face and she turned away. Let him think what he wanted.

“Do you like it here, Journey?”

She hadn’t thought about it before, one way or the other. She smoothed the bunched fabric of her coat and loosed her hold on the reins, thankful to see Miss Rose easing her way out the doorway. It would take Zane’s attention away from the tears that welled unbidden and clogged her view. She squinted and fumbled in her pockets.

“Journey?”

She gasped and bit her upper lip, searching the horizon. “More than I expected,” she whispered. She felt a warm hand on her forearm even through her sleeve and turned to face him. “For all the good it’s done me, Zane. More than I expected.”

He squeezed her arm with a gentle touch. “We’ve been known to have that effect.” He smiled up at her, winking in the glaring sun moving low in the sky. The light made his eyes reflect blue. “I don’t pretend to know where you’re coming from, Journey, or what kind of ghosts you’ve got hounding you. But here’s as good a place as any to put them to rest. There’s plenty of folks willing to help if you’ll let us.”

Journey parted her lips, wanting to protest, but he walked away before she could. Who was she fooling? Right now, all she knew is that it certainly wasn’t Zane.

J
ourney pulled the collar of her coat around her neck and replaced the pitchfork along the wall. Although the snow held and the sun shone, a bitter wind blew over the mountains from the northwest. The muted landscape and darkening skies had deceived her eyes, looking from the window of the fire-warmed house. Out here, the wind shook the stalls and whistled through the rafters of the barn. But the horses were fed, brushed and blanketed in the cozy darkness for the night. As a child, she would often sneak into the livery to stroke the horses’ noses or treat them to a bit of carrot or apple she’d scrounged. She longed now to lie down in the hay with the heavy barn scents that gave some measure of comfort.

Instead, she returned to the house. The fire’s calming warmth would die as soon as Hank arrived. Journey was shocked when Miss Rose had insisted he come for supper. Hank, of course, had been thrilled. He no doubt saw the invitation as a prime opportunity to endear himself to the woman.

“I’ve seen how people defer to her aged wisdom,” Hank had announced. “And I’ve inquired about her, discreetly, through the town. She’s rich as a troll, I tell you, and she carries a lot of weight around here. We’ll seek her out first.”

Zane would be coming. Journey held an uneasy hope that his presence would keep Hank from embarrassing himself, and her as well. She climbed the stairs to her room, peeled off her barn dress and washed at the basin. Her navy dress slipped over still-damp skin, and she breathed deeply, one hand at her waist to quell the jittery swirls in her stomach.

A quick knock at the door startled her. “Guests are here, dear,” Miss Rose called, interrupting her anxiety.

Journey forced herself down the stairs to answer the door, stepping back as Hank’s tall form filled the doorway. Zane stood behind, his broad frame edged out around Hank’s. How could he be so at ease? Hank dwarfed him by a good head, yet Zane looked taller somehow.

“You look lovely,” the preacher said, nodding Hank through ahead of him.

“I must agree,” Hank added quickly. The words slipped over his lips, aided by the heavy oil shining his mustache. “And you, Mrs. Bishop—you’re simply ravishing.” He swept his hat off with one hand and grasped Miss Rose’s fingers in the other, bowing over it. Journey held her breath, but Hank stopped shy of kissing her hand. Hank always knew exactly where the line was and halted short of it when it suited him.

“Your invitation to this wayfaring stranger is beyond all kindness, ma’am,” he said. “I surely hope this doesn’t inconvenience you.”

Could his accent get any thicker?

Miss Rose’s blue eyes shone with a peculiar light. “Company is never an inconvenience, Mr. Baines. Come, let’s seat ourselves. Journey has everything ready, so I hope you’ll forgive the break in Southern etiquette. I’ve never stood much on formalities.”

The scent of venison mingled with smoke from the fireplace, giving the air of an intimate dinner party. If only it felt that way.

“I’m sure I’ll find your social graces as refreshing as your boisterous spirit, Mrs. Bishop. Now, if I might escort you?” Hank tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and turned toward the table.

Miss Rose nodded and allowed herself to be led. Journey watched them a moment before an elbow nudged her side. “Guess that leaves you and me,” Zane said, mocking Hank’s drawl. A broad smile of even teeth filled his face.

Though her arms felt like wood, Journey forced them to bend around his. Zane patted her hand with his free one and she started. The warmth of his touch gave a comfort she hadn’t expected. She looked up, and he went on, his voice soft and deep.

“We’ll follow your lead. Let us know what you want. He’s your friend—acquaintance. But if you find he’s not the man you think he is, we’re here. Remember that.” His voice lowered, and his gray eyes shone with care.

She looked ahead, forcing her feet to move and fighting to keep her tears at bay. He had summed up the entire problem. Hank was exactly the man she knew he was, and he was about to ruin everything.

Zane led Journey into the kitchen, which was warm and inviting with wondrous scents filling even the corners. With a sharp pang, he remembered the cozy evening meals Sarah would have waiting for him on cool fall evenings. He knew, somewhere in the far corners of his mind, that most memories of his marriage were colored a little brighter than they might have been had Sarah survived the fire. But it was no exaggeration that they had rarely fought, and it was a fact that her brightness tempered the heaviness and disappointments he faced as a minister. Often now he found himself eating something cooked to less than perfection with his own limited skills from a battered tin plate someone had donated after the fire took everything.

He glanced at Journey, her fine features puckered with tension, face pale as he helped her to her seat. How many home-cooked meals had she shared with anyone before arriving on Miss Rose’s doorstep?

Sitting down beside her, he looked at Hank, calm and arrogant and shifty. He hated the feeling in his gut that told him to be wary when it came with no real proof.

Journey held herself stiffly, making herself as small as she could on the chair beside him. While Hank seated Miss Rose at her customary place at the head of the table, Zane touched Journey’s elbow, running his fingers along her sleeve to end with a light squeeze to her hand.

She started, fear clouding her gaze for an instant, as if he had woken her from a deep sleep. Her fine eyebrows curled, then smoothed. She relaxed, even if it was forced, and an uncertain smile touched her lips.

He wanted to tell her everything would be fine, that they’d get through this together with the Lord’s help. He wanted to keep his hand over her tiny one until she believed it.

But Miss Rose cleared her throat delicately, breaking the moment, and he felt the weight of Hank’s heated glance. He smiled back, then again at Journey, hoping he conveyed the thought anyway.

He squeezed her hand again. “Let’s bow our heads in thanks and ask the Lord’s blessing.”

Journey etched a polite smile on her face, not wanting to give Hank the satisfaction of seeing the fear she felt. She had forgotten how accomplished he was at spinning a tale.

“And so I told her, ‘I beg your pardon, but I do believe that’s your canary.’”

He could entertain even the dourest of souls with that story. She might have laughed herself had she not heard it so many times or had her stomach not been churning. For now, Hank mastered the conversation. And it wasn’t just humor. He could compliment with all the necessary doses of sincerity and affect an attentive ear to the hostess. Yes, he made an excellent dinner guest. Hank knew his game.

“But Journey insisted we offer the poor woman a few morsels before sending her on her way. That’s just how she is.” Hank patted Journey’s arm. “Always thinking of someone else.”

She flinched and looked away. That “poor woman” lost everything to one of Hank’s hustles. Journey had pleaded for him not to turn her and her young son out in the street. But he’d refused and blackened her eye for the suggestion. That’s just the way
he
was.

“That comes as no surprise to us,” Miss Rose said, wiping her mouth with a cloth.

Hank certainly endeared himself to her, Journey thought. Maybe she shouldn’t hold it against herself for getting mixed up with him in the first place. She’d been so young then, it was no wonder she found him witty, charming and attractive. Even now, he might accomplish it if she didn’t know him better.

Zane managed to laugh at all the appropriate places, but Journey sensed his stare throughout the evening. At least he wasn’t buying into Hank’s facade. Was he?

Miss Rose surprised her. The woman laughed until tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks. Where had that fiery staunchness gone?

It seemed Hank’s scheme would be easy, yet harder than she thought. With Miss Rose charmed by Hank, all Journey would have to do was feed her ideas. Perhaps Miss Rose wouldn’t be dissuaded if she tried. From experience Journey knew that once the elderly woman took a shine to a person, she didn’t give it up easily. After all, Miss Rose had taken her in without so much as a how-do-you-do and had expected so little in return. No, Hank would have an easy time of it with Miss Rose on his side.

Journey didn’t realize she had sighed out loud.

Irritation sparked in Hank’s eyes, but he covered it by pulling out his pocket watch. “My, my—the hour is getting late. You really must excuse my lack of manners, Mrs. Bishop. It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed such fine company, and the venison was cooked to perfection.”

Miss Rose nudged her chair back when he stood. “Thank you, Mr. Baines. It’s been an entertaining evening for me as well. I’m sorry we’ve monopolized your time. We left little opportunity for you to get reacquainted with Journey.”

“Not to worry, ma’am. I’ve taken over quite a lucrative land development opportunity in Walten. I’m sure Journey and I will have plenty of occasions to revisit old times.”

“Your business is in brokering land deals?” Zane asked.

“Uh—Hank managed several kinds of business ventures in Savannah,” Journey said, hoping she didn’t choke. At least she could say that honestly. Although Hank’s victims wouldn’t have seen his schemes that way.

Zane’s eyebrows creased in disbelief. “That seems like a stretch for a little town like ours.”

Hank’s brown eyes gleamed in the lantern light of the parlor. “Now, that’s small thinking, my good man. Think of the proximity to the gold strikes in and around Virginia City.”

“You think we’re in the same vein?” Zane asked, refolding his napkin.

“Yes, and I have maps to prove my claim, sir.”

“My, that would be something,” Miss Rose said.

Journey stared at her crumpled napkin. “Hank has been involved in similar projects in the past. He is experienced.” Another truth, but her heart twisted. “
If
there is a strike to be made.” Zane nodded, but his gaze never wavered.

“Virginia City’s grown too big for its britches,” Miss Rose said. “Shooting and stealing are out of control.”

Hank extended his arm across the table to Miss Rose, as if to offer comfort. “I agree. That’s why the towns-people need to have a say. Everyone buys in, creating one collective claim. The people elect a board to manage the mining process, and everyone takes a share in the profit.”

“It sounds like a plan worthy of consideration.” Miss Rose smiled as she looked around the table.

Journey glanced at each face, trying to read the thoughts behind each one.

Zane leaned forward. “And that will keep the lawless element away?”

Hank laughed as if a child had shared a joke. “It’s not a difficult thing to jump a claim defended by one man. It’s quite another to try with a whole town involved.” He paused and gazed around the table. Journey knew he read them and was trying to decide whether to forge on or stop while he was ahead.

“Why would you want to do that for this town?” Zane asked, eyebrows furrowed over his gray eyes.

“I’d gain a share, of course, but it gives us all a great opportunity. I trust I can count on your support in this.”

Zane choked on the water he’d sipped. “Whoa, hold on there. I’d have more questions I’d want answered before I endorsed this.”

“Naturally,” Hank said. He didn’t bat an eye, but Journey saw the tension mounting in the deepening creases on his forehead. “I can provide all sorts of maps and documents for your perusal.”

Zane smiled. “That’d be mighty convenient. But I prefer to check into such matters firsthand. I’m sure a businessman like yourself can appreciate that.”

Journey could see Hank’s face grow hot even in the waning light of evening. She’d never seen anyone put him in his place so calmly and firmly. She looked at Zane, his thick hair blocking a full view of his eyes, but she could tell by the set of his jaw and shoulders that the matter was settled.

“You must forgive me.” Hank leaned forward in his chair. “I get a bit overzealous when I see such potential. I won’t spoil our time with all this talk of business. I’d hate to wear my welcome too thin. After all, it’s been such a lovely evening.” His words were for Miss Rose, but his fiery gaze bored into Zane.

“Then we must do this again sometime,” Miss Rose said. “Maybe when business is not quite so prevalent in your mind.”

Journey moved to begin clearing the table. Relief washed through her, allowing a small smile to ease her face. If Hank expected Miss Rose to jump into an investment opportunity right away, maybe he’d lose patience and look for an easier mark.

But Hank was not to be cut off so quickly. “I’d be happy to talk with you about the development at a more opportune time.”

“Miss Rose could tell you a few things about this town and the land here, Mr. Baines,” Zane said. “She’s lived here longer than just about anyone.”

“Then I will take that offer, Mrs. Bishop, to enjoy your hospitality again.” Journey had underestimated Hank’s persistence.

She waited for Miss Rose to extend the invitation to call her “Miss Rose,” as most of the community did. But it never came. She continued stacking plates while Miss Rose and Zane led Hank to the door.

“Journey, my dear?” Hank’s voice cut through her relief at his departure. “If you’d be so kind as to walk me out?”