Finally a Bride (11 page)

Surprised flickered in her eyes, and she looked back toward town. She spun around again and marched back in the direction she’d just come. All this swirling was making him dizzier than doing do-si-dos at a square dance. But no female, no matter how irritating she might be, was going to get him into trouble with Rachel. His cousin’s wife just might get it into her mind not to allow him to eat at the boardinghouse any more, and a near-forty-year-old bachelor could only eat so much of his own cooking. He hurried after her again.

This time, he wasn’t taking any chances. Garrett caught up with her. “Stop! Right now.”

The woman scowled at him and kept on walking.

“I aim to give you a ride to Lookout whether you want one or not, so stop walkin’, you hear?”

If she did, she sure didn’t obey well. Garrett ran past her, turned, and halted right in her path. She had no choice but to stop, go around, or knock him to the ground, and given that he was a good half-foot taller than she and twice her breadth, he doubted the last choice was much of an option. Then he noticed the satchel flying toward his face.

Carly gasped as her travel bag collided with Mr. Corbett’s head. The man staggered backward then fell flat on his rump. She couldn’t help the giggle that rose up in spite of her irritation. The man was more of a pest than a wasp nest in a privy.

He hopped right back up and glared at her, his lovely robin’s egg blue eyes flashing. “What was that for?”

“I don’t like to be pushed around by men.”

He stepped closer. “I didn’t push you.”

She leaned toward him. “You know what I mean. I don’t like to be bossed around. I’ve had enough men telling me what to do to last me a lifetime.”

He flung his arms out to the side. “Well, I’m sorry, lady, but there are no women here to assist me.”

She gasped. No women indeed. “Then what am I?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You said there were no women around, so I just wondered what you considered me?”

His gaze traveled from her eyes downward. She hiked her chin. His stance relaxed a smidgen as a cocky smile tugged on one side of his mouth. “I never said you weren’t a woman. You’ve just got me all—all—discombobulated.”

Carly sighed at his confused expression. He was like a little boy in a man’s clothing—only he was all man. In the ten years since she’d last seen him, his shoulders had gotten broader, but his blond hair hadn’t grayed at all. She knew he must be pushing forty, but he looked as if he could take on a man half his age. Maybe she’d been unwise stirring his ire. “Did Rachel send you to get me or not?”

He leaned in again but this time didn’t look so menacing. His warm breath touched her cheeks, sending tingles up and down her spine. “She asked me to pick up a
package
at the depot. A
package
, not a
woman.”

“Oh.” No wonder he’d been so confused. Why would Rachel say such a thing? Had she gotten mixed up on the date she was arriving and actually meant for Mr. Corbett to pick up something she’d ordered? “Maybe she also had a package that needed picking up.”

He shook his head. “Virgil said she didn’t. He just motioned me outside and said my
package
was out there. No wonder he was about to bust his gut laughing.”

“I don’t see anything funny about the situation.” Carly rubbed her hand across her face. Making him feel guilty about the situation wasn’t very Christlike. “I’m sorry. I just assumed that when you saw me, you decided you no longer wanted to give me a ride—and that made me mad.”

“Why would I care about who you are? I’ve never met you before.”

Taken aback by his lack of recognition, she moved away from him. Was it really possible that he didn’t know who she was? Obviously, Rachel hadn’t informed him. If he didn’t know, then maybe the rest of the town wouldn’t remember her, either. But they would once they heard her name. And so would he.

She strode over to the wagon, tossed her satchel in the back, and climbed up. It was best he didn’t learn the truth until he was too far along to turn back.

Chapter 8

N
oah glanced down at the note again. Was he doing the right thing? Would his apology be as effective done anonymously rather than in person?

Well it would have to be, because that was the only apology he could offer at the moment. He shoved the paper in his pants pocket and entered the mercantile. All manner of aromas tickled his senses, from coffee to spices to pickles to leather. Pushing his hat back on his forehead so he could see better, he gazed at the crowded shelves and colorful displays.

A pretty woman with dark hair tucked up in a neat bun smiled at him as he glanced around the store. “Good morning. I’m Christine Morgan, and this is my store. Can I help you find something?”

Noah lifted his hat. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am. My name’s Noah Jeffers.”

“Oh!” The woman’s hand flew to her chest. “You must be the new minister.”

“Yes, ma’am. I am that.” At least for the time being. Once people learned his true identity, he might be tarred and feathered and sent away on foot—barefoot. “I don’t need much and thought I might just look around to see what all you have.”

She nodded. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Noah meandered down one aisle and up another until he found the pie tins. He peeked over his shoulder at Mrs. Morgan. How could an unmarried minister living in a boardinghouse explain purchasing pie pans?

He blew out a deep breath. Well, there was no getting around it. There were two styles of pans: one a blue granite with white specks and the other a plain silver pan with wavy edges. He looked around the store, glad that no other customers had come in, and tucked two of the silver pans under his arms. Heat warmed his neck, and he shook his head. A grown man buying pie plates. Paying retribution was going to hurt more than his money pouch.

He picked out a new comb and then stopped at the ready-made shirts. He needed a new white shirt for preaching in, but that would have to wait until he’d earned his first wages. Mrs. Morgan watched him approach, and her brows lifted when she caught sight of the pans.

“What do you plan to do with those?”

Noah shrugged. He didn’t want to tell a lie, but neither could her tell her the truth.

“I guess they might make good collection plates for the church,” she said.

He turned them over and knocked on one. “They might at that.”

She tallied up the items and wrote something in a small ledger book. Noah paid her the required sum and picked up his purchase. “Will I see you and Mr. Morgan in church this Sunday?”

She glanced out the open door for a moment then faced him again. “There is no Mr. Morgan. My Jarrod died years ago, Reverend.”

Noah winced. He’d have to be more careful addressing people he didn’t know in the future. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

She swatted her hand in the air. “It was a long time ago. I will be at church Sunday, along with my daughter, Tessa, and my son, Billy, if I can get him to come. It’s getting harder and harder these days.”

“I’ll pray for Billy, ma’am. That God would get a hold of him like He did me. Don’t give up hope.”

Her sweet smile warmed Noah’s insides. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, Mrs. Morgan, please let me know. I’m staying at the boardinghouse.”

She nodded. “Thank you for your generous offer. You may have already met my daughter, I believe. She’s a good friend of Jacqueline Davis.”

Noah’s heart quickened just hearing Jack’s full name. It was a beautiful name, and he’d never understood why she preferred being called by a boy’s name. “I don’t think I have met your daughter yet, ma’am, but I look forward to it.”

Mrs. Morgan leaned back against the counter, a gleam sparking in her blue eyes. “Tessa is close to your age, and she’s quite a pretty girl. She has my blue eyes and her father’s blond hair.”

A warning bell clanged in Noah’s mind. This wasn’t the first time a young woman’s mama had tried to get him to notice her daughter. He smiled and stepped toward the door. “If she looks anything like you, ma’am, I’m sure she is.” He tipped his hat and hurried outside, certain he’d seen a blush rising to Mrs. Morgan’s cheeks.

Maybe he shouldn’t have made that last comment. When was he going to learn to think before he spoke? The Morgans hadn’t lived in Lookout when he was last here, so he’d never made their acquaintance. Was Billy older or younger than his sister? Either way, he must be a grown man. Suddenly, the vision of the young ladies he’d seen in Jack’s bedroom that day he’d first arrived entered his mind. Had one of those visitors been Tessa Morgan?

Noah ventured away from the boardinghouse and down the street. He passed the marshal’s office but didn’t stop. Luke Davis hadn’t asked him again if he’d ever been in Lookout before, and for that he was grateful.

He passed the stage depot and then the café, where his steps slowed. After living much of his life without decent food to eat, the scent of something baking always gave him pause. He inhaled deeply, wondering if Polly Dykstra still managed the café that held her name. The older woman had been kind to him, allowing him to chop wood for her in exchange for a meal or occasionally a pie. His mouth watered, even though his belly was still filled with Mrs. Davis’s delicious cooking.

Pushing on, he noticed that the saloon had been moved to the far end of Main Street and several new businesses had been erected. A dentist office sat where the old saloon had been, and Noah noticed a sign on the door. He crossed the street, dodging a wagon, and loped up the steps. Squinting, he read the sign. C
HECK AT THE SALOON IF
I
‘M NOT HERE
. Staring down the street, Noah couldn’t help wondering if the dentist also worked at the saloon or spent his time drinking. Either way, he wasn’t too sure he’d contact the man if he ever needed a tooth pulled.

He continued his tour of the town, making note of the other new buildings and businesses. At some point, he ought to stop in each one, introduce himself, and invite those working there to church. Pastor Taylor had told Noah in a letter he’d written about the church that only about one-half of the town attended services at his church, which was the only one in town. Noah sent a prayer heavenward. “Lord, help me to make a difference in this town while I’m here. Give me a chance to redeem my early years before I knew You.”

He paused at the end of Apple Street and stared past the houses lining the lane. A half-mile northeast of town was the site of his old home, a shack really—if it was still standing. Part of him longed to go see if anything remained, but another part didn’t want to have anything to do with his past. He kicked a rock and sent it skittering across the dirt road. Most of his memories were bad ones, anyway.

The pie plates under his arm slipped, and he pressed his arm tight against his body to keep them from falling. They’d reminded him of the task he still had to complete. His heart pounded harder the closer he got to the mayor’s house. What if someone saw him and asked what he was doing? How could he respond without telling a falsehood?

Lord, I believe in my heart that You want me to make restitution for my past deeds, so give me the courage to complete this task
.