Finally a Bride (6 page)

He’d never been clear about what he felt when she was near. He’d longed to be her friend more than once, but he’d hated her, too. Her lies had gotten him in trouble, both with the marshal and with his own pa.

But maybe she’d changed.

He certainly hoped so. Back in the bedroom, he knelt down and rested his head against the quilt. It smelled clean and fresh—of sunshine. Had Jack made the bed with her own hands?

“Ugh! Help me, Father. My job is to minister to this town. To make up for my past offenses here by making retribution for what I did before I knew You. Help me, Lord, to stay focused and to treat Jacqueline Hamil—uh—Davis like any other woman I encounter.”

But she wasn’t like any other he’d ever known—and that was the problem.

She intrigued him. Riled him. Made him want to throttle her—kiss her.

He bolted to his feet and ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t do this.”

Bending, he yanked his satchel out from under the bed and opened it. He hurried to the dresser and snatched up his undergarments and tossed them at the bag. Then he caught his reflection in the mirror above the chest of drawers.

He stared at himself. No longer was he the beaten-down son of a cruel drunkard. He was the son of a King. The King.

What kind of man was he if he couldn’t handle one feisty redhead?

Heaving a sigh from deep within, he gathered his things and shoved them back in the drawer. Pete was counting on him. So was Pastor Taylor and the town of Lookout. Maybe even Jack needed him.

No—he couldn’t think that. He’d focus on the town. Not everyone here knew God. Folks needed to hear the Bible—needed to hear about God’s love. He closed his eyes, determination overcoming his doubts. He’d studied years for this moment, and Pete thought he was ready. He
was
ready.

He tucked in his shirt, then combed his hair and headed downstairs. He wouldn’t let his eyes stray as he passed her room. Hadn’t Mrs. Davis said Jack would be in bed a week? At least he’d have several days more than he’d first expected to get used to seeing her regularly. By the end of the week, he’d be ready to face her.

He had to be.

Chapter 4
Dallas

C
arly Payton dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, then blew her nose and shoved the fabric square back into her pocket. She washed her hands and returned to her task. Her heart ached today as much as it had that first day she’d been locked up in the Lookout jail for bank robbery. She missed Tillie. She thought back to the funeral Reverend Barker had spoken at only an hour ago. Shaking her head, she placed cookies one by one onto Tillie’s favorite platter. A man shouldn’t have to preach his wife’s funeral, especially a man who’d been married to that woman for fifty-two years.

Now it would be her job to care for the elderly pastor and to offer words of comfort to him as he and Tillie had when she’d first come to live with the Barkers. Carly walked down the hall, carrying the platter in Tillie’s stead and trying to keep it from shaking. A number of people from the church had come to offer their condolences to Reverend Barker, but she never knew how they’d treat her. Few had accepted her like the Barkers. Not even the “good” church people. Tillie had said to give them time, but she’d waited four years and still didn’t feel a part of the small community church. At the sound of raised voices coming from the parlor, she quickened her steps. Why would anyone be arguing with the pastor today?

She forced a smile as she strode into the room. Every head swiveled toward her, but instead of finding a welcoming smile, she encountered six pairs of glaring eyes. An uncomfortable silence reigned. All that remained of the earlier crowd was the church’s three elders and their wives. Mrs. Harding, wife of the head elder, stared down her long, pointed nose at her. Swallowing hard, Carly ducked her head, skirted around the two men standing in the parlor’s entrance, and set the platter on the coffee table. She checked the coffeepot and hurried out of the room, finally exhaling the breath she’d been holding.

“It’s not proper for that woman to live here, I tell you,” a female voice spat.

Carly halted just outside the parlor door. Were they talking about
her?

“I have to agree with Gertie, Bennett.” Carly recognized Mr. Harding’s voice. “I tolerated you letting that ex-convict live in your home when your wife was alive, just because Tillie needed the help, but with her gone now, you need to get rid of that jailbird.”

Carly clutched the doorframe to the kitchen. They wanted Reverend Barker to turn her out? How could they broach such a topic on the day Reverend Barker buried his wife? Who would take care of him? Who would fix his coffee just how he liked it with a spoonful of sugar and two mere droplets of milk?

Tears stung her eyes, and her throat clogged. “Please, Lord. No.”

She slipped back into the kitchen, where she and Tillie had spent so many wonderful hours together, baking and talking about God and the scriptures. For four years she’d lived in the Barkers’ home, after finally leaving the prison she’d been locked away in for six long years. Carly pulled out a chair and slumped into it. Her heart felt as if it had been dragged behind a runaway horse. Foolishly, somewhere along the line, she’d come to think of this place as home. After all, she’d lived here longer than she had any other place—except prison—and she could hardly call that horrid place home.

How could she have let her guard down? Other than coming to know God and living with the Barkers, nothing good had ever happened in her life. She was stupid to have hoped life would continue on as it had when she knew Tillie was so ill. Lifting her head off her arm, she looked around the cheery kitchen. She should have been better prepared for this day.

Perhaps if she proved herself indispensible, Reverend Barker would let her stay and not bend to the will of his elders. She pushed up from the chair and hurried outside to pump a bucket of water. Then she dumped it in the stove’s reservoir to heat. The beef stew was already simmering for their supper, and all she had left to do was mix up a batch of biscuits.

A short while later, the front door banged, and Carly jumped. Had those busybodies finally left?

She dusted off her hands and shoved the biscuits into the oven. Recognizing the pastor’s shuffling, she turned, her heartbeat running like a chicken chased by a fox. Reverend Barker stopped just inside the kitchen door, his gaze searching the room as if he expected to find Tillie there. His eyes downcast, he stood silently, his shoulders bearing more of a burden than they should have.

Carly pulled out his chair. “Come sit down, sir. It’s been a long day.”

He nodded and ambled forward, dropping hard into his chair. She’d rarely seen him so listless. He’d loved his wife dearly and had to be missing her. Why didn’t the church elders realize this and let him be, at least for today? Quickly she fixed him a cup of coffee, adding just the right amount of sugar and milk, then set it before him. His wrinkled hands wrapped around the cup, and he sighed. “Have a seat, if you will.”

Carly lowered herself to the edge of her chair. Her chair—had she ever actually had one to call her own before living here?

Her legs quivered, and she pressed her hands into her lap, hoping to make them stop.

“I reckon you heard them. They didn’t make any effort to soften their voices.”

Carly nodded and swallowed hard. How could she think of herself when he had lost so much today? She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “We don’t have to talk about those things today. You’ve had enough stress for the day already. Why don’t you take a nap until supper’s ready?”

He rested his hand over hers, and she studied the differences. Hers was smooth and lightly tanned from working in the garden, while his skin was thin, creased, spotted, and showed his blue veins. They were so different, yet she loved him as if he were her own grandfather.

He glanced up with tears in his eyes. Her lower lip wobbled at seeing him so distressed. “You know I care for you like you were my own daughter?”

She nodded but couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat.

“The elders don’t think it’s proper for you to stay here now that T–Tillie is gone.” He looked away and brushed his damp cheek with his shoulder. “I don’t want you to go, but being the minister here, I have to maintain a presence that is above reproach. I can’t be a stumbling block to others by having an unmarried woman living in my home.”

Carly blinked, trying hard to keep her tears at bay. She was a stumbling block?

He squeezed her arm. “I don’t want you to go. You understand that, don’t you?”

She nodded. “B–But … who will take care of you?”

“I’ve always relied on the Lord, and He won’t fail me now.”

“But you also had Tillie. Who will cook your meals and clean your clothes?”

He gave her a teary-eyed, tight-lipped smile. “I think it’s best if I go live with Maudie.”

Carly jumped up, no longer able to keep from moving. She paced to the open back door and stared out at the garden she and Tillie had spent so many hours cultivating. She’d never see its harvest now, but her thoughts were more for him than herself. He’d spent the past thirty years living in this house and ministering to this town. He was too old to be forced into such a change. Didn’t the elders give a fig about him after all he’d sacrificed for them? “You’d have to give up your ministry if you moved to San Antonio to live with your daughter.”

He took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “I can minister anywhere for the Good Lord, and to be honest, I just don’t think I can live in this house without my Tillie.” He swiped his eyes again. “But I’m more concerned with what will happen to you. I told the board they would need to provide you with a train ticket to wherever you’d want to go and a month’s wages. And Mrs. Wilcox said you could stay with them until Thursday, when the train comes.” He fell back against the chair, his arms dangling beside him as if spent.

Carly’s thoughts turned to Mrs. Wilcox’s son. The man had made it clear that he wanted her for his own, but she couldn’t stand him. Just the way he looked at her made her want to go jump in the nearest horse trough and wash off. Hugh Wilcox couldn’t hold down a job and preferred drinking and hanging out in the saloon to attending church and doing the Lord’s work. She’d had her fill of such men during the days she was forced to live with her brother and his outlaw gang. Never again would she put herself in such a position. She shook her head. “I have a little money saved. I’ll pack my things and get a room at the hotel.”

He pushed to his feet, looking far older than she’d ever seen. “But that will use up some of your funds. You should take up the Wilcoxes on their offer.”

She shook her head. “I can’t abide living under the same roof as Hugh Wilcox.”

“Ah, now I understand.” He trundled to the kitchen doorway and looked back at her. “I’m sorry, Carly. You have to know this isn’t what I wanted.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I know. I’ll pack while supper is cooking and then leave right after we eat and I clean up in here.”

He nodded, then disappeared down the hall.

Carly leaned her head against the back-door jamb and closed her eyes. “What do I do now, Lord? Show me where to go.”

She had lived in many places, but she had no desire to see any of them again except one. Lookout. Rachel still ran the boardinghouse there, and the woman’s letters had been the only thing besides God’s fortitude that had helped her make it through those horrible years of prison.

Could she return there? Would the townsfolk welcome her back or take the first opportunity they could to get rid of her like the elders had?

“Where do I go, Lord?”

Lookout. You’ll find what you seek there
.

Carly stared out the door. Was that God speaking to her? Or was that only her own wishful thinking?

And just what was it she desired?

A permanent home.

People who cared about her.

Someone to love.

Dare she hope she could fulfill all her dreams in Lookout, Texas?