Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (41 page)

“I understand,” Elijah managed to say, which was the first lie he'd uttered in a long, long time. He didn't understand at all. He had to get away from here. “Well, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around Boomer Town, Miss Alice. Nice to meet you, Mr. Peterson.” And that was the second lie.

* * *

Elijah didn't remember walking back to his tent. Somehow he was just there, and Clint was bending over him, worry written plain on his face.

“Elijah, are you sick again? What's wrong?”

“Yeah, you're pale as a whitewashed fence,” Gideon agreed. “You're not having one of those relapses Alice was so worried about, are you? Did you find Alice?”

“I'm not sick.”
Only sick at heart.
“Yes, I found her.” Staring straight ahead of him because he couldn't bear to see their reaction, he told them what he had found when he had returned to Alice's campsite.

Both men shook their heads when he was through.

“I wouldn't have figured her for a woman like that,” Clint said.

“Me neither. Not at all,” Gideon muttered.

“That makes three of us.”

Silence hung in the air. He wished they'd stop staring at him as if he was a stick of dynamite about to explode.

Finally Gideon said, “I think I'll go over to Mrs. Murphy's and see if she'll make up some plates of whatever she's serving for supper and send them with me.”

“Good idea. I'll go with you, Gideon,” Clint said, a little too quickly. “Help you carry things. We'll be right back, Lije.”

Just like that, Elijah was by himself. He was thankful that his brothers were savvy enough to see that he needed to be alone with his misery.

How could he have let himself lose sight of his calling so far as to fall in love with Alice Hawthorne, a woman he'd met just two weeks before, a woman he'd never really known at all, apparently? From the devoted way she'd nursed the sick and tended the wounded, he'd convinced himself Alice could be content with the simple life as a preacher's wife, but evidently, it had all been an act.
Just something to pass the time until she saw if she could bring her rich beau to heel
. She'd certainly fooled him.

What if he'd married her, and then Peterson had shown up? After looking into those lifeless eyes of hers, he had no doubt Alice would have left him without a qualm.

He remembered the day of Marybelle's funeral. Mercifully he hadn't had to conduct the service; another preacher in the same town had done it. He'd walked away from her grave that day and vowed never to fall in love again and open himself up to such hurt. Serving the Lord and His church would be enough for him. Well, heartbreak was the least of what he deserved for forgetting a promise to God.

Chapter Eighteen

“H
orst, the Chateaubriand was superb. You're a master at Béarnaise sauce,” Maxwell praised, and the little Bavarian man beamed.

How Horst had obtained the prime cuts of beef in the middle of Oklahoma, much less made Béarnaise sauce, Alice didn't know, but she had no appetite.

“Alice, dear, you're just picking at your food,” Maxwell chided. “Even if you aren't going to have to race with the rabble this coming Monday, you're going to need your strength as we start our wedded life together.”

Remarks such as that made her feel as if he was playing with her like a cat played with a mouse. Didn't he notice that she'd expressed no enthusiasm whatsoever at the prospect of marrying him? Or did nothing matter but what he wanted?

Elijah, why was I such a fool?

There could not be two more different men than Elijah Thornton and Maxwell Peterson, she mused. One, kind and selfless, honorable, serving the Lord; the other only out for himself. If she married Maxwell, he'd treat her as just another possession—a prized possession, maybe, but a possession nonetheless.

“Alice...” Maxwell prompted, and she realized she hadn't answered him.

“I'm not that hungry, Maxwell.” She motioned for Horst to take her plate away. Maxwell had played cat-with-a-mouse with Elijah, too, when he'd suggested Elijah officiate at their wedding. That had been so cruel of him. The pain in Elijah's eyes would haunt her dreams.

“Perhaps you would like dessert, raspberries and blackberries with fresh cream, Miss Hawthorne?” Horst asked, seemingly oblivious to the tension inside the pavilion, as Maxwell persisted in calling it.

“All right.”

“Yes, it's the beginning of a whole new life for us, come Monday,” Maxwell said with satisfaction.

Alice wasn't convinced Maxwell and she were going to be allowed to waltz across the borderline at dawn on the day of the Land Rush, no matter how much money he had or who owed him favors. The army officers so far had been incorruptible, from all reports. Even if they were susceptible to a bribe, they wouldn't want to face the outcry that would arise if they were seen granting early entry to homesteaders.

Maxwell would find out one way or the other sooner or later, Alice supposed. She wouldn't be surprised if his high-handed manner got him placed under arrest until the run was over. That might be a way for her to evade him—if he didn't somehow manage to pull her into trouble with him. But maybe she could throw herself on the mercy of the army and rely on them to save her from Maxwell....

She was desperate to find a way to speak with Elijah alone—if only to apologize for Maxwell's cruel taunt, if nothing else. Even if she didn't dare confess her true feelings for him, she couldn't leave him with the thought that she approved of what Maxwell had said.

“Darling, you're very quiet,” Maxwell murmured silkily. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were unhappy.”

Something in the cold watchfulness of his eyes roused her from her daydreams of escaping him.

“I'm just tired, Maxwell.” She tried to smile. “That was a long ride we went for, wasn't it? It was so warm...”

“Well, you chose this hot place,” he muttered, his face sulky. “It's only April, and it's already hot as blue blazes. We could have stayed in New York, where we could summer at the shore or in the Adirondacks, but, no...”

“I'm sorry, Maxwell. I'll be more chipper tomorrow, I promise.” But how on earth would she get through tomorrow and the next day and the next—and the rest of her life?

He laid a hand on her wrist. “That's my good girl. I wouldn't want to have to tell your mother you've become melancholy.”

There it was, the threat implicit in the velvet words. “Good night, Maxwell. I think I just need a little sleep.”

“I suppose you've just learned to keep country hours,” he mocked. “Up with the sun, early to bed. That won't do in the future when we're the social leaders of Oklahoma, you know.” He turned to his servant. “Horst, walk Miss Hawthorne to her tent, and stay outside it for a while in case she needs anything.”

Alice only just managed not to scream at Maxwell—or to beg for Horst's help after they left the tent. Horst was Maxwell's creature, through and through, and like the army, incorruptible.

* * *

“Brother, you look like something the cat drug in after dragging it through a bramble patch,” Gideon commented the next morning when Elijah sat up and threw his legs over the side of his cot.

“You're awfully ready with the colorful comparisons these days,” Elijah growled, rubbing his jaw wearily. “Maybe you should be a writer rather than a rancher.”

Gideon rolled his eyes, grinning. “Not hardly. But seriously, Lije, did you get any sleep? I heard you tossing and turning half the night.”

Clint chimed in with his agreement.

“Some. Sorry if I disturbed you both.” He'd wrestled with what he should do about Alice until the wee hours, and he was still undecided. But one thing was clear. He had to speak to her again and give her the chance to tell him if what Peterson was saying was true—that they'd been sweethearts who'd had a quarrel but had mended their differences. The Alice Hawthorne who'd faced him yesterday had been so different from the Alice he'd known these past two weeks that he could almost believe she'd been drugged—or threatened.

Yesterday, when he'd come upon them, Alice hadn't glowed with happiness, as a woman reunited with her love should be. Could this rich New Yorker have some dark hold over her?

If he went to see her early—as soon as he could dress and down some coffee—might he be able to speak to her alone? Or would he find them together, in circumstances that would proclaim her a different sort of woman altogether than what he'd thought she was?

Either way, his stubborn heart compelled him to make the effort. He had to know, to intervene if she was with Maxwell Peterson against her will.

Lord, help me learn the truth.

Then the scriptural promise echoed in his heart.
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

* * *

Elijah found Alice sitting on a camp chair in front of her tent, sipping from a cup of tea. Peterson was nowhere in sight, but the short, dark-haired servant who'd been hovering yesterday stood between her tent and the New Yorker's absurdly fancy one, present if she wished anything but unobtrusive.
And ready to summon his master if Alice tried to go anywhere alone, he surmised.

She was dressed—not in the simple, pretty calico dresses he'd always seen her in, but in a fussy creation with an overskirt caught back on the sides with ribbons and an abundance of lace trim and flounces. There were ribbon bows on her shoulders, too.
Was this how Peterson liked her to dress?
The Alice he knew would have shunned this dress as pretty but impractical in this setting.

As had happened yesterday, she didn't see Elijah at first, for she was staring into her cup, her eyes unfocused, her slender shoulders slumped as if they held the weight of the world.

“Miss Alice, may I speak to you?” he said softly.

Her head jerked up.
“Elijah,”
she whispered, and then he saw her dart a glance over her shoulder at the servant behind her.

Sure enough, the servant was already turning on his heel and heading into the big tent. Elijah would have to talk fast, he knew.

When Alice turned back to him, her face was stricken, and her blue eyes had the look of a hunted creature.

“Alice, you don't look happy,” he said quickly. “Tell me the truth. Is this—is
he
—
what you want? Just say the word, and I'll help you, no matter what he tries to do.”

“Elijah, I— Y
ou can't be here
,” she said in an urgent, hushed voice. “Go away, before—”

He bent low, so he could speak as softly as she had. “Before what, Alice? Is he intimidating you in some way? Hurting you? I won't let him. Alice—”

She closed her eyes as the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching behind her reached both their ears.

Elijah already knew what he would see when he looked up—Maxwell Peterson bustling toward them, straightening his vest.

“Ah, Reverend Thornton, good morning to you. Is there something I can help you with? A donation for your good works, perhaps?”

Elijah straightened. “No,” he said evenly. “I—I wanted to ask Miss Hawthorne to invite you to our daily prayer service in the chapel,” he said, thinking fast. “She's been a regular attendee, and I thought perhaps she'd like to introduce you to the friends she's made there. Since you're here, I just want to say you'd be very welcome. We meet at ten o'clock. Miss Hawthorne can show you the way.”

Peterson
would
be welcome if he wanted to attend, Elijah resolved. He could resign himself to Alice's being with the fellow if he thought she was happy with a godly man, even if he wasn't the sort of man he thought Alice should have picked. But he doubted Maxwell had darkened the door of a church in years, if ever.

A glance at Alice revealed her face had become the same unreadable mask it had been yesterday, and his heart sank.

Peterson's face hardened.
“Prayer service?”
he echoed, in the same tone one might use to refer to a grown woman making mud pies. “I think not.”

His supercilious tone had Elijah stiffening, and struggling not to clench his fists and plant one of them squarely in the New Yorker's face.
Lord, help me control myself, for Alice's sake.

“Parson, you've no need to concern yourself with my fiancée anymore,” Peterson went on. “I appreciate you and your congregation befriending her when she arrived alone in this place, but I'm here now, and I'll look after her from this point on. Miss Hawthorne is a naturally friendly person—friendly to a fault, in fact—and not one to put on airs, but you have to realize the kind of folk that need the crutch of
prayer meetings
are not the sort of society she's become accustomed to. I'm going to have to ask you not to bother her again.” Even while his tone stayed courteous but condescending, his eyes glared at Elijah.

“It's not my intention to offend you, Mr. Maxwell,” Elijah said, keeping his eyes on the New Yorker, “or impose myself where I'm not wanted, but I'm afraid I need to hear it from Miss Hawthorne herself. She's been such a vital part of our congregation, you see.” He turned his gaze to Alice. “Miss Hawthorne?”

Please, Alice,
his soul cried within him.
Let me help you.
He waited for endless seconds, willing her to find the courage, despite the way Peterson's intense gaze burned a hole in her back.

She took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, Reverend, but it's as Maxwell says. I—I'll be spending my time with him from now on. Please understand—and give my best regards to the congregation. They were indeed very kind to me.”

Elijah thought for a moment he spotted a split-second pleading look and the gleam of tears in her eyes when she'd said, “Please understand,” but it might have been a trick of the light.

“I'll do that,” Elijah managed to say. “Good day, Miss Hawthorne, Mr. Peterson.” But he couldn't will his feet to move from the spot, not yet.

Peterson shifted his gaze to Alice, with the air of a man who'd put a troublesome task behind him. “Darling, if we're to make that meeting with the colonel I've set up, you'll have to hurry and change into your riding habit. Horst, please see that the horses are saddled.”

The Bavarian bowed. “
Jawohl, mein Herr.
Right
away.”

Elijah found the strength to walk away then. There was nothing else he could do. But even as his heart broke for what might have been, he couldn't help wondering what Peterson had meant by “a meeting with the colonel.” What was the man up to?

* * *

Alice watched him go, wishing the ground might open up beneath her and swallow her. She would have rather died than send Elijah away with a hurtful lie as she had. But she'd done what she had to do, knowing she might well be saving Elijah's life.

She was under no illusions as to why Maxwell was taking her with him when he went to see the army officer. He knew he didn't dare leave her here alone that long, even with Horst to guard her. Maxwell held the Bavarian's allegiance, but Horst was only a little taller than Alice herself and slightly built. He could tie her up and gag her, but she would scream bloody murder before she let that happen. And while Maxwell was gone, if anyone demanded to see her, it would declare his assertions to Elijah this morning nothing but lies.

There had to be a way to escape the destiny Maxwell had in mind for her, a way that would not endanger any of the people she loved.
Lord, show me the way.

* * *

“Elijah, Winona asked you a question,” Lars prompted Thursday afternoon during the daily session in which he helped the preacher teach English to Winona and Dakota.

Elijah realized he'd been inattentive again, his mind wandering off on rabbit trails when he should be encouraging Winona. The Cheyenne woman had made amazing progress in the short time they had been working with her, as had her nephew.

If only he could stop thinking of how he could help Alice. Elijah had seen the pain in her eyes yesterday morning when he'd gone to see her, before that blank indifference had descended over her lovely features.