Revealed (15 page)

Lonely
was the first thought that came to mind.
Challenging
was the second. Neither of which were strangers to her.

‘‘How are you?’’ she asked. The simple question came without forethought, surprising her.

Similar surprise registered in Matthew’s expression. ‘‘I’m fine.’’

He looked down and away when he said it, which told her that he wasn’t. Was the frown on his face due to pain at the loss of Jonathan or because of her presence again in his life? Or was it, perhaps, both?

She glanced toward the hallway where Hannah had disappeared with Mr. Colby, then back at Matthew. ‘‘If you’ll excuse us for a moment, Mr. Taylor, I’d like to speak with Pastor Carlson alone, please.’’

She figured Matthew wouldn’t like her dismissing him like that, and sure enough, before he left the room, his features darkened.

‘‘What was that look for?’’ Patrick asked once they were alone.

Annabelle shook her head. ‘‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so thoroughly unacceptable to anyone in my life.’’ She attempted a laugh to ease the concern lining Patrick’s face. ‘‘And that’s saying a lot, believe me.’’

‘‘I think God has made your decision much easier than I thought it would be, Annabelle. Much easier.’’

Silently considering the letter Jonathan had written in the last hours of his life—
Only what we do for God will last
—Annabelle felt a stirring inside her, and she slowly nodded. ‘‘I couldn’t agree more.’’

‘‘Bertram Colby is clearly the more experienced man as far as tracking goes, and he’s been guiding wagons since before you were born.’’

‘‘He may be a bit too quiet for me though,’’ she said in mock seriousness. ‘‘I like a man who enjoys a little conversation.’’ She arched a brow.

‘‘He does like to talk—that’s for sure. But I feel good about him, Annabelle, about his ability to get you there safely. He seems respectful too, someone Jonathan would’ve approved of. I sense Colby’s a man who’ll uphold your honor. After all, you’ll be traveling together, alone, for at least a month, if not more.’’

Nodding again, Annabelle walked to the open kitchen window and looked out over the meadow. ‘‘I think I’d be safe on that count with both men.’’ But undoubtedly safer with Matthew Taylor. He’d remain celibate for the rest of his life before touching the likes of her.

A warm June breeze stirred Hannah’s lace curtains and filled the kitchen with the sweet blend of honeysuckle and lavender.

Only what we do for God will last
.

Annabelle breathed in the mingled scents and sighed, letting the remembered phrase settle deeper within. She wanted to live the rest of her life with that thought as a sieve, a threshing floor of sorts in making decisions, in knowing what to do. How did she know if what her heart was telling her to do was right or not? She’d spent the last hour pondering that very question. Did a certain prayer exist that, once prayed, would bring immediate confirmation?

Jonathan had prayed about his decisions, sometimes aloud, sometimes to himself. She only wished she’d paid more attention to them now. He’d often prayed after they’d gone to bed, and she would fall asleep to the sound of his gravelly voice resonating in the darkness in the bed beside her. What she wouldn’t trade to sleep beneath that blanket of prayer once more.

‘‘Would you like for me to tell them?’’

She turned at the sound of Patrick’s voice and shook her head. ‘‘No. I think I should do it.’’

She detected a glimmer of respect as he waited for her to precede him to the front porch.

She pushed open the screen door and spotted Hannah and Mr. Colby sitting together talking. Or rather, Mr. Colby was doing the talking, regaling Hannah with another story from his many travels. Annabelle caught Hannah’s eye and winked. Hannah’s gaze flicked back to Mr. Colby and she nodded, focusing on her guest. Annabelle watched as Hannah’s mouth slowly curved, and though her friend’s stare remained fixed on Mr. Colby, somehow Annabelle knew the smile was meant for her.

Matthew Taylor stood beside them, but in every way besides his physical presence, he had separated himself. Hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, shoulders set, attention fixed on the mountain peaks to the west. He seemed to have erected an invisible wall around him. He hadn’t even moved at the creaking of the door hinge.

‘‘Gentlemen.’’ Annabelle paused for a moment, staring at Matthew’s broad back, wondering again if she was making the right choice, and if Jonathan would have desired something different. She waited until Mr. Colby rose from the swing and Matthew turned.

Matthew pulled his hands from his pockets, his expression guarded. His eyes darted to hers, away again, then back. And in doing so, betrayed his earnestness. Aided by Jonathan’s stories about their childhood, the sudden image of him as a little boy flooded her mind, and she glimpsed the remnant of the neglected child in the man before her. Unexpectedly, her heart softened toward him.

Matthew seemed to want this job so badly, and it made no sense. Certainly he felt no loyalty to her, even if she was his brother’s widow. Perhaps he was doing it for the money? With his hands fisted at his sides, jaw clenched tight, she admitted that he did have a desperate look about him.

‘‘Again, to you both,’’ she continued, gathering her thoughts, ‘‘I want to say how much I appreciate you applying for the position. I’m impressed with your experience and have no doubt that either of you could guarantee my safety and well-being on this journey.’’

She took a step toward Bertram Colby and, in turn, saw Matthew slowly bow his head. She couldn’t help but watch him from the periphery of her vision as he retreated a half step. ‘‘Mr. Colby, your stories are enchanting and make me want to see my new home in Idaho more than ever. Thank you again for your willingness to accompany me, but . . . I’ve decided to hire Mr. Taylor for this journey.’’

Annabelle saw Matthew’s head come up. In turn, Patrick’s eyes went wide and Hannah gave the tiniest smile.

‘‘Not a problem, ma’am. Taylor here will do you a fine job, I’m sure.’’ The genuineness of Mr. Colby’s tone rang true, easing Annabelle’s hesitance at declining him. A deep laugh rumbled up from his chest. ‘‘But I’ll miss tellin’ you all my stories around the fire at night, that’s for sure. I’ve got lots of ’em too.’’

‘‘I don’t doubt that for a minute, and I’ll miss hearing them.’’ She hoped her gratitude was apparent to him. ‘‘And thank you again, Mr. Colby, for what you said earlier about my husband being proud of me for making this journey. You couldn’t have paid me a higher compliment, sir.’’

Colby took her hand and brought it to his lips, then gently placed a kiss there. No man, not even Jonathan, had ever done that to her. Annabelle stared, wordless. What was it about a man lightly touching his lips to the crown of her hand that made her feel so feminine, so honored? Whether she was worthy or not.

Giving her fingertips a gentle squeeze, Mr. Colby released her. His gray eyes were keen, and Annabelle thought again that Bertram Colby possessed the friendliest countenance she’d ever seen.

‘‘I’m of the mind, ma’am, that those who go on ’afore us can look back and see what’s happenin’ to their loved ones here. I’ve been told I’m wrong, that those in the hereafter aren’t bothered with the goings on of now. But I’ve always been partial to the notion that they’re gathered together, cheerin’ us on somehow when we’ve fallen or had a hard time of it. And if that’s so, I figure that’s exactly what your husband’s doin’ right now, ma’am. He’s cheerin’ you on. You, and your little one that’s on the way.’’

A quick intake of breath sounded from Matthew beside her, and cool reality doused what momentary warmth she’d felt at Mr. Colby’s kindness. Matthew had been dealt a tough hand recently— learning of Jonathan’s death the way he had . . . and now about Jonathan’s child in a similar fashion. Though the topic hadn’t come up again once Matthew had joined them this morning, she hadn’t intentionally kept the news from him. But neither had she looked forward to his reaction upon hearing it.

With Mr. Colby’s departure, it felt as though the front porch shrank to half the size.

No one said a word.

Still watching Mr. Colby as he walked back toward town, Annabelle knew Patrick and Hannah were waiting. She took a deep breath.

As well as she had been able to read Matthew up until then, Annabelle searched his expression and came up with nothing. His eyes were now dark, indecipherable, intimidating. So unlike Jonathan’s trusting, honest gaze.

Vowing not to be the first to flinch, Annabelle reached into her past for lessons learned at a tender age. Intimidation was something a woman in her former profession quickly learned to deal with or she didn’t last long.

Her pulse might be racing, but she had the practiced look of indifference down to an art, and she knew it masked the hurt clenching her chest. ‘‘Before Mr. Colby is completely out of sight, Mr. Taylor, perhaps I should ask you again whether you’re still interested in taking this job.’’

Varying emotions played across Matthew’s face, but she could tell from his stance that he wanted to say something. He shot a quick look at Patrick and Hannah as though just remembering they were present, then back to her.

His jaw muscles flexed as he deliberated. ‘‘How do you know the baby is his?’’

Annabelle’s first instinct was to react. Then she thought about it from his perspective and nodded. ‘‘That’s a fair question, under the circumstances. I know the baby I carry is Jonathan’s because I have not been with any other man since June of last year.’’

Matthew nodded slowly, his entire countenance calling her a liar.

‘‘I’m assuming, Mr. Taylor, that you can work your numbers?’’

‘‘Oh, I can work my numbers all right, ma’am. I also know how women like you work, and that’s why this whole situation just doesn’t add up to me. Why would a man like my brother choose to have a child with a woman like you? Tell me that.’’

Patrick stepped forward. ‘‘Hold it right there, Taylor. I won’t stand by any longer and allow you to—’’

‘‘No, Patrick.’’ Annabelle put her hand out. ‘‘It’s fine. I want Mr. Taylor to be able to speak his mind.’’

Matthew leveled his gaze. ‘‘Ma’am, if I were to truly speak my mind, I’d have to ask Mrs. Carlson to leave first.’’

Annabelle didn’t blink, silently admiring his swift reply but daring not to show it. This man had more spine than she’d credited him with. She stared up at him, her eyes never leaving his. ‘‘Patrick, Hannah, would you excuse us, please?’’

Patrick protested, but Annabelle took him by the arm. ‘‘Please, Patrick.’’

His mouth slowly closed and they went inside. The screen door slammed closed, and then, to both the Carlsons’ credit, Annabelle heard the inner door close as well.

‘‘All right, Mr. Taylor. Hannah’s gone. No other
ladies
are present to hear your opinions,’’ she said, giving voice to his earlier insinuation. ‘‘Feel free to speak your mind. And please, don’t hold back on my account.’’

CHAPTER | TWELVE

F
ROM HIS SURPRISED EXPRESSION,
Matthew apparently hadn’t expected her to call his bluff. Secretly, Annabelle doubted he had the courage to go through with it.

‘‘Are you certain . . . Miss Grayson, that you want me to speak my mind?’’ The calm in his voice contrasted the edge in his stare.

She raised a brow at the sudden change in name. ‘‘If you and I are going to be traveling together for the next three months, Mr. Taylor, I’d rather you got it off your chest right now. And you can be sure that whatever you have to say, I’ve heard it all before.’’

He gave her a look that said he doubted that, then focused on some point beyond the front porch, as though weighing the cost of being completely honest. Annabelle couldn’t help but wonder how it was that one brother got the more handsome features while the other got all the kindness. Or so it would seem.

Matthew’s gaze briefly wandered over her face. ‘‘I can see why Johnny took a liking to you, Miss Grayson. In a way.’’ His voice was soft, yet there was not a trace of tenderness in his features. ‘‘You have a spark about you, and you don’t back down easy. My brother would’ve liked that about you right off. And you’re quick-witted too, something he always admired.’’

Instinctively, for reasons she couldn’t explain, Annabelle’s guard rose.

‘‘He was a good man, and he had a tender spot in him for lost things. When we were younger, Johnny was always bringing home something. He’d come in cradling a bird that had left the nest too soon or some pup with a broken leg. Mostly things that someone else had dumped along the side of the road. He wasn’t too good at seeing things like they really were. He tended to see things . . . and people, like he wished they would be.’’ He crossed his arms. ‘‘But I see what kind of person you are. You deceived Kathryn Jennings, and you apparently have the Carlsons fooled. Just like you did my brother. You know how to use people to get what you want. You wormed your way into Kathryn Jennings’ life a while back, probably hoping she’d give you money from her land.’’

A flush of defensiveness heated her. ‘‘I never took one penny from Kathryn Jennings. Ask her yourself if you don’t believe—’’

‘‘And then you saw an easy mark in my brother and won his favor. No doubt in order to lay claim to whatever he had that you could take.’’ Anger flashed in his eyes and his arms went stiff at his sides. ‘‘I don’t know how you managed it, but you talked him into buying you out of that brothel. You let him do it, all the while knowing you didn’t care one whit for him. He knew it too. Or didn’t you overhear that part? That night in the shack? Johnny told me then that you didn’t love him, so please, don’t stand here and pretend like you felt any different about him. Even he knew the truth!’’

A good deal taller than her, Matthew Taylor had an imposing presence, especially when angered. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Annabelle doubted he was even aware of doing it, yet it wasn’t his fists she feared. She already figured he wasn’t the hitting type, and she would know.

A number of thoughts flashed through her mind.

Confronted with his condemnation, she felt the familiar urge to retaliate. With a well-aimed glare, she had withered men whose expressions bore similar contempt, and she had taken pleasure in doing so. It typically came afterward, when the men had gotten what they’d come for and were putting their clothes back on, along with the convenient respectability they’d dumped at her door. Or when she saw them later in town, when loathing had replaced the former lust, and it seemed as though they blamed
her
for what they had chosen to do.