Revealed (16 page)

Jonathan would’ve said the person she once had been was now dead and buried, washed away in the swift current of Fountain Creek last summer. But as she stood there confronted by Matthew’s accusations and tasting the bittersweet retaliation on the tip of her tongue, suddenly she wasn’t so certain.

Knifed by Matthew’s disapproval, she wanted nothing more than to turn that finely honed blade back on him. She knew how to do it too. Matthew wanted to talk about the truth? She would happily oblige.

‘‘I overheard plenty of things in the shack that night, Mr. Taylor. Some of which were of a more . . .
personal
nature than others.’’ She enjoyed watching those honey brown eyes of his lose a shade of confidence. ‘‘Things I’m sure you’d rather I hadn’t learned.’’

His jaw hardened. His head tipped in silent challenge.

‘‘I find it funny how a man like you—apparently one who knows so much about people and specifically women like me, as you phrased it—can somehow have managed to . . .’’

The words caught in her throat. Something Bertram Colby had said earlier replayed in her mind, and the intentioned cruelty of what she’d been about to say jarred her. It shamed her to imagine that Jonathan might be witnessing her actions now, or that he could read her thoughts and know what she had been about to do. Especially in light of how kind Jonathan had been to her and how much he’d cared about his younger brother.

Matthew shifted his weight, pulling her attention back. ‘‘Feel free to speak your mind, Miss Grayson.’’ In a gesture that was quickly becoming familiar, he cocked a single brow and gave her that half smile. ‘‘And please, don’t hold back on my account.’’

In another situation, she would have enjoyed his clever wit as he parroted back what she’d said to him moments before. But not this time.

She scrambled to think of another response, one that would satisfy the dare in his tone. ‘‘I was going to say, Mr. Taylor, that . . . I find it funny how a man who thinks he has such insight into people, who understands their motives, can manage to have missed the mark so badly on his own brother.’’ Jonathan’s face filled her mind as she watched Matthew’s smile fade. A place deep inside her opened, and the next words left her tongue of their own accord. ‘‘You stand here acting as though you cared so deeply for your brother, while I saw firsthand how you purposely shut Jonathan out of your life. How you said those hurtful things to him and then just left, after so many years of being separated, and without even saying good-bye. I wonder . . . do you have any idea how much you hurt your brother? How disappointed he was?’’

Her body trembling, she closed her mouth and wondered where all that had come from. It hadn’t been her intention, the last part especially, but remembering the hurt in Jonathan’s face after Matthew walked out last fall had unleashed a well of resentment. And from the guilt lining Matthew’s face that moment, it appeared she’d accidentally wandered onto a tender topic. For them both.

He was the first to look away.

Seconds passed. Neither of them spoke.

Just moments before, she’d been so certain about hiring Matthew for this job. She would’ve sworn she’d felt some kind of confirmation inside her. But now . . .

Annabelle was thankful for the muted sounds that filled the uneasy silence between them—the whinny of the grays in the field, the high-pitched squeals of six-year-old Bobby and his sister, Lilly, as they played out back, and the faraway rumblings of a passing wagon on the main road.

Matthew slipped off his hat, then shoved a hand through his hair, resignation lining his face. ‘‘Let’s be honest with each other, Miss Grayson. At least about one thing.’’ His deep voice grew soft again. ‘‘We both know you married my brother in order to get something you couldn’t get on your own. Tell me that’s not true.’’

Knowing he wasn’t completely in the right, Annabelle wished she could deny what truth there was in his statement. ‘‘Part of what you’re saying is true, Mr. Taylor. I never would’ve been able to leave my old life without your brother’s help. But I did care for Jonathan. Very much. He was the kindest person I’ve ever known.’’

Matthew closed his eyes for a second, then nodded. ‘‘Thank you for being honest, Miss Grayson. About that, at least.’’ He stared past her for a few seconds. ‘‘Johnny always was too trusting. He gave people the benefit of the doubt when they didn’t deserve it. And for whatever reason, he couldn’t see through you. I guess he was too . . . captivated by whatever it is that you do. But you need to know that I see who and
what
you are. And you don’t appeal to me in the least.’’

His gaze swept the length of her—slowly down, then back up again—and true to his word, she detected nothing from him even remotely similar to desire. What Annabelle did see, with painful clarity, was the memory of her own flawed face in the splintered reflection of the hand mirror. Suddenly aware of the sharp rise and fall of her chest, she blinked to clear the unwelcome image.

He opened his mouth to say something else, then apparently thought better of it. He shook his head, clearly struggling with what to say next.

But Annabelle knew what was coming. He would tell her that she wasn’t worthy to draw the same breath as him, much less take up space in this life. That people like her were rubbish and ought to be treated as such. She’d heard it all before.

Matthew looked down at his boots and sighed. A weariness seemed to move over him. ‘‘Miss Grayson, there’s a list of things in my mind that I’ve been wanting to say to you for the last few months, since I found out about Johnny having married you. And for the past couple of days, since learning about my brother’s death, that list has only grown longer.’’ A frown crossed his forehead briefly. ‘‘But now that I’m here, standing face-to-face in front of you, with the chance to say all those things . . .’’ A slow sigh left him. He gave a halfhearted shrug. ‘‘Seems I’m not able to do it.’’

‘‘On the contrary, Mr. Taylor, you’ve been doing quite well. Why stop now?’’ The words came out more softly than Annabelle would have liked, especially knowing that if she ended up hiring Matthew Taylor, he would feel a need to say these things to her eventually. Better to get it over with now. He needed a bit of goading . . . fine. She knew just what to do.

‘‘You’re not having second thoughts about there being a lady present after all, are you, Mr. Taylor?’’

A faint smile ghosted his mouth before vanishing. ‘‘No, Miss Grayson, that’s not what concerns me,’’ he said softly, sincerity replacing cynicism. ‘‘I’m afraid the lady in you went missing a long time ago.’’

Unable to respond, Annabelle knew in that moment—call it a feeling, an instinct, some kind of intuition—that whatever else Matthew Taylor had to say wasn’t something she had heard before. Nor was it something she would welcome.

‘‘You probably won’t believe me, and to be honest, I guess it doesn’t really matter to me that you do, but . . . I was coming back here to Willow Springs hoping to find my brother and make amends. I’d never make Johnny out to be a saint. You knew him, so I’m assuming you found that out real quick. Underneath it all, though, he was a good man. A decent man.’’ He glanced down, then back up at her, his expression pained. ‘‘You were honest with me a minute ago, so I’ll be honest with you.

‘‘I still hold the same opinion that I voiced that night in the shack. I think Johnny made a mistake in marrying you. I think you married him to get out of that brothel, to get his money, his land, and whatever else you could. And while I don’t find any pleasure in saying this to you right now . . .’’ He gave a soft laugh without humor. ‘‘Not like I thought I would when I pictured it in my mind so many times, my brother, God rest his soul, deserved better than some sullied . . . tainted . . . used-up woman like you.’’

His last words came out slowly, softly, and with deliberate forethought. And each one found a weakness in her armor and struck to the heart.

Annabelle tried to draw a breath but the air felt trapped at the base of her throat. How often had she used those very same words when thinking about herself. But never had she heard them spoken back to her with such pained gentleness.

‘‘And I still don’t buy your line about the child being his either. If there even is a child. Convenient plan though—I’ll give you that.’’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘‘You asked me a question earlier. Now I guess I need to ask you the same one. Have
your
feelings changed? Are you sure you still want me for this job?’’

Watching Matthew Taylor stand before her, patiently waiting for her answer, it was clear that he had no clue how much he’d just wounded her. Did she still want to hire him? Or would she rather have Bertram Colby? Bertram Colby would never
think
of addressing her in the way Matthew Taylor just had. Of course, Bertram Colby didn’t know her past, and she hadn’t just buried his only brother.

Only what we do for God will last
.

In her mind’s eye, Annabelle saw Jonathan’s flowing script and the words he’d written, and something flickered inside her, akin to a flame, growing steadier and stronger. She slowly shook her head. ‘‘No, Mr. Taylor. I’m not sure that I do still want to hire you.’’

He let out the breath he’d apparently been holding. Again a look of resignation shadowed his handsome face.

‘‘And I may well regret it one day. Soon,’’ she added. ‘‘But the job is still yours.’’

He gave a brief, sharp laugh as if to say he thought she was jesting.

To prove that she wasn’t, and knowing he wouldn’t like it, she found pleasure in her next words. ‘‘We leave at sunrise on Saturday. That gives us three days. Do you think you can have everything ready by then?’’ Barely waiting for his nod, she continued. ‘‘The wagon’s out back with the supplies—you can check the horses too. Prepare a list of items you think we’ll need, and then let me look over it so I can add anything that might be missing. Purchase whatever else you think is required. See that the trunks and crates in the barn are loaded and that the team is hitched and ready.’’

Remembering, she reached into her pocket. ‘‘Here’s money for the supplies as well as a third of your pay up front, as was advertised. If you need more, let me know. And just so our understanding is clear, Mr. Taylor, you’ll get the rest once—’’

‘‘Once I get you to Idaho.’’ He took the wad of bills from her hand without touching her and held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary. ‘‘I’m real clear on our understanding.’’ He pocketed the cash. ‘‘I’ll see to the horses first thing in the morning, and I’ll have everything loaded and ready to go on Saturday.’’ He nodded once. ‘‘At sunrise, like you asked. Mind you, I don’t know what you’re used to, but I aim to meet up with Brennan’s group as soon as possible, Miss Grayson. We’ll each have our duties on the trail too. Everybody has to pull their own weight. We’ll keep a steady pace, movin’ with the sun and resting come nightfall.’’

‘‘I’ll match whatever pace you set, Mr. Taylor.’’

He stared at her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. ‘‘Miss Grayson, I do believe we have ourselves a deal.’’

‘‘Very well.’’ She turned to go, then paused. ‘‘By the way, I’d appreciate your addressing me by my married name. Like it or not, I
was
your brother’s wife.’’ She smiled and tasted a hint of arsenic in the gesture. ‘‘And for the record, I’ll ask you to kindly remember who’s done the hiring here.’’

She walked into the house, quietly closed the door behind her, and leaned against it for support. A tremble stole through her. What had just happened to her out there? She was supposed to be a new creature in Christ, refashioned in the likeness of His image, and yet she’d enjoyed every single second of putting Matthew Taylor in his place. How would she survive weeks on the trail with someone who brought out the absolute worst in her, and with so little effort?

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to change her mind. She turned and peeked through a slit in the curtain.

Matthew stood poised at the edge of the porch steps, his profile testimony to his pensive mood. Perhaps he was sharing a thought similar to hers. She took the chance to observe him, feeling much like a child succumbing to the lure of the cookie jar. Handsome didn’t aptly describe the man, no matter his shortcomings. Not with that languid air of confidence he wore so casually. But she knew better. That kind of appeal was only surface deep. If given the choice, she would choose the older brother again. Without hesitation.

Matthew suddenly turned and looked back at the door.

Annabelle dropped the curtain and pressed up against the wall, her pulse racing.

Not until she heard his boot heels on the porch stairs did her heart consider returning to a normal rhythm. She leaned her head back and sighed. Sizing people up had always been a gift, but she had definitely underestimated Matthew Taylor. Not only in the depth of his resolve but most assuredly in his devotion to his brother.

CHAPTER | THIRTEEN

L
IKE A TAP ON THE SHOULDER,
instinct prompted Matthew to turn.

He did, slowly, and spotted the man standing in the open doors of the livery. Early morning light filtered gray through the cracks of the aging wooden structure, barely illuminating the interior. Heart pounding, Matthew noiselessly stepped back into the empty stall behind him, pretty sure the man hadn’t seen him yet.

Jake Sampson took the reins of the stranger’s horse and led the animal directly toward Matthew. Telling himself he was jumping to conclusions, Matthew couldn’t ignore the warning bells going off in his head. He pressed up against the side of the stall and hoped Sampson would figure he was in the back with the grays he’d brought in that morning.

Sampson chose the empty stall next to his, and Matthew breathed easier.

‘‘You gonna be in town long, mister?’’

‘‘Long enough. A day or two at most. I need directions to Sheriff Parker’s office.’’

The voice wasn’t familiar, but the accent bled of Texas drawl, and Matthew’s jaw tightened hearing it. He’d definitely never seen the man before, but that didn’t ease his discomfort.

‘‘Sheriff Parker left Willow Springs a few months back. Man by the name of Joshua Garvin took his place. But I doubt he’s in yet,’’ Sampson said, closing the door to the stall. ‘‘That’ll be two dollars down, and we’ll settle the rest when you come back for him.’’ There was silence for a few seconds and Matthew could picture Sampson pocketing the bills. ‘‘This being Thursday, Sheriff Garvin’s over at Myrtle’s about now havin’ steak and eggs. You could prob’ly catch him over there. Got some business with him, do you?’’