Sundown (8 page)

“Don’t you?”  She inquired. 

“Yeah.”  Jake rasped.  “I sure do.”

Jenny smiled.  Looking down at the bulge at her midsection, she rest loving hands above the swell.

“It helps me to know he’s left a piece of himself behind.” 

“Have you decided upon a name yet?”

“Cole Nehemiah Shelton.”  She answered.  “I’ll name him after your grandfather.  It’s what your brother would have wanted.”

“That’s all we need, another boy.”  Jake jeered.  Tossing his cheroot to the ground, he asked.  “But what if it’s a girl?”

Jenny shrugged her shoulder.  “Cole left the girl’s name up to me.  I guess I’ll think of a name when the time comes.”

“Not much time by the look of things.”

“Another month, maybe.”

“Don’t you think you should see a doctor?”

“The less people know the better.”  Jenny replied.

Just then, a twig snapped. 

Peering into the darkness, Jenny gripped the sides of her chair as Jake stood to his feet.  Slowly, a figure appeared, standing beneath moonbeams.

Trigger Shelton smiled.

“Son-of-a bitch.”  Jake muttered.  Aiming his gun, he barked at his younger brother.  “I could have shot you.”

Trig shrugged his shoulders.  “Wouldn’t be the first brother now, would I?” 

“You’d better apologize to Jenny.”  Jake seethed still holding a gun on his brother.  Trig looked up, holding his hands in mock defense though his green eyes registered sincerity. 

“Ah Jen, I really didn’t mean what I said.”

Jenny yawned, resigning herself from their
wrangle.

“Don’t sneak up on us like that again.”  Jake warned less forgiving.  “We can’t afford to bury another brother.”

Jenny rose from her chair.  She turned a weary smile, and strode toward the door.  “You boys better plan on getting up before sun rise.”

“What in tarnation for?”  Trig insisted.

“We’re going to church.”  She replied. 

The last thing Jenny heard before closing the door was the sound of two grown men uttering a share of childlike moans.

Sunday morning service finally arrived and Arabella held her head high ready for the assault.  From every direction, church folk immediately engulfed her in a sea of names and faces.  Instantly, she felt relief when a noticeable man in black cloth came forward.  Tall and disarming, the Parson passed her a pleasant smile.

“Sheriff Gentry and Miss Lena.”  He greeted, shaking her father’s hand, he turned to Lena and bowed.  “We’ve missed you these past few weeks.”

Lena gushed while her father replied with a simple nod.  Arabella watched the Parson smile, the kind of smile a person gave when they knew this was all they were going to get.  Naturally, he turned his attention on her.  Perhaps she stared longer than she should have, but there was something disturbing about the color of his turquoise gaze.

“Miss Gentry, I’m so glad you could attend services this afternoon.”  He took her hand, holding on longer than expected she felt the warmth of his firm grasp.  Pulling her hand away, she sought the fervor of his gaze.  “It’s always pleasant seeing a new face in the congregation.”

“Thank You, Parson.”  She returned.  Holding her bible closer to her chest she nodded.  “I look forward to your sermon.”

The Parson smiled once again only this time, less intimate.  Proffering his arm, he stood aside.  “Allow me to escort you to your pew.”

Seated third row and center, she watched Parson Hanly take the pulpit and settle into his notes.  She leaned forward and whispered into her Lena’s ear. 

“He’s a very amiable man, don’t you think?”

“He’s the Parson.”  Lena replied with a curious smirk on her face.  “I’d say nearly every single young woman and her mother within a twenty-five mile radius have tried to corner the man into a marriage proposal.  I agree he is quite a handsome man.”

“I suppose,” Wyeth joined the conversation.  Looking over his shoulder, he narrowed his gaze as his voice turned
quiet, and
engrossed.  “But then so aren’t the rest of his family.”

Distracted by her father’s curious perusal, Arabella crooked her chin and noticed him stare at a young woman, small and petite with honey-blonde hair as she entered the building. 

Resting her hand against a swollen abdomen, she held the hand of a young boy who was intent on playing with the folds of her skirt and oblivious to church formality. 

Two young men followed the mother and child.  Obviously brothers, they rounded the pew and stood side by side.  She noticed each man owned an olive complexion with chestnut hair and brilliant blue eyes, and she quickly surmised many a young woman had lost their hearts to such an arresting duo.  Quickly, the family took their seat just as a late straggler walked through the door, settling in next to the young boy. 

Arabella held her breath. 

At first glance, beautiful was too generous a description, considering his brooding
appearance and so she settled for striking instead.  Broad shouldered, and swarthy, his powerful gaze instantly captured hers.  Taken by surprise, she quickly looked away and stared back at the Parson who suddenly cleared his throat, looking down at his congregation. 

“Good afternoon and welcome.”  The Parson greeted with a warm nod.  “As Parson, it is always a pleasure to tend my flock.  Today, I am very pleased to see so many familiar faces returning to the fold.  With that being said, allow me to introduce the newest member of our congregation, Miss Arabella Gentry.”

Suddenly the center of attention, Arabella felt her pulse rise and the color drain from her cheeks.  Nodding back at Parson Hanly, she grew stiff as he continued.

“She hails from Sharpsburg, Maryland.  She is the daughter of Sheriff Wyeth Gentry, and I hear tell she is an accomplished pianist, may I hope this is true, Miss Gentry?”

Arabella felt her throat constrict.  She had not played the piano for years, not since Edwin’s death.  Invading her thoughts, an instant image of Edwin appeared.  Thick-golden hair and vital blue eyes smiled back at her, young and beautiful, he the epitome of genteel southern chivalry, ever full of life, and now dead.  Long since dead, she had to remind herself.  Once again, the Parson’s voice interrupted her poignant reverie. 

“Miss Gentry, you do play don’t you?”

Somehow, she managed the right answer.  “I do.”

“Our last pianist passed on nearly a year ago.  It has been a longtime since we have heard competent music accompanied to our hymns.  Would you be kind enough to grace the flock with your God-given talent?”

She could hardly refuse, not to this pleasant man, or to his expectant congregation.  Setting aside her personal grief, she rose from the pew and offered her father a tight smile.  Making her way to the pulpit, Arabella reached for the Parson’s hand.  With ease, he escorted her to an upright piano, which sat in the far corner.  She took her seat, and touched the keyboard.  The ivory keys shined like new.  Nervous, she found a sheet of hymnal music and cleared her voice.

“Rock of Ages?”

Parson Hanly smiled. 

Arabella watched as the crowd opened their hymnals and waited for her queue.  When all eyes fell upon her she quickly pelted out the first notes to the age-old hymn.  Instantly, a beautiful resonance came forth.  Surprisingly she found the keys were all in tune.

Arabella felt an odd release. 
She had forgotten how much she enjoyed playing the piano.  With deft hands she peered at the congregation and studied their faces, noting the delighted smiles, all save but one.  In the back row, once again she noticed the brooding one.  She watched him lift a cynical brow, turning his jaded attention upon her.  Slowly, he skimmed her face.  The intimate perusal made her so tense she missed a key.  Flustered, she quickly caught up with the chorus before pelting out the last note.
 
After a pause of satisfied silence from the congregation, she pulled her fingers away from the keyboard and nodded at the Parson who then ushered her back to her seat.

Following the sermon, Parson Hanly dismissed the congregation.  Arabella arose from her pew, and slowly followed her father as they filed down the aisle.  Overwhelmed with curious attention somehow she managed to escape the onslaught of amiable well-wishers.  Reaching the entrance, she hurried toward a secluded spot away from the fracas where she relaxed beneath the warm sunshine. 

One by one, the congregation dispersed.  With her father engrossed in conversation, Arabella turned her attention on Parson Hanly.  She watched him saunter toward a lone tree where he met with the brooding latecomer she spotted earlier in church.  The two men became engrossed in a serious conversation.  She noted the way the Parson shook his head, while the younger man threw up his arms as if in exasperation.  Curious, she wandered closer.  So close, she could hear their intimate conversation.  The Parson leaned forward as if to whisper, and then like lightening his brother withdrew his hand and clutched the minister by the shirt.

“You’re making a scene.”  The Parson remarked.

“The Hell if I care about your virtuous flock!”

“Let go of my clothing.”

“If you so much as even think of touching this one I’ll break your pious neck.” 

She watched as the minister smiled. 

Very calmly, he pried the man’s fingers away from his vest.  Suddenly, as if sensing her presence, the Parson turned around.  Taken by surprise both men withdrew from their embattled stance.  They both stared at her, one smiling politely while the other glowered.  Embarrassed, she had not realized how close she had sidled up on them.

“I-I beg your pardon, Parson.”  She stammered, averting her eyes from the hostile one.  Forcing a tight smile, she cleared her throat.  “I only wanted to thank you for allowing me to play the piano this afternoon.”

“Miss Gentry, you’re most welcome.”  He returned, looking back at the fuming man standing next to him, he then brimmed with pleasure.  “Perhaps then, even my brother might join us once again?  I am truly a blessed parishioner.  In walks, my wayward brother and once more an accomplished pianist straight from heaven.  God has truly answered all my prayers.”

Arabella watched as the turbulent man forced a curt smile.  The look in his eyes was anything but pleasure.  If anything, he looked downright murderous.  Stepping away from the tree, he forced a brusque smile and then turned his maelstrom gaze on her.  

“Miss Gentry.”  His voice was husky, and the least amused.  Something flickered in his eyes, almost corporeal as he glanced over her.  Without another word he walked away, leaving them standing there watching his departure.

“You must forgive my brother.”  The Parson spoke with quiet reason.  “Bray tussles with his demons.”

Arabella watched the Parson’s brother walk away. 

She noted his powerful stride, like a dangerous cat he prowled with dead on purpose.  Undoubtably, she knew nothing was going to get in the man’s way.  Lifting a falsetto voice, she tried to mask her obscure thoughts by forcing a tremulous smile. 

“I suppose we all have a demon or two tucked away?”

“My dear this is exactly why I’m the Parson.”  He returned with a smile and chuckled.  Holding out his hand, he motioned for her to follow.  “Come now I see your father is waiting.”

“Sir, I’m afraid you’re most gravely mistaken. 
That
man is not my father.”  Arabella mused.  “At the moment, he’s the Sheriff of Sundown.”

“Ever vigilant, is he?”

“Of late.”

“Well then, I fear he’s just cause with a band of outlaws on the loose and a lovely daughter to protect.”

Arabella blushed. 
She liked Parson Hanly though she could not think the same of his brother.  She let her eyes fall on his retreating form as he jumped into a wagon with the rest of the family in tow.

“Well, I’m sorry for interrupting time spent with your brother.”  Arabella grasped at his hand with an apology.

“No need to apologize, Miss Gentry.”  The Parson smiled, squeezing her hand.  “I usually see the family twice a week.  They run a little ranch a few miles outside town.” 

“Parson.”  A Familiar voice interrupted.

They turned to find the Sheriff starring at them curiously.  His watchful eyes lingered on their clasped hand.  Arabella quickly pulled her hand away, noticing the tick, which plagued the corner of her father’s mouth.

“Sheriff Gentry.”  He gave a decisive nod, and then wandered back toward the church.

“Really Father, must you try and intimidate the Parson?”

“M-hmm.”

Arabella hid a knowing smile. 
Her father was a man of little words.  He always had an uncanny way of mumbling what he felt when he thought someone refused to take him serious.  She watched the corner of his lip curl, boring his taciturn gaze on her as he ushered her forward.

“He’s harmless and quite civil compared to some of the men I’ve encountered thus far.”  Arabella countered. 

“Just looking out for your best interest, that’s all.”

“Surely you don’t think the Parson has any thoughts less than virtuous towards me?”