Tara's Gold (12 page)

Fourteen

Aaron paced the hotel lobby, waiting for Miss Young’s arrival. She was an hour late, and if his fears were correct, she’d just stood him up. Rotating the brim of his Stetson between his fingers, he stopped in front of the narrow plate of glass that overlooked the street. The boardwalk was busy with morning shoppers, but there was no sign of the impulsive young woman with auburn hair who’d stepped into his life and managed to turn it upside down.

One thing in particular had him worried. What if she had found something in her aunt’s journal after their discussion and decided to proceed with the search on her own? The very idea made his stomach turn. Knowing Miss Young, she’d end up in yet another fix. And this time, he might not be there to save her.

He pulled his watch from his trouser pocket and opened the case to check the time once more. She was now an hour and five minutes late.

“Constantly checking the time rarely makes it pass any faster, Mr. Jefferson.”

Aaron spun around on the heels of his boots. Mrs. Meddler, the hotel owner’s wife, stood there, observing him with her typical inquisitive gaze. Far from attractive, with her narrow face and too-thin nose, the woman’s one pleasant feature was her jovial personality, but even that quality, he’d discovered at their first meeting, was overbearing at times.

“Is she late?” Mrs. Meddler folded her hands across her well-endowed form and smiled.

He scratched the back of his head. “Who?”

“Miss Young, of course.”

It would seem that nothing got past the woman. Aaron cleared his throat. “I. . .well. . .yes, but we were only meeting for business.”

Mrs. Meddler nodded, the grin never leaving her face. “I’m sure from what I witnessed yesterday in the restaurant that you are correct. Strictly business. Of course, that doesn’t explain the slight blush that stained her face every time you looked at her, or the way you stuttered whenever she asked you a question.”

Aaron’s eyes widened at the unsolicited observation. The woman seemed to be everywhere. Perhaps she should be the one working for the government. He was obviously losing his touch.

He closed his eyes for a moment and struggled to gain back his composure. “Mrs. Meddler—”

“It’s all right to admit it.” Her eyes held a hint of amusement.

“Admit what?” If it was possible, the woman exasperated him more than Miss Young did. He’d never been one to avoid the issue at hand. He wanted the facts presented up front, but she had him running in circles like a decapitated rooster in a barnyard.

“Admit that you’re attracted to her.” Mrs. Meddler waved her finger at him. “That perhaps you even have feelings for her. Miss Young is a lovely young woman, with a heart for God and others. You couldn’t do any better.”

He slapped his hat against his trouser leg and pressed his lips together before speaking. “You’ve forgotten one small detail, Mrs. Meddler. I don’t even know her. Every time I’ve seen her has been surrounded by mayhem and disaster. Not exactly the environment for courtship. . .if that was what I was looking for, which I’m not.”

“Oh? I didn’t hear any gunshots or see any signs of trouble in the restaurant yesterday while the two of you were here.” Mrs. Meddler let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “No, on the contrary, the atmosphere was quite ideal. But perhaps my husband is correct when he tells me that I read far too many dime novels and have my head in the clouds, but I can tell love when I see it—”

“Love?” Aaron coughed. Now her comments had crossed the line from inquisitive to intrusive.

He bit down on his tongue so he wouldn’t say something foolish. He didn’t have feelings for the young woman, let alone feelings of love. Why, the very idea was preposterous. The woman got herself into trouble every time she turned around. She needed a bodyguard, not a husband, because she was impulsive, rash, and reckless.

No. He had no intentions of falling for Miss Young, or even discussing her for that matter.

Mrs. Meddler stepped forward. Apparently she wasn’t finished. “I did have to laugh the day I saw her wearing your black Stetson on her head as she strode down the boardwalk. It was yours, wasn’t it?”

“My Stetson?” He glanced at his hat and frowned.

What was the woman referring to now? His mind went back to the day they’d been shot at outside the post office. He’d lost his hat, and Miss Young had been the one to return it, but he couldn’t imagine her wearing it. Mrs. Meddler was obviously incorrect. Too many of those made-up tales not only had her head in the clouds, they’d also clouded her eyesight.

He shook his head. He would never figure out the reason Miss Young would have been wearing his Stetson, so there was no use trying. “Mrs. Meddler, I must protest. I am simply meeting Miss Young to discuss business relating to my work for the government. She has some information for me. . .”

Aaron sucked in a deep breath. Splendid. Not only was he coming close to losing his temper, he was giving away too much information, as well.

Because the woman’s right.

She’s right? He shoved the thought aside. The woman was certainly not correct in her assessment. He was going to go straight to the Carpenter farm to find Miss Young so he could finish his business and leave town. And the sooner he left the better.

He took a step toward the door. “Mrs. Meddler, if you will excuse me, I need to go now.”

She smiled again as he turned to leave. “Please give my regards to Miss Young and have her stop by for tea at her earliest convenience. I do so enjoy her company.”

Aaron gave her a curt nod, then strode down the boardwalk toward the livery. He normally wasn’t one to get frustrated so easily, but that woman was intent on putting ideas in his head. Ideas that he had no time for analyzing.

Because it’s the truth and you know it
.

He grunted and shoved his hat onto his head. There was no way around it. He had to concede defeat. As much as he longed to admit that Mrs. Meddler was only an interfering busybody with her pointed words and attempts at matchmaking, his heart knew that she was at least partially correct. Love might be too strong a word, but what was the use denying the truth? Miss Tara Young had waltzed into his life like an unexpected afternoon rain shower and left everything a bit brighter. He couldn’t deny it. Despite the trouble that seemed to follow wherever she went, she’d managed to work her way right into the middle of his heart.

Swiftly saddling his stallion at the livery, he made his way toward the Carpenter farmhouse, his thoughts in a muddled jumble. Why was it, when dealing with a woman—when dealing with Miss Young—logic and rational thinking seemed to vanish? He had no idea what he was going to say to her, or even if he should say something to her. He had no time for courting even if his heart was intent on winning this round.

As he approached the Carpenters’ house, he could already see the subtle changes that had transformed the double-story dwelling. The flower beds in the front had been trimmed and weeded, and the front porch now sported a brand-new coat of white paint. He was quite certain that the improvements had all been made under the watchful eye of Miss Young.

A horse was tethered beside the porch, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it didn’t belong to the Carpenters. An uneasy feeling tried to surface, but he pushed aside the worrisome thought. Just because Miss Young had a knack for trouble didn’t mean there was anything wrong this morning. The Carpenters simply had a visitor.

Dismounting from his stallion, he started up the front porch steps, then stopped. After years of being a lawman he couldn’t ignore the warning signs. Surely his overcautious feelings were nothing more than an acknowledgement of the fact that Miss Young was involved. That alone should make him more cautious. But the fact remained. Something wasn’t right. A visitor would mean tea and coffee in the front parlor, or perhaps on the front porch, and what he saw through the sitting room windows confirmed that the area was empty.

Aaron made his way along the front porch. Even if he was wrong, erring on the side of caution had rarely left him off target. He moved silently toward the side of the house. The scent of honeysuckle filled his senses, and he struggled not to sneeze. He held his breath until the unsettled feeling passed, then stepped up alongside the dining room.

A man stood with his back to the window. . .and he held a gun. A stab of fear pierced through Aaron’s gut. The balding man turned his head slightly, giving Aaron a clear view of the man’s profile.

James Martin.

Making sure he stayed as close to the house as possible, Aaron pushed aside the panic and took another side step to confirm who else was in the room. Miss Young stood across from the gunman. He caught her gaze through the window. He saw the subtle shake of her head and frowned. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but there was no way he wasn’t getting involved in the situation. It was too late for that. Especially when the person Mr. Martin was holding the gun on the woman he loved.

Loved?

Aaron grunted. Mrs. Meddler had apparently been right on all accounts. He, with all his strong notions of finishing his job without any further distractions, had fallen in love with Miss Young. But before he let plans of courting fill his mind, he needed a plan. He was going to have to be careful, for one false move and he was certain Mr. Martin was unstable enough that he would pull the trigger. And Miss Young certainly wasn’t skilled enough in the art of negotiation so that she could remedy the situation on her own.

But if anything happened to her. . .

Aaron moved swiftly toward the back of the house and, feeling completely out of control for the first time in his life, he began to pray.

❧

Tara’s heart pounded at the sight of Mr. Jefferson. Thankfully, Mr. Martin hadn’t seemed to have noticed her attempts to convey a message. All she needed was Mr. Jefferson to burst his way into the room and spook Mr. Martin. She was quite certain that with one false move, Mr. Martin would fire his pistol. And it was aimed straight at her.

Mr. Martin had spent the past hour talking about his wife, her sickness, and how no one had seemed to care about their situation. Knowing many of the good people of Browning City, Tara was quite certain that wasn’t true, but it was clearly his interpretation of the situation. The Carpenters had said little during the ordeal, which was best. There was no use aggravating the man further.

Tara glanced again at the window, but Mr. Jefferson had disappeared. Undoubtedly, he’d assumed that she had stood him up and had come after her to make sure she didn’t further pursue the gold without him. He had nothing to worry about. With a gun pointed at her for the past hour, she wasn’t going anywhere.

She was also quite certain that he was, right now, coming up with a plan to rescue her and the Carpenters. With a gun in Mr. Martin’s hand, though, there was little chance that such an action could succeed without someone getting hurt. It was time to put an end to this.

Sending up another prayer, she stood slowly, her gaze never leaving her captor’s. “I can’t change the past, Mr. Martin, but I can help you change the future.”

❧

Aaron opened the back door and tried to remember the layout of the rectangular farmhouse. His options were limited. The sitting room and the Carpenters’ bedroom were in the front of the house, while the kitchen and dining area made up the back half. A partial wall separated the dining area from the kitchen, giving him cover until he had to make his presence known. But from experience he knew the setup wouldn’t allow a surprise attack.

Setting his Stetson on the counter, he crouched on the wooden floor planks and prayed for an answer. He needed a distraction, but what? With Mr. Martin holding the gun less than six feet from Miss Young, he couldn’t take a chance of startling the man. Even if he had bad aim, the chances were still too great that he would hit her.

He needed control of the situation. But that was the one thing he didn’t have. And he didn’t foresee any changes right away. He heard voices in the next room. Miss Young’s soft, soothing voice and Mr. Martin’s raspy responses.

He was out of options.

What do I do, God?

Aaron waited for a response, an idea, anything that would get her and the Carpenters out. . .alive. His brow began to sweat. His stomach churned. He was used to pushing his way in and taking charge of a situation, not waiting around for the situation to diffuse on its own. Or in this case, explode from the barrel of a gun.

That was the option he couldn’t handle. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing, yet rushing in would only bring disaster.

Aaron cried out again to God.
I need your help, Lord. I need You. What do I do?

The question struck him. He balanced on the heels of his boots and studied a knot in the grain on the floor. Its texture was rough and jagged. Like the edges of his heart. When was the last time he’d stopped and asked God for guidance? When was the last time he hadn’t simply forged ahead on his own and instead sat quietly listening for his Savior’s answer? He’d been so wrapped up in proving himself and trying to live up to his name that he’d failed to let his relationship with Christ guide him.

Miss Young’s question at the restaurant struck him again.
Have you ever thought about what God sees as success and failure?

He’d wanted success, and had worked hard at it until the desire permeated every aspect of his life. He knew there was nothing wrong with his chosen profession, except that he’d put it above his relationship with Christ. The fact that Jesus Himself had given up success in order to bring the world salvation convicted him. Christ had worked to please only one person in life. His heavenly Father. Even to the point of taking on the sins of the world and allowing Himself to be sacrificed for the sake of a lost world.

Everything led back to the cross, and what his Savior had done for him.

Oh Lord, I’ve wandered so far from Your presence in search of my own success and earthly treasures. Help me to find You again.