by Sue Lyndon
Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the dark cloud that hovered over him. Perhaps it was time for another trip to town. Despite his need for solitude and his annoyance that Mayor Rockwell always approached him and asked him to take his place as the preacher of Culpepper Cove, Lawrence supposed a trip to town might help dull his loneliness, anger, and guilt—if only for one day.
Much as he wanted to stay in his cabin high in the Sierras and never leave, he knew it wasn’t healthy to hide out here for such long periods of time. Tomorrow at first light, he decided. Tomorrow at first light he would saddle Abraham and ride into town. He extinguished the flame and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.
The next morning as the sun splintered through the trees on top the mountain, he rode Abraham away from his claim, but stopped at the next claim over on his way down the mountain. He found Peter Witherspoon sitting in front of a fire, cooking what had once been some kind of forest critter. Behind Peter, the beginnings of a mud cottage stood, and to the right of him rested the tent he currently called home.
Guilt stabbed at Lawrence. He’d been lucky to strike it rich only days after reaching his claim. Most of the other miners, like Peter, were not as lucky.
“Pastor Black! Good morning, sir. Would you like some breakfast?”
Lawrence cringed at the title of his former calling. He’d wanted to keep the fact that he’d been a preacher for ten years a secret. But he’d made the mistake of getting drunk at The Red Petticoat Saloon one night—his first drink since he’d been a curious lad and tried a swig from his father’s bottle.
In the saloon, one whiskey too many had left him spilling his secrets to the miner seated next to him at the bar. He’d told the stranger all about his church in South Carolina, and about his wife and child, and Lord only knows what else. The memories from that night were a blur.
He’d passed out at the bar and awoken in the early morning to Madame Jewel insisting he drink a glass of water and then be on his way, lest she charge him rent for taking up a good seat. By the time he made another trip to town, everyone knew he’d once been a preacher, and the pressure for him to move into the parsonage and start holding Sunday services began.
Lawrence dismounted Abraham and approached Peter. He took his hat off and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Call me Lawrence. I haven’t stared down a congregation in two years now.”
Peter flipped the meat from his pan onto a dirty tin plate, then blew on the… squirrel? before taking a hearty bite. “Right,” he said between mouthfuls. “I heard you’ve been officiating weddings though.”
Lawrence stiffened. “Only five weddings. Didn’t plan on it either. Each time, the couples caught me when I happened to be ordering supplies in the mercantile. I couldn’t very well say no and force them to wait weeks for the circuit judge to pass through.”
Peter finished off the rest of his squirrel-like breakfast. “I found this in one of my traps this morning. Helluva lot tastier than grits.” He licked his fingers and set the plate aside, then stood up and scratched his stomach. “So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit for, Lawrence? You need help carrying another twenty pounder down the mountain?”
“I haven’t found more than a few specks of gold in the river or in the caves lately. I got lucky during my first few weeks here, is all. You’ll get lucky one day too. You have a fine claim here, Peter, I can feel it.”
“Well, I sure hope you’re right, because I plan on putting an ad in for one of those mail order brides by this time next year.” He waggled his eyebrows. “It’s all part of my plan to strike it rich and start a family out here.” Peter’s gaze turned distant for a moment. Sad, too. The man had to be fiercely lonesome sleeping by himself in that little tent night after night.
Lawrence could more than sympathize. He gulped hard. His desire to reach town soon and be amongst the living for the first time in weeks suddenly became stronger. Maybe he’d stay at the Bentley Inn for a few days, take his time ordering supplies, and visit The Red Petticoat. Except this time, he would order wine.
The prospect of seeing the dancing girls up on stage lightened his mood. He wouldn’t go so far as to spend an evening with one of the gems, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy the scenery.
He’d been shocked the first time he’d seen the girls dancing, but after visiting Culpepper a few times, it seemed as natural a sight as the sun rising over the mountains. Though his former congregation in South Carolina would be shocked if they knew he’d been in an establishment such as The Red Petticoat, he didn’t believe those who worked in the saloon were any more of a sinner than he was.
“I’m headed into town, Peter. Might stay for a few days, actually. Could you keep an eye on my claim?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Thank you.” Lawrence fixed his hat back in place. “Can I pick anything up for you at the mercantile?”
“No, but if you visit the saloon, give Opal my best.” He smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth.
“Which one is Opal?”
He sighed and looked to the sky. “She has dark eyes and brown hair, but you’ll know her by her personality. Talk to her for a minute and you’ll feel as if the sun is rising.” He sighed again.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Lawrence swung up on his horse. “Good day to you, Peter.”
“Good day, pastor.”
Lawrence bit his tongue and rode away from his neighbor’s claim. It was afternoon by the time he reached town. A few of the paths in the foothills had been nearly washed out, and he’d had to take care in guiding Abraham around the dangerous patches of mud and rock.
Once he crossed the bridge over the Culpepper River and reached town, Lawrence left his horse at the stables, trusting Abraham would be well taken care of. Next, he stalked down the street to the mercantile. He ordered cornmeal, salt beef, flour, coffee, and other essential items, as well as some mining tools that would take weeks, if not months, to arrive in Culpepper. Though he had more money than he knew what to do with, Lawrence saw no reason to sit idle in his cabin. As long as his claim yielded even the smallest flake of gold, he would keep at it, panning in the nearby creek and hardrock mining in the caves too.
Once he completed his transaction and said he’d pick up the in-stock items in two or three days, he found himself unsure of how to spend the next few hours. Directly across from the mercantile stood The Red Petticoat. He glanced out the front window. The saloon beckoned him.
He’d wondered if he had completely lost his senses the first time he had visited the establishment, and he told himself he’d only gone inside because it was the only place one could get a good meal in Culpepper. After a few drinks though, he’d found himself staring at the women, at the beautiful gems, and imagining himself taking one upstairs. He’d passed out drunk before he’d been able to decide.
Perhaps tonight. Or even right now.
Did he dare?
What would his friends and family in South Carolina think? What would Mary think?
It didn’t matter. He would never see any of them again. He’d come to Culpepper Cove on a lark, not caring if he struck it rich or failed miserably at mining.
A new life. A life far from the pain and guilt from losing Mary in childbirth. That’s what he’d wanted.
The ghosts from his past had followed him though, all the way up to his homestead on the mountain. Would the ghosts ever leave? Would he ever find peace?
Still inside the mercantile, he moved down an aisle and idly gazed at a row of canned jams. Walking around the aisle, he came face-to-face with…
Green eyes.
Wavy blonde hair.
Sensuous lips.
His breath stopped short. Lord, have mercy. He took a step back and tipped his hat to the beautiful young lady. A pretty blush stained her cheeks as she stared up at him.
“Apologies for almost knocking you over, Miss…”
“Missus,” said a severe looking elderly woman who came to stand beside the
adorable blonde. “Mrs. Smith, though the poor thing was widowed several months ago. And I am Mrs. Thom Gerrard. I must say, I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance yet, sir. You don’t look like the typical miner who travels through these parts.”
“I’m Lawrence Black, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He took turns shaking each woman’s hand, but firmed his grip when he shook Mrs. Smith’s palm and found it difficult to let go.
“Well, Mr. Black, that explains why I’ve never met you before. You’ve been too busy chasing your fortune in the mountains rather than tending to your flock. Perhaps a certain establishment across the street wouldn’t have men pouring in and out at all hours of the day if proper church services were held weekly and the townsfolk were reprimanded for their sins. Have you seen the church the town built? A right shame it stands empty.”
The old woman’s scolding made the tips of his ears burn. He had half a mind to tell her of his intention to visit that very establishment later that day.
“Mrs. Gerrard, it’s not very Christian of you to judge this man, especially since you don’t know him.” The blonde’s face paled as she spoke to her older companion. Clearly, Mrs. Smith was mortified by Mrs. Gerrard’s little speech.
“Thank you for your kind words, Mrs. Smith.”
“Please, call me Callie. I insist.”
Callie. A pretty feminine name for a pretty feminine girl. After a moment, he realized he was staring at her like a fool. Was he drooling? God, he hoped not.
“Well then, Callie, I insist you call me Lawrence,” he finally said.
She blushed again, more deeply this time. After exchanging an awkward goodbye, during which Mrs. Gerrard shot him a scornful look, he started to make his way out of the mercantile.
But his curiosity about the pretty blonde slowed his steps. He turned and peered at her from over an aisle. When she smiled at him, his heart stuttered and all the air left his chest.
What would it be like to hold her hand? To kiss her?
He found himself entertaining the sort of romantic thoughts he hadn’t experienced since he’d met Mary all those years ago.
His feet carried him to the other side of the aisle. Callie held his gaze and gave him a questioning look. His pulse quickened. Say something. His throat went dry and he swallowed hard. A glance at the counter showed Mrs. Gerrard was speaking with the owner of the mercantile.
“Did you forget something, Lawrence?” Callie asked.
Lord help him, she had the most beautiful eyes. He couldn’t look away. He could hardly breathe. “Callie, I was hoping you would do me the honor of joining me for a picnic lunch tomorrow.”
Callie’s face lit up. “I would be delighted, Lawrence.”
“Wonderful. I’ll see you at noon, then? How about near the bridge, on the bank overlooking Culpepper River?”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
They said goodbye again and Lawrence finally walked outside. The sun warmed his face as he strolled down the street. Excitement swirled within him, as well as confusion. Had he really just asked a young woman to spend time with him?
Well, he hadn’t been able to help himself. Those eyes of hers… Lord above, he could have stood in the mercantile and stared at her all day.
He reminded himself that he wasn’t looking for a wife, and then he felt incredibly guilty for the false hope he might be bringing Callie. What if the pretty blonde was searching for a husband? She was widowed and still quite young. Of course she’d be hoping to land a husband soon. What was he doing, then?
He glanced up and realized he’d walked all the way to the bridge. He stared at the sky and for the briefest instant, thought about praying for guidance. But as quickly as he’d looked up to the heavens, he lowered his eyes to the dirt road, turned, and headed back into town.
He was no more lost than he’d been in the days after Mary’s death. He hadn’t spoken to God then and he wasn’t about to start now.
The church and parsonage loomed to his right as he headed further into town. He gave both buildings a wide berth, but couldn’t help looking at them as he passed by. Sturdy buildings, both painted white with red shutters.
When would the townspeople and the mayor stop asking him to take up preaching again? He wished he would wake up one day to find all his anger gone, to find his heart wasn’t closed up anymore. But it had been two years since Mary and their son had died. Two years and still he couldn’t move on. Would he ever know the peacefulness of prayer again? Or would he keep drifting further from the man he had once been?
Shaking these dark thoughts away, he headed toward the piano music that had just started up. In this moment of confusion, he didn’t know where else to go. He hoped The Red Petticoat had decent wine.
Chapter Two
Callie sat on the large blanket she’d spread out beside the riverbank, her nervousness growing with each passing second. It was ten minutes until noon, and she tried to quiet her worries that Lawrence might not show up, but it was no use. She couldn’t calm her nerves or quiet her fears about the former preacher she was to have lunch with today.
Perhaps he’d decided to leave town earlier than planned. Perhaps he was already back in his cabin in the mountains.
A light breeze ruffled her hair and she tucked a few errant locks behind her ears. Why hadn’t she put her hair in a neat bun? Why had she left it halfway down? Maybe she ought to have worn a bonnet or a scarf over her hair. She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirts as she fretted over her appearance. She very much wanted Lawrence to find her pleasing. Of all the men she had been introduced to recently, she liked him the best.
Never mind that they hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to one another. She considered why she liked him best and couldn’t help but smile as she recalled their brief interaction in the mercantile. He had kind, dark eyes and hair as black as the night. He was tall and handsome, with a broad chest and shoulders, and he spoke in a manner more civilized than most of the men she’d met here. He also hadn’t leered at her inappropriately. Several miners she’d met yesterday had given her the same horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach as Mr. Gerrard often did.
She looked at the covered basket on the blanket beside her. She’d prepared ham sandwiches and sweet cakes for their picnic. The sweet cakes were a recipe Mammy had taught her.
Dear God, how she missed that woman. She blinked back tears and tried her best not to think of Virginia and the good and bad parts of her past that always lurked in the back of her mind.
A tall figure approached, and she squinted to make out the man’s features. She recognized the same hat Lawrence had been wearing yesterday.
Her heart skipped a beat. He’d shown up!
She jumped to her feet, then felt incredibly silly for the rapid movement. Her mother would have berated her for such unladylike exuberance. Twisting her hands in front of her, she smiled at him as he approached. Her heart skipped another beat when he returned her smile and the lines around his dark, gorgeous eyes crinkled.
Needing to break eye contact with him before she fainted, she looked pointedly at the basket he held in one hand. “Good afternoon, Lawrence. I-I’m sorry, did you say you were bringing the picnic?”
He glanced at the basket she’d set on the blanket and chuckled. “Good afternoon, Callie. And I don’t believe I said one way or another, however, Mrs. Bentley—she runs the inn with Mr. Bentley, in case you haven’t yet met them—insisted on packing a lunch for us when I told her of my plans today.”
“How nice of her. Oh, and yes, we’ve met a few times.”
“Why don’t we sit down and get to know one another better, Callie?” His eyes darkened. “I must confess I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”
She felt a flush rise over her entire face. “I, um, thank you, Mr. Black, uh, I mean Lawrence,” she stammered. Oh dear, she couldn’t even speak intelligently in his presence. He would probably decide she was a ninny after the first five minutes of their picnic. Nev
ertheless, she sat down facing him on the blanket.
They made small talk while they unpacked both baskets and spread their huge picnic out. To her surprise, he took one of the tin plates Mrs. Gerrard had provided and fixed her plate for her.
“Here you are, Callie.”
“Th-thank you.” Lord, she needed to stop it with the stammering. And the blushing. Her face felt red-hot.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’ve heard you rarely come to town. How long will you be staying at the Bentley Inn?”
“Another day or two, then I’ll be heading back up to my claim. It’s true that I don’t come to town often, but to be honest, lately I’ve felt the urge to be around folks more. Perhaps I’ll make more trips to town in the future than I have in the past.” He paused, looking pensive. “Are you staying in Culpepper for good?”
Callie hesitated. She stared at her half eaten ham sandwich and the cucumber sandwich from Mrs. Bentley that she hadn’t tried yet. “I don’t…” Her throat closed up and she started blinking hard.
This was a mistake. Why had she accepted Lawrence’s invitation? She felt an intense attraction to the man seated across from her, but she also felt deep guilt for allowing herself to get sweet on a man only months after Matthew’s passing.
Shouldn’t she mourn a year or longer? Wasn’t she dishonoring Matthew’s memory by constantly blushing under Lawrence’s stare?
“Are you unwell, Callie?” Lawrence reached forward and took her hand. He squeezed it gently and looked at her with such profound concern that she stopped breathing for several seconds.
When she eventually found her voice, she said, “I am fine. It’s just that… my husband died six months ago. We, um, eloped. Our families did not like one another, you see, and the announcement of our marriage did not go over well with my parents or his. Now that he’s gone…”
“You don’t feel as if you can go home?” he finished for her.
