But For Grace (HEARTSONG PRESENTS - HISTORICAL)

by Tracey V. Bateman

  Foul language? Star gaped at him. “Do you mean—?”

  He stepped back, holding up a hand, palm forward. “Don’t say it again.”

  He strode to the other side of the wagon, leaving Star to stare after him in bewilderment. She caught up to him, her long legs matching his, stride for stride. “What do you mean you have a daughter? I thought you said you weren’t married.”

  “My wife died when Aimee was born.”

  “Oh,” Star mumbled. “I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t be. She’s not.”

  “She’s not what? Dead?” Michael was sure an odd duck. Did he have a wife, or didn’t he?

  Michael took a step, then stopped as Star blocked his path. “She’s not sorry she’s dead. Okay?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She didn’t want to live if she had to live with the likes of me. All right?” He took her by the arm and moved her out of his way. He grabbed one horse by the bridle and led the team toward the fallen tree.

  Spurred on by insatiable curiosity, Star trailed behind him, refusing to be intimidated by his frustration. “Well, how could you possibly know that?” Confused by the whole conversation, she felt a measure of hope all the same. “Do you have the power to speak with the dead?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  “What?”

  “You know. . .the power to converse with the dearly departed.” Star had visited a traveling carnival once where a lady claimed to have the power to tell the future and communicate with the dead. At the time, there was no one she especially felt the need to speak to—not enough to part with ten cents, anyway. Star gathered a deep breath, suddenly feeling foolish. But, if Michael knew how his wife felt about being dead, he must have been talking to her about it. “Well?” she asked, resting her hands firmly on her hips. “Can you or can you not speak with the dead? Or is your wife the only person you can conjure up?”

  His jaw dropped, his eyes wide in horror. “What are you suggesting?”

  Stung by his sharp tone, Star felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I just. . .well. . .will you help me speak to my mother?”

  “How can I?”

  Unbidden, tears filled her eyes. “She was. . .that is, she died recently, but I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “If I could only speak to her one more time.”

  All the thunder left his face. He dropped the bridle and took Star’s hands in his.

  She eyed him warily and pulled away from the warmth of his touch.

  He didn’t try to hold her, but placed two fingers beneath her chin, raising her head gently until he captured her gaze. The kindness in the brown depths surprised her, confused her, and made her want to lay her head against his broad chest and unburden herself.

  “Honey, no one can speak to your ma after she’s dead. The Bible is very clear that to even try is sinful. Worse, it’s an abomination to God.”

  “It is?” Star didn’t want to be sinful or an abomination—whatever that was. She wanted desperately to be good. Ever since the night she’d learned about Jesus from an old drunken miner, she’d tried to be kind and obedient—to somehow make up for all the pain Jesus had gone through at her expense. She didn’t own a Bible, had never even seen one up close, but, oh, how she wanted to please God. “S–sinful?”

  He gave her a solemn nod. “I’m afraid so. Didn’t you know that?”

  Feeling foolish, Star felt her defenses rise. “Well, if I knew, do you think I’d have asked about it?”

  “How am I supposed to know? So far, I’ve noticed you don’t seem too concerned with what is or isn’t right. You kick and punch perfect strangers trying to help you, you use foul language, and you raised your skirt when I was looking right at you. I’m not sure what kind of woman you are.”

  A gasp escaped her lips. “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.” An image of women turning away from her mama on the street flashed through Star’s mind, igniting her anger. This man was no different from the people in town who crossed the street when she and Mama came anywhere near, people who never had a kind word for the likes of them.

  Familiar resentment burned inside of Star until she felt she might burst. A torrent of words bubbled to her lips as she opened up and let him have it. With an eloquence she didn’t know she possessed, Star released all the pent-up frustration she’d held onto for years. Frustration of being turned out of school after school when people—usually the very men who frequented the saloons—found out she was attending with their precious children.

  The bewilderment on Michael’s face gave her some measure of satisfaction as she told him just what she thought of his high-and-mighty attitude.

  His brow furrowed when she called him a hypocrite. And his eyes grew stormy when she told him she’d met a huge grizzly bear with more kindness than he would ever possess.

  Then the moment came when she knew she crossed the line. The words flew from her mouth before she could stop them. “And no wonder your wife would rather be dead than stuck living with an unfeeling, grouchy man like you.”

  Three

  Michael felt the blood drain from his face. How could such beautiful lips utter the cruel words he had just heard? Pain knifed through his heart, and suddenly he felt weak. Unable to speak, he stared in stunned silence at the flushed face before him.

  Her eyes grew wide and her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, Mr. Riley,” she said, her voice full of regret. “I don’t know how I could have said such a horrid, horrid thing.”

  Michael grabbed a chain from the bed of the wagon and walked back around to the horses. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

  She trailed behind him. “Of course it matters. You’ve been nothing but kind and helpful.”

  He maneuvered around her to attach the chain. “And so far it’s gotten me punched, kicked, bit, and a good tongue-lashing,” he said bitterly. “You certainly know how to show your appreciation.”

  “You’re right. I don’t deserve your kindness.”

  The self-loathing in her voice melted some of Michael’s anger. Some. But enough remained to keep him from falling for the quivering rosy lips and eyes luminous from the tears. He’d been taken in by such beauty before. This woman had been nothing but trouble since he’d met her. Her recent poisonous words solidified his suspicion that she was just as cruel as Sarah. Was there not a lovely woman alive who was lovely in spirit as well? Or must a man choose between beauty and grace? If a man gave in to the lust of the eye and fell for a pretty face, was it his lot in life to be saddled with a sharp-tongued shrew? Well, not him. That was for sure. If he had to marry the ugliest woman God ever made, he’d see to it Aimee had a decent woman to call “Ma.” A God-fearing, sweet tempered gal who would love him the way a man needed to be loved.

  Michael led the horses to the fallen tree and found a branch he hoped would be thick and sturdy enough to drag from.

  “I–is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No.” He wrapped the chain securely to keep it from slipping. “Just stay out of the way. I’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her shoulders drop as she walked away. Guilt pricked him, but he brushed it aside in a moment of indignant self-justification.

  After all, he had left home two days before, expecting to sell a pig and pick up enough supplies to last a few weeks. Everything had gone as smoothly as he could have hoped for until this slip of a girl had smacked into him. Now he was stuck with her—a foul-mouthed little heathen who, in all likelihood, would rob him blind in his sleep.

  Fighting with the horses as they slipped around on the muddy road, Michael turned his full attention to the chore, all but forgetting about Star in the process. When the tree finally lay at the side of the road, he looked around. The girl was nowhere in sight. His throat tightened. Where could she have gone? A good thirty minutes had passed since she walked away, so she couldn’t have gotten far.

  He assessed the si
tuation. There were only two choices for her: the woods or the road back to the very place she had run away from.

  If he were a betting man, he’d wager a nickel she’d head back to town and try to find another way to avoid being caught. Most likely, another unsuspecting man would take pity on her before the day was out. Good riddance.

  If she doesn’t get herself caught first.

  Frustrated, Michael yanked off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of one hand. Why should he care if she walked all the way back to Oregon City and faced what she had coming for stealing? He wasn’t wasting any more time on her. He’d hitch up the wagon and head for home.

  He set about doing just that, trying to ignore his niggling conscience, until finally in frustration, he smacked his hat against his thigh and stared heavenward.

  “But that girl is nothing but trouble, Lord,” he argued. “Look what she’s put me through in the few hours I’ve known her.”

  A leftover rumble of thunder in the far distance answered. He couldn’t very well just leave her on the road alone—even if she did deserve it.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, Michael climbed into the wagon. The girl obviously needed help—the kind of help only God could give her. Resolutely, he turned the horses to the road heading back to Oregon City.

  Within a few moments, he spied Star ahead of him. She looked so fragile, walking between the trees towering above her on either side of the road. A protective urge tugged at Michael’s heart, and suddenly he was glad he’d followed her.

  Star glanced around.

  Michael waved.

  Jutting her chin, she turned back to the road and straightened her shoulders without slowing her gait.

  Look, Lord, she’s not even grateful I came after her.

  Michael flicked the reins, and the horses quickened their step. Within a couple of moments, he was close enough behind her that the horses could have nudged her if they’d wanted to. He cleared his throat loudly, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. She ignored him.

  “Get in the wagon, Star. You know you can’t go back to Oregon City. What about that rough character looking for you? Do you want him to nab you?”

  “It’s no more than I deserve for speaking to you the way I did.”

  Michael didn’t try to cover his smile. He inched the wagon beside her. “Come on,” he said, as though speaking to his daughter. “Let’s go home.”

  “I don’t have a home,” she said with a sniff. Michael could see the tears creeping down her face, and his heart lurched.

  “You can stay with us until you figure out what to do,” he offered. Now where in the world had that come from? He’d planned to let her stay the night, then take her into the small, nearby town of Hobbs in the morning. He figured she could work in the restaurant.

  “I don’t take charity.” She lifted her chin. “I’d rather go back and face Luke.”

  You’ll take money that doesn’t belong to you, but not a little kindness that’s freely offered? He kept the words to himself. She had no idea he knew what she’d done. If there was any hope for her soul, he’d have to wait until she repented and confessed her sin on her own.

  “Glad to hear it, because I’m not suggesting charity. You can work for your keep until you find something else.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. Her brow creased. “Listen, Mister, I know you don’t have a wife, but I’m not that kind of woman.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Michael replied, pulling the horses to a stop.

  She eyed him warily for a moment. Her eyes grew wide, and a bright pink spot appeared on each cheek. “Oh.”

  Understanding dawned on Michael. He felt the heat creep up the back of his neck and knew his face was as red as hers. Where had the girl gotten such crude notions?

  Are you sure I’m supposed to take her in, Lord? What about Aimee? I don’t want this woman teaching my daughter sinful habits.

  “All I meant was that my ma is getting on in years. She could use a little extra help around the place. And that’s all.”

  “No, thank you. I don’t deserve your kindness.”

  Michael expelled a heavy sigh at her dramatics. If she kept up the self-loathing, she’d end up in sackcloth and ashes before the day was out.

  He hopped down from the wagon and reached out. “Come on. You know you can’t go back to Oregon City. And you’d be doing me a mighty big favor if you come help Ma out.”

  She released a sigh and remained silent a moment as though weighing her options. Then she nodded. “All right.” Avoiding his gaze, she accepted his hand and climbed up into the wagon. She scooted as far away as she could without falling off the seat.

  Michael shook his head and climbed up beside her. Carefully, he flicked the reins and maneuvered the horses around.

  As he headed the wagon toward home, anxiety gnawed at his stomach. How would he ever be able to explain this to his mother?

  ❧

  “Wake up. We’re home.”

  From a dream world, Star awoke to the soothing voice. Slowly, she came to consciousness, aware of her aching cheek. Her eyes flew open as she realized her head rested upon Michael’s solid shoulder. She jerked away, heat rushing to her face. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

  “I’m surprised you slept at all, the way this wagon bounced and slid around in the mud,” Michael said with a chuckle.

  Star held herself up primly and settled her hands in her lap. “Well, it’s just not very proper for me to have rested my head on your shoulder like that. It’s bad enough we didn’t make it to your home before dark.”

  Star groaned inwardly. What would his mother think? Would she be like the town women, all propriety and no kindness? Probably. The very thought filled her with dread.

  Michael leaned toward her, causing Star to shrink back. “Don’t worry,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  Michael pulled on the reins, and the wagon slowed to a stop. He hopped to the ground and offered her a steadying hand. “Go on up to the house while I unhitch the wagon and put the horses down for the night.”

  Star’s stomach tightened. “N–no, I’ll wait for you.” If she went to the door alone, the woman would send her packing before Michael even made it up to the house.

  Michael shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  A shiver slid up Star’s spine as he led the horses to the barn, leaving her alone in the black, starless night. Nervously, she rubbed her hands up her arms. She hugged herself tightly for warmth, wishing for her shawl.

  The overwhelming events of the day came rushing back. Everything she’d ever known was gone. She was orphaned, without a stitch of clothing besides what she wore on her back, and so little money in her pocket, she couldn’t afford to buy any more. And here she was, at the mercy of strangers.

  Oh, what had she been thinking? This Michael Riley could be a robber or a murderer. She might be worse off now than she’d been in Luke’s greedy clutches. And what if. . . ? Star gasped at the wretched thought spinning around her brain. What if Michael didn’t have a mother or a daughter? What if that was only a ploy to get her to come all the way out here?

  Panic gripped her. She turned on her heel and fled into the night, back up the rutted road leading away from the house. She didn’t care where she ended up, but anywhere certainly would be better than being stranded alone with a lying skunk like Michael Riley.

  Star stumbled along blindly, praying for all she was worth that no wild animal would capture her scent and come to investigate.

  She glanced around and screamed as a shadowy figure closed the distance between them. Without warning, her foot twisted painfully, and she lost her balance. The ground came up to meet her, and she landed with a squish on the muddy road.

  Pain shot through her ankle. Star moaned, knowing there was no way she could outrun whatever was chasing her. She rolled over, prepared to fight off the attacker. Before she could put her hands
up in defense, a furry body straddled her. Massive paws rested on her chest, pushing all breath from her body. She looked up at sharp, white fangs. Closing her eyes, she waited to become dinner for the beast.

  A warm tongue lapped at her face.

  “Cannonball, get your muddy paws off the lady.”

  Star’s eyes popped open at the sound of Michael’s voice. She took a closer look at the wild beast and nearly fainted in relief. Cannonball turned out to be a big, tail-wagging mutt. He licked her a couple more times, then let out a loud bark.

  Michael laughed outright. “You made his night. It isn’t often old Cannonball gets someone new to play with.”

  Star ignored his outstretched hand and struggled to her feet. But her ankle gave out, and she would have lost her footing again, if not for Michael’s sudden, steady hand on her arm. “I wasn’t playing with him. I was running away from him.”

  “Well, don’t let him hear you say that,” Michael said, amusement thick in his voice. “You might hurt his feelings.”

  Cannonball sniffed her hand, then gave it a lick, leaving a wet streak. Star pulled away and rubbed her palm on her skirt. “As if I’m worried about hurting his feelings,” she huffed, pushing at the great mutt as he jumped up on her, nearly sending her back to the ground.

  “Down, Boy,” Michael said sternly. His hand tightened around her arm, and he started to guide her back up the road toward the house.

  Star sucked in a breath as she tried to step down.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “My ank—foot.”

  “Put your arms around my neck.”

  “Th–that won’t be necessary.”

  Michael released a heavy, frustrated sigh and swung her up into his arms before she could resist.

  “I can walk!”

  “I doubt it. And even if you could limp your way up to the house, it would take twice as long. As I told you hours ago, I’m hungry.”

  Star’s stomach did a flip-flop at her closeness to this man. She tried to dredge up the anger she’d felt just moments before, but his warm breath tickled the arm she had slung around his neck for support, making it impossible for her heart to harden against him.