Cassidy

by Lori Wick

  By the time they got back to the house that lady had gotten up from her rest. The five of them enjoyed the pie Cassidy had brought and visited for the rest of the afternoon.

  “Is Rylan interested in Cassidy?” Brad asked Trace when the men were out Sunday evening feeding the stock.

  “Are you referring to the walk they took this afternoon?”

  “Yes. Is there something going on?”

  “I don’t think so,” Trace said. “If Rylan planned to pursue Cass, he wouldn’t wait until they were here to do it. They live four blocks apart.”

  Brad let the matter drop, but it stayed on his mind. Trace, on the other hand, had been completely up front with his feelings and didn’t give it another thought. If Rylan’s interest was suddenly turning toward Cassidy, he’d be very surprised indeed.

  Doctor Ertz was not overly concerned about Meg’s pains. He was glad she’d checked with him, but he did not think there was anything to panic over. Getting closer to town might be a good idea, but he didn’t think it was time for that just yet.

  Meg and Brad were both glad for his opinion but realized it didn’t answer their questions about when Meg should move to town, if at all.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Brad said, walking Meg across the street so she could pick up some things at Wheeler’s. “And you’ll have to stay rested.”

  Meg’s mind went to work on the changes she could make in her daily routine, not even seeing that Brad was holding the door for her once they’d reached the store.

  “Oh, my, Meg,” he said quietly, smiling at her.

  “What?”

  “You’re plotting or thinking.”

  Meg bit her lip, her eyes brimming with a smile.

  “Am I right?” Brad pressed.

  “Yes,” Meg forced herself to admit before slipping inside the store. She had a long list and wanted to get to it, but her concerns about finding ways to have more rest were real. Predictable and caught by her husband or not, it was something they would have to discuss.

  “You’d better get to the livery,” Jeanette told Cassidy on Wednesday afternoon. “Meg will wonder where you are.”

  Cassidy noticed the time and realized she was right. With a few last-minute instructions, Cassidy headed toward the livery and found Mr. Stillwell in attendance.

  “Hello, Mr. Stillwell,” Cassidy greeted the livery owner. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Miss Norton. Here for your rig?”

  “Yes,” Cassidy answered, wondering where Rylan was and wishing she could ask.

  “I’ll have it for you in just a few minutes.”

  Cassidy thanked him and learned in a hurry that his idea of a few minutes was not hers. About thirty minutes later than her usual time—and wishing she had asked if she could ready the rig herself— Cassidy finally headed for the Holden Ranch.

  Meg and Trace sat on the front porch, watching for Cassidy’s buggy. She was running late today, and Trace felt disappointment fill him. He’d been planning this for two days, and Cassidy’s not being on time had never occurred to him.

  “Are you going to ask or tell?” Meg wanted to know.

  Trace smiled and said, “How does ‘strongly suggest' sound?”

  Meg smiled at her brother-in-law, thinking he was almost as sweet as her husband.

  “You don’t mind, do you, Meg?” Trace asked.

  “Not at all. We are talking about Cassidy’s safety here. How could I object to that?”

  Before Trace could reply, he spotted the buggy. He met her before she could climb down and helped her alight.

  “Change in plans today,” Trace said, glad that Meg had come off the porch to join them.

  “What’s up?” Cassidy asked.

  “Shooting first, sewing later.”

  Cassidy looked at Trace, then Meg, and back to Trace. Finally she asked of Meg, “Is he serious?”

  “He is.”

  “Why do I need to learn to shoot?” Cassidy asked Trace, feeling she needed to add, “I don’t own a gun.”

  “We’ll work on that detail later,” Trace said with complete calm. “You need to know how to protect yourself.”

  Cassidy looked as though she wanted to say something, but no words came out.

  “What’s the hesitation?” Trace asked, not wanting to railroad her but convinced this was necessary.

  “Guns are a little scary.”

  “I don’t think you’ll feel that way when you’ve learned to handle one.”

  Cassidy looked at him a moment. “Meg,” she finally asked her friend, “do you know how to shoot?”

  Meg nodded. “Brad taught me.”

  Cassidy’s gaze dropped to Meg’s stomach. “You’ll be in the house, far away from all of this, right?”

  “Yes,” Meg said with a laugh, and Trace took that as agreement.

  “Okay,” he wasted no time in saying, “you take your things inside, Cassie. I’ll see to your horse and come for you as soon as I’m done.”

  Cassidy felt as though she’d been swept up in a storm but could find no reason to object. She was waiting with a certain degree of fear when he showed up just ten minutes later.

  CHAPTER SIX

  RYLAN HAD ASKED PETE STILLWELL for the day off, feeling behind in several areas of study and ready to take some extra time to pray for the church family. His plan worked until just after lunch, when a knock on his door interrupted everything.

  Abi Pfister was standing there, paper ready, requesting—almost demanding—an interview. Rylan was not thrilled, but neither did he have a good reason to say no, realizing this was better than her showing up at the livery. Rylan was sure his boss would not appreciate that, and someone who did not understand the workings of a smith could make it downright dangerous.

  “When did you come to Token Creek, Pastor Jarvik?”

  “Five years ago.”

  “Exactly?” Abi asked her standard question.

  “Let me see.” Rylan had to think. “It will be five years in August.”

  Rylan, standing on his front porch, watched the woman write, wondering what would come next.

  “Why Token Creek?”

  “I knew the pastor who was here. Pastor English was not in the best of health and knew he wouldn’t be staying in the pulpit much longer. He wrote and asked me to come and meet the folks here. I did and I stayed.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Denver.”

  Abi, head bent, ready to write, stopped and looked up at him. “Denver? I didn’t know that. It’s a long way.”

  “Yes, it is. The trains make it shorter these days, but five years ago, when it was trains and the stage, it took a very long time.”

  “How long before you leave for another church?”

  “I don’t have plans to leave Token Creek.”

  “I thought all preachers moved around.”

  “Not all.”

  “Wallis told me they did.”

  Rylan had heard this about Abi Pfister. She liked to tell as much as she was told. He didn’t want to get into a gossip session with her, but he thought this might be a good time for the conversation to get a bit personal.

  “I think some do, but when I read my Bible I see great value in the local church family. The New Testament displays over and over again the importance of the local church, and as long as Token Creek needs a pastor, and I’m able and qualified for the job, I plan to stay.”

  “What qualifies you?” Abi asked, her paper dropping in spite of herself.

  “The qualifications for an elder are laid out in First Timothy.”

  “An elder? I thought you were a pastor.”

  “I’m called pastor, but my job is that of elder.”

  “I never read the Bible,” Abi said softly, still forgetting she was supposed to be interviewing Rylan.

  “Is there a reason you don’t?” Rylan asked kindly.

  “It’s an old book, and I like new ones.”

  “It is an old book, but not just a
ny old book. The truths of the Bible are very relevant today.”

  “You have to say that; you’re a preacher.”

  “I don’t have to say that. I believe it with all my heart.”

  “Are you going to start preaching at me?”

  “Is that part of the interview?”

  Abi surprised him by giving a short crack of laughter. For a moment more she continued to be distracted but eventually went back to work.

  “Where is your family?”

  “Denver.”

  “Anyone going to join you here?”

  “No.”

  “No wife, no children?”

  “No to both.”

  Abi suddenly speared him with her eyes. “I don’t know if I trust a preacher who isn’t married.”

  “Why is that?” Rylan asked, not the least offended.

  Abi was disarmed by this. She hadn’t expected him to ask her why. “I don’t know,” she snapped a little. “I just don’t.”

  “Well, if you figure it out,” Rylan encouraged, his voice as calm as ever, “let me know.”

  Abi had no choice but to admire the man, although she did not let this show on her face. There was no artifice in him. She knew that Sheriff Kaderly thought very highly of him, as did everyone else she talked to. If rumor could be believed, Rylan Jarvik did not talk one way and act another.

  “That’s all for now,” Abi said, putting her things into her bag, her lopsided hat bobbing in the process. “But I might be back.”

  “And I might be here,” Rylan answered, a little tease in his voice.

  “Well, I can always find you at the livery.”

  “I can’t be interviewed if I’m working,” Rylan took the opportunity to say. “It’s not safe in a livery, and Pete Stillwell pays me to work.”

  Abi didn’t like being reminded that she was in the habit of disturbing folks while they worked. Jessie Wheeler would never talk to her when the store was open, and if Abi had been thinking right, she would have realized that Jessie had customers who needed her more, and two daughters to look after as well. What folks didn’t understand was that she had a book to write, and it was important.

  “Was there anything else?” Rylan asked, and Abi realized she’d been standing there doing nothing.

  “No,” she said, her voice clipped. With that word, she turned and walked away. Rylan said goodbye, but she didn’t answer, nor did she thank him. She never thanked anyone for their story. What she was doing was important. The folks of Token Creek should be thanking her!

  “It’s heavier than it looks,” Cassidy said after Trace showed her how to hold the revolver.

  “Use two hands,” he instructed, watching her closely.

  “And you’re sure it has no bullets yet?”

  “Here, I’ll show you,” Trace took the weapon back, broke it open and showed her the empty chambers. “See,” he said, holding it for her to examine. “All clear.”

  Cassidy looked into the gun and then up into the cowboy’s face, shaded by his hat but still very clear.

  “Trace,” Cassidy said quietly, “what happened Saturday night that did this?”

  Trace looked into her blue eyes, clear and trusting as a child’s. He knew he had to leave Cassidy’s life in God’s hands, but if there was something he could do to prevent her being harmed, he had to do it.

  “I’ve been naive about life in town,” Trace admitted. “Jeanette is not on Main Street. She’s away from the saloons. The other women I know live with their husbands or fathers. You’re more alone on Saturday night than I ever realized. Teaching you to shoot does not make everything all right, but if there was ever a need to protect yourself, you would know how.”

  Cassidy nodded, not sure she could shoot this gun but not willing to admit that.

  “Okay, take the revolver again, with both hands, and just point it at the target I set up.”

  Cassidy did as she was told, finding it a little easier with both hands, but also discovering that her arms tired easily.

  “I think you might take for granted how strong your arms are, Trace.”

  “You sew for a living. You could probably crack nuts with those fingers of yours.”

  “That might be true, but I don’t hold my sewing two feet in front of me, and my strength is not in my arms.”

  “Are you telling me you can’t do this, Miss Norton?” Trace asked, a clear challenge in his voice.

  Cassidy’s chin came up. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then get that gun steadied and aimed.”

  Cassidy positioned the gun and then looked defiantly at her instructor.

  “Anything else, Mr. Holden?”

  Trace had to grin before saying, “Pull the trigger.”

  The weapon trembled a bit, but she did it, her face a mixture of fear and surprise even with that empty click.

  “How was that?” Cassidy asked, a bit breathless, all defiance gone.

  “Very good.” Trace’s praise was genuine. “Do it again. See if you can get things a little steadier this time.”

  Cassidy worked along strongly for the next thirty minutes. Not until Trace noticed the sweat trickling down her right temple did he realize she was without a bonnet or hat and the June sun was relentless above them.

  “Let’s take a break.”

  “A break?”

  “I thought it might be time.”

  “I can do this,” Cassidy said with certainty.

  “Yes, you can,” Trace encouraged, “but it’s hot out here, and you’re working hard.”

  Cassidy agreed and soon after their break learned that there would be no time for sewing that day. With the gun finally loaded, she would not stop working with the revolver until she got it right. Trace pressed her to knock all the cans from the fence, and that took some doing. Indeed it took until nearly suppertime, but she accomplished it.

  “What are you looking at?” Meg asked Brad, catching him at the window when she thought he was working on some paperwork.

  “Just the shooting lesson.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “Good.”

  Hearing his distracted tone, Meg stared at her husband’s profile. “What are you thinking about?”

  Brad looked down at Meg, slipped an arm around her, and said, “Things I’m not ready to talk about. Can I tell you later?”

  “Sure,” Meg said, cuddling and working to keep her imagination calm.

  Brad’s free hand went to his wife’s stomach, and he simply held her close. He was not willing to put thoughts into Meg’s head when he wasn’t even sure what to do with the ones in his own.

  Cassidy was nowhere near as lively during supper as the Holden family was used to seeing. And when after the meal ended Trace suggested they head to town a little early, she did not argue. Trace didn’t press her to talk but got her home without delay. He told her she’d done a great job, and she looked pleased, but there was no missing the fatigue that hung on her. It would not have surprised him to learn that Cassidy went to bed as soon she got home and slept hard all night.

  Token Creek’s seamstress was not the only person who took Rylan’s words on hospitality to heart. Before she could invite the Holdens for a meal, the Vick family asked her to join them for Sunday dinner.

  “This is Buster,” Heidi told Cassidy with pride, taking her to see the dog the moment she arrived and looking very pleased when Cassidy went down on her knees to pet the puppy who had clearly just wakened. He yawned, and his little eyes began to close again as Cassidy stroked his downy-soft head.

  “He’s such a sweet dog, Heidi. No wonder you love him.”

  Heidi looked pleased and, as in the past, Cassidy’s heart melted over her shy smile and shining brown eyes.

  “Don’t let that sleepy look fool you,” Chas said, having watched the scene. “When he cries in the night or chews up my shoes, he’s not so charming.”

  “Don’t let Chas fool you either, Cassie,” Miranda added, having to tease her husband. “
This is also the man who lets that dog sleep on his lap after the kids are in bed.”

  Chas laughed at being caught. Miranda laughed with him and told everyone that dinner was ready. Parker had some rough moments because he wanted to sit in his father’s lap and not his chair, but eventually his tears and attitude were dealt with and the meal began.

  “Do you know Trace?” Franklin asked Cassidy while dishes were still being passed.

  “I do know Trace.”

  “He talked to me today,” Franklin offered, his little face showing pleasure without smiling.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “His ranch. I’ve been there. He has a horse.”

  “Yes, he does,” Cassidy agreed. “I think his name is Quincy.”

  Franklin nodded in agreement, and Cassidy’s eyes eventually swung to Miranda, who quietly filled her in.

  “Franklin wants to own a ranch and have a horse someday. He thinks Trace and Brad are pretty special.”

  “Not a carpenter?” Cassidy asked, looking to Chas who had built several of Token Creek’s houses and could turn his hand to anything involving wood.

  “Not at seven,” Chas said with a smile, not at all offended by his son’s dreams. “He might change his mind when he sees how much cheaper a hammer is than a horse.”

  Cassidy was careful not to laugh out loud, never wanting Franklin to think she was making fun of him, but she was tempted. He was so sincere and sweet, and everything about the Vick children delighted her.

  At the end of the meal, Parker even let her hold him, his three-year-old body warm and snug against her as they looked at a book, confirming yet again to Cassidy that she wanted children of her own. However, she never dreamed that Chas was already working to find her a husband.

  “Why have none of our men snatched up Cassidy Norton?” Chas asked Miranda much later that day.

  Miranda looked at Chas, surprised to hear him say this. She wanted to tease him about matchmaking but stayed serious.

  “Are you thinking of someone in particular?”