God was surely disappointed in him, too. As a Christian, he knew God loved all men—and women—no matter their race. Miss Worley was no more responsible for his father’s death than Claire or Jack. He gazed up at the sky. “Help me, Lord, not to judge all people of Indian blood because of one man’s heinous mistake. I realize how irrational that is, but I can’t seem to stop. I’m angry at my father’s senseless murder. I don’t know how to let go of my anger.”
Could it be that coming to Anadarko was part of God’s plan for him? He never would have made the move if not for his father’s death. A pastor he’d heard once said that all our days are numbered, and only God knows that number. He said that no one could take your life before God’s time for you to go. If that was true, then his father’s death had been God’s will.
He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to grasp the concept. A warm breeze caressed his face, almost as if God had blown a breath in his direction. He felt a freedom—a peace—that he hadn’t felt in a long while. All this time he’d been angry and upset, trying to move on with his life on his own instead of turning to God.
As he rode down the streets of Anadarko, several people nodded while others lifted a hand, waving at him. He smiled back. He had a home here, and he was making friends. It was time he let go of the past and faced his future.
Instantly, his thoughts shot straight to Miss Worley. She certainly was pretty, with those black eyes glinting when she was upset. It still surprised him that he was drawn to her. He admired her desire to help the girl. He just hoped it wouldn’t fade as she realized how much work was involved in raising a child. Too many people took in children like those on the orphan train or ones from an orphanage to make them personal slaves. He doubted that was Miss Worley’s reason for taking in the young girl. Claire was too little to be of any help. In fact, she would add to Miss Worley’s workload.
As he reached his small barn, he reined his horse to a stop and dismounted. He unfastened the cinch and tugged off the saddle. Perhaps there was something he could do to help out Miss Worley. Sometimes people paid him with food supplies he wasn’t partial to, like turnips or beets. Chickens and sometimes a cow came his way, but he preferred to eat his chicken and beef prepared by the hands of someone else. Though he could do surgery on a person, he couldn’t stand participating in slaughtering animals.
He dropped the saddle onto the wooden block, remembering something that happened years ago, way back before his mother died. At his mother’s request, when he was just a child, he’d tried wringing a chicken’s neck, but in the end he’d turned the bird loose and told her it had gotten away. That was one of the few times he’d lied to either of his parents. He smiled at the memory. After looking that poor ugly hen in the face, he just couldn’t kill her. Even then he’d had a merciful heart. He preferred fixing injured animals and people.
He hadn’t seen a milk cow at Miss Worley’s place. He’d never taken one in trade, or that would be something he could pass on to her since he had no need for one. He’d recently accepted several smoked hams, but he could never eat that much pork. Maybe he could do some swapping for a goat. But then he’d have the issue of getting Miss Worley to accept it from him. He smiled. Where there was a will, there was a way.
After a day of hard work at Sarah’s house and enjoying a good supper that she and Mrs. Peterson had cooked, Jack rode into Anadarko. He’d put Cody to bed in Sarah’s tent with Claire and gone for a ride. He couldn’t explain his restlessness to Sarah when she’d asked where he was going so late in the day. Maybe she hadn’t realized that it was eight months ago today that Cora had died.
He missed his wife and still didn’t understand why God had taken her from him. It was probably just as well that he wasn’t preaching at his church in Guthrie now. Those first sermons after her death had been difficult, and he feared his anger and confusion might have come through, even though he’d tried to hide it.
He rode down the quiet street, noting the changes. A week had passed since he’d been to town, and there were more completed buildings. Most were still raw wood, but a few had been painted. Plenty of tents remained, where people either lived or ran their business. There was something exciting about witnessing the birth of a town. Everyone was filled with hope.
He’d be lying if he said he was. In truth, he’d been disappointed at not winning land, and a time or two he’d been jealous of Sarah. He’d been hoping for a fresh start in a new place with not so many memories of Cora.
Jack nodded at a man who closed the door of his barbershop and started down the street. A hound dog that had been lying down in front of the building rose and stretched then followed the barber. The man had a slight resemblance to Gabe. His friend had encouraged him to take time away from the pulpit after Cora’s death, but Jack hadn’t wanted to create more havoc for his congregation.
Gabe told him he needed time to grieve Cora’s death, but he’d told himself that he had to be strong for Cody. The boy hardly ever asked about his ma anymore. Did Cody remember how Cora had hummed as she worked around the house? Or that she never let him and Cody leave without kissing them both good-bye? Surely his son wouldn’t forget the special cake and big to-do his mama had made for his birthday each year.
Jack’s heart clenched. Would Cody remember any of that after a few years had gone by? He couldn’t begrudge his son the fact that kids were more adaptable than adults.
A ruckus down the alley on his right made him slow his horse. A woman screamed, and a man who looked to be attacking her stumbled into Jack’s view. He reined his horse, kicked him into a trot down the alley, and headed straight for the man.
The stranger looked up and let go of the woman, stepping back just as Jack’s horse plowed into him. He fell onto his backside in a pile of debris, looking surprised. Jack jumped off and grabbed him by the collar. “A man’s got no business roughing up a lady.”
The man made a noise in the back of throat then spat to the side. “She ain’t no lady.”
Jack pulled the smelly drunk to his feet. “She’s a woman, and as such, should be treated with respect.”
“L’me go. You can have the trollop. She ain’t worth fightin’ over.” The man pushed at Jack’s chest, and he turned him loose. He waited until the man had gone inside what he just realized was a saloon. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t noticed the tinny piano music or the raucous laughter.
He backed up his horse and looked at the woman for the first time. She wore the typical low-cut show dress of a saloon gal, revealing her—. He jerked up his gaze, trying to focus on her pretty but painted face and not anything lower. She swiped her hand across the corner of her mouth, where blood trickled down.
“Thank you for helpin’ me, mister, but you shouldn’t have gone to the trouble. I don’t deserve to have a good man like you standin’ up for the likes of me.”
“Everyone deserves to be treated kindly, ma’am. Can I ask your name?”
“My real name is Charlotte VanBuren, but I ain’t used it in a long while. Folks here call me Sadie.”
“I’m Jack Jensen. If you want to leave this place, Miss VanBuren, I can help you.”
She stared at him, blinking her eyes as if she wasn’t sure he was real. Then she snorted. “There ain’t nowhere else for a woman like me to go.”
“Yes, there is. You don’t have to live this life. I’ll help you if you want to leave.”
For a moment, her eyes lit with hope before they glassed over again. “I cain’t leave. My little sister’s in school, and I need my pay to keep her there.” She ducked her head and then fluffed her overly short purple skirt. “I gotta keep her in school so she don’t end up like me.”
“There are other ways for a woman to make a living.”
She huffed a crude laugh. “Not for one who cain’t neither sew nor cook.”
“You could learn.”
She eyed him. “What are you? A preacher man?”
A grin tugged at his lips. “Sometimes.”
“I ain’t never heard of a sometimes preacher.”
“I have a church back in the Guthrie area, but I’m here to help a family member get settled on their land.”
She moved closer then ran her finger down the buttons of his shirt. She cocked her head. “You a drinkin’ kind of preacher?”
Jack shook his head and stepped back. “No, ma’am. I’m not. If you’re not interested in my help, I’d best be on my way.” He tipped his hat. “Remember, God loves you as much as He does me or any other person in town. I’ll be at this same spot this time next week. If you decide you want to leave this place, be here ready to go.”
“She ain’t goin’ nowhere.” A bald man with a bushy mustache stormed off the porch with another larger man following. The drunk he accosted shuffled out the door behind them with a smirk on his face.
“Get inside, Sadie,” the first man said. “I don’t pay you to stand out here and gab with strangers.”
“You don’t hardly pay me nuthin’.”
He slapped the back of his hand against her cheek. Sadie gasped and pressed her palm to her face. She flashed Jack an apologetic glance then rushed up the steps and into the saloon. The man rounded on him. Too late, Jack realized the bigger man had crept around behind him. The giant grabbed Jack’s arms, pulling them back. He struggled against the man’s hold, but he couldn’t break free.
“You ain’t welcome here. I don’t cotton to strangers comin’ here and tryin’ to steal my girls.” He balled his fist and slugged Jack in the belly, forcing the breath from his lungs. Two more punches to his gut bent him over. The mustache man slugged him in the face, three times. Blood filled Jack’s mouth and pain flooded his body. He hauled back and belted his fist against Jack’s temple. His head was flung sideways, and the big man released his hold, allowing Jack to fall to the ground. He fought to keep conscious.
The drunk stumbled over and gave him a benign kick in the side, spilling some of his whisky onto Jack’s shirt. He murmured a curse then headed back inside.
Nasty scents assaulted him as he lay in the filth of the street. Men often vomited or relieved themselves outside a saloon. Jack didn’t want to think what he was lying in, but he couldn’t move. Pain stabbed his belly and face. It looked like he had two horses waiting on him, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He needed to get home. Sarah would be worried, as would Cody if he woke up and couldn’t find him.
Another man exited the back door of the saloon, and Jack braced himself for more pain. The man bent down. “You think you can get up, mister? Sadie asked me to help you. Said you was just tryin’ to help her, so I’m obliged for that. I’m rather partial to that gal.”
Jack nodded and struggled to sit up. His gut screamed at him. He worked his jaw, glad it wasn’t broken. The man helped him to his feet. Jack wobbled but managed to keep standing. He pressed his arm against his stomach to hold back the burning pain.
“You wanna walk to the doctor or ride?”
He shook his head. He needed to get back to Sarah’s. “No doctor.”
The man lifted one eyebrow. “I got orders to get you to a doctor. Sadie knows how Hamlin and his ogre can beat up a man.”
“Fine. Take me to Dr. Worth then.” Jack managed to climb onto his horse and hang on as the man led the gelding down the street. Things sure hadn’t turned out well tonight. What would Sarah say when she saw him?
The crickets outside created a peaceful atmosphere as Sarah sat on her cot in her tent, praying for Jack to return soon to get Cody and take him to their tent. It wasn’t until she’d finished her evening Bible reading that she realized what day this was—the day Cora had died eight months ago. No wonder Jack had been moping and restless much of the day. Most days troubles ran off him like water on oiled canvas, but not today.
As she ran her brush through her long hair, she wondered what it would be like to lose a spouse you loved so much. She’d never been in love. Hadn’t ever known anyone who was until she met Gabe and Lara, whose love was still strong after twelve years of marriage. Then Jack had married Cora and brought her to live at the ranch. Sarah had watched their fresh, new love grow into something more mature and endless. But it had ended—when Cora died.
A much as she wanted her independence, a part of her longed to be loved as Gabe and Jack loved their wives. She thought about Luke, and an odd feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach. He asked her to marry him, but did he truly love her? They’d been friends for so long that it was hard to think of him as her husband, but on the other hand, it made her sad to think of not having him in her life at all.
Maybe after she moved into her house and realized that dream, she could think about marriage, especially if Claire’s family never came for her. But she couldn’t dwell on that right now. She was worried about Jack.
She set the brush on the crate she used for a table, walked to the tent’s opening, and stared out. She yawned, longing to shed her clothing and don her nightgown, but she’d decided to wait until Jack had returned.
Behind her, Cody slept on a quilt next to Claire’s pallet. Their soft breathing comforted her, making her feel not so alone. At least she’d have Claire to keep her company—she hoped—after Jack and Cody returned home. No one had come to claim the girl yet, but she knew that news traveled slowly, and it could take months before the child’s family discovered her whereabouts. Sarah nibbled her lip. She didn’t want to give up Claire. She’d already come to love her.
A noise drew her gaze outside again. She spun around and tugged the gun Luke had given her from her satchel. She could hear the jingle of harnesses drawing closer, which meant whoever had ridden onto her property wasn’t Jack. But who could be out at this hour? She rushed back and turned down the lantern, hoping the stranger hadn’t already crested the hill and seen it.
Her heart thudded as she listened to the vehicle draw nearer and nearer. She breathed in a ragged breath. A deep voice called, “Whoa.”
Sarah tightened her grip on the pistol. She tried to call out, “Who’s there?” but her voice wouldn’t work.
“Miss Worley? It’s Dr. Worth.”
What was he doing here at this hour? In spite of the odd timing of his visit, she was relieved it wasn’t a stranger who’d come calling.
“Your brother got into a fight and was injured. I’ve brought him home.”
Sarah gasped. She wasn’t sure what concerned her more—that Jack had been fighting or that he was injured. She shoved her gun back into the satchel, kicked the bag under her cot, and then grabbed the lantern. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, turned up the lantern, and rushed out of the tent.
Dr. Worth had climbed down from his buggy and was helping Jack descend on the passenger’s side. He moved slowly as if in pain and grunted loudly when his feet hit the ground. What could have happened? She’d never known Jack to get in a brawl. Yes, his life had been rough before he became a Christian, but not since then. Not in all the years she’d known him had she ever seen him lose his temper. She hurried to his side and held up the lantern, unable to hold back her gasp at his swollen and cut face. And he reeked of whiskey. “Have you been drinking?”
“Of course not.” He grunted out the words as if they cost him to utter them.
“He needs to lie down,” Dr. Worth said. “Where is his tent?”
“About ten yards behind mine.” She held up the lantern to light the way as the doctor assisted Jack.
She hurried inside the tent and lit Jack’s lantern, setting hers on the crate beside it. The doctor helped Jack inside and lowered him to his cot.
He sat there, head hanging. “I feel as if I’ve been run down by a herd of stampeding cattle.”
“What happened? Were you robbed? Can I get you anything?” Her heart ached at seeing him so battered.
The doctor touched her arm. “He could use some water. I have some powder I want him to take that will ensure he gets a good night’s rest. The questions that I’m sure are running around in that pretty head of yours ca
n wait until tomorrow.”
She wanted to ask him how she was supposed to sleep when she had so many questions, but she didn’t. “I’ll get him a drink.”
She grabbed her lantern and returned to her tent, where she kept a bucket of water in case she or Claire got thirsty overnight. As she filled her tin cup, the questions flooded her again. Was Jack so upset over this being the eight-month anniversary of Cora’s death that he’d gone drinking? It seemed so inconceivable that she couldn’t believe it was possible.
In Jack’s tent, she handed Dr. Worth the cup. The doctor mixed in the powder then passed the cup to Jack. He grimaced as he slurped the water. His eye would surely blacken, and something was obviously wrong with his stomach, because he kept his hand pressed against it. He gave the cup back then slowly reclined, moaning as he did. He turned onto his side and curled up. The doctor tugged off Jack’s boots. Sarah laid a light blanket over him then turned down the lantern.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder, grabbed her lantern, and walked the doctor back to his buggy. “What happened?”
“I don’t know exactly. Jack didn’t say much, I’m guessing because his mouth hurts.” He inhaled a loud breath. “The man who helped him to my office said he’d been in a fight at one of the saloons. When I talked to him the other day, I didn’t get the impression he was the kind of man who frequented those places.”
“He’s not.” Sarah hated the way her voice rose in her defense of Jack. “He’s a pastor and a good man.”
Dr. Worth eyed her, as if he wasn’t convinced.
“Look, Doctor, you don’t know Jack, and I do. If he was at a saloon, he had a reason for being there.”
“You and the children shouldn’t be alone. Jack won’t be any help should you have trouble. And a tent isn’t exactly safe if a wild beast or someone bent on trouble came around.”
“Are you trying to frighten me?” Sarah lifted her chin.
“No. I’m concerned for your safety.”
She relaxed her spine. “I have a gun, and I know how to use it.” She offered a teasing smile. “In fact, I had it pointed at you not too long ago.”
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