He sure wasn’t used to females or the order and stability they created by their very natures. The Hart daughters were training to be wives and mothers like the one who’d just seated herself beside him. And now…he could even picture Elisabeth as a wife. She was efficient and hardworking, and she had a different side to her when she interacted with her family. Nurturing…loving.
The discovery was unexpected. And unwelcome.
Apparently he was the only one who brought out her defensiveness and sarcasm.
“Enjoy your ride,” Josie said, once she’d finished eating. “Elisabeth, I prepared chopped chicken, and you’re welcome to make sandwiches for your lunch. Phillip, I want to hear that you were on your best behavior today.”
He hopped down from his chair and ran to give her an uninhibited hug. “Yes’m. I’ll be Lis’beth’s helper.”
“Shall I go get a buggy and bring it up the hill?” Elisabeth was looking at Gabe. “Or do you think you can walk to the livery with me?”
He wouldn’t admit in a hundred years that her bringing the buggy to him sounded like a good idea, so he assured her he could walk just fine.
Once everything was prepared, the three of them exited the house, and Gabe had his first real look at the neighborhood. The Harts’ home sat at the top of a steep incline, nestled against the forested mountainside. The closest homes were farther down the hill, but none was as impressive as the three-storied beauty on the hill.
“That’s the parsonage you’ve rented.” At the bottom of the street, Elisabeth pointed out a tiny square white house that sat beside the church with only a lot separating the two.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“If you recall, you never mentioned your sister to me,” she explained. “And I did ask if you wanted to see it first,” she added. “Since you neglected to tell me about your sister, I assumed you would be the only one living there. Two people can manage just fine, though. There are two small bedrooms.”
“I didn’t know she was coming so soon,” he said. “I hoped to have a house built before she got here.”
“You know what they say about the plans of men,” she said.
“No. Who said something about plans?”
She glanced at him. “Well, there are proverbs about the plans of men.”
“Chinese proverbs?”
Her next glance indicated she questioned his sincerity. “The book of Proverbs, Mr. Taggart. It’s in the Bible.”
“I’ve heard of it. So what does it say?”
“Well…there’s one that says a man’s heart devises his way, but the Lord directs his steps.”
“What does that mean?”
“I think it means that we can plan the way we want to live and the things we want to do, but only God can enable us to live it and do those things.”
“Did that Confucius fellow write that?”
“No, Solomon wrote it.”
“Is Solomon his first or last name?”
She turned to discover him studying her from beneath the brim of his hat. His attention was flattering in a way she didn’t want to admit, but she suspected he was enjoying himself too much at her expense. “King Solomon, the father of David who wrote most of the Psalms. Solomon was the wisest man who ever lived.”
“Hmm. Suppose he ever took a day off from being so smart?”
He was baiting her, and she wasn’t going to fall into another of his antagonistic traps. “If he had, he wouldn’t have been near as wise, now would he?” She struggled to remember the initial subject. “The house is small, yes. But you’ll manage just fine.”
Phillip had brought along his harmonica, and from behind them came discordant sounds as he did his six-year-old’s rendition of “Shoo Fly Don’t Bother Me,” stopping and starting to get the notes right.
Elisabeth couldn’t resist a smile. Her brother’s playing ended their conversation, which was just fine with her.
She followed Warren Burke’s directions, which he’d given at the time they’d rented the buggy, and left the road to head across an open meadow. They neared a stream and she guided the horses to a stop.
Gabe pointed to a shallow section where rocks protruded above the water. “We can cross over there.”
“I can’t take the buggy across this water.”
“It’s just a little stream. Barely two feet deep right here.”
She didn’t have the same paralyzing fear that her younger sister Anna did, but all the same, Elisabeth didn’t like crossing water. Just seeing the sun reflecting from the surface and glimpsing the small fish darting in a hollow against the bank made her heart thud against her breastbone.
It had been over seven years, but the memory of the day their wagon had tipped over in a rushing river was as fresh as if it had been only the day before. The water had been startlingly cold, sucking away her breath. Immediately her sodden skirts had made treading water impossible, and she’d swiftly been carried downstream. Miraculously, she’d spotted a branch protruding over the water and grabbed for it successfully.
The branch had been solid and she’d had a death grip. Most likely she could have clung to it and survived even if her father had gone after her mother first. But Elisabeth’s terrified screams had led him to her. She’d latched her arms around his neck and clung for dear life as he carried her up the bank to safety.
And then he’d left her beside her sisters and in the care of the other women of the wagon train to continue his search for her mother. The hunt had concluded with a devastating discovery.
“Here. Let me.” Gabe took the reins from her fingers.
She released her hold, glad for the interruption of her thoughts.
He spoke softly to the horse, directing it down the gentle slope toward the water and encouraged it to proceed across the stream.
“Hold on!” Elisabeth called to her brother, then gripped the edge of the seat and didn’t breathe while the buggy bounced over the rocky streambed and up the other side of the bank.
“That was fun!” Phillip shouted, leaning forward between them. “Can we do it again?”
“On the way back,” Gabe replied.
Elisabeth released her pent-up breath and turned to gape at the man beside her. Wearing that irritatingly cocky grin, he dropped his gaze to her hand where she gripped his forearm.
It took her a full thirty seconds to distinguish the hard sinew beneath the fabric and release her hold. Embarrassment got a hold on her. She looked away.
Uncomfortably aware of the man beside her, she concentrated on the landscape. The horse pulled the buggy up a slope until they sat perched on the grassy rim above a meadow. A startled antelope fled into the aspens growing along the opposite hillside.
“Did you see that deer?” Phillip asked, excitement lacing his voice.
“That was a pronghorn antelope,” Gabe told him. “A female.”
The sky appeared incredibly pale against the vibrant greens of the trees and the rocky slopes glittering in the distance.
Still holding the reins, Gabe led the horse forward and halted near a patch of graceful blue columbines. “Let’s stretch our legs.”
Gingerly, he eased to the ground, and then reached back for Elisabeth. While she took her time wondering how she could avoid touching him, Phillip wedged around her and jumped to the ground with a whoop. He picked up a dried buffalo pile and sent it sailing through the air. Seconds later, he was running through grass up to his knees, startling half a dozen grouse that took wing.
“You stay close by!” Elisabeth called. Begrudgingly she accepted Gabe’s help. His hand was warm and strong, and she released it as soon as her feet touched the ground.
Gabe set off at a quick pace, his long legs covering ground until he climbed a rise and stood silhouetted against the sky. Phillip spotted him and ran to join him. Elisabeth took a more sedate stroll, skimming her fingertips across the delicate petals of the wildflowers. It had been too long since she’d taken time to enjoy nature’s beauty or the summe
r air. It seemed she was always too occupied with work to set aside an afternoon for a ride.
The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, warming her arms and shoulders through her cotton blouse, and she was glad for her straw hat. On a current of air, an eagle soared high above the timberline, dipping toward the trees, then disappearing.
Phillip looked tiny in the distance, appearing even smaller beside the broad-shouldered man. Gabe reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair, and she could imagine the stream of questions spilling from her little brother.
Gabe left him and walked toward her, his outline growing larger as he neared.
Notes from Phillip’s harmonica reached her on the hot breeze. She smiled to herself.
Gabe removed his hat, threaded his fingers through his hair and replaced it. He was an imposing sight, square-jawed and lean, that ever-present weapon strapped to his side. “You packed us a lunch, did you?”
She blinked to orient herself. “Yes.”
She walked back to the buggy and reached behind the seat for the covered basket and the quilt. “How are your ribs feeling?”
“Not perfect,” he replied. “But I’ve had a lot worse days.”
She found a place where the grass had been flattened by wind or rain and deftly spread the faded quilt, then set the basket on it. It took only a minute to set out the food and napkins. “Phillip!”
He was still playing his harmonica, turning in a circle as he did so.
A breeze caught the edge of the quilt as Gabe lowered himself to a sitting position, and they both reached for the edge at the same time. Her hand lay on the back of his longer than necessary, but instead of pulling away, she stared in fascination at her slender white fingers against his long tanned ones.
He turned his hand over, palm up, until he held her hand, and still she didn’t move away. Her heart picked up a staccato beat that surprised her even more than the touch.
With his other hand, he reached to tug off her hat.
She looked up at him then.
Even shaded beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes were as green as she remembered, reminding her of the first time she’d seen them—and him—that day on the train.
“In the sun your hair shines like spun gold,” he said, surveying her hair and face with glittering green eyes.
He was so close she could smell the pressed cotton of his shirt.
“It’s not as pretty as Abigail’s,” she said. “Hers curls on the ends and has reddish streaks.”
“Yours is by far the prettiest,” he disagreed. “Prettiest I’ve ever seen.” It was the nicest—and most confusing—thing he’d ever said to her.
Her gaze dropped unerringly to his lips, conjuring up the memory of him talking to Phillip about kissing girls.
“Wonderin’ if it tickles, are you?”
He was outrageously bold and improper, and she should have straightened and immediately taken back her hand…but she didn’t. Because that was exactly what she’d been wondering.
One side of his mouth inched up, and the mocking familiarity sat with her more easily than his uncharacteristic compliment.
She couldn’t have changed what happened next if she’d seen it coming.
And she should have seen it coming.
Chapter Seven
But when Gabe leaned ever-so-slightly forward, she ignored the warning of her erratic heartbeat and did the same. Their lips met. This was no Zebediah Turner kiss.
She wasn’t thinking about the sun overhead or the off-key notes of the harmonica or the jar of pickles waiting to be opened. She was thinking about Gabe Taggart’s warm mouth against hers.
Her father always said courting was a prelude to marriage. Kissing was part of courting, but she had no intention of marrying this man. She shouldn’t be kissing him. She took her sweet time calling a halt to the experience, however. She was, in fact, foolishly reluctant to miss any part of it.
Nobody had ever called her hair spun gold before. No one had ever made her heart flutter as though hundreds of butterflies fought to get out of her chest. It was shallow to succumb to his flattery, but with him she felt different. Not quite herself…someone infinitely more exciting and attractive than plain old Elisabeth, the preacher’s daughter.
She’d done nothing besides butt heads with this man since the first moment they’d met. She shouldn’t find kissing him enjoyable. Elisabeth should have been offended…at the very least put off. The wisest and most prudent action called for moving away and putting an end to this appalling lapse in judgment while she still held a scrap of dignity intact.
“Look, Lis’beth! I ain’t never seen a butterfly that color b’fore. What do you suppose it’s called?”
Nudged back to her senses, Elisabeth straightened and withdrew her hand in one swift motion. Cheeks burning, she refused to raise her gaze, but reached for the wrapped sandwiches and purposefully kept the breath lessness from her voice to ask, “What color is it?”
Phillip dropped to his knees on the quilt, but thankfully his attention remained focused on the grassy meadow. “Black mostly, with white stripes and little white spots. See?”
She picked up her hat, plopped it back on her head and then peered in the direction he indicated. “I don’t know much about butterflies.”
“How ’bout you, Mr. Taggart?” the boy asked. “Do you know ’bout butterflies?”
“’Fraid not,” he replied.
“We can get a picture book at the library, though,” Elisabeth told her brother.
Phillip sat cross-legged and bit into a chicken-salad sandwich. “Did Mama make these?”
“Yes, she did.”
Gabe picked up his sandwich. Out of habit, he pored over the meadow and surrounding tree line. Reassured that the three of them were alone, he unwrapped it and took a bite. Elisabeth’s cheeks were still pink. Could be from the warmth of the sun, but he suspected the high color was more than that.
Kissing her caught him as unaware as he supposed it had had her. What foolishness was that? He hadn’t come to Colorado looking for a woman. He already had Irene to look out for, and he didn’t have the first idea how.
“Is your mama a good cook?” Phillip asked, snagging his attention.
“My mother’s been gone a long time.”
With a bread crumb on his chin, Phillip frowned. “Where’d she go?”
Not wanting to traumatize the lad, Gabe swung a questioning glance at Elisabeth. The Hart children seemed quite sheltered.
“Mr. Taggart means his mother is in heaven,” she supplied.
Realization crossed the boy’s features. “Ohh.” He set down a triangular-shaped crust. “Lis’beth’s first mama is in heaven, too. Isn’t that so, Lis’beth?”
She nodded.
Phillip raised his eyebrows as an idea struck him. “Maybe they know each other!”
“Quite possibly,” Elisabeth replied.
“An’ Jesus is with ’em, isn’t that right?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
Gabe didn’t hold much store by the whole idea of heaven. He said nothing, but Elisabeth finally raised her gaze to him as though guessing his skeptical thoughts.
“You do believe in heaven, don’t you?” she asked.
He didn’t want to have this discussion with her, but he shrugged. “I think people make up their own beliefs to get them through grief—or to justify their behavior. Likely it feels better to think their loved ones are in a good place.”
Her expression showed her shock. “Jesus said He was going ahead to the Father to prepare a place for us.”
“Don’t know anything about that,” he replied. “Your mama makes good chicken salad, Phillip.”
She was quiet the rest of the meal, and once they’d finished and she packed away the lunch items, Gabe stood and studied the land again. “Looks like a good spot for a house just over there.” He pointed. “I could clear a few of those trees and leave the rest to shade the yard. Barn and corrals off that way.”
/> “Will there be horses?” Phillip asked.
“Fine horses. And a few cows.”
“What about chickens? Jimmy Fuller gots chickens at his place and he has to give ’em food and water every day. They make their own eggs!”
Gabe grinned. “A few chickens might be called for. Eggs make a fine breakfast.”
“Maybe I can come help you sometimes. I’m gettin’ bigger.”
“That would be a fine idea, as long as your ma and pa say it’s okay.”
On the ride back, Phillip leaned against Elisabeth’s side and slept. The house at the top of the hill was uncommonly silent when they arrived.
Gabe followed Elisabeth inside, Phillip at her side. She removed her hat and hung it on one of the pegs that lined the exterior foyer wall. He followed her example.
The twins sat at the top of the stairs, quietly playing with wooden horses.
With one hand on the banister, Elisabeth climbed the steps. “Where’s Mama?”
“In her room,” John answered. “Westing.”
With a swish of skirts, she hurried past them and disappeared along the upper hallway.
Gabe perched on a lower stair and watched the boys. He’d never seen them so silent.
Within a few minutes, Elisabeth returned. “Are you feeling well enough to fetch Dr. Barnes?”
He straightened with a nod. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything’s fine,” she replied in a calm tone. “We’re just going to have a new brother or sister very soon.”
He glanced at the twins, then back at her. “Where’s your father?”
“He hasn’t yet returned from the Quinns.”
“Do you suppose the doctor is still out there, too?”
“I have no idea.”
“Better tell me where their place is, just in case.”
“You can take the buggy,” she offered.
“I’ll return the buggy and get a horse.”
“Are you able to ride?”
Without a reply, he loped down the stairs and grabbed his hat. “Take care of your mama. I’ll be back.”
Marrying the Preacher's Daughter Page 6
