Marrying the Preacher's Daughter

by Cheryl St. John

  “She never said anything.”

  His shrug was barely perceptible in the semi-darkness. “And after those prayers, then what?”

  “Then I’d be open to direction. It’s not easy to explain.”

  “Try.”

  “For me, when I question whether or not something is right for me…if I have doubt, that’s probably a sign to back off. When it’s right—for example the job I took as the notary, I was at peace with the idea from the start.”

  “I’ve tracked a lot of outlaws who were probably at peace, but doing wrong.”

  “I doubt they truly had any peace, and if they weren’t convicted of their wrongdoing, it was because they had neglected the little voice inside for so long that they’d become immune to a sense of right and wrong. The Bible talks about hardened hearts.”

  “You were right not to answer me that night, even if you didn’t know it,” he told her. “I wouldn’t have understood your replies.”

  “That wasn’t why I avoided the question.” She wanted to see him more clearly, so she scooted closer to where he sat. “And now you do understand?”

  “I think so. Irene prayed for me all the years I was gone. Your father prayed for me when I was shot. I wonder…have you ever prayed for me?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “The day you walked out there in front of that man with the gun. I prayed for God to keep you safe so that one day you’d know Him as Lord.”

  “And He kept me safe.”

  “Yes.”

  “What else have you prayed about?”

  “I’ve been confused a lot, so I’ve prayed for wisdom.”

  “I guess you got it since it was promised to you.”

  “I guess I did. I did figure out some of the questions I had. And I was wise enough to listen to my father and ask you about my concerns.”

  “There’s a lot about me that bothers you. I scare you.”

  Yes, admittedly he did. Or perhaps it was more her reactions to him that frightened her.

  “I make you feel things you don’t want to feel.”

  Maybe that was so.

  “If you let go of all the anger and disapproval and let yourself feel, that would frighten you, too. If you felt anything for me—or for anyone—it would challenge your thinking.”

  “I’m working on letting go, Gabe.”

  “Maybe you’re afraid of losing your freedom.”

  “I don’t believe that thought scares me,” she told him. “I’m seeing how Irene and Gil are handling that, and as long as a husband was open to me keeping my notary job and still helping my father, marriage wouldn’t inhibit me.”

  “You don’t want children. That might hold you back.”

  “I didn’t say never. I just said not right away.”

  “It’s just me then. I scare you.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “But you’re afraid of loving me.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Her heart stopped. Discussing anything with him became impossible because he was so deliberately challenging. “Why do you have to do that?”

  “What?”

  “I’m trying to work through things in my head, hold civil conversations, and you add more confusion.”

  “You came looking for me this time.” He got up and paced a few feet away. “You wanted to talk.”

  “I do want to talk.”

  “Maybe you do too much talking and too much thinking and not enough feeling,” he said. “Our discussions never end well.” He walked back to stand in front of her and reached for her hand.

  She offered it and he pulled her to her feet and into his arms. She steadied herself with a hand on his solid arm. Standing so close she could smell the starch in his shirt and the soap he’d used.

  “Here’s something we agree on.” He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

  If only life and relationships were as simple as a few nice kisses, she thought. If kissing him was the only thing she had to concern herself with, he was right—they could get along.

  He released her, took her hand, and led her back in the direction from which they’d come. “I hear you’re going to Denver with Irene,” he said.

  “Yes. We’re staying over at least one night. Maybe two.”

  “I was hoping you’d agree to do some shopping for me while you’re there.”

  “What is it you need?”

  “A stove, table and things for the kitchen. Do you know how to select things like that?”

  “I could figure it out,” she replied.

  “And furniture,” he added. “At least three beds and bureaus, and a few chairs and whatever else a house needs.”

  That was a lot of responsibility. “Are you sure you don’t want to choose those things yourself?”

  “I’d grab whatever I saw first. You, on the other hand, will compare prices and sizes and concern yourself with colors and the like. You’ll do a much better job.”

  She found it noteworthy that he had her pegged so accurately. “Do you have a budget?”

  “I’ve had money wired to the bank there. I’ll give you the papers, and you can withdraw it as you need it. I trust you to be frugal and yet purchase things of quality.”

  “I’d enjoy shopping for those things. But I need you to be a little more specific. Do you have a floor plan of the house?”

  “I could bring it up tomorrow evening so we could go over the rooms.”

  “All right. I’d feel more confident with better knowledge of what it is you need.”

  “One more thing I’m indebted to you for.”

  “You’re not indebted to me.”

  “I have no way of repaying how you and Josie took care of me when I was laid up, or for all the meals…or for taking Irene under your wings.”

  “There’s no tally for kindness, Gabe. If a person expects something in return for a good deed, he shouldn’t do it.”

  They’d reached the street and walked past darkened buildings into the neighborhood until they reached the church. “I’ll walk you up the hill,” he told her.

  “It never crossed our minds how many times we’d be walking up this hill when we picked out our house,” she told him. “Josie bought it as a surprise for my father.”

  “I’ll bet he was really surprised.”

  “Yes.” She looked up at him. “Especially because she’d never mentioned she was wealthy before they were married, and he had no idea.”

  “There are definitely worse things to learn about the person you married.”

  They laughed together. The moment felt right. She was glad she’d come right out and asked the things she’d been wondering about. He’d been straightforward about all if it, even asked her about something he’d had on his mind. Elisabeth felt as though they had shared something special as only friends could do. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe she and Gabe could be friends.

  The Jacksons were their guests for supper the following evening. Beatrice told Sam how much she was looking forward to fall and the cooler temperatures.

  “The nights have been perfect for sleeping,” Sam mentioned.

  “Perhaps I’ll find that out sometime soon,” Josie added.

  Sam gave his wife an apologetic look. “Little Rachel would rather be awake during the night than during the day.”

  “I remember Rhys went though that stage, too,” Beatrice said. “And his father slept right through the racket.”

  Rhys gave his mother a sidelong glance. “I’m sure he had to get up and go to work at the bank in the morning.”

  “You’re right, he did,” she answered. “And there’s nothing the father can do when that little one is hungry.”

  Rhys kept his eyes on his plate.

  Eventually, the meal was over and Elisabeth sent Josie to join their guests while she and her sisters did the dishes. She was drying a stack of plates when Gabe showed up in the kitchen doorway.

  “Your father offered me a seat in the great room, but I told him I’d com
e to see you.”

  “Did you have supper?” she asked.

  He nodded, but his gaze slid to the peach cobbler at the end of the work table.

  Elisabeth spooned out a generous serving, poured cream over the top and sat it along with a spoon on the table. “The coffee is nearly ready. I’ll pour you a cup when it’s done.”

  He sat. “Did you make this?”

  “Abigail did. She’s the best baker of the three of us.”

  Gabe tasted a spoonful. “This is the best peach cobbler I’ve ever tasted,” he told Elisabeth’s sister.

  Abigail gave him a warm smile. “Thank you, Mr. Taggart.”

  “How old are you? Twenty? Thirty-five?”

  She giggled. “I’m seventeen.”

  “Well, I envy the people you’ll be cooking for when you’re twenty-five.”

  “That will be my husband and all of my children,” she said. “I’m going to have a big family, just like Papa and Josie. And a house like this one, with lots of room for guests.”

  “That’s a good plan,” Gabe told her with a wink. “Is there anyone special you have your eye on now?”

  “I used to like Lester Quinn, but he has poor table manners. James Finley was sweet on me in elementary school, but his family moved to Idaho.”

  “I guess you’ll know when God brings you a man to be your husband, won’t you?” Gabe suggested.

  “I guess I will.” Abigail got a cup and poured him coffee. “I just hope he has good table manners.”

  Gabe and Elisabeth exchanged an amused look while she mulled the fact that he’d just mentioned God in a matter-of-fact way. As though he’d changed his thinking on the subject. She’d noticed he was a good listener, and he asked questions as though he was genuinely interested in others. He had the uncanny ability to draw things from them that she’d never heard before. “God knows your heart,” Elisabeth said to her sister. “And He’ll send you a husband who is right for you. If the fellow has poor manners, you’ll just have to overlook that or give him lessons in etiquette.”

  “I won’t be overlooking it,” Abigail assured her.

  “What if he’s as handsome as a prince?” Gabe asked.

  “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting,” she replied.

  “Proverbs?” he questioned.

  She nodded.

  “What if he’s as rich as a king?”

  “Better that he’s wise,” Abigail replied. “Solomon asked for wisdom, and because he didn’t ask God for riches, he got wisdom, plus riches and honor. He was the wisest man who ever lived, you know.”

  “No one’s ever going to best a Hart sister in a battle of wits,” he said with a shake of his head. “You have a good plan. Don’t let anything shake you from it. Are you sure you’re not thirty-five?”

  Abigail laughed.

  “As long as I eat with good manners, will you keep making these delicious cobblers? I will even plant fruit trees on my land just for you.”

  Her smile lit up her face. “You will? Can I come pick fruit? What? Cherries and peaches?”

  “Whatever you like. And you’re welcome anytime. You can bring all of your children, too, and I’ll teach them to ride.”

  Abigail glanced at her older sister. “What about Elisabeth and her children?”

  “They’re welcome, too. What shall I plant for you, Elisabeth?”

  She hung a towel to dry and removed her apron. “How long does it take chestnut trees to mature and produce nuts? I do enjoy chestnuts in stuffing at Thanksgiving.”

  “I’ll look into that.”

  She sat at the table. “Did you bring a floor plan?”

  He reached into his vest pocket and withdrew a paper that he unfolded and spread on the table. “I drew this for you. The measurements are pretty accurate. You can get an idea of room sizes and what we’ll need.”

  “Is this a dining room?”

  “It is.”

  “Do you want furniture for that right away?”

  “It can wait if you don’t want to bother, but if you see something like what’s in your parents’ home, buy it.”

  “A table and chairs, a sideboard…even a china cabinet?”

  “I guess I’ll need dishes, right?”

  She looked at the sketch. “The kitchen seems plenty big enough for a table. You’ll be feeding ranch hands every night, right?”

  He nodded.

  “I’d get a long narrow table for the kitchen. That way they can wash up outside and come in through the rear door—here—and it would be a lot easier for Mrs. Barnes to serve and clean up from there than carrying it all into another room.

  “You will want to furnish your dining room, but I’d wait on that until you have the rest of the house serviceable and ready for work.”

  “You got that wisdom already,” he said.

  She met his eyes, and he was smiling at her in that way that lifted one side of his mouth and curled her toes. “I’m inordinately practical,” she informed him. “Always have been.”

  “That’s why I trust you to do this.”

  “I’ll do the best I can.”

  “I know you will.”

  Abigail had left the room while they were talking, leaving them alone.

  He covered her hand with his, his calluses grazing her knuckles and sending a shiver up her arm. “What you feel for me isn’t practical, is it?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Your father and Josie, they have a practical marriage?”

  “He needed a wife. She was widowed and wanted a family. That was practical.”

  “I guess it worked out well for them,” he said.

  “I guess it did.”

  “Not everything in life is practical,” he suggested.

  He glanced at her as though assessing her. Her hair was in a practical braid so it didn’t get in the way during the day. Her clothing was plain and unremarkable. What was he thinking when he studied her?

  He reached for the chain above her collar and gently extricated the wedding ring from under the top of her shirtwaist so that it hung atop her clothing. “That’s not practical.”

  “It’s sentimental,” she replied.

  “Do you own anything that’s just for fun?”

  After thinking, she shook her head.

  “You wore ribbons in your hair to church,” he said. “And your straw hat has little painted cherries with paper leaves.”

  She widened her eyes. He remembered the details of her clothing and accessories?

  “They’re not necessary. But do they make you happy?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I could make you happy if you’d let me.”

  His words set her nerves on edge.

  “Remember how much fun we had together on Independence Day?”

  “Life isn’t all ice cream and fireworks,” she told him.

  “Isn’t life whatever you make it?” he asked.

  “We need to talk about the furniture,” she insisted. “If I’m going to do this, I need to be completely knowledgeable about your needs.”

  He released her hand. “Yes. Let’s talk about the shopping trip.”

  She had to force herself to listen, because his insistent flirting knocked her off-kilter, as usual. The man was full of surprises. She’d been pretty sure she had him figured out, but the more she learned, the more she realized she didn’t know him at all.

  He’d teased Abigail in a brotherly manner, while at the same time encouraging her dreams of the future. He’d been responding knowledgeably to Biblical references, indicating he’d been reading the Bible Irene had given him. Elisabeth tried to picture it, but couldn’t.

  Nursing her sense of betrayal regarding him not telling her he was a bounty hunter was making her feel smaller and smaller. He hadn’t lied, though not being forthright was the same. He’d explained himself whenever asked. His job had been to uphold the law, and he’d done it the only way that worked out here in this part of the country.

 
She remembered her father’s comment about society needing men like Gabe or else the country would be overrun with outlaws, and she supposed that was true.

  But even if she could set all that aside, he still didn’t meet the standards that she’d already set for a husband. He was nothing like her father. He’d never been to church before he got here…never read a Bible. He didn’t even have a basic knowledge or know about people in the scriptures.

  Maybe she did have cherries on her hat, but she’d have a different hat come winter.

  Shopping for her wedding dress in Denver, Irene wore Elisabeth to a frazzle. Nothing suited her, but finally on the second day they stumbled upon a seamstress with stunning dresses on display. The woman agreed to make her a dress just the way she wanted it and took numerous measurements.

  “What about you, miss?” the woman said to Elisabeth. “You’ll need a dress for the wedding, won’t you?”

  “Oh, goodness, yes!” Irene’s eyes shone with excitement. “You’ll stand up with me, won’t you?”

  “Me?”

  “Who else? You’re my dearest friend. Any friends I had at the academy have been scattered to the winds. Besides, those weren’t friendships like ours. Say you will, Elisabeth.”

  “Of course,” she agreed.

  “What color?” the seamstress asked.

  “I’d love it if she wore pale blue,” Irene said. “Don’t you think it would be a good color for her? And I will add pale blue ribbons to my bouquet and to the flower arrangements at the church.”

  “I have just the fabric,” the woman said and rushed toward her store room, returning with a bolt of the most beautiful cloudlike blue chiffon Elisabeth had ever seen. “Will this be too insubstantial for a fall wedding?”

  “The days are warm,” Elisabeth assured her. “But the nights are considerably cooler.”

  “We’ll make you a white fur wrap for evening,” the woman suggested. “Like this one.” She showed the two young women a soft white rabbit fur stole.

  “Do you like it?” Irene asked.

  “I like it a lot actually.”

  The seamstress measured Elisabeth. “I can make a hair bob with matching white fur, rhinestones and pieces of the dress fabric.” She turned to Irene. “Can you ladies come back in two weeks for an initial fitting? I want to make certain the basic dresses are perfect before we start adding lace and beads and trim.”