Finally a Bride

by McDonough, Vickie;

  The mayor studied him as if taking his measure, then finally nodded. “Fair enough. Ray Mann, our church board director, told me about you and gave his recommendation. My missus and I’ll be sittin’ in the pews come Sunday.”

  Noah nodded, and the mayor turned and made his way back across the street. Noah had talked with Mr. Mann when he first arrived in Lookout and was relieved to know the man had given him his approval. Releasing a huge sigh, he glanced up at the sky. “I sure need Your help here, Lord. Equip me to do the task You’ve set before me.”

  Hot, musty air met him as he stepped inside the church building, so he left the door ajar. Walking the center aisle, he remembered his school days and noticed all the changes. Gone were the chalkboard, desks, maps, and schoolbooks, replaced by a podium and skillfully constructed pews. He’d never attended church when he lived here previously, but the building was still familiar. A colorful array of lights danced on the floor just past the podium from the sun shining in the large stained-glass window. That was new. The window depicted several scenes of Christ’s life, and he rather liked the idea of it being behind him when he preached, almost as if God was looking over his shoulder.

  His stomach swirled at the thought of standing before the town that he’d once despised and telling its inhabitants about God’s love. Memories of fights he’d been in flooded his mind. Yeah, he’d started some, but he’d been blamed for many more that he’d never participated in. He became the scapegoat, and the teacher never believed him when he proclaimed his innocence. He dropped onto the first pew, head in his hands.

  Did those former students still live in town? Would they be the very people he’d minister to in a few days? In spite of believing God had sent him to Lookout, he felt so inadequate.

  He knelt on the hard floor and placed his elbows on the pew. “Help me to forgive those who wronged me in the past, Lord, even as I ask that the people I wronged will forgive me. Give me strength and guidance. Don’t abandon me, Father. I need You now more than ever.”

  He clenched his hands together. Everyone he’d ever loved had abandoned him. His mother had died when he was a young boy, but even before that, his tiny little sister had passed on. Then his father had died when he was fifteen, not that he shed many tears over him. Even Jack had turned on him—although they’d never been friends. It ate at his gut to think she might have been afraid of him, and she’d have been justified. Like his father, when his temper reached its limit, he spewed on whoever was nearest, and the flame of his anger had scorched Jack more than once. At one time, he’d fancied himself in love with her, but she’d made it clear that she couldn’t stand him. If she knew his real identity now, would she give him half a chance to prove he was a different person?

  Noah muttered a groan. He wasn’t here to think about her. He had a purpose. He was no longer the lonely boy who craved a friend and wanted to prove he could be a better man than his drunken father.

  If he could just keep his thoughts off of Jack, he’d be all right.

  But the question remained: How could he do that?

  “So, what do you think about my story idea?” Jack watched Jenny Evans. She’d told the newspaper editor about what she’d overseen at the mercantile and couldn’t wait to set pen to paper.

  Jenny squeezed her lower lip together with her thumb and index finger, as she often did when deep in thought. “Hmm … it’s interesting, but I’d hate to do anything that might scare Rand Kessler away. Catherine Morgan could use a husband, and Rand has wanted to marry for years.”

  Disappointed, Jack leaned back against the counter. She hadn’t considered that her story might scare Rand away or otherwise affect the budding relationship. “What if we did the story but kept it anonymous? What if we said something like, ‘A certain town widow was seen cavorting with a local rancher’?”

  Jenny slowly nodded. “I like it. But be careful how you word the story so it’s not too obvious who you’re talking about, and cavorting is a word that could be taken the wrong way, so try to think up a better one.” She tapped her pencil against the desktop. “And maybe you should say cowboy instead of rancher—or just say man.”

  Staring at the ceiling, Jack contemplated Jenny’s wise suggestions. “I can do that.”

  “Good. Then write it up, and get it back to me as soon as possible. I planned to start printing the papers this evening.”

  Jack nodded. “I’d hoped to have something about the new minister for you, but he’s not very talkative.”

  Chuckling, Jenny grinned. “Well, that’s something different—a preacher who doesn’t have the gift of gab. Now that’s a rarity. I just might have to come and hear him preach, given his messages are likely to be short.”

  Jenny had misconstrued what she’d tried to say, but Jack kept that thought to herself. She wasn’t quite ready to admit to others that she suspected the preacher of harboring secrets.

  “I’m glad to see you’re healing quickly and that you didn’t get hurt too bad trying to get that story on the mayor.”

  “Thanks. I’m still sore in places, especially my knee, but it could have been a lot worse. I don’t know what I was thinking going up on that roof in my dress.” Suddenly she straightened. “And just where did you get the idea that I was engaged to Billy Morgan?”

  Jenny grinned again and leaned back in her chair with her hands clasped behind her head, elbows sticking up. “Billy told me, and others repeated what he’d said about not marrying you if you didn’t come down.”

  “Well, you should have checked with me first.” Jack crossed her arms and pinned a stern glare on Jenny. “I am not now nor ever have been engaged to Billy Morgan. That’s just an odd fancy he’s got.”

  Jenny shrugged. “You might change your mind in a few years. He’s a nice-looking young man.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a sponger. He only helps his mother when he has to and then gallivants around town, getting in trouble. It’s like he doesn’t want to grow up. I don’t want to marry that kind of man.”

  “Guess I’ll have to print a retraction, but it did make interesting news.” Jenny’s shameless grin proved she wasn’t sorry about what she’d done. “So just what kind of man would you want?”

  An image of Noah Jeffers shoved aside all other pictures of the men she knew. Jack shook her head to rid him from her thoughts. She just found the man attractive, that was all. “I don’t know that I’ll ever get married. I’ve told you how I want to move to Dallas and be a big-city reporter.”

  Jenny straightened and leaned forward, her arms resting on her desk. “Don’t forget I used to live in Dallas.”

  “Why would you leave there to come to a small town like Lookout?”

  Jenny seemed to be pondering her response. “For one, I had a broken heart and needed to get away from the man who canceled our engagement. And two, men run the bigger towns, and women often have a harder time breaking into their world. I’d worked for some Dallas editors—all men. A few were nice, but most resented a woman working in their realm. I longed to start my own paper, but it would have been nearly impossible for me to do so in Dallas and to have to compete with the other already-established publishers.”

  Jenny had always encouraged her to seek her way in a man’s world, so it took Jack off-guard to know her friend left Dallas rather than stay and compete for what she wanted. “Well, I don’t see that there’s much for me here. Besides, I don’t plan to start my own newspaper, I just want to get a job where I can report the news and support myself.”

  “Have you talked this over with your mother?”

  Jack nibbled on the inside of her cheek. Her mother would never want her to go. Luke wouldn’t either, but he’d probably be more understanding. And how could she even begin to discuss such a topic when her ma was fixing to have another baby?

  Jenny smiled. “I can see that you haven’t.” She stood, walked around her desk, and gently took hold of Jack’s shoulders. “Big towns seem exciting and glamorous, but if you have no family or frien
ds there, they can be frightening and lonely. I don’t want to lose you here, but whatever you decide, you know I’ll support you and help however I can.” Jenny pulled her into a light hug then released her quickly. “Well, I’d best get the typesetting done if we’re going to have a newspaper any time soon.”

  “I’ll go find a quiet place to work on my story.” Jack grabbed a pad of paper and pencil and hurried out of the office, probably just as embarrassed as Jenny at her rare show of affection. Jenny was a tough lady and rarely needed anyone, so it seemed. Maybe she’d just gotten her heart broken and no longer trusted men.

  Hobbling down the boardwalk past the bank, she glanced across Bluebonnet Lane at the boardinghouse. If she went home, the kids would pester her, and she wouldn’t finish her story in time. Her gaze traveled down the lane to the church. She loved sitting there when the place was empty, watching the sun shine through the lovely stained-glass window, but her knee was already aching.

  With a sigh, she started across the road toward home. A sudden screech coming from her bedroom window halted her steps.

  “Maaa! Alan hit—”

  Jack turned toward the church. If Alan and Abby were fighting again, home was the last place she’d find any quiet. Taking it slow, she made her way down the street. She paused when she noticed the church door open, but this wasn’t the first time someone had forgotten to close it. She stepped inside and shut the door. Instantly peace filled her. She dropped onto the nearest bench and blew out a breath. The ankle she’d twisted ached, and her knee throbbed. Doc Phillips had said that knee injuries could be slow to heal, but she’d hoped he was wrong. Hobbling along like someone’s great-grandmother wasn’t her normal speed.

  She turned sideways on the bench and lifted her injured leg to the seat. After pulling up her skirt and petticoat, she rubbed her kneecap for a few minutes. When the pain lessened, she finally pulled out her paper and stared at it.

  How could she slant the story without people guessing who she was referring to? Several ideas popped into her mind, but nothing was exactly what she was looking for.

  “Hmm … maybe I should concentrate on the title first.” She tapped her pencil against her mouth and stared at the colorful glass panes. She’d been so excited when the town decided to install the stained-glass windows after a tornado had blown through town and broken many of the clear panes in the church.

  Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. Maybe “Shopping for Love” would work. But no, that might make people think of Mrs. Morgan since she ran the only mercantile in town.

  Hmm, maybe “Lassoing Romance.” There were many ranchers and cowboys in the county, so people wouldn’t likely figure out who the man was. Or what about “Be on the Lookout for Cupid”?

  She couldn’t help giggling at the clever way she incorporated the town name. She scribbled it down before she forgot it.

  A loud sound—as if someone were sawing wood—echoed through the church, and Jack froze. Her gaze darted to the front, then the sides and back of the building. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might break through her skin. What in the world?

  She concentrated on listening, but also remembered the open door. What if some wild animal had wandered inside? But she’d never heard a creature that made such a sound.

  For several minutes she sat frozen, listening to her heart pound in her ears, then finally shook her head. Maybe she’d imagined the noise or it had come from outside. She glanced down at her paper, determined to get her story written.

  Spring is in the air. New creatures are being birthed on ranches across the rolling green hills of the countryside, and romance has come to town. A certain lonely widow has been seen in the company of an equally forlorn rancher.

  Remembering what Jenny had said, she scratched out rancher and changed it to cowboy.

  She closed her eyes again and willed the words to come. Writing articles was generally difficult at first—until her creative juices started flowing.

  A loud snort ricocheted through the building. Jack jumped, and her pencil flew out of her hand and rolled under the pew in front of her. Her frantic gaze traveled the room. The only thing she knew that made a sound like that was a pig—and if it was in the church, it must be a wild one. She pulled up her legs and stood on the bench seat, her whole body shaking. Luke had warned her about wild pigs. They were mean and could tear a person apart.

  She glanced at the door. Could she make it outside before the creature got to her?

  Would her knee hold up if she tried to run?

  Could wild pigs leap up onto pews?

  A deep moan made her jump again.

  If the creature was wounded, it would be even meaner. Her heart raced like a runaway horse, and she found it hard to breathe. Her gaze flew to the stained-glass window and the image of Jesus standing in the boat, calming the seas. “Could You calm a wild pig, Lord? Please?”

  She lifted her skirts and side-stepped along the bench, keeping careful watch on all the aisles. She’d never been one to scare easily and hated feeling helpless. If she could just get close enough to the door …

  A huge figure rose up at the front of the church, and Jack couldn’t squelch the scream that would have made Abby proud. A man spun around, wide-eyed, and stared at her. He frowned, then rubbed his eyes. “Ja—uh … Miss Davis?”

  Jack’s knees bent, weak with relief. She giggled, mortified to have squealed like a pig and to be caught standing on the pew by the minister, no less. What would he think of her?

  What did it matter?

  Like a flame to kindling, her embarrassment sparked her irritation. “Why were you hiding up there like some child and making those weird noises? You scared me half to death.”

  He ran a hand through his messed-up hair, causing it to stand up in an enticing manner. Creases lined one cheek. His neck and ears turned beet red, and his shy grin did odd things to her stomach, which still hadn’t settled from her fright. “I was praying. Guess I fell asleep.”

  “Those were snores I heard? Well, I pity your wife.”

  He walked toward her, hanging his head, a saucy grin on his lips. “I don’t have a wife, remember?”

  She did, but he would soon acquire a spouse if Tessa had anything to say about it. “Yes, well, you won’t have one long if you do marry and you snore like that every night.”

  He stopped at the end of her aisle and gazed up at her with his ink-black eyes. They were so dark she couldn’t even see his pupils. She swallowed hard, not wanting to admit how attractive she found them.

  “Allow me to help you down, Miss Davis, since I obviously scared you half to death.”

  “I wasn’t scared,” she blurted out before she could stop the words.

  His brows lifted. “Ah, so let me guess….” He glanced upward. “You’re standing on the pew because you were just about to dust the ceiling.”

  She scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  His hands found his hips, but his impudent grin seemed glued to his face. His eyes sparkled. “Then why are you standing on the pew?”

  “I, uh … dropped my pencil.” Oh, horse feathers. He had her, and he knew it.

  His gaze lowered as he searched the floor. He stepped to the row in front of hers, bent down, and held up her pencil. “Imagine that, it was on the floor, not the ceiling.”

  “Ha ha, our minister is a jokester. That should certainly liven up the services.” She snatched her pencil from his hand and stuck it in her hair over her ear. Obviously she wouldn’t find any peace and quiet here with this joking preacher present. She reached down to take hold of the back of the pew in front of her. Before she could touch it, his hand snaked out and grabbed hers. “Let me assist you, Miss Davis.”

  Her eyes collided with his. Her rebellious heart pummeled her chest again. With him so close, she found it hard to breathe, but judging by his warm breath touching her face, he sure didn’t. Slowly, she straightened. He laid her hand on one wide shoulder, claimed her other on
e and did the same. Then his hands wrapped around her waist. As if she weighed no more than Emmie, he lifted her down, his gaze never leaving hers.

  Her legs had decided to pretend they were made of noodles, and her knees refused to lock. She sank down, but his hands tightened their grip, holding her steady.

  “Are you all right?”

  She shrugged. That was a highly debatable topic. How could any woman be completely composed with the handsome preacher so close—and he smelled so clean. “I … uh … think I may have overdone things, walking this far on my injured knee.”

  He frowned, but in the next instant, he scooped her into his arms. Jack gasped, yet she was amazed at how easily he held her and how good it felt. She lifted her gaze to his—so close, she could barely breathe. His lashes were long and thick, his eyes almost pleading. Many emotions crossed his face, but she couldn’t read them. Up this close, she could see the slightest beginnings of his beard starting to grow in, even though she was certain he’d shaved this morning. Would his cheek feel smooth or rough?

  He glanced down at her lips. Then he blinked several times, and an icy reserve replaced the warm look in his eyes, splashing onto her like a cold bucket of self-control.

  “I’ll carry you home, Miss Davis.”

  “No, just put me down.”

  “But you’re hurt. I don’t want you to injure your leg any more than it is.”

  “Why do you care?”

  Although he didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes revealed an inner struggle. Could he possibly have feelings for her?

  No, it wasn’t possible.

  They’d only met.

  Yet she couldn’t help thinking she could spend the rest of her life in his arms. Tessa would be so mad if she found out.

  “I’m your pastor. It’s my job to care.”

  “I’m a reporter, and it’s my job to get my story, but you refuse to answer my questions. What do you have to hide?”

  “Most men in Texas are hiding something.”

  She wiggled her legs, and he loosened his hold but didn’t set her down. “Most men in Texas aren’t the only preacher in town, either.”