Jack shook her head. “I wondered where Alan learned to say ain’t.”
Luke shook his head and started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked across the porch. “We’re not havin’ that conversation. I need to clean up and see my wife and hold my new son.”
Just before he stepped off the far side of the porch, Jack called, “Did you catch the thieves?”
He shook his head and broke into a jog.
Chapter 23
The bell above the freight office door jingled, and Garrett glanced up from the Horseman magazine he’d been scouring. Luke moseyed in, hat down low on his forehead. Garrett leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head, and grinned. “Well, there’s the proud papa. How you doin’?”
“Still proud but exhausted.” Luke shuffled across the room like an old man, pulled out the chair that used to belong to Mark, then fell into it with a heavy sigh.
Garrett dropped all ideas of jesting and leaned forward, arms on his desk. He rarely ever saw his cousin looking so haggard. “Is Andrew all right? I know he had a rough start, with nearly dying and all.”
“Oh, he’s doing great—at least during the day—sleeps like a baby.” Luke chuckled and ran his hand over his eyes, then down his unshaven face. “Emmie was such a good baby. She slept through the night almost from the start. I’d forgotten about how Abby and Alan stayed awake like Andrew does, until Rachel reminded me.” He groaned and rested his face in his hands. “I’m getting too old for this.”
Shaking his head, Garrett rose and poured his cousin a cup of coffee. In spite of Luke’s fatigue, he couldn’t help being a bit jealous. At forty, Luke was the father of five, albeit Jack was his adopted daughter. Garrett set the cup in front of Luke, then walked to the window. He’d concentrated on building his business all these years and let time slip by. He rubbed the back of his neck. Was thirty-nine too late to get married and start a family?
“What’s eating you, Cuz?” Luke slurped his coffee and smacked his lips. “Mmm … just what I needed.”
Garrett watched the busyness on the streets as people shopped or visited. Two cowboys moseyed by on their horses. Garrett shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be thinking of a pretty, black-haired gal, would you?”
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to share his coffee and revive Luke. If he’d known his cousin was going to meddle, he wouldn’t have. He turned and leaned back against the window frame, feigning a confused look. “What brunette are you talkin’ about?”
Luke grinned, but his lips quickly transformed into a yawn. Not the least bit tired, Garrett copy-catted with a yawn of his own. His cousin scratched his chest and leaned back. “I think you know.”
Ambling back to the coffeepot, Garrett took his time answering. It wouldn’t do to let his cousin know he’d been attracted to Miss Payton. He took a sip of the hot brew and peered over the edge of his cup. He needed some kind of response, but what could he say when he didn’t understand his own feelings toward the woman? “She’s too young for me.”
Luke grunted. “No, she’s not. Lots of men marry younger women. It’s a good idea if you want to start a family.”
Watching his coffee swirl, he thought about that fact. His cousin was right, but he wasn’t about to let him know. Marrying younger did make a lot of sense.
“What’s your hesitation? I saw how you looked at her that day she first arrived.” Luke stretched then crossed his arms over his chest and propped his boots up on Mark’s old desk.
Garrett’s thoughts flashed to his brother. He knew Mark was very happily married and enjoying fatherhood. He couldn’t believe that his brother had been married almost a decade. Where had the years gone?
“You gonna answer me, Cuz?”
Garrett shrugged. “Marrying an ex-convict wasn’t ever on my chore list. I want a respectable woman. How’d you like your kids being raised by a gal who’d spent six years in prison?”
Luke jumped to his feet so fast Garrett jumped and sloshed coffee on his sleeve. Stomping across the room, Luke’s eyes fired bullets. “Miss Carly is a respectable woman. She had a rough life when she was young. Her ma died when she was fourteen, and she had to go live with that no-account outlaw brother and his gang—or be forced into being a saloon gal.” He took a breath and continued, “She served her time for the crimes she committed and became a Christian. All is forgiven in God’s eyes. So, if He can overlook her past, why can’t you?”
Garrett’s eyes widened, and his brows hiked up all on their own. He’d never seen his cousin this agitated, not even when he and Mark had written off to a trio of mail-order brides and they all came to town, hoping to marry Luke. “I don’t reckon God has any inclinations to marry her.”
“And you do?” Luke’s hackles were still lifted, and his bloodshot eyes reminded Garrett of a crazed bull that he and Mark had tormented until it had charged them.
He lifted up one shoulder and dropped it. “I don’t know. Could be.”
Luke blinked, his expression softening. “Really?”
He ran his hand through his hair. “Good thoughts or bad, I can’t seem to quit thinking of her.”
“Well … good.” Luke loosely held his hands on his hips. “You’re a good man, Garrett. You’d make a great father, and you deserve to know the joys of being married.” Luke grinned wide. “And trust me, there are some excellent benefits.”
“I can imagine.”
“Nope, I don’t think you can.” Luke’s eyes took on a faraway stare, and one corner of his mouth curved up. “There’s something real special about coming home to a woman who thinks you set the moon up in the sky. To be able to cuddle up with her soft body on a cold winter’s night, and to share your dreams or just hear about how the children got in trouble.”
Garrett rolled his eyes, not because he was disgusted with his cousin’s soliloquy, but because Luke’s sincerity embarrassed him and made him jealous. “All right, I hear you. But even if … say … I had some inclinations toward Miss Payton, I have no idea what to do about it.”
Seeming pacified, Luke returned to Mark’s desk and sipped his coffee. “Women want to be noticed and to feel they’re special to a man. They like to receive flowers.”
“Aw, Luke, I can’t go walkin’ down Main Street carrying a wad of flowers. Every man in town’d be laughin’ at me.” He didn’t mind them heehawing at his jokes, but laughing at him was altogether something else.
“You can if you want to catch a woman. Don’t forget how I stood in front of the whole town and told Rachel she was the only gal for me. Always has been.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t exactly been pining my heart away after Carly Payton all these years. In fact, I’m not sure I even thought of her once the whole time she was gone.”
Luke rubbed the back of his hand across his cheek. “Well, you haven’t known her all your life like I knew Rach—” He yawned, his eyelids drooping. “Why don’t you try prayin’ about it?”
Luke folded his arms, laid them on the desk, and rested his head on top of them. Garrett stared out the window across the street to where a couple stood in front of the café. The man glanced around then leaned down and gave the woman a little peck on the cheek. She ducked her head, but Garrett could tell she was pleased. Would Carly be agreeable if he tried to kiss her?
He snorted a laugh. Probably not. She’d most likely yank a derringer from her skirt pocket and shoot him.
“Sure is nice and quiet in here. No kids running around like Indians, whooping it up and making the baby cry.”
Garrett strode across the room and tugged on Luke’s arm. “C’mon, ol’ man. You can’t sleep here. I’ve got a business to run.”
Luke, limp as an old rope, stood and weaved a bit. “Where we goin’?”
“I have an empty house. No women. No children. All quiet.”
“Mmm … sounds perfect.”
Luke managed to stumble across the room and out the door, leaving it wide open.
Garrett wondered if he should walk him across the street, but he didn’t want to embarrass the marshal in front of the townsfolk. They might think he’d taken to the bottle, but Luke would never do that.
Garrett thought about his house. All empty. No one to greet him when he came home—unless Luke was still there. It had never bothered him all that much before, but now it sounded lonely.
He stared out the door window and down the street to the boardinghouse. Would Carly give him a chance if he approached her?
There was only one way to find out.
Noah swiped his sleeve against his damp forehead. Just a few more boards and he’d be done painting the mercantile. The memory of the angry youth who’d smeared ugly red letters all over the town resurfaced. Jack is a liar.
It had been a dumb thing to do, and he now regretted it, but he’d taken all he could back then and had lashed out. His pa finally sold all their hogs and forced him to leave town because he feared Marshal Davis had it in for Noah—or rather Butch. Swallowing hard, Noah dipped the brush into the paint and resumed his work.
He hadn’t wanted to leave back then and had been young enough to hope that things might change. Their home hadn’t been much more than a shack, but it was home. Or at least it had been for a while.
He still didn’t have a permanent place to call home. Glancing to his right, he stared at the boardinghouse. It was nice—and the food was certainly some of the best he’d had in years—but having Jackie living there, avoiding him for over a week, made things awkward. He kicked at a rock on the boardwalk, sending it flying. The stone hit the marshal’s office next door and made a loud clunk then dropped to the ground. Paint dribbled onto his boot top.
Noah ground his back teeth together. Why couldn’t he quit thinking about Jackie?
He yanked his handkerchief out of his pocket and swiped his boot, leaving an ugly white smear on the brown leather. Sighing, he dipped the brush then stroked the building again.
Mrs. Morgan strolled out of the shop, broom in hand. “Oh! I suppose I should wait to sweep until the paint dries.”
Noah nodded. “Probably a wise idea, ma’am.”
The pretty woman smiled, her blue eyes beaming. “That looks so nice, Reverend. I just don’t know why you felt you had to go to so much trouble for us.”
“No trouble, Mrs. Morgan. I’m glad to help out.” He lifted his hat and set it back on his head. “And congratulations.”
The near-forty-year-old woman swung back and forth in her purple calico dress, grinning like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Her dark brown hair, which was pulled up into a neat bun, didn’t hold a hint of gray. “I guess Rand came to see you then.”
“He did.” Noah nodded, remembering the shy rancher who couldn’t quit grinning when he’d tracked Noah down at the church Tuesday afternoon. “The wedding is set for two weeks from this coming Sunday.”
She glanced down, her cheeks crimson. “I know. I’m so thankful to the good Lord for bringing Rand into my life. I can hardly believe I’m marrying again after all these years.” Nibbling her lip, she glanced down the street. “Rand almost married Rachel Davis, you know?”
Noah remembered seeing Mr. Kessler sitting on the porch with Mrs. Davis years ago—back when she’d been the Widow Hamilton, but the man quit coming around once Luke came back to town. “I don’t think you have to worry. Mr. Kessler is smitten—with you, ma’am. I probably shouldn’t tell you, but he couldn’t quit talking about you and how happy he is to finally be getting married.”
Her eyelids blinked quickly, and she dabbed one corner with her fingertip. “I haven’t been this happy in years.” She glanced over her shoulder into the store, then leaned the broom against the wall and walked over to him. “I’m concerned about Billy and Tessa though,” she said, her voice lowered. “Neither one seems keen on my marrying Rand. Nor do they want to move out to the ranch.”
He hadn’t counseled many women, much less a woman alone. He glanced around the street and boardwalks. Dolly Dykstra stood outside of her dress shop, hands flapping in the air as she chatted to a woman he hadn’t met. There was no one else on the street this evening.
Mrs. Morgan wrung her hands together. “I don’t know what to do.”
Noah glanced down at the drying paint and decided helping the storekeeper was more important than painting her building. He set the brush across the open tin can. “I reckon you’ve talked to them.”
“I have, but they get angry whenever I bring up the subject. They’ve both always been so stubborn. I admit I may have spoiled them, but raising them without a man to help wasn’t easy.”
Noah wasn’t all that much older than Billy, he imagined. Three or four years at the most. What did he know about dealing with grown children—or any children for that matter? Give me wisdom, Lord.
“If they have no interest in living at the ranch, why not let them run the mercantile?”
She shook her head. “They don’t want to do that, either. I don’t like to talk bad about my own children, but the truth is they’re both lazy. I found out a long time ago that it was easier to do things myself rather than fight Billy or Tessa to do them.” She kept her head down. “You must think me a terrible mother.”
“Not at all. It’s not my place to judge you, ma’am.” He started to lay his hand on her shoulder, but the mayor turned the corner just then with two other men and walked in their direction. “It just might do both of your children some good to live on the ranch and have Rand Kessler as a stepfather. He’s used to dealing with hired help and probably could control them.”
She glanced over her shoulder, then nodded. “I think you may be right. I just don’t know if I can force them to go, especially Billy.” She grabbed her broom and stepped back to let the men pass.
The mayor smiled at the men who accompanied him. “Ah, good. Gentlemen, let me introduce you to our storeowner and our minister.” He waved his hand toward the only woman present. “This is Christine Morgan, who runs our only mercantile, and this is our temporary minister, Noah Jeffers. This is Mr. Humphrey and Mr. Brown. They are here in town on business.”
Noah didn’t miss the intended emphasis on temporary. He studied the men while Mrs. Morgan greeted them. Mr. Humphrey was close to six feet but almost as thin as Mrs. Morgan’s broom handle. His dark hair and handlebar mustache were in stark contrast to the shorter Mr. Brown, with his white hair and neatly cropped beard. Their clothing looked storebought and expensive. Rich city folk. When the men turned their eyes on him, he held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you both. If you’re staying in town, I hope you’ll attend Sunday services.”
Mr. Brown grunted, but Mr. Humphrey’s eyes went wide. Then he turned to the mayor, whose head jerked back at the man’s glare. “We must be on our way,” the mayor hastily said. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Noah nodded and stepped back to make more room for the trio to pass. The boardwalk shimmied as the men’s footsteps thudded across the wooden planks. When they were in front of Polly’s Café, Mrs. Morgan scurried to his side.
“I wonder what kind of business they’re in,” she said, her hands holding tight to her broom handle. “Scuttlebutt says it’s the railroad.”
“I thought talk of the railroad coming here was just rumors.” He glanced down at his paint can, hoping it wasn’t getting too dried out.
She shrugged. “I don’t think so.
“That would be good for the town.”
She nodded then glanced at the can. “I suppose I should let you finish your work so you can go home.”
“I’ll pray for you and your children and that God will give Rand wisdom as you all become a family.”
A shy smile lit her face. “Thank you, Reverend. I appreciate that.” She slipped back into the store, closed the door, and he heard the bolt slide to lock it.
He bent and resumed his work, sending up prayers to God for the Morgan family and for Rand Kessler.
Awhile later, Noah slapped paint on the last board and st
ood back to admire his handiwork. Mrs. Morgan may not have owned the store when he’d committed his wicked deed, but at least he felt he’d done all he could to make recompense for it. He pressed the lid on the paint can. He turned toward the boardinghouse but noticed Jackie, skirts held high, hurrying down the opposite side of the street, away from her home.
He stooped down again, pretending interest in the can. Jackie slowed her pace as she approached the saloon. She glanced in all directions, but if she noticed him, she didn’t act like it. Besides her, he was the only person on the street. All the businesses were closed up as tight as a spinster’s coin purse, and most decent folks had gone home for the night. That was one reason he’d waited to paint—fewer people on the road meant less stirred-up dust to soil his wet paint.
Jackie tiptoed to the saloon windows and pressed her nose against the glass. It wasn’t likely she could see through the dingy, smoke-covered panes that he’d noticed once or twice as he’d passed by. She tiptoed to the swinging doors, pushed one open a little, and peered inside. Noah stood. After a few moments, she darted to her right and around the far corner of the building, waving her hand in front of her nose.
What in the world?
He scratched the back of his head. He never paid much attention to the Wet Your Whistle, but he couldn’t imagine what would cause Jack to slink down the street like a wolf on the prey and peek inside such a place. A man stumbled out and tottered to his horse, which was tied to the hitching post in front of the saloon. After four tries, he managed to mount the poor critter. Noah shook his head. Not even dusk yet, and the cowboy was already drunk. After the man rode out, barely staying in his saddle, Jack reappeared and hurried to the double doors again.
Noah lifted the brush up and down, close to the wall but not touching it, so she would think he wasn’t watching—but he was. His curiosity had definitely been piqued.
Jack jumped back, then darted around the left side of the building. The saloon owner burst through the doors, sending them flying against the wall. He shoved his hands to his hips, looking back toward town. Noah set the paint and brush just under the porch steps, so they’d be out of the way, and broke into a jog.
Finally a Bride Page 23
