by Renee Ryan
He didn’t want to ask. How could he not ask? “Such as?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “If Rachel broke a valuable item, I told our father I did it. If she said something mean to make a kid cry, I confessed I said it.”
Beau could see the hurt Hannah was trying to hide. It was in the slump in her shoulders, in the shake of her voice. “How could he not know it wasn’t always you? No child is all good or all bad. Surely your father could see the truth.”
“My father has always thought the worst of me.” The calm resignation in her voice startled him. “I was different from every other kid, more colorful, more dramatic. It was easy enough to assume I was bad. A rose is still a rose by any other name.” She snorted. “Or in my case, a thorn is still a thorn by any other name.”
He wanted to deny her words, but Beau understood those particular dynamics all too well. By preaching in “dens of iniquity,” by associating with sinners, he was suspect among the more pious ministers of the Association. By answering God’s calling for his life in the way he felt most productive, he’d been labeled a rebel.
But there was a difference between Hannah and him. He was guilty of everything they claimed. She was not. “Those weren’t your sins to bear,” he said softly.
Her head shot up, and her eyes speared daggers at him. “You think I don’t know that? That I haven’t scolded myself over and over and over in the past five years? But what else was I supposed to do? I promised Mama. If it wasn’t for me, if I had gone after her, Rachel would still be able to hear in both ears.”
Beau recognized the conflicting emotions on her face. Guilt. Sorrow. Despair. Anger.
“Hannah, listen to me.” He lowered his voice and allowed the compassion he felt for her situation to flow into his tone. “By taking the blame for your sister’s actions, you played your own role in her ultimate selfishness.”
She bowed her head. “I know that. It can’t continue. No more will I accept responsibility for her actions.” Her gaze held his, determination blazed in her eyes. “No more.”
“Good. Good.” He tilted his head and studied her mutinous expression. “But none of this explains why your father banished you from his home.”
She broke eye contact and looked out the window, gulped in a deep breath as though she was gathering her courage to finish her story.
Beau waited in silence, giving her the time she needed.
“As you can imagine, the pattern had been set. By the time we were eighteen, Rachel was a master of manipulation. She had a secret tryst with the young, newly hired schoolteacher in town.”
He’d heard of worse. He’d seen worse in some of the mining camps. And yet, her words startled him. In an attempt to erase all expression from his gaze, Beau rubbed his hand across his face. “That couldn’t have ended well.”
“He was married.”
An odd combination of shock and fury left him speechless. He blinked, noticed how the moonlight streamed through the window and cast her in a pale, eerie glow.
“There’s more.”
Too many secrets. Too many shadows. Too much pain. “I can’t imagine anything worse than adultery.”
She gave a short, bitter laugh. “During the entire liaison, Rachel pretended to be me.”
He should have guessed, should have been emotionally prepared. But his temper snapped anyway. Rage, hot and uncontrollable, bubbled just below the surface.
Beau suddenly wanted to hit something. He swallowed back the emotion. Swallowed again. But still the urge to unleash his anger held him in a death grip. Alarmed at his violent reaction, he turned to scowl out the window.
“I could never understand Mr. Beamer’s strange, inappropriate looks,” she said. “Or the way he tried to touch me when no one was looking. I never understood, that is, until the night the truth of the affair came out. The town instantly assumed it was me. He thought it was me. He’d been given no reason to believe otherwise.”
Beau had to force his words out slowly and carefully in order to contain his temper. “And your sister let you take the blame.”
“Yes.”
“She never spoke up?”
Hannah crossed her arms in front of her in a protective gesture and looked at him with her own anger and grief warring in her eyes. “No.”
For once in his life, whether in the role of pastor or friend, he didn’t know what to say.
“I thought I’d forgiven her. And when she came to visit me in Chicago, I thought all would be different between us. After all, she was set to marry Will, a boy who has adored her since they could walk.”
A muscle locked in his jaw. “Then she ran off with Tyler.”
The sound that came from her throat was a rumble of pain and humiliation.
“Hannah—”
“I want her to pay, Beau. And I want it to hurt her. I—” She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. Hot color flooded her face. Tears welled in her eyes.
Beau’s heart responded immediately, even as his head told him to remember where they were. He struggled to keep from pulling her into his arms. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be proper. Nevertheless, he had to let her know there wasn’t something inherently wrong with her for thinking such ugly thoughts.
He hunkered down in front of her and grabbed her hands in his. “Hannah, it’s only natural to feel anger at your sister over this.”
She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “No. Holding a grudge is a sin.”
“Yes. But once you confess that sin, you must try to accept God’s forgiveness and let go of the guilt. Don’t allow this to turn into shame.”
Her chin trembled. “What if it’s too late?”
“It’s never too late with Christ.”
She stared at him, searching his face.
Beau held her stare. He’d never met a woman quite like Hannah Southerland. Even in her anguished state, she recognized that her bitterness was wrong. And because she knew it was wrong, she agonized over it.
In that moment, he realized his own enormous mistake. At the start of their acquaintance he’d judged her because of her outward appearance. He hadn’t looked deep enough to see her real beauty, the beauty inside. That made him no better than the men and women who judged him.
It wasn’t Hannah’s character in question. It was his. And now the truth hung heavy in the air between them.
She wasn’t unworthy of him. Beau was unworthy of her.
Chapter Thirteen
Hannah slept.
Mavis slept.
Beau, however, did not.
He had too much to consider, too much to organize in his mind. Now that he’d begun to get a good sense of who Hannah Southerland really was, on the inside, he only wanted to know more.
The woman was clearly the worst thing that had ever happened to him. For all intents and purposes, she was everything he shouldn’t want in his life. Everything he couldn’t want. Yet he did want her in his life. And now that he knew her better, knew himself better, there was no way he would be able to walk away from her. Not without leaving a part of himself behind.
Merely sitting in the same compartment with her felt too confining, too constricting, too…personal.
There was no question he had to fight this secret attraction. No matter how kind, compassionate and merciful of heart, she wasn’t the right woman for a man starting a church in the conservative Rocky Mountain Association, even if her own father led the largest congregation in the organization.
And it wasn’t for his sake, it was for hers. She wasn’t conventional enough. The people in Greeley could easily ostracize her, judge her, perhaps even look down on her merely for her profession on the stage. Beau could never put Hannah in that vile situation. She was too full of life, too full of joy to suffer a moment of that kind of prejudice. Prejudice that he himself had held.
Surely these feelings he had for her would pass. They had to pass, for both their sakes. Then he could resume his search for a nice docile wife. Unt
il that time, Beau would simply keep his distance from the appealing actress.
Starting now.
His jaw tight and teeth clenched, he rose and went in search of Logan in the dining car.
The young lawman sat at a table in a back corner, looking woefully out of place among the fine white linens, sterling silver utensils and crystal water goblets. He had a full plate in front of him, heaped with all sorts of rare delicacies. But instead of eating, he stared unblinking at the untouched food.
“Are you planning to eat any of that?” Beau asked.
“At some point,” Logan said, keeping his head bent over his plate. With his fork, he drew a series of invisible geometric shapes on the tablecloth, repeating the same pattern over and over and over again.
Beau lowered himself into the seat opposite the deputy. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Want me to leave you to your brooding?”
Logan snapped his head up and give Beau one long, frustrated stare. “I’m not brooding, I’m just…” His voice trailed off.
“Thinking?” Beau supplied.
“Something like that.”
Knowing precisely what was troubling the young man, Beau went straight for the crux of the matter. “Megan will be there when you get back.”
Logan gave a nod, which might have been acknowledgment. “I hated leaving her,” he said as he shoved the plate of untouched food away from him. “She was so…quiet.”
“Her mother just died.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I could have helped her with—” He broke off and shrugged. “I don’t know. I wish I could have done something.”
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, one side of Beau’s mouth kicked up. “You’d risk Marc’s wrath?”
Logan’s face tightened into an angry knot. “He doesn’t scare me.”
“He should. Marc takes his guardianship very seriously,” Beau pointed out in the smooth, patient tone that marked his occupation far more than the words themselves did.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve faced down worse. One over-dressed dandy isn’t going to put me off from something I know is meant to be.” The words came out strong, but Logan’s gaze showed hesitation. “What does he have against me, anyway?”
“Try to understand. It’s not personal, Logan. In his mind, Marc is protecting Megan, as any good guardian would.”
Logan made a noncommittal sound in his throat, but the uncertain look in his eyes was enough to make Beau lean forward and speak in earnest.
“You’re both young. There’s plenty of time to be together. You just have to believe it will all work out in the end.”
“In other words—” Logan blew out a disgusted snort and sneered “—trust in God’s plan. Is that what you’re saying, preacher man?”
“Yes.” Resting his weight on his elbows, Beau commanded the young man’s gaze with a hard one of his own. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“I’m supposed to do nothing? Just wait for everything to work out?”
Logan’s expression was mutinous, frustrated. And very, very angry. Beau registered all three, and then noted the panic underneath the emotions.
“Faith,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Real faith requires patience.”
“I thought the Bible said God helps those who help themselves?”
How many times had Beau heard that blatant misquoting of Scripture? “That’s not precisely what the Bible says.”
“No?”
“No. Have faith. Fear not. Trust God. Those are clear commands set out in the Bible. But for a man to forge ahead with his own purpose motivating his actions, and then to tell God to bless the outcome, well, that’s not Biblical. It’s dangerous. And selfish. And more often than not leads to destruction.”
Logan opened his mouth to argue, his eyes continuing to blaze with confusion and a good dose of youthful rebellion. Beau held the other man’s stare, knowing they’d come to a moment of truth for the deputy. At last, Logan clamped his lips into a hard, thin line and nodded. “You’d know better than me.”
Ignoring the belligerent tone, Beau pressed on. “If you and Megan are meant to be together, you will be together.”
And in that moment, Beau knew he should listen to his own advice, especially where Hannah Southerland was concerned.
Have faith. Fear not. Trust God.
It was time Beau started walking his talk.
“Even if we don’t understand the ‘why’ behind our circumstances,” he said, “we can always trust that God works them out for our own good.”
“Words, Reverend O’Toole, fancy words filled with nothing but rhetoric.”
“Not just words,” Beau said in a firm, unrelenting voice. “Truth.”
“Well, here’s some truth for you.” Logan nailed Beau with a hard warning in his glare. The look revealed the seasoned lawman inside the boyish face. “If I lose Megan, someone will pay.”
Gauging Logan’s frustration, Beau ignored the threat and switched the conversation to a less volatile topic. “Since we’re on the subject, what’s all the animosity between you and Mavis?”
Logan shoved at his hair and made a face. “We aren’t talking about Mavis.”
“We are now.”
“I say we don’t.”
“I say we do.”
Logan’s scowl deepened. “The woman hates me.”
“Want to tell me why?”
Logan lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe because I call her old woman.” Frowning, he slapped his palms on the table and pressed his weight forward. “But I don’t mean any disrespect. She just takes it wrong.”
Beau stared at the other man for a full ten seconds. The deputy couldn’t possibly be that dense. Trey Scott would never hire a stupid man to cover his back. “Let me see if I heard you correctly. You call Mavis old woman, and yet she takes it wrong.”
Logan sat back. His mild blue eyes flickered with a faraway expression. “I used to call my grandmother old woman. She fancied the nickname. And unlike a certain woman in our impromptu search party, Granny had a sense of humor.”
Beau nodded in understanding. Every family, even his own, had its set of codes and pet names and forms of speech that outsiders never quite understood, and often considered odd.
Given that fundamental truth, Logan hadn’t meant any disrespect when he’d called Mavis old woman. He’d been giving her a compliment. Of sorts.
Breaking the silence, Logan sighed. “Granny kind of looked like Mavis. Well, not really. Nobody looks quite like Mavis. But there’s something about the old woman that reminds me of Granny. It’s in the way her face scrunches up when she’s mad. And how she gets all ornery when you cross her. I kind of like the old bird. There, I said it. Happy now?”
“Have you ever told Mavis how you feel?” Beau asked. “Tried to apologize for the misunderstanding?”
“Are you insane?”
Beau smiled at Logan’s horrified expression. “Do I look or sound insane?”
“If I so much as hinted at an apology, Mavis would never let me live it down.”
“Would that be a bad thing?”
Logan looked like one of the Charity House orphans, full of belligerence and bad attitude. “I’d rather face Armageddon.”
Pride, Beau thought. It got a man every time.
Hannah unfolded her legs, maneuvered past the pile of luggage on the floor and tumbled into the empty aisle beyond. Righting herself with as much dignity as possible, she lifted her arms overhead and released a jaw-cracking yawn. Every muscle ached from hours of inactivity. But that would soon come to an end. According to the conductor, they were due to arrive in Cheyenne within the hour.
Instead of feeling joy that they were another step closer to Rachel, Hannah found herself dreading the confrontation all over again. The revelation of her own unresolved bitterness toward her sister was still too fresh, too strong, in her mind. How could she face her sister with so much anger still in her heart? How
could she prevent herself from saying something they would all regret?
Perhaps with Beau by her side, everything would go smoothly.
Beau. Ah, Beau.
Just thinking how far they’d come since their disastrous introduction brought a smile to her lips.
There was no denying that the rebel preacher had disappointed her at their first meeting, proving he was nothing like the compassionate minister she’d dreamed of encountering when she’d read his letter to his brother. And yet, in the ensuing days, his behavior had been above reproach. He’d been accepting of the children of Charity House, an advocate for Jane, an instrument of hope for Megan and a rock for Hannah.
The truth was irrefutable. Hannah was starting to care for Beauregard O’Toole. In the way a woman cared for a man.
But what did that mean for her, for him, for the future? For—
Mavis snorted.
Grateful for the interruption, Hannah turned toward the sound. As she stared at her chaperone, a jolt of affection hitched Hannah’s breath. Mavis Tierney was quite a character. The woman snored louder than the train wheels churned. She squirmed and burrowed like a rodent. Most of the time, she chose to be surly, mean, and spoke her mind without thinking of the consequences.
And yet, Hannah adored her.
Mavis mumbled, snorted again but continued to clutch the smallest of her three satchels against her. Hannah bit back a smile. The older woman seemed overly attached to that canvas bag. In the realm of obsession. A fixation. A…
“Now hold on just a moment,” Hannah whispered to herself.
Using the soft steps earned from years of ballet training, Hannah edged closer to Mavis and narrowed her eyes at the woman’s white-knuckled grip.
Understanding dawned.
“You little sneak.”
With slow, measured moves, Hannah wrapped her fingers around the handle of the bag. Inch by careful inch, she tugged. To no avail. Mavis’s death grip was a force all its own, which only dug Hannah’s suspicions deeper.
Another yank, a quick snatch, and Hannah freed the bag from Mavis’s hold.
The woman didn’t stir.
