Nate (The Rock Creek Six)

by Handeland, Lori

  "You okay, Jo?" Mary asked.

  Nodding, Jo swiped hard at her treacherous eyes. "I'm annoyingly weepy of late."

  "We all are, sweetie. It'll pass."

  Nate stepped into the room with Reese on his heels. Reese was grinning, an unusual occurrence for him. Rico walked over and whispered something. Then they both laughed and shook hands. Nate scowled at the two of them and walked away.

  He headed right for her, and Jo's tears faded. Then Fiona shot out of the crowd. Nate smiled at the sight of the child and bent to pick her up. She kicked him in the knee. The room went silent.

  "You say I was your baby always. But you gave her a baby." She glared at Jo.

  Eden cursed. Sullivan started across the room, but Nate waved him off. He focused completely on the little girl whose heart appeared broken.

  "I'm sorry, Fiona. I shouldn't have said I'd never have another baby. Never's a long time. But you will always, always be my special girl."

  "What about her? You married with her. She your special girl now."

  He smiled at Jo. "Well, she is mighty special."

  Her heart flipped into her belly. He was so good at this. Why did he deny the gift he possessed for knowing the right words, the right actions, to make people feel better?

  Nate returned his attention to Fiona. "But she isn't you. There's only one Fiona."

  "Thank God," Eden muttered.

  "What if you have a girl baby?"

  "Well, then I'll need you more than ever. Because I'd want my little girl to be as helpful and sweet and gentle with folks as you are. I'd need you to teach her to be just like you."

  Some of the anger seeped out of Fiona's face as interest took its place. "Really?"

  "Of course. And if I have a boy baby—"

  "Boys." Fiona sniffed. "Ain't half so special as girls."

  Nate pressed his lips together and glanced at Sullivan with a "help me" look. The sheriff picked up his daughter. As he walked toward the door, Fiona peered over her father's shoulder at Nate.

  "Okay, Unca Nate, I help you with the baby. 'Cause I'm specialest, right?"

  "That's right."

  Sullivan and Fiona disappeared into the night. Everyone's eyes turned to Jo. Her cheeks heated. Eden struggled up from her chair to join Mary and Lily, who were already at her side.

  "I'm sorry," Eden whispered. "She must have been listening at the door when Sin and I were talking. She'll be punished."

  Jo shook her head. "She's just a child, and she loves him. I can understand that."

  Nate, flanked by Reese and Rico, appeared a bit embarrassed himself. Would wonders never cease? But he walked away from the support of his friends and came directly to Jo. Pulling her away from the women, he put an arm around her and together they faced the crowd.

  "I guess we don't have any secrets left." A ripple of laughter swirled about the room. "That's not the way I'd have preferred for everyone to learn our news, but now that you know I'll say to everyone Jo is my wife and I'll tolerate no disrespect to her. Anything you've got to say about my mistake you can say to me."

  Mistake? They might be man and wife; they might be embarking on a life together for better or for worse, but he still saw their baby as a mistake. His mistake.

  Jo wanted to cry again. But she refused to do so in front of the entire town.

  "Reese asked me to take over a few of the duties the circuit preacher's been performing. But if that's not what y'all want, say so now."

  Jo's eyes widened. Did that mean he'd agreed?

  Oliver Jennings, the man who'd bought Sutton's Store when the family went back east, stepped out of the crowd. "Heck, Reverend, there ain't a one of us here who can throw a stone over somethin' like this."

  "Yeah."

  "Sure."

  "You did the right thing."

  "Besides," Oliver continued. "Miss Jo—" He glanced at her and nodded. "I mean Mrs. Lang does so much for the womenfolk here, none of them want her to leave. Since we don't have a doctor, or the money to bring one here, I'd say Rock Creek needs you both."

  Someone started clapping near the back of the room, and the sound spread throughout Three Queens. Nate appeared as surprised about the welcome as Jo was that he'd agreed to be the preacher. He'd refused when she'd asked him. What had changed since then?

  Quite a bit. Still, she hadn't seen any indication that his mistake had affected anything other than their relationship and their lives. She intended to find out what was going on just as soon as she could get him alone.

  The trill of a piano quieted the crowd. Lily stood on the stage. "Now we'll have a waltz for the newlyweds. Johnny?"

  Her son began to play a gentle, swaying tune Jo had never heard before. Perhaps he'd invented it himself. No one could play the piano like Johnny. Not that Jo had known many piano players, but she could tell genius when she heard it.

  Nate curled his hand along her waist. Jo looked up in alarm. "I can't dance," she whispered.

  "What?"

  "There wasn't much call for it in missionary circles."

  "I suspect not."

  "Where did you learn?"

  "I was a man before I was a reverend." He winked. "And afterward too. Don't worry. I won't let you stumble."

  "I just want to go home."

  He frowned and ran his thumb over her cheekbone. Jo resisted the urge to close her eyes and lean against him. They had things to discuss before she could rest—or do anything else.

  "You seem tired. Follow me and I'll waltz you outside, all right?"

  He gave her no time to answer, just twirled her along with the music, in wider and wider circles until they neared the door. Then with a wave and a "Thank you!" he led her away to the chorus of "Good night, Reverend and Mrs. Lang."

  Jo wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the myriad changes that had come over their lives. The least of them was the sudden change in her name.

  The streets of Rock Creek were deserted. Nate took her hand and they walked toward the rectory. Thankfully, someone had stabled the horses, unloaded the wagon, and left a lamp burning to welcome them home.

  They stepped into the house, and Nate escorted her directly to the bed they'd shared once before—what seemed a lifetime ago. That night she'd crept beneath the covers and held him without his knowledge. She'd felt like a thief, even though she'd slept like a worn-out toddler.

  Tonight she could rest here as his wife, the mother of his child, in the house that would be their home, and the pull of that was so strong Jo nearly let the questions wait. But she had to know the truth.

  Already loosening the buttons on the back of her dress, his fingers stilled when she murmured, "Why, Nate?" She turned in his arms, and when he would have backed away, she caught his waist and held on tight. "Why now and not when I asked? What did Reese say that I forgot?"

  He stared over her head at the dancing lamplight. "I don't know what you mean."

  A flicker of hope flared and forced her to ask, "Did you suddenly realize your faith isn't dead?"

  He snorted. "I don't think so."

  The tiny spark sputtered. Such a realization would have been too soon and too easy. A man who'd turned his back on God the way Nate had would not return by the power of words alone. He needed miracles.

  Jo laid her hand on her belly. And miracles took time.

  "You said you couldn't help me minister to this town. That it wouldn't be right. What changed?"

  At last he looked at her, and his eyes were sad and haunted once again. She'd thought that expression was gone, if not for good, then at least for a little while. But a single question and she'd brought back his pain. Jo wished she'd let well enough alone.

  "You know what changed, Jo."

  "This?" She took his hand and placed it on her belly.

  He flinched and pulled away as if he couldn't bear to touch her, and she knew that wasn't true. He didn't want to touch the child, and Jo's heart cracked a little deeper on the fear that he might never want to.

  "
The baby changed everything for us both," Jo murmured. "But I don't see why you'd agree to take this job because of it."

  "Because it's a job," he snapped. "And I need one. If I fill the position, no one else can."

  The light dawned. "We can live here. But you don't have to—"

  "Yes, I do." Nate went to stand near the door. "My choices for employment are slim. It's the gun or the Bible. And now that I promised to take care of you..."

  "You took the job for me."

  "I certainly didn't do it for me."

  "Oh, Nate," she whispered. "That hardly seems right."

  "As Reese so thoughtfully pointed out, if I don't believe in God, then why concern myself with right and wrong?"

  "But—"

  "Just let it go." His voice incredibly weary, he leaned his head against the casing. "Let me do something for you."

  Jo couldn't stop herself from crossing the room, even though the way he held himself, taut and still, revealed he did not want her near. When she touched him he shrugged her off, so she laid her cheek against his shoulder and refused to go.

  "You've done everything for me. And I'm grateful."

  "Grateful." He released a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "How can you be grateful to me after everything I've done to you?"

  "To me? You must mean for me." She smoothed her palm over the rock hard expanse of his back. Meaning to soothe, she did anything but as the muscles fluttered and jumped beneath her fingertips. "You gave me your body, your child, your name. There's very little else I could ask of you."

  At last he turned and cupped her cheek. In the flickering light of the lamp, he appeared much older than he had of late. Would the man ever stop breaking her heart? "I'd give you anything I could."

  She wished he could give her love, but such sentiments could not be requested. Love happened or it didn't. The words flowed or were never voiced. She'd learned that much from her father.

  Jo covered his hand with her own. "And I'd give you anything I could. Anything you asked of me."

  "I have no right to ask anything, but I will. Let me do this job without argument. Let me give you your home, your friends, the life you love and deserve. It's all I can offer."

  "You sell yourself short. You have so much to offer, both to me and to this town."

  He lowered his hand to her shoulder. "You always see more in this world than there is. More in me than there ever could be."

  "It's called hope, Nate."

  "I'm glad one of us has some."

  Jo had always had enough hope for the both of them. But she was starting to wonder if hope would be enough.

  Chapter 16

  In the weeks and months that followed, Nate worked harder than he'd worked in his life. But he didn't mind, because Jo was by his side.

  Not only had Rock Creek grown over the past few years, so had the surrounding ranches, and the stage brought countless travelers, many in need of a preacher's ear if not his services. Nate spent most of his time listening to people's troubles and offering common sense advice. It was what he'd always done best, and he slipped back into the habit with nary a ripple in the surface of his life.

  The first week he prevented a young man from getting shot when his sweetheart's father caught him with his hands where they did not belong. That was the first wedding Nate performed in his new position. Saving a boy's life and making a girl's tears turn to smiles had made something warm and wonderful sprout in his belly, and the feeling hadn't gone away until he'd had word of his first burial.

  So in the second week he stood over the grave of an eighty-year-old woman and found himself at a loss for what to say. Until he'd looked into the face of his wife, and she'd smiled at him with such hope and confidence. Suddenly the words he'd needed were there.

  He couldn't remember all he'd said, but the woman's family had left the cemetery at peace. As Jo told him later, he had done his job exceptionally well that day.

  His job. As long as he thought of it that way, he had no problem going on.

  Between being a reverend and the closest thing to a doctor Rock Creek had, Nate's days were full of helping folks, and some nights too. But most nights belonged to Jo—and what nights they were.

  The changes in her body were minute but arousing. Always tiny and bone thin, the child gave her curves in all the right places. Nate could spend a lifetime learning every nuance of her skin.

  Once in a while he pulled out his secret bottle and stared at the whiskey, even uncapped the thing and took a whiff. He always managed to keep from drinking by thinking of Jo.

  But it wasn't the sex that made the thirst that had always haunted him abate. It was Jo herself. Not only did they sleep together, but they worked together. And while Nate would have thought that was just too much "together," he would have thought wrong, because Jo was an amazing woman in more ways than one.

  Through her eyes he saw life instead of death, and inch by inch he was brought back into a world that had been fuzzy and indistinct for a long time. There were so many things he had missed while being drunk, and he recalled many of them in Jo's company.

  Sun and wind, rain and lightning. Flowers, grass, water. Crisp sheets, warm bread, the drift of lips across his temple. The empty place where God had lived, which he'd strived to fill with alcohol, he now filled with the folks of Rock Creek and Jo.

  Angela had been unable to cope with the realities of being a preacher's wife. There was a lot of joy in helping people, but there was an equal amount of despair in discovering some people just couldn't be helped. Having Jo at his side when he faced the latter was more comforting than wine.

  In the life Angela had hated, Jo thrived. She would have made a much better reverend than Nate. But he had to say she made the best preacher's wife a man could ask for, and working side by side to help others gave him a sense of completeness such as he had never known.

  After a particularly busy day—he'd taken to answering the children's questions one afternoon every week; it kept them from knocking on the door ten times a morning—he and Jo hurried through supper, then answered a few questions of their own in the bedroom. As they lay entwined, a knock had Nate pulling on his pants and shirt in a hurry. Most nighttime summons meant he was needed for comfort or doctoring.

  He found Sinclair Sullivan pacing the porch, his dark skin pale, his lips pulled into a straight, tight line. "It's time."

  "I'll get my shoes," Nate said.

  "Not you. She wants Jo and Mary."

  "I'll get Jo for Eden, then I'll come along for you."

  Sullivan's lips loosened—not exactly a smile, but close. "I'd be obliged. I can't bear it that I've done this to her."

  Nate turned away before Sullivan saw him flinch. No doubt this night would bring back more memories than Nate cared to count. Regardless, Sullivan needed a shoulder. Even if that hadn't been Nate's job now, Sullivan was his friend. The man had braced Nate with his own shoulder enough times in enough bars in enough towns.

  Afraid Jo was asleep already—although she no longer got ill, she did get tired—he was surprised to find her nearly dressed when he stepped into their room.

  He buttoned the top five buttons she was forever unable to reach, then pressed his mouth to her neck for an instant. "You heard?"

  She turned with a brisk nod. "Eden. Yes, I heard."

  The circles beneath her eyes made guilt pound in his chest. He should have let her sleep, but he'd been unable to keep himself from touching her when she'd slid into bed not wearing a stitch.

  Jo touched his chin. "What?"

  "What, what?"

  "You're upset."

  One thing about constant togetherness, it seemed to have made her able to read his mind.

  "I should have let you sleep."

  She went on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him deeply, thoroughly, until he was breathless and on the verge of aroused.

  "I wanted you, Nate. It's embarrassing how much I want you."

  "Not half as embarrassing
for you as me."

  She looked down and smirked. "True enough." Raising his hand to her mouth, she kissed his knuckles, then held on tight. "Don't ever feel guilty about touching me. Promise?"

  "I'll do my best."

  Together they went to help their friends.

  * * *

  "How much longer?" Jo whispered.

  "Soon," Mary assured her.

  Night had faded, dawn was but a memory, and still Eden writhed in pain. Jo had attended countless births, but never before had every contraction seemed to last an eternity. Never before had she felt each pain as her own, each muffled cry like a knife to her belly.

  Jo pulled Mary near the window. "Is there always so much blood?"

  Mary frowned. "You said you'd done this before."

  "I have. It's just..."Jo moved her hands helplessly.

  "Different when it's a friend," Mary finished.

  "I suppose."

  "That's why we leave the men outside. They only make things worse. They can't bear to watch what they've done to us. It's actually very sweet."

  Mary returned to Eden's side, leaving Jo alone with unpleasant thoughts. Now that she faced childbirth, it seemed everywhere she went she heard stories of births gone wrong, saw children who were not quite right, beheld a multitude of tiny gravestones next to those of their mothers.

  Had all those things been there before? Certainly. But she hadn't noticed, and now they preyed on her mind.

  She'd wanted children for as long as she could remember. Why now, when she was having the child of the man she adored, did she suddenly fear dying in childbirth when she'd never considered such a thing before? Perhaps because there'd never been the slightest chance of her having a child, so the fear had nowhere to take root.

  "Push, Eden!"

  Mary's urgent cry brought Jo back to the matter at hand. Getting this child born.

  Swallowing her fear, Jo went to brace Eden's shoulders so that Mary, near four months along herself, could work the other end.

  Mary had been right. It wasn't long before Sullivan number five was born.