A Lady Like Sarah

by Margaret Brownley

  Eighteen

  Justin wasn't sure what woke him. He rolled on his back, eyes wide open. Something . . .

  Leaving the comfort of his bedroll, he fumbled in the dark until he found the candle on the wooden table. He lit it and the flickering light sent shadows fleeing across the creviced walls, but all he could see was Sarah's empty cot.

  His heart sank. She left—left without so much as a goodbye. Left never to be seen again. The very thought turned his blood cold. He could hardly breathe.

  For weeks, he'd fought his feelings for Sarah, refusing to believe what his heart knew was true. Now that she was gone, all pretense left him. He covered his face with his hands but he couldn't hold back his anguished cry.

  That's when he heard it—the voice of an angel.

  Checking to make certain Elizabeth was still asleep, he rushed to the mouth of the cave and peered into the darkness. From the distance came the braying of cattle. No stars could be seen, but a glimmer of the waxing moon peeked through fast moving clouds.

  Her voice was clear now. Sarah's voice . . .

  Unable to see her, he reached for the lit candle, but a breeze blew it out, bringing with it the musty smell of damp earth. He grabbed a lantern that had been left by railroad workers and lit it with shaking hands. He held it up over his head, moving it back and forth until he could pick out her slight figure.

  She stood on the rocky cliffs opposite the cave, singing. Though clear and sweet, her voice seemed at odds with the lyrics of an old Irish drinking song.

  What was she doing? Why was she standing atop a boulder in the middle of the night singing her heart out? But then he saw it, in the distance: lightning, followed by the low rumble of thunder. Recalling Frazier's warning about a possible stampede, a chill shot down his spine.

  From behind the cave, Noah neighed and Blizzard whickered. Moses made a long rasping sound. Their animals were tethered high above the trail, out of harm's way, but obviously they, too, sensed danger.

  Another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, and the air crackled around him.

  After a while, Sarah's voice stilled and he felt like he was in a wilderness with only the sky to keep him company.

  He opened his mouth in song. "A . . . maz . . . ing grace . . ."

  It had been so long since he'd sung, so long since he'd wanted to.

  He wanted to sing now, not only because he hoped to avert a disaster, but because he wanted to reach across the chasm to where Sarah stood all alone.

  His baritone voice floated between them. After he'd sung the lyrics all the way through, he began again and this time she joined him. Her voice grew stronger as the words and tune became more familiar to her.

  And he liked it. Liked the way their voices blended together. Like the music they made, the bond they created.

  ". . . How sweet the sound . . ."

  A flash of light zigzagged across the sky, followed by a loud boom.

  The ground shook. Rocks rained down from the upper cliffs, barely missing him. He quickly ducked beneath the overhang.

  "Sarah!" he called, motioning her to safety, but it was too late. The first of the stampeding longhorns had arrived. The falling rocks forced him farther back into the cave.

  Soon, a moving mass of panicked cattle swept through the canyon below. The heat of their bodies combined with swirling dust clouds made it nearly impossible to breathe.

  The beeves didn't utter a sound, but the clash of horns and thumps of flying hooves bounced off the canyon walls with a deafening roar.

  He glanced at Elizabeth's makeshift bed. The baby stirred and cried out, but there was no time to comfort her, not with Sarah's life in danger.

  Sarah scrambled away from the edge of the cliff. She lost her footing and slid down the slick granite on her stomach.

  Justin's breath caught in his throat, his body frozen in horror.

  At the last possible moment, she grabbed hold of a slender tree. The sapling bent dangerously beneath her weight. Her feet dangled over the cliff, mere inches above the churning long horns. She searched for a foothold in the rocky cliff, her boots scrambling furiously against the granite wall.

  "Hold on!" he shouted, "Hold on!" But the pounding hooves, claps of thunder, and blazing guns of cowhands trying to head the herd to safety all but drowned out his shouts.

  Dust stung his eyes, and he coughed. Keeping his gaze glued on her, he covered his mouth with his neckerchief.

  The stampede seemed to go on forever. Time stood still. At one point the dust was so thick, he could barely make out Sarah's slender form dangling helplessly from the side of the cliff.

  Finally, finally, the ground grew still and the sound of beating hooves faded away.

  He jumped to the ground and scrambled up the other side, crawling on hands and knees until he was able to grab Sarah's wrist and pull her to safety. The lantern he'd left at the dugout entrance provided a warm circle of light.

  She was shaking so hard, it was all he could do to wrap his arms around her. Holding her tight, he buried his face in her hair. "If anything had happened to you—"

  She lifted her face to him, her lips trembling.

  Justin couldn't take his eyes off her. Something inside him broke loose. Some previously guarded part of him pulled free from its moorings and a feeling of wonder and amazement swept over him. Never before had he felt such overwhelming tenderness in his heart and he knew then, knew with every essence of his being, that nothing would ever be the same.

  He lifted her chin. He stood so close to her that he could see the gold that tipped her eyelashes, count the freckles on her face.

  Thunder sounded like marching soldiers followed by clashing swords of lightning. But no army could combat the temptation before him; no battle was fought harder.

  "Sarah Prescott," he whispered in her ear. "I love you."

  She stilled in his arms, then pulled away.

  He laughed at her expression and reached out to her. "I do believe you're speechless."

  She slapped his hand away. "What do you expect, you joshin' me like that?"

  "I'm not joshing you. I mean what I say. I love you." He savored the feel of the words in his mouth, the sound in his ears. It wasn't new, this feeling. It had been there all along. Now that he had given it a name, he knew that pain would surely follow. He didn't care. No future misery could take away his present joy.

  Her eyes round with disbelief, she stared at him. "You ain't got no business sayin' somethin' you don't mean," she said, sounding remarkably like her old self, considering her recent ordeal.

  He pulled her close again and showered kisses across her forehead, down her cheek and jaw.

  From inside the cave, Elizabeth's shrill cries could no longer be ignored. He stilled, then drew his mouth away from Sarah's. Kissing her nose and then her forehead, he reluctantly pulled away.

  "Divine intervention," he said.

  She laughed, and he thought he never heard a more beautiful sound.

  Together they climbed down the rocky cliffs and hurried up the path leading to the cave. By the time they reached Elizabeth's side, she was fast asleep.

  Shaking his head at the improbability of Elizabeth falling asleep before her late-night feeding, he lowered himself upon a cot.

  Sarah watched him, the cool assessing look she gave him at odds with the soft curve of her mouth still swollen from his kisses. Her tousled hair fell to her shoulders in disheveled waves.

  "What you said before," she began, her voice small and trembling.

  "I meant every word."

  A worried frown flitted across her forehead. "You can't love me. You're a preacher."

  "Preachers can love," he said. "Nothing in the Bible says we can't."

  The frown deepened. "But I'm an outlaw."

  "Your brothers are outlaws, not you," he said. "You simply have the misfortune of being a Prescott."

  She shook her head. "This ain't right. Look at me. I'm no lady. I don't even dress lik
e one. You can't hitch a horse with a coyote."

  He rose to his feet and started toward her.

  Holding her hand up, palm out, she backed away from him. Instead of embracing his feelings, she looked trapped. "I don't even know the proper way to talk to God."

  "God doesn't expect you to talk any special way."

  "Don't—"

  "Don't what?" he asked closing the distance between them. He grabbed her by the wrists and backed her against the granite wall where she couldn't escape. "You said you liked it when we kissed."

  "You ain't talkin' about. . . no kissin'," she said. "You're talkin about lovin', and that's a leopard with stripes instead of spots. It ain't right."

  "You don't want me to love you?" he asked.

  She bit her lip and lowered her lashes. "It makes no sense to love someone you can't be with."

  "Do you think I planned this?"

  The eyes meeting his were filled with dismay.

  "The truth is . . .Sarah, God knows I've fought the truth. I was just too stubborn to know my own heart. And . . . and . . . I—" He shook his head in frustration. "I'm no good at saying what I feel."

  "I'd say you're doing a mighty fine job," she said.

  He threaded his fingers through hers. "The truth is," he began again and this time his feelings flowed from him as easily as a song. "I loved you from the moment I first set eyes on you. I loved you when you were chin-deep in mire yelling your head off. I loved you when you were on hands and knees digging that marshal's grave. I loved you when you were swatting hoppers and singing to a bunch of crazy cows."

  Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. "We can't do this," she said, her voice choked. She lowered her lashes. "I—I've got to leave. In two days."

  "I know. I know." He cupped her chin in his hand and she lifted her eyes to his. "I just want to know . . . Do you . . . do you have feelings for me?"

  "Oh, Justin," she cried. She flung her arms around his neck but just as quickly pulled away. "I don't think I'm ever gonna remember that a lady ain't supposed to throw herself at a man like that."

  "Sometimes it's okay," Justin said. "In extraordinary circumstances."

  "Like when a prayer is answered?" she whispered.

  "Like when a man declares his love."

  Not waiting for a second invitation, she flung her arms around him a second time. "Oh, Justin, I do love you. I do."

  His mouth pressed against hers, her lips soft and yielding next to his own. Her skin felt warm and smooth and soft as fine velvet.

  "Are you folks okay?"

  At the sound of the cattle spotter's voice, Justin jumped back.

  "Yes," he called back, his voice shaking. "We're . . . we're fine."

  "We'd like you folks to join us at the chuck wagon for breakfast in the morning," Frazier said.

  "Breakfast?" Justin mouthed and Sarah nodded. He called louder. "That's mighty generous of you."

  "It's the least we can do for the trouble you folks had to put up with tonight. See you in the mornin'."

  Justin waited for the sound of hooves to fade away, then turned to Sarah again. This time, he kept his arms to his side.

  The longing in her eyes matched his own. Nonetheless, she shook her head. "I know. You're a preacher . . . a Christian."

  "A Christian," he repeated out loud for his own benefit— a desperate attempt to quell the burning fires within.

  Biting her lip, she nodded in agreement.

  He watched the play of emotions on her face and her inner struggles mirrored his own. He felt a twinge of guilt for not validating her growing faith. In the face of temptation, it was often her strength more than his that saved him. Once he'd convinced her that her promise not to bother God again was invalid, she embraced her growing faith in God with childlike wonder.

  At first, her short, simple prayers had startled Justin. "Keep her safe, God, You hear?" she'd say while holding Elizabeth, and that would be the extent of her prayer. Her prayers lacked formality but never substance. At times, he'd envied the simplicity of her faith. Her growing relationship with God was simple and pure. In contrast, his faith was often weakened by self-doubt.

  "You're right," he said at last. "And I need to do the right thing. But not because of who I am. Because of who we both are."

  He backed away but every inch that separated them added to his misery. "I'll . . . I'll check the horses." With that, he quickly turned and walked away. It was one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do—and by far the most necessary.

  He followed the path that led above the cave. Half walking, half running, he fought the temptation to turn back.

  As far as he was concerned, he hadn't escaped fast enough. Holding Sarah in his arms, kissing her, hearing her declare her love for him had felt like paradise. No, torture. It had been torture because he wanted so much more. Had so much more to give her.

  He walked faster.

  He was a pastor, a man of the cloth, someone whom others looked up to and yet. . . He wanted to touch her, to fill her eyes with longing.

  He walked faster, still.

  He wanted her in every way that a man could want a woman. God forgive him.

  This time, he broke into a full run.

  At first he thought the campfire belonged to the cattlemen, but he realized his mistake the moment he stepped into the circle of light and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

  "Hold it right there, mister," came a rough voice.

  Justin stopped in his tracks, his hands held high. There were two of them, both dressed in black. The second man was younger, barely out of his teens. At first Justin thought he'd had the misfortune of meeting up with outlaws, but then he saw the silver badges.

  Lawmen!

  "Throw your weapons down."

  "I'm not armed," Justin said. "I'm a preacher."

  The man with the gun motioned for his partner to check Justin for weapons. The younger man stepped forward and patted Justin down with quick efficiency. He seemed overly eager, and Justin guessed he was new on the job.

  "No weapons," he announced.

  Satisfied that Justin was unarmed, the older lawman lowered his gun.

  "Sorry to startle you," Justin said. "I thought you were cattlemen."

  "I reckon we wouldn't be sitting here if we were," the lawman said. "We'd be out chasing beeves." Even in the dim light of the fire, Justin could feel the man's scrutiny.

  "You're out of breath. Hope you weren't trying to outrun those cattle."

  "Just out for a walk."

  "Sit for a spell. Name's Marshal Watson. This here is Deputy Marshal Massey."

  Justin nodded to both men and since there didn't seem to be any way of avoiding it, added, "Justin Wells. Reverend Justin Wells."

  Marshal Watson eyed him curiously. A rugged man whose craggy face looked like it was carved out of the same granite as the surrounding hills, he spit a stream of tobacco off to the side before sitting on a log.

  "I reckon you'd either have to be a preacher or a fool to travel these parts unarmed."

  Taking his cue, Justin sat on a tree stump opposite him. "Some people would say I'm both."

  "Where you from?" Watson asked.

  "Boston."

  "Thought as much," Watson drawled.

  Massey threw another log onto the fire. "You got yourself some accent, there."

  "What are you doin' in these parts?" Watson asked.

  "I'm on my way to Texas."

  "Texas, eh?Any trouble on the trail?"

  "Uh. . . no."

  A less observant man might have missed the slight hesitation, but not Watson. The marshal's eyes sharpened as if to weigh its significance. "No one travels through these parts without trouble."

  "If by trouble you mean weather problems, then I had plenty. I also ran into a swarm of locusts and some over- friendly Indians."

  "You're lucky that's all you ran into," Watson said. "Some of our worst outlaws are hiding in Indi
an territory."

  "We're working out of Judge Parker's court," Massey said proudly.

  "Deputy Marshal Massey is a new recruit," Watson added in a tone that indicated he'd already grown weary of the younger man's enthusiasm.

  "Judge Parker picked me hisself," Massey said, puffing out his chest. "Said my love of excitement and my desire to improve conditions made me a perfect man for the job."

  Marshal Watson stuck a cheroot in his mouth, struck a match on the sole of his boot, and lit it. "We gotta telegram from Texas saying that one of our marshals has disappeared. He was bringing in a member of the Prescott gang."

  Justin's mouth went dry. An icy chill shot down his spine and settled at the pit of his stomach. He wasn't good at deception. Had no idea whether to act surprised, indifferent, or merely interested.

  Watson never took his eyes off him. "The marshal and his prisoner were supposed to catch a train to Texas from Kansas City but never showed up. You didn't happen to meet up with them, did you? A marshal with a woman prisoner? Stands yea tall." He held up his hand to indicate. "Red hair. Blue eyes. Name's Sarah Prescott."

  Justin's mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he managed to keep a neutral expression. "Afraid I can't help you."

  Watson shrugged. "Just thought I'd ask. Stranger things have happened."

  "We're gonna get the Prescott gang," Massey said with a conviction that could only come with youth. "That will show the rest of them outlaws that we mean bus'ness."

  Not wanting to draw suspicion, Justin endured the silence that followed. It started to rain, giving him an excuse to leave. "I better get back to camp."

  "Maybe you could join us for breakfast at the chuck wagon," Watson said. "The cattlemen were kind enough to extend us an invite. Don't think they'd object to an extra mouth."

  Justin's mind scrambled. "I plan to get an early start in the morning."

  "Same here. But hittin' the trail is a lot more pleasant with some real grub under the belt."

  "I'll think about it." To Massey, he said, "Good luck on your new job."

  Justin turned and walked away, feeling Watson's eyes on him until he disappeared into the darkness.

  Nineteen