Preacher's Wife (Sweet Town Clean Historical Western Romance Book 5)

by Sarah Christian

  The pistol dropped harmlessly from Bell's fingers and though he staggered toward her, he didn't go two steps before falling to the ground on his face. Beulah dashed forward and kicked the gun away from him, just in case, but she was pretty sure he was done for.

  Up to that point everything had seemed to be in slow motion but suddenly, seeing the man who had tormented and mistreated her in unholy ways laying face down in the dirt, the ringing in her ears left and all she could hear were the frantic cries of her son.

  "Jonah, my baby, Mama is here," she crooned, lifting him to her breast, Cradling him in one arm, she tucked the gun into the waistband of her skirt to free her other hand, and knelt next to Matt.

  His eyes were closed but she could hear his labored, shallow breathing. Her torch still burned from where she had dropped it on the ground at the edge of the small clearing, and it afforded a little light. "I am so sorry, Matt," she cried. She ran her free hand over his chest, his face, into his hair that had come free from its tie, but didn't feel the sticky residue of blood a gunshot would leave behind. She'd heard a shot ring out just a second before she had burst upon them in the clearing. Matt was on the ground with Bell standing over him, laughing. He couldn't have missed his target at such close range.

  She sat back on her heels, knees resting on the hard ground, and let her gaze run from the top of his head to his booted feet. Where was the wound? Matt groaned in pain and she leaned forward, looking directly into his face, his green eyes glittered in the low light as he opened them. "Where did he shoot you?"

  "Not shot," he gasped. "My ribs."

  "Thank goodness," she said as she leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Heat, like warm molasses, spread outward from her belly and she ached to deepen their caress, but the seriousness of their situation took precedence. Though he didn't have a bullet lodged in him, she remembered Mika telling them that broken ribs could puncture a lung and kill a person. "I have to get you home. Do you think you can ride?"

  "I'll go through any pain necessary to see you and Jonah home safe and sound."

  Slowly he turned to his side, and then inched his way up to his hands and knees, before finally rising to his feet, leaning heavily on Beulah's shoulders.

  Hiram Bell was crumpled on the ground just a few steps away, and she watched as Matt went to his side and rolled him over with one foot. Bell's open eyes stared at nothing, his mouth still shaped in the look of shock he'd had when he'd seen it was Beulah who had shot him. "He's definitely dead," Matt said quietly. "Are you alright? I don't want you to feel guilty about killing him. You had no choice."

  Beulah considered his question, testing for pain, feeling around in her mind like one prods a sore tooth with the tongue. She shook her head. "Though I'm appalled that I shot him, it was either him or us. I had a choice and I chose us. Actually, it feels like this is one more way he's hurt me, putting me in this horrible position and now I have to live with it for the rest of my life." She paused and looked up at the vast sky, sprinkled with stars. "Maybe I'll burn in Hell, but if I had it to do over again, I'd spare my family again."

  "The Lord won't condemn you for protecting your family. If you hadn't fired when you did, I'd be dead now, and you and Jonah would be captive again." A look of surprise crossed his face, as though something had just occurred to him. "I just realized you included me in your family."

  "Well, of course I did. What else would you be? You're my husband."

  As they began the slow walk back to their campsite, Beulah was considering what would happen next. "You know that Hiram Bell being dead doesn't solve all our problems."

  Matt nodded. "We still have to face the people of Sweet Town. Jennings is still here to cause some sort of trouble, and there are those in town who won't take kindly to having a black preacher." He stumbled over a rock and his breath caught. "We can still move to Deadwood. You saw how many of our people are there."

  Beulah put her hand on his arm. "That town will always be the place where I nearly died from heartbreak thinking my baby was frozen out on the prairie. I'd walk the streets and recollect the first time I had been there and my horror at imagining him crying for me, alone in that shack." She realized she was crying and shrugged a shoulder across her cheek to catch the tears coursing down her face. "I'm sure there are good people there, but I don't think I could ever be happy there."

  Matt stopped as they came upon their campfire, burned down now to embers. The bedrolls lying undisturbed with no sign of the life and death struggle that had taken place not far from there. "If we can't stay in Sweet Town, I promise you, we'll find a new home somewhere you can be happy."

  For such a safe and quiet calling as preaching, Matthieu was certain he'd never been in so much danger blacksmithing with his father. The whole ride back was full of pain, but he didn't dare give a hint of it and add to Beulah's worry. Even in his stoic silence, she kept looking at him as though she expected him to drop dead off of his horse at any moment. Her concern was touching, but hardly filled him with confidence.

  Despite her worries, he remained in his saddle the whole way. The ride to Sweet Town was slow and painful and safe.

  After they passed Mrs. Bjugstad's rose bushes, Beulah spoke. "You need rest. We should get you straight to the parsonage."

  Matt nodded wearily. "I'd certainly benefit, but Hunter will need his horse back."

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hands wringing the reins between them. "I can handle all of that. It's no trouble."

  He turned enough to look full on at her without twisting his rib cage. That she was nervous was obvious, but she wasn't one inclined to easily share her emotions, he'd learned. A lifetime of having to hide her true feelings, subjected to the will of those who would hurt and use her, was likely at fault. Recognizing that, he couldn't be angry that she kept her cards close to her chest. It made the drive to protect her burn in his heart like a prairie fire, wiping away everything that had been there before.

  "Beulah," he began. "What's wrong? You can tell me."

  "Nothing's wrong. Don't worry," she said.

  She might as well have told him not to breathe. How couldn't he have concern for her when she was clearly so on edge? "I'm not going anywhere," he reminded her. "No matter what happens here, we have our family now."

  Her only answer was a small nod.

  At the parsonage, it looked as well-tended and safe as it had when he'd left it. The garden was thriving and the chickens strutted about, fat and pleased with themselves. With a grunt of pain, Matthieu eased himself out of his saddle and went around to help Beulah and Jonah down as well.

  "Welcome home," a man's voice called from the garden.

  "Good afternoon, Neal," Beulah said. "I didn't expect to see you. How was your journey?"

  He wasn't alone, Matt saw now. Neal Leonetti had his wife Emma with him, along with two small children who must have been the orphans he'd gone to retrieve. The back door of the parsonage opened and Lorcan and Bridget O'Cuinn stepped out.

  "Good and safe," Neal said. "And yours? Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Matthieu Whitney."

  "Oh, aye, congratulations. I wish I could have come with you, but I've been run ragged on the laundry all alone this week." Despite the complaint, Bridget smiled. "It'll be so much easier with the two of us this next week."

  "Have all of you been caring for things here?" Matthieu gave a nod to the chicken coop.

  "Well, of course." Emma put her fists on her hips, raising her chin. "What did you expect us to do, ignore them?"

  Neal chuckled at his wife's response and gently touched her cheek with a knuckle. "It's what friends are for."

  Four friends in the entire town was still more than he'd expected. He knew Bridget and Neal both were fairly close to Beulah, yet the effort from them still surprised him. Matt shook his head. "We're awfully grateful, thank you."

  After a few more kind words and well-wishes were exchanged, their visitors left and Matt made his way inside the parsonage
. Though no one had stayed in it since Sunday, it must have been opened up for air every day, as it smelled fresh and sweet. The bunch of wildflowers tucked into a canning jar full of water on the table helped, as well. A large woven basket full of fresh produce from the garden sat beside it, along with a smaller basket of eggs.

  Matt eased himself down carefully onto the settee, grateful that the parsonage had been left so well-furnished by its previous occupant. A hard wooden chair after that long ride would be no great relief. "This was very kind of them, to do all of this without asking."

  "It was." Beulah paused to get Jonah free from the wrap she carried him in, then helped him wriggle and kick his little legs after being confined for so long. The baby laughed in delight at this. "You've made some friends here."

  "Me?" Matt scoffed softly. "I imagine you're the one who's made them."

  "I've made my share, but people like you. At least, a good portion do. You're a good man and they can see that."

  "If that's what they see, then I sincerely hope I can live up to the vision."

  Beulah gave him a strangely sad smile, her eyes sparkling. "You do. If you're comfortable enough there, I'm going to go see about Hunter's horse now."

  He frowned. "What's the rush?"

  She waved a hand. "I just want all of this taken care of in time to heat up supper before too late."

  Before he could press her further, she was gone, Jonah riding her hip, as she led Hunter's horse down the road.

  The late afternoon sun slanted low in the sky, causing long fingers of shadows stretching across the dirt road. Hunter had congratulated Beulah on her marriage and seemed to accept at face value her story of Matt re-injuring his ribs on the ride. Anyone less pure-minded than Hunter might have seen some innuendo in Matt's fresh injuries, she reflected. The horse was taken care of and now there was only one more thing she had to do.

  Sheriff Kit Price wasn't always in his office. He could often be found at the mercantile, keeping watch over Lucy, who was due to have their baby at any time. Beulah knew his habits better than almost anyone, other than his wife, since she had lived in the quarters above the store since last winter. As she walked down the street, occasionally shifting Jonah from one side to the other, she noticed that the blinds in the jail were up, a sign that Kit would be inside, behind the big wooden desk.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Whitney," Kit said with a grin. His feet were up on the desk, ankles crossed but as he spoke he brought them down and with a thump his chair landed on all four legs. "Congratulations on your marriage."

  Beulah nodded and gratefully sank into the only other chair in the room.

  "What brings you here? I would think you'd be at home celebrating with the pastor."

  Beulah swallowed hard and glanced around. Behind Kit were the jail cells, a recent addition to the sheriff's office. Up until their installation, Kit had transported inmates to Rapid City for trial. Now, with the barred rooms, he could hold criminals until a US Marshall could come out and pick them up. She noted that each cell had a simple cot, one blanket, and a chamber pot in plain view. "Matt's ribs have been injured again."

  "How'd that happen, if you don't mind me asking?" He leaned forward, placing both hands palm down on the desk.

  Beulah felt her cheeks grow hot. She hoped he didn't think her husband had been hurt doing something intimate. "Hiram Bell found us on the trail, on our way back from Deadwood."

  Kit stood up and his hands reached for his sidearms, hanging in holsters at his sides. "Where is he?"

  "Settle down, Sheriff. He can't hurt us anymore. He's dead."

  Kit sat back down on the chair and looked long and hard at Beulah. "You'd better tell me what happened."

  She told him. "So you see, I'm here to confess to murdering Hiram Bell. I'm hoping that you'll see fit to hold off on arresting me until Matt has recovered from his injuries. He'll have to take care of Jonah for me and right now he really can't even lift him."

  Kit rubbed his forehead, his brows drawn together in displeasure. "The west is a dangerous place. Why, it's hardly civilized, and for decent folks like you and the pastor, it can be especially hard. People have to rely on themselves for protection, and the law knows this. We don't expect you to be able to call on a sheriff or marshal to get you out of every jam. That's why we give most everyone the benefit of the doubt."

  Beulah found herself nodding, unsure where the sheriff was going with this train of thought. Never having been arrested before, she wasn't sure but that everyone had to listen to this speech. She realized her mind had wandered and dragged it back to his voice.

  "I figured that one day, what with the outlaws and everything else out here in Dakota Territory, eventually I'd run into a case of someone killing in self-defense."

  "Didn't you hear me, Kit? I shot the man in his back. He wasn't coming for me. In fact, I'm sure he didn't even know I was there until I hit him and he turned to look at me as he fell."

  He continued as though she hadn't spoken. "I just never thought it would be a young mother doing the killing." He squinted at her, tightening his jaw. "Did you believe he was going to shoot your husband?"

  "Yes, I just told you that."

  Kit nodded. "And did you believe that after killing your husband he was going to throw your baby into a river to drown?"

  Exasperated, Beulah gritted her teeth and tried to speak calmly. "I heard him say it with his own mouth."

  "If that's not self-defense, I don't know what is. You were defending your loved ones. No jury would find you guilty."

  "But I killed him, shot him in the back. Don't you think that's for a judge and jury to decide?"

  Kit nodded in agreement. "If a crime had been committed, surely it would be appropriate to take this case before a court. However, every last person who dealt with Hiram Bell over the past few months would testify that the man was a threat to you and your child. A wife defending her husband, a mother protecting her baby, is no criminal. It would be a waste of time and money to take this to court. No crime has been committed." He pushed his palms down on the desk and stood. "Now, go home and get some rest. You look half dead yourself."

  Beulah stood and hesitated. Was that really it? As she stepped outside the sheriff's office, she looked down the dusty street toward the church, with the parsonage tucked away to the side. With each step in that direction, the weight of her worries about going to prison or being hung for the crime of murder, fell away. As she quickened her pace she told herself that her hurry was because it was time to start supper.

  The rich scent of wild onion and chicken rose from the pot Beulah stirred on the stove. Emma and Bridget had been kind enough to provide a ready meal that only needed to be heated, reducing Beulah's work to just preparing biscuits and some turnip greens with bacon. At Matthieu's feet, Jonah was doing his best to shove a too large block into his too small mouth. Matt leaned back in his chair to admire the tranquility of the scene after all they had been through. But one thing marred the perfection of the peaceful evening.

  "Beulah." She jumped at her name, but didn't turn to face him. Almost from the moment she had returned from her errand, she'd been keeping her back to him, conversation as minimal as possible. Whatever was troubling her before still clearly weighed on her mind. "Beulah, what's wrong? You have to talk to me."

  "I don't know what good it does." She sighed and opened up the oven to take out her biscuits. They were golden, flaky and fat just like his mother used to make and even with years of cooking his own meals, he'd never been able to get it quite right.

  "Is not speaking to me doing good?"

  For a moment the only response he got was silence. Then she finally turned to face him again, a faint frown pursing her soft lips. "I went to speak to the sheriff and told him I murdered Hiram Bell."

  "What?" Matt rose to his feet without thinking, then hissed sharply through his teeth, cradling his sore side. "Why would you do a thing like that? You were defending us. It wasn't murder at all."

 
; "He's still just as dead, isn't he? And I've known plenty of people who never did a thing wrong but give a man like Bell the wrong look, and those people were lynched." A stray tear coursed down her cheek to where her jaw had the finest tremble to it. "I didn't want to fool myself into thinking things were all right when something awful was coming later on. And what if the something awful came, and you were the one who got the blame?"

  Even if his ribs had been whole, he couldn't have drawn a breath in that moment. Everything went stock still for a moment and he thought perhaps even his heart had stopped. he'd been more than ready to die to protect Beulah and Jonah, but the thought of her doing the same to protect him was terrible and wrong and the most devastating act of devotion all at once.

  "You called me family," he finally managed to get out. "If we're a family, I need warning about what might tear us apart. I deserve that."

  "If I'd told you, you would've tried to stop me and it wouldn't have protected you at all."

  "Yes, I would have! That's how it works. We make decisions together now. You're not alone any more, Beulah."

  She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes downcast, and gave a small nod. "I should have told you first. Doing it behind your back wasn't fair, with all the ways my life affects yours now. I'm sorry."

  "Thank you." Not that the apology was what he was interested in all. He checked to be sure Jonah was still happy gnawing on his toys, then came closer to take Beulah in his arms. She melted into him as though they had been made to fit together like a lock and its sole key. "What happened when you told Kit?"

  "He said it was justified because I had to prevent Bell from killing you."

  Relief flooded him. He rested his cheek against the top of Beulah's head as he silently wished blessings on Kit Price for the remainder of his days. "It was. If you'd hesitated even a second longer, I wouldn't be here now. Why'd you need to hear that from the law instead of from me?"