“Can I look around?” he asked.
“Sure. Just don’t leave the lobby.”
With John standing at her side, she rang the bell on the counter. A chubby man in a white shirt ambled out of the back room and smiled at them both. “Howdy, Reverend. What can I do for you folks?”
“Nate, this is Abigail Windsor. She’s a friend of mine. She and her son need a suite for a few weeks.”
“A single room will be fine,” Abbie said. She craved the luxury of private space, but she couldn’t afford it.
When Nate glanced at John, she suspected a message was being passed. She ached for a bed of her own, but she didn’t want to owe John any favors. “How much will it be for just a room?” she insisted.
“Same as for the suite,” Nate said. “The singles are all taken, so I’ll give it to you at a discount. The windows face the alley, but the beds are soft.”
At the thought of a feather mattress, Abbie no longer cared about owing favors to anyone. “That’s kind of you. I’ll take it.”
As the clerk turned to the wallbox holding keys, she reached for the pen and signed the register. “Is it possible to order a bath?”
“Sure thing, ma’am.”
She was imagining steamy water when the casual scuff of her son’s shoes caught her attention. Robbie had just stepped back into the lobby with his hands jammed into his pockets and a sly look in his eyes. Abbie’s stomach lurched. The last time she’d seen that expression had been on the train when he’d stolen the orange. Needing every advantage, she straightened her spine to gain a few inches on the boy who could almost look her in the eye.
“I told you to stay in the lobby,” she said firmly.
“I did.”
“No, you were in the restaurant.”
“Isn’t that part of the lobby, Mother?”
His tone made her grit her teeth. Up until Robert’s death, she’d been “Ma” and sometimes even “Mama.” Abbie was stifling her frustration when she heard a cynical chuff from John. The good Reverend was leaning casually against the counter and giving Robbie the toughest stare she had ever seen.
“Son, you have a choice,” he said. “You can put back the money you just stole, or you can make your problems worse by lying.”
John’s eyes were rock-hard, but below the intensity she saw the hope that Robbie would tell the truth. Unfortunately her son had no such compunction. Just as she expected, Robbie screwed his face into an arrogant scowl. “I’m not a thief!”
“Sure you are,” John replied. “You took money that wasn’t yours.”
“Mother!” Robbie hooked a thumb at John. “He’s insulting me.”
Abbie arched an eyebrow. “I think the Reverend is being kind.”
John tsked his tongue. “You have a lot to learn, kid. First off, don’t waste your breath on straight denials. Muddy the water with a bit of truth. If I were you, I’d say something like, ‘I found some change on the floor, but that’s all.’”
Robbie rolled his eyes, but John ignored it. “As for stealing, taking all the money isn’t smart. In a few minutes, Mary’s going to come looking for what she’s owed. If you had taken half of it, she’d think her customer made a mistake and you’d be off scot-free.”
As Robbie opened his mouth to argue, a woman wearing an apron stepped out of the café. “Has anyone seen Cole? He forgot to pay his bill.”
Keeping his gaze on Robbie, John said, “Cole’s not the problem, Mary.”
Sizing up the situation, the gray-haired woman marched up to Robbie and put her hands on her hips. “Did you steal from me, young man?”
“No!” Seemingly horrified, Robbie gripped Abbie’s sleeve. “Mama? Tell them I didn’t do it.”
Being called “Mama” made her furious. Shaking her head, she said, “I wish I could, but we’ve been down this road before.”
“I didn’t take the money! I swear it. Father would believe me! He cared about me. You’re just a stupid—”
“Apologize.”
The command in John’s voice sent chills down Abbie’s spine. With the intensity of hell itself, he stared at Robbie, showing the boy that he’d met his match.
Startled, her son looked down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, Ma.”
Abbie put iron in her voice. “You and I will finish this discussion later.”
“But, Mama—”
“Don’t say another word.” Abbie faced Mary and opened her handbag. “How much did he take?”
Just then a young cowboy poked his head through the doorway. “Hey, Mary, I can’t find my pocketknife. Did I leave it on the table?”
“Cole Montgomery, did you pay your bill?” asked the cook.
“Of course, I did! I left it under the sugar bowl like always.”
With his cheeks burning, Robbie dug the money out of his pocket. “Here,” he said to Mary. “I’m sorry.”
John rocked back on his heels. “Sorry you took it or sorry you got caught?”
“Both, I guess.”
“That’s honest,” John answered. “But to make things right, you need to pay back more than you took.”
“I could use an extra dishwasher tomorrow,” Mary said. “It’s flapjack day and I’m expecting a crowd.”
“He’ll be there,” Abbie replied. “What time?”
“Six a.m.”
So she wouldn’t be sleeping past dawn and enjoying the comfortable bed. Getting Robbie downstairs would be a battle, but Abbie gave a firm nod. “I’ll be sure he’s on time.”
John shook his head. “You need your rest. I’ll tap on your door in the morning. That way Robbie and I can have breakfast before he gets to work.”
Her son glared at John. “My name isn’t Robbie. It’s Robert.”
“I’ll call you ‘Robert’ when you earn it,” John answered. “I was Johnny for a lot of years, so I know what a name means.”
Abbie froze at the memory of hearing his name for the first time. Her twisted ankle hadn’t taken her weight, and he’d helped her into his saddle. Her skirt had hiked up her calf, and she’d caught him looking just before he’d climbed up behind her.
My name’s John Leaf.
I’d rather call you Johnny. It suits you.
Lord, she’d been such a flirt. But a man’s attention had been so exciting, so intriguing—now she knew better.
As Mary left the lobby, Abbie turned back to Nate at the counter. “I’m sorry for the interruption. How much do I owe you for the rooms?”
The clerk shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Windsor, but I can’t have that boy in my hotel.”
Panic pulsed through her. She hadn’t noticed another hotel. Hating the necessity of it, she humbled her voice. “I promise to keep an eye on him.”
Nate shook his head. “I can’t risk it, ma’am. The railroad boss is staying here. He’d never come back if a thief picked his pocket. Besides, you and the boy can stay with the Reverend. Mrs. Cunningham won’t mind staying over to make sure things are proper.”
John shook his head. “That won’t work.”
“Why not?” asked Nate.
“Because it just won’t,” John replied.
Abbie interrupted. “I refuse to impose. Perhaps you can recommend a boardinghouse?”
Nate scratched his neck. “There’s one by the depot.”
“Absolutely not,” said John. “The place has fleas and the plumbing’s broken.”
Abbie’s skin crawled. She hated bugs of any kind. Facing Nate, she said, “Perhaps we could rent a room somewhere else? Maybe from another widow?”
“Not with your boy’s bad habits,” Nate said with a frown. When Abbie stayed silent, he gave a satisfied nod. “They sell flea powder at the Emporium. You might want to pick some up.”
Noise. Bugs. Broken plumbing. She was on the verge of begging Nate to reconsider when Robbie crossed his arms over his chest. “Mother, we can’t possibly stay at a boardinghouse.”
That did it. Abbie refused to raise a snob. “We certainly
can. You stole money and lied. I don’t blame this gentleman one bit for not letting us stay here.”
“But that other place isn’t decent. Father would be angry—”
“He’d also be angry with your behavior.” Abbie hated the lie that rolled from her lips. Robert would have made excuses for his son and raised his allowance. Facing Nate, she said, “The boardinghouse will be fine. Could you send over our trunk?”
John clasped her elbow. “You’ll have to stay at the parsonage. Sally’s place isn’t safe.”
Abbie held in a cynical laugh. Her own home hadn’t been safe, either. Nor had she been safe with Johnny Leaf on her grandmother’s farm.
Are you sure, Abbie?
Yes…no…please don’t stop…
They’d tumbled onto a downy mattress where he’d pressed her deep into the fluff. It had been a warm night, humid and heavy with rain, and she’d been wearing her grandmother’s precious silk robe…The memory faded, leaving in its wake a low-bellied fear. Never mind the comforts of the parsonage. She’d feel safer in the company of strangers than with this man who still had a powerful hold over her. With the decision made, she slid out of John’s grasp, lifted the valise and headed for the door. “Robbie, let’s go.”
“Abbie, wait,” John called.
She picked up her pace, but it didn’t stop him from pulling up next to her. He clasped her arm again, more forcefully this time because she was moving. Pain shot from her shoulder to her neck, but she hid it. “Let go of me,” she ordered.
He released her immediately, but she was too stunned by the pain to move. His face was inches from hers, fiery and full of purpose as he hooked his hands in his coat. “If you go to Sally’s, the fleas will be the least of your problems. She rents rooms to whores and drunks who use each other for target practice.”
Abbie turned to her son. “Go to the corner and stand where I can see you. Do not disobey me.”
After a snide look, he walked to the corner and stopped, probably because the Reverend was glaring, too. With Robbie out of earshot, Abbie faced John.
“I want to be very clear,” she said with deadly calm. “I have no desire to spend the night with fleas or vermin of any kind. All I want is a basin of clean water, a bed that’s not moving and a bit of privacy.”
His eyes burned into hers. “You can have those things at the parsonage. I promise—you’ll be safe.”
From me.
He’d said the last words with his eyes, but she didn’t believe him for a minute. She’d never feel safe again and certainly not with Johnny Leaf. Stay angry, she told herself. Stay strong.
“I appreciate the offer, Reverend, but I’d rather keep company with the fleas.”
His spine turned rigid, giving him another inch of height so that she felt like a sparrow looking up at one of the ravens in her backyard. The creases around his eyes deepened, telling her that she’d struck a nerve. It didn’t matter. Hurting John’s feelings was the least of her worries. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“I’ll take you to Sally’s,” he said. “But just for tonight. When you’re rested, you and I have to talk.”
“Tomorrow, then,” she said. “While Robbie’s washing dishes.”
She pivoted and hurried down the street, keeping her eyes on her son while John followed her. The thud of his boots on the wood planks reminded her that she was in an unfamiliar town and had no idea where to go. When she reached the corner where Robbie was standing, she stopped to orient herself. Across the street, she saw a dress shop, a newspaper office and the yellow facade of the Midas Emporium. Later she’d go out for flea powder and something to read so she could fall asleep, but right now she wanted to be rid of the Reverend.
He was motioning down a street that led to the outskirts of the town. “Sally’s place is this way,” he said.
As she peered down the strip of dirt, Abbie saw a sign advertising baths for a nickel and a splintered storefront with the swinging half doors of a saloon. Her insides sank with dread. The Reverend had been telling the truth about Sally’s clientele, but she refused to change her mind about the parsonage. Even standing on a street corner in the middle of the day, she could feel the old connection between them.
So little about him had changed. His dark eyes still had a hawklike intensity, as if he could see the tiniest secrets in her heart. At the same time, she saw a loneliness in his gaze, a reminder that each of God’s creatures had boarded the ark with a mate. Abbie felt her insides twist with a mix of longing and hateful memories of her marriage. If she didn’t get away from John soon, she’d be a nervous wreck.
To keep her composure, she looked him square in the eye. “I can find it from here. Just tell me what the house looks like.”
“Not a chance,” he replied. “I’ll introduce you to Sally and get you settled. I also want to be sure you can find me if you need anything.”
Abbie wanted to ignore the offer, but she wasn’t a fool. Whether she liked it or not, she was in a rough part of town and Johnny Leaf was her only friend. She tapped her son’s arm to take his attention away from the Emporium. “Robbie? You need to listen.”
As the boy turned around, the Reverend pointed at a white steeple on the other side of town. “That’s the church. The parsonage is across from it. It’s a two-story house with a wide porch. That’s where I live.”
Confident she understood John’s directions, Abbie continued down the street. The three of them walked in silence, but she couldn’t block out the awareness of John matching his long stride to hers. It was like walking together in Kansas. Only now she was wearing black instead of red calico. She also had scars while he seemed more confident than ever.
Eager to reach their accommodations, she peered down the street until she spotted a sign offering rooms for rent. It was hanging in front of a box-shaped house with cracked windows, peeling paint and a yard full of weeds.
“This is it,” John said.
Abbie schooled her features. “It’s just fine.”
John gave her a skeptical look, but she hadn’t been lying. She didn’t care about a comfortable bed or a fancy washbowl anymore. She just wanted to be away from the Reverend and the feelings he stirred up. As soon as he left, she’d feel safe and that’s what mattered most.
Chapter Three
John pushed back in the chair on the porch that wrapped around the parsonage and lit a cigarette. He usually enjoyed the end of the day, when the sun dipped below the horizon and the air cooled, but tonight his stomach was in a knot. After leaving Abbie at Sally’s, he’d renewed his promise to fetch Robbie for breakfast and had walked home.
He’d spent the rest of the afternoon trying to write Sunday’s sermon, but he’d gotten as far as “love thy neighbor as thyself” and tossed down his pen. He hadn’t been in the mood to think about loving anyone, so he had picked up his tobacco pouch and gone outside for a smoke.
That had been four cigarettes ago, and he still wasn’t in the mood to think about love. At least not the kind of brotherly devotion he’d intended to preach on Sunday. His mind kept drifting back to Abbie, Kansas and the night he had talked his way into her bed.
What a fool he’d been. Up until then he’d only been with whores. Sex had been for sport, and he’d cheerfully gone upstairs with every woman who’d asked. With Abbie things had been different. He’d been the one to do the asking, or, more correctly, the persuading.
The smoke turned rancid in John’s lungs. Seducing a virgin had been a game to him. Abbie had been an untouched girl who smelled like bread instead of whiskey. She had also been the first woman he’d been with who had known less about sex than he did.
With the sunset glaring in his eyes, he didn’t know what shamed him more—that he’d taken her innocence or that he’d done such a piss-poor job of it. It wasn’t until it was all over that he’d realized how clumsy he’d been. With tears in her eyes, she’d huddled against him, whispering that she hurt and was afraid.
God, he’d been an idiot. He
hadn’t learned the finer points of lovemaking until he’d befriended a madam named Rose. He wanted to think he would have made things good for Abbie if he’d had the chance, but her brother had barged in on them. Only her pleas had kept John from pounding the kid into pulp. Instead he had held his Colt Army pistol to the boy’s head and ordered Abbie to get dressed and meet him in the barn.
John stubbed out the cigarette in a pie tin full of sand. That night had been hell. With Abbie struggling to be brave, he had felt lower than dirt as he’d saddled his horse.
You can come along to Oregon if you want.
I can’t leave my mother.
She’d been wise to refuse his halfhearted offer. After Kansas he’d slid deeper into the hole he called a life, while she had married well and raised two fine children. At least that’s what John wanted to believe. The other possibility was too bitter to bear. Had he left her with child? Had she been forced to marry to hide the shame?
A daughter…his flesh and blood…
John’s heart thundered against his ribs. The western sky was on fire and the mountains were as black as soot. As a coyote howled in the distance, another joined in the lament. The wailing reached one high note after another, ceaseless and haunting, until the night was full of pain.
Was this how Abbie had felt when her monthly hadn’t started on time? Had she wanted to hide from the facts as badly as he did now? There was no getting around the evidence. Someone had told Susanna that he was her father, and Abbie hadn’t flat-out denied it. The girl was fourteen years old and, judging by Abbie’s description, looked just like him.
He could only hope Robert Windsor had been a good man who had married Abbie for love. Perhaps he’d been a childless widower who’d wanted a family. The thought gave John a measure of comfort.
Pushing to his feet, he walked to the back of the house where he lived in the guest room because it offered more privacy. He didn’t even allow Mrs. Cunningham inside. Once a week he brought his laundry out in a basket, and the housekeeper left everything folded by the door. He never made the bed, and he only opened the curtains when he needed to wake up with the sun.
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