As soon as the road leveled, Silas went on with his story. “All that Bible reading made your daddy more ornery, but then a new guard started work. He had a crippled old dog that used to visit our cell at night.”
Susanna’s heart clenched. Robert Windsor had bought a pedigreed cocker spaniel for Robbie. Susanna liked the puppy, but she had a soft spot for strays. Dogs, cats, it didn’t matter. The more an animal needed a home, the more she loved it. She wanted to tell Silas to stop talking about dogs, but instead she said, “I like animals.”
“Then you understand why your daddy started talking to that mutt. He kept calling it a low-down ugly cur, but I caught him feeding it bits of his supper. A few weeks later he named the dog ‘Bones,’ which was short for ‘skin and bones.’ I do believe that was the first time your daddy loved anything.”
At the thought of John Leaf feeding scraps to a skinny dog, Susanna wanted to cry. It hurt to think about the man, so she focused on the animal. “Maybe Bones had rheumatism.”
“I expect so. He sure couldn’t walk very far, and that made your daddy mad.” Silas looked up at the sky where the eagle was soaring in widening circles. “I’ll never forget the day John asked me about God. He said, ‘Silas, if your God is so full of love, why the hell does Bones hurt all the time?’”
Susanna hugged her knees. “What did you say?”
“I told him to ask the Almighty for himself. He didn’t think I was awake, but later I heard him pray the dangedest prayer. He said, ‘Okay, you Almighty so-and-so, if you’re real, heal this poor old dog.’ Then he growled, ‘Amen.’”
Susanna’s eyes popped wide. “Calling God a bad name isn’t a good idea.”
Silas shrugged. “God understands our anger. It’s our indifference that hurts him, and your daddy was anything but indifferent after that night. He watched Bones all the time. He shared most of his food and even made a bed for the mutt by sliding his own blanket through the bars.”
Susanna would have done the same thing. “Did Bones get better?”
Silas nodded. “Day by day, he moved a little easier. After a month he had a spring in his step. When your daddy and I were released that winter, the guard let Bones go with us.”
The Pinkerton reports had said nothing about Bones and Silas. She had to wonder what else the detective hadn’t seen. “Where did you go?”
“Back to my ranch. I had a partner who kept it running while I was locked up. Your daddy stayed for about a year, but his heart wasn’t in it. Instead of working, he read all my books, especially the Bible.”
“What happened to Bones?”
“He did well for about a year, but he was an old dog. He died peacefully in his sleep. Your daddy buried him on the hill where you and I looked at the stars. A few days later John decided to strike out on his own.”
Susanna remembered that hill. It had felt magical to her. “Where did he go?”
“South to Colorado. He found work on a peach farm owned by an old preacher named William Merritt. I gave your daddy his first Bible, but Mr. Merritt gave him his first black coat and set him up with a church in Midas. That’s where he is now.”
Susanna thought of the Gantry boys and the satchel full of shame. “He’s a minister?”
Silas’s gaze burned into hers. “Yes, he is, child. When a man’s spends time on his knees, he’s free to stand tall. I’m proud to call John Leaf my friend.”
With the satchel at her side, Susanna looked up at the sky where the golden eagle was guiding them south. The answers to her questions would come, but somehow she knew they weren’t going to be the ones she had been expecting.
Chapter Ten
May I, Abbie?
If you’re careful of my camisole. It’s new.
He untied the ribbons and pressed his lips to the heart-shaped curve of her breasts. His mouth traveled lower, lower, to the valley between the soft mounds. And then higher, higher… Hellfire!
John jerked awake and found himself on the train to Raton where he and Abbie were seated across from each other. The half-full passenger car smelled of diesel, and it was jolting along the track about an hour out of Midas. A seasoned traveler, she had brought a book for the trip. He’d brought only his restless thoughts, and they had gotten more rebellious with every passing mile.
Last night he had barely slept because of that kiss by the creek. Somehow she had reached across the abyss of his shame and made him feel whole. He’d wanted her warmth, her heart, her hands on places they didn’t belong, but he couldn’t allow those feelings to grow.
Thank God she had come to her senses. He’d been back in Kansas, lying with her on a blanket on the edge of another stream…. With dusk settling, he had rested his head in her lap while she ruffled his hair.
You like the night, don’t you?
Yeah, it’s private.
Do you ever feel lonely?
Not with you.
He had pulled her head down to his, kissing and coaxing until she stretched her body next to his. Together they had rolled all over the blanket, exploring each other through their clothes until he’d asked to unbutton the front of her dress. John grimaced at the memory. Lust had pulled those two kids together as surely as a stone rolled downhill, but it didn’t match the need he felt for her now. He could handle lust. It was wanting to love her that was making him crazy.
As the train chugged uphill, he stared out the window at a steep canyon only a bird could have crossed. It matched the distance he had to keep from Abbie. He could enjoy the beauty of the pines from afar, but he couldn’t rest in the shade. He could see the river at the bottom of the gorge, but he couldn’t drink the water.
John stretched his leg and frowned at his spit-shined shoes. He couldn’t wear his preacher’s coat today, so he’d put on the suit he’d bought in Colorado before his preaching days. He felt like a different man, and he wondered if Abbie’s new dress made her feel the same way.
The bodice nipped in at the waist and showed off her curves. John thought it looked pretty on her, except for the color. The gray made him think of ash. He would have picked something in red or a coppery brown. Nor did he like her hat. The short veil hid her eyes and emphasized her pink lips, which he couldn’t stop noticing. He wished he’d brought a newspaper. He was about to signal the conductor for a copy of the Raton Herald when Abbie chuckled.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
After closing the book, she draped the veil over the brim of her hat, giving him a clear view of her eyes. “Huckleberry Finn. It’s Susanna’s favorite.”
It was John’s favorite, too. He was getting used to the idea that he had a daughter, especially since Susanna carried Abbie’s blood as well as his own. The photographs had played through his dreams along with memories of Abbie’s apple-sweet lips on his smoky ones. Hoping to strike a casual pose, John propped his foot on his knee. “Tell me about her.”
Abbie trailed her fingers over the cover the book. “She’s just like Huck, maybe even as restless. It tears at my heart because I want her to be happy.”
John did, too. “What is she interested in?”
Abbie’s cheeks flushed to a soft pink. “Horses, books and boys.”
“Boys?” John clenched his jaw. If some young cowboy started chasing after his daughter, the fool would be answering to both the good Reverend and the ex-gunslinger. “She’s too young for that nonsense.”
Abbie gave him a sympathetic smile. “We don’t have to worry just yet. She’s wants to be a doctor.”
“She must be bright.” And kindhearted like you.
“She’s brilliant,” Abbie said with pride. “For a woman, that can be a burden.”
Not if John had something to say about it. With the train speeding through the canyon, he realized he could give Susanna the gift he’d received from Silas. He could believe in her when no one else did. John knew all about kids struggling with broken lives—boys who were trying to be men too soon and girls who mistook sweet talk for love. He told the
m each to hang on for better things and to trust God for the best life had to offer. Surely he could do that for Susanna.
But the more he learned about her, the more he worried that she suffered from his black moods. Everyone had heartache, but only a select few lived with a darkness that never lifted. He prayed Susanna wasn’t one of them, but the facts couldn’t be denied.
“Why did she run away?” he asked. “Looking for me is just a sign of the trouble that’s underneath.”
Abbie nodded solemnly. “Robert resented her and she knew it. I tried my best, but we had a terrible argument before she left. I said all the wrong things. I—”
John couldn’t stand her remorse. He reached across the space between them and put his hand on hers. “Don’t blame yourself. You’re the best mother I’ve ever known.”
Looking into his eyes, she turned her hand so that their palms made a shelter of sorts. John didn’t know what to do. He’d sworn not to touch her and yet here he was—memorizing the shape of her fingers like a blind man. He needed his black coat for distance, but Abbie needed a friend even more. As the train lurched, he clasped her hand even tighter. “Right now, Susanna’s mad at the world. I know, because I used to feel the same way.”
Her eyes burned into his. “She needs you so much.”
But John didn’t want anyone to need him. He lived inches from eternity. Hell, he didn’t even own a dog. Now he had a woman and two children depending on him.
He let go of Abbie, leaned back in his seat and turned to the window. As the train slowed and rolled onto a trestle, the steam whistle blared. The click of the wheels faded as the ground dropped out from the track, leaving nothing but timber and air beneath them. The trestle felt flimsy compared to solid earth, but it was the only way to get from one end of the canyon to the other—just as today’s ceremony would secure Abbie’s future.
Against his better instincts, John studied her face. The glimmer in her eyes made him ache for the innocence of Kansas, which in turn made him worry about Susanna. His daughter. He could think it now. But what good would that do? His past burdened all of them.
As the train lumbered across the trestle, John could see only sky. They could have been on a bridge of clouds for all he knew. And that, he realized, described his relationship with his daughter. Something he couldn’t see hung between them, but he could feel the connection. He wanted to teach her about life—the cost of freedom, when to fight and when to turn the other cheek. Those lessons came not with words but with action. That was the kind of bridge John could build.
He turned back to Abbie. “I want to do something special for Susanna. Does she know how to ride?”
“She steeplechased in Middleburg last spring.”
John thought of the stream behind the parsonage. It ran high into the mountains and carried trout. “Has she ever gone fishing?”
Abbie chuckled. “We live six blocks from the Potomac. She baits her own hooks.”
John had run out of ideas when it occurred to him to teach her what he did best. “Would you mind if I taught her how to shoot?”
Abbie’s eyes flashed with an intensity John didn’t understand. “I’d be grateful. It’s a dangerous world for a woman. Would you teach Robbie, too?”
“Sure. I’ll teach him like I taught—” You.
Their eyes locked as they traveled together back in time. John remembered wrapping his arm around her waist and snuggling her bottom against his hips. Holding her that way had made him hard and he’d let her know it. Rebel that she’d been, she had wiggled closer.
Looking at her now, tense and dressed in gray, he wondered what had happened to that girl. She had turned into a fine mother, but John suspected the rebel had died a slow death. Looking at her now, he wanted to take off that prim hat and loosen her hair with his fingers. The urge had nothing to do with sex, or at least not much. Mostly he wanted to give her back the boldness that had been squeezed out of her.
With their conversation dangling unfinished, John focused on the needs of the day—a wedding without a kiss, a marriage without a bed. No flowers. No rings. No future. He was doing the right thing…so why did he feel like a selfish prig?
The answer hit him hard and low. He felt like a prig because he’d been acting like one. He’d been so bothered by his own worries that he hadn’t considered Abbie’s feelings. Getting married again had to be hard for her, too. For both their sakes, he needed to loosen up. This marriage couldn’t be consummated, but he could still help her make a new start.
He did it for widows all the time. When he saw a woman at a social wearing blue or gray for the first time in months, he would ask her to dance. He’d pick something lively, a reel or a polka. He’d smile and compliment her. He’d make her feel brave for dancing with a reformed scoundrel when he was really the safest man in Midas. That dance always broke the ice. Whatever man had been eyeing Widow So-and-so would glare at John, march over and cut in. Pleased with her courage, the woman always said yes.
Looking at Abbie with the book in her lap, John realized that her circumstances were even harder than the ones faced by a woman who had lost a man she loved. Abbie had never been properly courted. That was his fault, too. But today he could charm her and make her smile.
As the train picked up speed, he stared out the window at the thinning pines. Raton was just minutes away, so Abbie tucked the book into her bag and laced her fingers in her lap. The whistle blew a warning and the train slowed to a crawl. As soon as it squealed to a stop, she stood and walked ahead of him.
John touched her elbow and escorted her down the steps, ready to catch her if her heel caught on the grate. As soon as they stepped onto the platform, the sun hit him in the face. It was a beautiful day, he thought. A perfect day for a wedding.
The courthouse was just two blocks away, so they walked with the crowd to the brick building. When they reached the steps, John saw a Hispanic boy selling a mix of flowers ranging from lupine to roses. While holding three bunches in one hand, the kid offered a bouquet of daisies with the other.
“Flowers for your bride, mister?”
John couldn’t remember the last time he’d given flowers to a woman. Maybe not ever. But then he recalled walking with Abbie in Kansas. He’d plucked a dandelion out of the grass and handed it to her.
If your grandmother grew roses, I’d give you pink ones to match your cheeks.
Lord, what godawful sweet-talk. He’d do better than that today. Reaching into his pocket, he said, “I’ll take all of them. How much?”
The kid’s eyes popped wide. “A dollar.”
Judging by the boy’s mended shirt, the family needed the money. As John slid a coin out of his pocket, the kid handed the giant bouquet to Abbie. Alone, each bunch would have been pitiful, but together they made a rainbow. Abbie’s eyes shone with delight.
John wanted to think the flowers had brought her pleasure, but he knew her too well. It was the boy’s excitement that had touched her. Playing the game, she looked up at John and smiled. “These are the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever had.”
Sadly, John suspected it was true. The boy dropped the coin into his pocket and looked at John. “I have rings, too. They’re pretty. Would you like to see 'em?”
Abbie touched his sleeve. “I’d love a ring.”
Knowing he could buy the ring or watch Abbie buy it for herself just to help the boy, John said, “Let’s see what you have.”
He reached into his other pocket and took out three silver bands, each one set with a mix of turquoise and pink amethyst. “My pa’s a blacksmith, but he makes silver bells and rings on the side. My ma decorates them.”
“They’re lovely.” Abbie examined each one and then selected a band with a pink quartz and four chips of turquoise. “I like this one. It has the most stones.”
“How much?” John didn’t care, but bargaining was part of the game.
The boy looked him in the eye. “Five dollars.”
Which meant the boy would be thr
illed with four and happy with three. John paused, glanced at Abbie who knew exactly what he was up to. She touched his sleeve. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”
John huffed to let the kid know he’d driven a hard bargain and handed over the money. “Here you go.”
The boy held the ring out to John, but Abbie took it and slipped it on her finger, making it clear she considered it a souvenir and nothing more.
“Thanks, mister!” The boy scampered off, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I forgot to tell you. My ma says her rings are magic. Each stone counts for a baby, so you’re going to have a girl and four boys.”
With that bit of cheerful news, the boy took off down the street, leaving John with his mouth gaping and Abbie trying to pull the ring off her finger. Only the darn thing wouldn’t budge. There they stood—two adults acting like children who had just run into the bogeyman. John wanted to howl with misery, but Abbie chuckled.
“We’re pitiful,” she said. “You’d think we actually believed that silliness. It’s just a ring.”
Or was it? John didn’t believe in magic, but he did trust in a God who liked to show off. Glaring at the silver band, he frowned. “Try a little spit.”
Abbie sighed with impatience. “Don’t tell me you’re superstitious.”
“Hell, no.” But the ring scared him to death. Mostly because he didn’t want her to take it off. Pictures flooded through his mind—Abbie sharing his bed…Abbie big with his child…a houseful of toy trains and bugs in jars…a family…a future.
All the things he couldn’t have, barring a miracle.
Chapter Eleven
Twenty minutes later they had filed for a marriage license and were standing in the foyer outside the judge’s chambers. A male clerk opened the door and motioned for them to enter. “Mr. Leaf? The judge is ready for you and your bride.”
John put his hand on the small of Abbie’s back and guided her into the office. A white-haired man wearing a black robe stood up from his desk and extended his hand to John. “I’m Judge Connor. So you two are tying the knot.”
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