Karen Witemeyer

by Stealing the Preacher

  She opened the door and hurried out, but she halted at the edge of the porch and allowed Neill to race down the steps alone. Wrapping her arm around the support post, Joanna watched the brothers embrace. And when Crockett lifted his gaze to include her in his pleasure, a longing struck her with such force she had to tighten her grip on the post to keep herself from trotting down to join the reunion.

  Neill said something that set Crockett to laughing and drew his full attention. When his gaze left hers, Joanna turned and slipped back into the house. Back to the dress that would hopefully help Crockett see her not only as a partner but as a woman.

  22

  Crockett thumped Neill on the back as he embraced his brother a second time. It was just so good to see him, to reconnect with family. As eager as he’d been to leave the ranch and start his ministry, he’d never imagined how hard the separation would be. Forged through trials and survival, trust and mutual respect, the Archer bond went deeper than blood. Having Neill here was like regaining a piece of himself that had been missing.

  He glanced up to the house, intending to invite Joanna to join them. Yet when he scanned the porch, all he saw was the back of her skirt disappearing through the kitchen door.

  “It must be rough working for such a pretty lady.” Neill lifted his chin toward the house.

  His brother’s knowing stare penetrated a place Crockett wasn’t ready to expose. Doing his best to cover his reaction with his usual wink and grin, he draped his arm over Neill’s shoulders and steered him toward the wagon. “You haven’t met her father yet.”

  “I still can’t believe you took a job with the man who kidnapped you.” Neill shrugged out from under his brother’s arm when an approaching rider broke through the trees on the far side of the house. “Of course, now that I’ve seen his daughter, it makes a little more sense.”

  Avoiding his brother’s scrutiny, Crockett turned to greet Jackson as the boy barreled into the yard on Sunflower. Crockett strode back to his own mount and gathered the reins he’d left draped over the saddle horn.

  “Do you mind seeing to my horse as well as Sunflower?” He drew his bay’s head up from where he’d been nibbling on a tuft of grass near the corral fence and paced over to where Jackson had dismounted. “Silas gave me the rest of the afternoon off, and I’d like to show Neill my place at the church.”

  “Sure.” Jackson collected the reins from him and patted Sunflower’s neck. “I’ll rub ’em down and turn them out in the corral for a bit.” He started to lead the animals to the barn, one on either side of him, but stopped to glance back. “You want me to come by when I’m done? We still gotta set up the shootin’ targets and lay out the racecourse tonight, ’cause the gals expect us to help with the decoratin’ in the morning. Although why they think they gotta hang ribbons and bows on everything is beyond me.”

  Crockett shared a grin with Neill over the boy’s youthful disdain. The Archer brothers couldn’t claim much understanding of females, either, but they had enough sense to know when to go along with one.

  “Well, we want the ladies to enjoy the picnic, too,” Crockett said in conciliation. “And if dressing the old churchyard up adds to their pleasure, I suppose we can handle decoration duty.”

  “I guess.” Jackson sighed heavily and plodded on into the barn.

  “He reminds me a lot of you,” Crockett said, returning to Neill’s side at the back of the wagon. “He runs wild with little or no supervision, but he’s got a heart that’s eager to please and a work ethic that, when properly motivated, can be quite impressive.”

  “Are you calling me impressive?” Mischief danced in Neill’s eyes.

  Crockett shoved his brother’s shoulder, pushing Neill around to the left side of the wagon as he strode to the right. “Only when properly motivated.”

  Stifling a chuckle, Crockett jammed a booted foot onto a wheel spoke and hefted himself onto the wagon seat. Neill flashed a grin, joined him on the seat, and took up the reins.

  On the way to the parsonage, Crockett answered questions about the church, the upcoming picnic, and the work at the Lazy R. But once there, he turned the conversation toward home.

  “I’m surprised Travis let you come all this way alone.” Crockett hopped over the seat into the wagon bed and scooted the two trunks toward the open end.

  “He didn’t.” Neill hauled one of the trunks up onto his shoulder. “Josiah’s waiting for me in Deanville. The lady running the boardinghouse hired him to fix her roof when she heard he had carpentry experience. Said her attic was gettin’ musty and insisted he find the leak causing it.”

  “Ah. Miss Bessie.” Crockett jumped to the ground and took up the second trunk. “If he finds that leak, she’ll treat him like a king.” He led the way to his living quarters, wincing slightly at the weight of his trunk. Travis must’ve packed his books in this one. No wonder Neill had claimed the larger one.

  As they entered, Neill cleared his throat. “Frankly, I was surprised she asked Josiah to stick around. She hardly said two words to him and never sat at the table with us during meals. Made me kinda mad, to tell the truth.”

  Crockett lowered his trunk to the floor at the foot of his bed and motioned for Neill to place his against the wall. “I’m certain it has nothing to do with the color of Josiah’s skin. Miss Bessie’s just a little afraid of strangers, men especially. When I stayed with her, she locked herself in her room instead of eating with me. Yet the other day, when I took Joanna to town, the woman insisted we come for lunch and actually stayed in the room. I’m pretty sure having another woman as a buffer precipitated the change.”

  Neill planted himself in the one chair the room boasted while Crockett opened the first trunk. His gun belt and revolvers lay on top next to his rifle wrapped in flannel. He reached for the rifle, pulling away the protective cloth.

  “I’ve missed having my own guns,” he said as he stroked the familiar barrel and tucked the stock into his shoulder, the oiled walnut sliding into place as if it had never left. “Silas lent me a sidearm for working on the ranch, but it’s just not the same as having a weapon that’s more companion than tool.”

  Neill nodded. “Yeah. Travis packed the guns. Meredith packed the books.”

  A fond smile curved Crockett’s lips at his sister-in-law’s name. He set the rifle on the cot and reached for his copy of D. L. Moody’s The Gospel Awakening, the volume she’d given him for Christmas last year. “How is Meredith?”

  “I’ve never seen her happier. Or fatter.”

  Crockett cuffed his brother on the side of his head. “She’s pregnant, you dolt, not fat.”

  “Ow.” Neill rubbed the spot where Crockett had smacked him, but his eyes glowed with humor. “Travis is the one you should be worried about, not Meri. After losin’ Ma the way we did, he ain’t too keen on letting Meredith go through childbirth.”

  “As if he has any say in the matter at this point.”

  Neill smirked. “You know Travis.”

  Yes, he did. His brother had always been one for controlling things. Meredith had helped him mellow over the last few years, but Crockett could imagine those old habits creeping back now that he had a baby on the way.

  “Travis asked Josiah’s ma to move out to the ranch for the last weeks of Meri’s lying-in.”

  “Weeks?” Crockett sputtered. “I can’t picture Myra agreeing to that. Not with the school to run and her own brood to see to.”

  “No, but she did promise to make regular visits.” Neill stretched his long legs into the middle of the room. “That combined with me swearing to fetch her at Meri’s first twinge seems to have satisfied him for now.”

  “And Jim?” Crockett set aside all pretense of unpacking. He craved news from home more than anything stowed in his trunks. Leaning his shoulder blades against the wall, he gave Neill his full attention.

  “He’s fine. Finally got around to trimming back those oaks around the old homestead last week. I think he and Cassie are planning another trip
down to Palestine to visit her folks soon.”

  Crockett winced in sympathy. “Poor Jim.” The man’s mother-in-law was a harridan of the first order, but Jim put up with her in the same stoic manner he handled everything else in life, and somehow they made it work. Cassie’s happiness obviously meant more to him than his own.

  That’s what love did to people. It prompted sacrifice. Crockett suppressed a sympathetic chuckle. And helped you endure disagreeable in-laws.

  Like stubborn-minded ex-outlaw kidnappers?

  “Yoo-hoo,” a sing-song voice called from outside. “Are you in there, Brother Archer?”

  Still a bit rattled from the picture of his future being tied to Silas Robbins—he could almost feel the lasso tightening around his middle as it had when the man had stolen him from the train—it took Crockett a minute to gather his wits and respond.

  When he did, he pushed away from the wall and lurched for the door. About the same time, Holly Brewster’s delicate little fist rapped against the wood and sent the unlatched door swinging gently in on its hinges.

  “Oh, there you are,” Holly said, an almost too perfect smile shaping her lips. “I saw the wagon outside and hoped that meant you were here. I was just delivering the last of the decorations for tomorrow. They’re all in the back of the chapel, as you suggested.” Her lashes lowered at a languid pace before lifting to reveal a heated stare that sent a shiver of warning down his spine. She took a step closer, and he could have sworn her eyes pleaded with him to invite her in. But that couldn’t be right. Surely she knew how improper it would be for her to enter his private quarters.

  Taking no chances, Crockett took her arm and steered her out to the yard. The heat in her eyes turned a bit more snappish until she caught sight of Neill coming up behind them.

  Her eyes widened, and she latched onto his arm. “Who’s your friend, Crockett?”

  His name slipped off her tongue as if she’d used it a hundred times. Familiar. Possessive. Far too presumptive.

  “My youngest brother, Neill,” Crockett ground out, using the introduction as an excuse to extricate himself from Holly’s hold. “Neill, may I present Miss Holly Brewster.”

  “Miss Brewster.” Neill touched his hat brim and bent his head. “What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ hangin’ around with this ornery old cuss?” He jerked his chin toward Crockett.

  Holly’s tinkling laugh filled the air. “He’s not that old.”

  “Positively ancient.” Neill rolled his eyes in exaggeration. “And don’t let those smooth sermons fool you. He can be as ornery as a coyote when he’s riled.”

  Crockett tightened his jaw, restraining the wolfish urge to smack the teasing grin right off his brother’s face. He was only twenty-eight, for crying out loud, not exactly in his dotage. And he was the sweetest tempered of all the Archers. Everyone said so.

  Yet as he listened to Holly giggle and flirt with his brother, the gulf between their ages seemed to widen. He hadn’t felt this old with Joanna. Of course, Joanna had left him and Neill to reunite on their own. Even so, there was a depth to Joanna that lent her a mature air, despite the seven years difference in their ages. Until this moment, in fact, he’d never even thought to calculate it.

  “Miss Brewster is the picnic committee chair,” Crockett interjected, dispelling the lingering laughter with his impassive tone. “She’s been a great help in planning the events and organizing the food and decorations.”

  Holly preened under the praise, like a cat being stroked in its favorite spot.

  “Impressive,” Neill said. “It’s too bad I won’t be able to see the results of such fine handiwork.”

  “You’re not staying?” She pouted prettily. “Crockett, you must insist he stay. With all the young ladies sure to be in attendance, we need all the handsome young men we can get.”

  Crockett didn’t care a hill of beans about the ratio of men to women at the picnic, but he had hoped to visit with Neill longer. “Are you sure you can’t delay your departure for a day? It would give us more chance to talk.”

  Neill regarded his brother with serious eyes. “I told Josiah our visit might last overnight, if you had a place for me. I could swing another day, if you don’t mind the imposition.”

  “Of course he won’t mind,” Holly enthused. “Will you, Crockett?”

  “Not one bit.” Although he did mind Miss Brewster speaking for him when he was perfectly capable of forming his own sentences. But she was probably just excited about the picnic and got a little carried away.

  “I’ll have to leave around midday, though.” Neill favored Holly with an apologetic look before turning back to Crockett. “You know how Travis worries. And with Meredith expecting, it’s even worse. I best not leave him alone too long. Josiah and I need to get on the road to Caldwell before dark. That way we can catch the early train back to Palestine.”

  “Well . . .” A cracking adolescent voice echoed behind them. “As long as you’re here, you might as well help us set up the shooting targets.”

  The three turned to find Jackson manhandling a set of large wooden discs with white Xs painted in the middle. Crockett reached out to grab one as it slid from the boy’s grasp.

  Then, unable to resist the boyish urge, he flung the oversized disc directly at his brother’s gut. Neill reacted in time to catch it but not before an oomph of air forced its way from his lungs.

  Satisfied that his place in the Archer ranks was once again secure, Crockett grinned and slapped Neill on the back. “Looks like we’re putting you to work, little brother.”

  “Well, let’s get going, then . . . old man.” Without batting an eye, Neill slapped the flat side of the disc against Crockett’s rump and raced past.

  Jackson guffawed.

  Holly gasped.

  Crockett grinned and gave chase.

  23

  Come on, Jo.” Silas rapped his knuckles twice against his daughter’s door. “You’re the one who wanted me to go to this shindig. At this rate, it’s gonna be half over afore we get there.”

  Dressed in overalls and an old flannel work shirt for painting duty, Silas stalked down the hall to the kitchen and snatched up the knapsack that held the clean trousers and fancy shirt Jo had pressed for him that morning. He swung the strap over his shoulder just as a door creaked open down the hall.

  “It’s about ti—”

  The vision walking toward him stole his speech as well as every thought in his head save one—his little girl had grown into a full-blown woman right under his nose.

  Ah, Martha. Can you see her, darlin’? You’d be so proud.

  The fancy pink dress Jo wore swished when she walked. A matching blush stained her cheeks, and she refused to lift her gaze from the floor as she entered the kitchen.

  Silas swallowed the lump that had swollen in his throat. “Jo.” His quiet rasp of her name rumbled almost too low to be heard. Nevertheless, she lifted her face, her teeth catching the edge of her bottom lip. “You’re the spittin’ image of your mama in that dress. She looked just like you do on the day I met her. All frilly and lacy and more beautiful than a woman had a right to look.” He stepped closer and ran a light finger down the edge of her sleeve. “It’s a good thing I’m takin’ my rifle for the sport shooting later. I’ll need it to run off all the young men.”

  “Don’t be silly, Daddy. You know Jackson’s the only young man to ever pay me any attention, and he’s too young. Save your bullets for your targets.” Jo tapped the bib on his overalls and moved past him to drape a piece of cheesecloth over the large bowl of potato salad sitting on the table.

  Silas frowned. It was true that no young man had ever paid court to her. ’Course she’d never hinted at harboring feelings for any of them, neither. So who was the dress for? Because one thing was for certain—she hadn’t gotten this gussied up just for a picnic. They had picnics every Fourth of July, and never once had she donned such a fancy getup. Was she trying to attract a beau? His fingers curled into a fist aroun
d the strap of his knapsack.

  He had known the day would come when some fella would strike her fancy. He just hadn’t expected it to be now. Watching her graceful movements as she packed plates and flatware into a crate, a sense of inevitability prompted a bittersweet ache in his chest. He wanted her to be happy, to find a love like he had found with her mother. But there was no way he was gonna stand by and let some sweet-talkin’ cowhand make off with his Jo before the fella proved his worth to Silas’s satisfaction.

  So who was he?

  The only new man around these parts was . . .

  The parson? Absolutely not!

  If Jasper and the boys hadn’t already ridden down to the churchyard with Gamble in tow, Silas would have leapt on the beast’s back and raced in the opposite direction.

  How could his daughter . . . his daughter . . . fancy a preacher man? He never should have brought Crockett Archer to his ranch. He shoulda left him on that train where he belonged. He should fire him tomorrow. Send him packing.

  “Everything’s ready, Daddy.” Jo turned that sweet smile of hers on him, and Silas bit back a groan. “Would you carry this crate out to the wagon? I’ll get the potato salad.”

  Not daring to open his mouth for fear of what might come out, Silas gave a brisk nod and snatched up the crate of dishes. His jerky motion rattled the crockery, and he had to remind himself to be gentle—with more than just the dishes.

  Once outside, he inhaled a calming breath, settled the crate in the wagon bed alongside the two small kegs of cider he’d loaded earlier, and tossed his knapsack on top of the pile. Jo met him near the front of the wagon, hope shining in her eyes. A hope that made him want to snarl like a trapped cougar.

  Careful not to let her see his inner turmoil, he took the salad from her, tucked it into the crook of one arm, and gave her a hand up with the other. After she gained her seat and arranged her skirts, he returned the bowl and scrambled up beside her.