by Linda Ford
She nodded, not surprised at his offer.
Clara hesitated at the door, drew in a deep breath, and crossed the threshold.
Stella took her to Bruce’s room and saw that they were settled. She wondered if they had eaten, but when she started to ask if they were hungry, Clara glowered so fiercely that she decided against finishing her inquiry. No doubt they would survive until morning.
She left the room, closing the door behind her.
Bruce waited. “I wonder what the real story is.”
Stella shrugged. “She isn’t likely going to tell us anytime soon. The best place they could be is with the preacher and his wife.”
“I agree. Let’s pray they agree to go.”
“Yes, let’s.” She faced him and reached for his hands, smiling at his surprise.
He bowed his head. “Lord, I first want to thank you for keeping Stella safe this afternoon. I don’t like to think how bad things might have been.”
He choked, and she squeezed his hands. It was nice to know he cared so much.
“Now we have two people who need a home. Help Clara to be willing to accept help. Amen.”
“Amen.” She smiled up at him. “It was a good day.”
He bent his head and brushed his lips to hers.
She stood mesmerized, shamelessly lifting her face to him. She swallowed hard and looked down. “What was that for?”
“A number of things. Gratitude that you are safe.” His voice deepened. “And because you trust me.” She knew he wasn’t done and waited. “And for accepting me even though I am a little urchin boy.”
She pressed her palms to his cheeks and waited for him to meet her gaze. “What you were as a child does not reflect badly on who you are as a man. In fact…” She smiled with the assurance she felt. “I believe it has made you a strong, steady, trustworthy man.” She drew him closer and kissed him quickly. Then, before he could respond, she ducked into her bedroom
She pressed her fingers to her lips. Something sweet and precious had happened this day. She wasn’t sure she was ready to give it a name just yet.
She listened as he closed the door behind him.
Tonight, he would sleep in the barn.
It seemed so far away. Way too far.
15
Stella watched Bruce drive away in the wagon, Clara and Louie at his side. The pair would be well taken care of at the Kinsleys. Her heart developed a deep ache. It wasn’t regret that the pair was leaving. But she missed Bruce already, even though he wasn’t yet out of sight.
Determined to make good use of the hour or so he would be gone, she hurried to the raspberry patch to search for enough ripe raspberries for dessert. She managed to fill a small bowl and took them to the house, pausing to stare down the road even though it was too soon.
Aunt Mary sat outside and chuckled. “The heart misses its beloved. ‘I sought him whom my soul loveth.’ Solomon’s Song.”
Awed by the truth of her words, Stella sat beside Aunt Mary. “Is true love possible in only a few days? Or is it just a lonely heart yearning for more?”
“Dear child, love has no rules except those in the Bible. To be patient, trusting, to think of the other, and endure hardships together.”
Stella wondered where those words were in the Bible, but they rang with truth.
Aunt Mary continued. “My father and mother said they loved each other at first sight, and that love never faltered.”
“Why have you never married?”
Aunt Mary looked into the distance and spoke softly. “I loved once. Deeply. My beloved died when we were too young to even declare our love publicly.”
“I’m sorry. Have there not been any others?”
“None that compared to that first love. I decided I didn’t want a poor second choice.”
“I loved Frank. He gave me two precious children.” Stella looked at the pair chasing Tippy.
“I’m not suggesting that you didn’t or that any other love wouldn’t be a pale shadow of what you had.”
Stella smiled. If anything, her love for Frank was a pale comparison to what she felt for Bruce. A feeling that pressed at her throat, crowded her heart, and surged against her ribs.
“I want you to know one thing. The day you two got married, I felt in my spirit that it was right. Not because it would benefit us all in a practical sense but because I saw that you each had something the other needed. That is why I have prayed for your love to grow and become evident to you both.”
Stella considered her words. Could Aunt Mary be right? Were they what each other needed? She leaned back. Because of Bruce she had learned to trust, though she supposed she might have relapses. She hoped she had taught him to leave behind the urchin boy.
She sprang to her feet. “There is something I must do.” She rushed into her bedroom and dragged the mattress from the cot the children slept on. She found a hammer and knocked the bed frame into its various pieces. One by one, she carried them to Bruce’s room and reassembled the frame, carried the mattress in, and made the cot up. She stood back. Perfect room for two children.
Now to make her room inviting.
Aunt Mary had returned inside to watch the activity. She chuckled. “Nice to see you listening to your heart and following it.”
Stella held up a warning finger. “No gloating.”
Aunt Mary held up her hands in protest. “Far be it from me.”
Stella carried Bruce’s things to the bigger bedroom and rearranged everything to her satisfaction. Finished, she stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Doubts assailed her. Would he resent this? Had she misinterpreted his actions?
She pressed her finger to her lips. No. She didn’t think so.
Three hours later, she fed the children dinner, helped Aunt Mary to her room to rest, and put Blossom down in their new room.
“Why we sleep here?” the child inquired.
Donny had followed. “It’s cause Mama and Uncle Bruce love each other, isn’t it, Mama?”
“This is how it should be.” That was answer enough for two young children.
“Can we call him papa now?”
Donny’s question assured her how right her decision was. “I think he’d like that.”
Donny went to play with his pretend farm, and Stella took the mending outside to work on. Her needle was threaded, a torn dress of Blossom’s in her hands, but she didn’t take a stitch. She stared down the road, watching for dust that would indicate Bruce was on his way home.
The air was still and clear. No dust.
He should have been back before dinner.
Her insides twisted. He wasn’t her papa. Papa made promises and didn’t keep them. Papa liked to move on. With or without his daughter.
No, this was Bruce, and if he was delayed, he had good reason.
But every reason she considered made her cringe. A broken wheel perhaps throwing him from the wagon. A gunman shooting at him. A robbery that left him injured. Or worse.
Now was the time not only to trust him but to trust God and ask for His protection over her loved one. There, she had admitted it. Aunt Mary would likely say it was about time.
“God, you see everything. You know what he needs. Please keep him safe and bring him home.” She repeated the words silently over and over and forced herself to fix the tear in Blossom’s dress.
I will trust and not fear. A verse the preacher said often. God was good. He would take care of her and Bruce.
The tension inside her eased though she continually glanced toward the road.
When she finally saw a cloud of dust, she stared, thinking she might be imagining it. But no, it billowed down the road.
She set aside the mending, picked up her skirts, and ran down the lane to where it met the road. She cupped her hands over her eyes. It was Bruce. He seemed to be in one piece. Praise the good Lord.
He stopped at her side and jumped down to sweep her into his arms. “I am so sorry it took so long. I knew you would be wor
ried and wonder if I had left you.”
She leaned back and pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. “I knew you would come back. I was only concerned for your safety.”
His lips curved beneath her fingers. His eyes crinkled and brimmed with blue tenderness.
“I found a man injured on the side of the road. His horse had thrown him and run off. I took him to Mrs. Kinsley. The preacher was away, so I stayed to help. She’s about run off her feet and very glad to see Clara. She immediately set her to work. Clara looked relieved to have something useful to do. And then I stopped to get you this.” He reached in the back of the buggy for a large bouquet of wild flowers—mostly reds and oranges with a smattering of blue and white—and handed it to her.
“It’s like a bride’s bouquet. Thank you.” She knew immediately what she wanted to do as soon as he had taken care of the horse and wagon.
They walked up the lane. She waited while he unhitched and turned the horse into the pasture.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“Not like the last one I hope.” He shuddered.
She couldn’t tell if it was real or pretend.
“I hope you like this one.” She swallowed hard, a little nervous at how bold she’d been. “I moved the children into your room.”
His eyebrows went up. His face became a mask.
Inside, she smiled. Not out of humor at his expecting to be rejected, but out of love that she could offer him welcome.
“I put your things into my room.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“In my room.” She knew by the wide grin on his face that he understood her meaning. And then he sobered.
“Why?”
“Come with me. I want to tell you something in just the right spot.”
Looking rather befuddled, he accompanied her across the yard. Aunt Mary was up and watching them with a pleased gleam in her eyes.
Stella called to her. “Will you watch the children?” To the children, she said, “Stay here and mind Aunt Mary.”
Side by side, hand in hand, she and Bruce continued on until they reached the trees along the river. She knew of a trail that led to the water, and she followed it.
At the bank, she stopped and faced him, the bouquet of flowers clutched in her hand. Others might think what she was about to do was silly, but she knew it was right for them.
“I want us to have a private wedding ceremony here.”
“For what reason?”
“I want us to declare our love to each other. I want us to decide to be man and wife.”
His eyes crinkled. “You love me?”
“With my whole heart and soul and every fiber of my being. Do you love me?”
“Beyond description. Beyond my wildest dreams and hopes.”
“Then let’s do it.” She took in a deep breath. “Bruce Reynolds, I take you as my husband to love and cherish from this day forth. You are a man worthy of my love.”
He clasped his hands around hers, the flowers cascading over their fingers. “Stella Reynolds, my wife and my joy, I promise to love you and cherish you and always be here for the rest of my life.” He smiled down at her. “I’m planning to make two rocking chairs for the front step so we can continue to enjoy our evenings together.”
She dropped the bouquet and wrapped her arms about his neck. He hugged her so tight she laughed and then lifted her face to him.
He bent and claimed her lips in a kiss full of hope and promise. A hope they could both build on. Promises she could trust.
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The story of the Kinsley family begins long before they take up residence in Glory, Montana Territory. It begins with a young woman, married to a preacher man. Both of them desire to serve God and have a large family. But their lives aren’t the dream they’d imagined. There are disappointments that threaten their hearts. Will their faith endure and their love survive?
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Sneak peek of Cowboy Preacher
Shouting, followed by a gunshot, shattered the calmness of Saturday morning shopping.
“Come on out.” The loud, rough voice seemed to be addressed to someone in the store.
Nineteen-year-old Clara Redd, fearing the person or persons responsible might mean her, caught her brother, Louie, by the shoulder and drew him into the far corner of the store where she was joined by an older woman who had recently moved into town, Mrs. Pottinger, and her gangly, almost-grown son.
Clara let the woman press close, hoping, praying the pair would hide her and Louie.
Others in the store had grown silent.
“My son. I want my son.” Another shot.
“I’m going for the sheriff.” The storekeeper ducked out the back door.
Clare trembled. She should have given a false name for herself and Louie but had grown confident that her stepfather was gone for good. Besides, how many falsehoods could one tell and hope to keep track of?
“It’s him.” The fear in the other woman’s voice shivered along Clara’s nerves.
“I ain’t goin’ with him,” the lad said, his voice thin.
Clara forced her attention on the pair. She had only glimpsed Mrs. Pottinger briefly before, but now studied her more closely. Gray hair and dark eyes, the woman had a worn appearance, as if life had sucked the color from her. She understood the boy to be around twelve. Clara shivered, remembering how harsh life had been for her at that age.
The woman wrapped her arms about her son’s shoulders and bowed her head. “God, protect us. Hide us. We beg You.”
Another shot rang out. “I seen them go in there. Send them out afore I do some damage to the store.” Silence. The air inside the building grew heavy with waiting.
Then, “Mrs. Pottinger, I know you’re in there. Send out Oliver. Get yourself out here too.”
The woman pressing to Clara shook like a leaf in a strong north wind. Clara wrapped an arm about Mrs. Pottinger’s shoulders to hold her upright. She kept Louie behind them. Oliver clung to his mother.
Clara tried to think of something to say to comfort the pair, but her own insides trembled as she thought how easily she could be in the same situation.
The man outside roared.
Inside, the two women and likely everyone else in the store, stood as if frozen, waiting for the sheriff to put an end to the ruckus.
The back door creaked open, and Clara tightened her arm around Mrs. Pottinger as she jolted.
“Sheriff is out of town,” the storekeeper whispered.
Besides Clara and the other three huddled in the back, the storekeeper, and his alarmed-looking wife, a young man stood at the counter. Clara did not recognize him.
He straightened and turned toward the two women. His gaze came to Oliver. “Are you the boy he’s looking for?”
Oliver nodded, his over-long pale brown hair flopping around the edges of his cap. “But I ain’t goin’ with him.”
The dark blond newcomer shifted his gaze to Mrs. Pottinger. “Are you this boy’s mother?”
“I am.” The words were barely audible.
“Is there some reason to be denying the man his son?”
Mrs. Pottinger’s shoulders went back, her chin went up. “He beats the boy.” She pulled her son closer. “I don’t intend to let that man take him ever again.”
The inquiring man nodded. Blue eyes steady, his mouth set in a determined line, he turned, set a satchel on the floor, and went to the door. He glanced over his shoulder. “As his mother, I believe you have the right to make choices for your son.”
Clara forgot to breathe as he opened the door. He was perfectly calm. Walked through the door with seeming indifference to t
he threat he was about to face. He was either unaware of the danger or extremely bold.
If only she could be half as fearless and confident.
From where they stood, Clara could not see out to the street, but she could hear what was said.
The fearless young man spoke. “Shooting and shouting in the street is no way to settle a grievance.”
“I want my son.” The words roared into the store, causing young Oliver to suck in a noisy breath and his mother to quake so violently that Clara struggled to hold her.
“Your son doesn’t want to join you.”
“He’s got no say in it.”
“I suggest you take it up with the sheriff. Or better yet, a judge.”
A shot rang out, and Clara bit her bottom lip, sure she’d see the young man crumple at the doorway.
“Why don’t you take your gunplay out of town before someone gets hurt?”
Another shot. Then yelling. “This ain’t over, despite yer interferin’.” And then the clatter of horse hooves.
No one moved until the sound faded away.
The storekeeper hurried to the door. “Is anyone hurt?”
The brave young man returned inside. “He’s gone.” He looked toward Mrs. Pottinger. “You’re safe for now.”
The woman sagged. Her son clung to her arm.
“Who are you?” Clara asked, her tone conveying more awe than curiosity.
“Alex Keystone. I’m the new preacher come to help Preacher Kinsley.” He grinned.
The storekeeper clapped him on the back. “That was very brave of you.”
The new preacher grew serious. “There are a few things I can’t abide. Injustice and dishonesty would be at the top of the list.” He retrieved his satchel. “Now if someone would direct me to the church, I’ll make my presence known there.”
Norm White, the storekeeper, went to the door with him and pointed out the way.
Clara and Mrs. Pottinger broke free of each other. Each avoided looking at the other. For her part, Clara was uncomfortable with how tightly she’d clung to the other woman. But no doubt she would think it was kindness on Clara’s part. No way she’d know that the fear coursing through Clara’s veins when she heard someone bellowing for his son was personal.
