by Ford, Linda;
Levi had left his saddle and bedroll in the lean-to, which served as luggage area for all those at the stopping house. He gathered up his bedding and headed inside. He dropped the necessary coins in Joanna’s palm and looked about the dining room. The table had been pushed against the wall, the benches tucked underneath, leaving plenty of floor space. The ladies had disappeared into the far room where two big beds allowed them a measure of comfort and privacy.
“Help yourself.” Joanna waved about the room. Where had the other two Hamilton girls disappeared to?
Already several places had been claimed by way of unrolled bedding and sometimes a carpetbag. He chose a spot close to the kitchen door with his back to the wall and sank to the floor. He opened his Bible and began to read. That’s when he heard voices from the kitchen and recognized Miss Glory and Miss Mandy.
“I still think we should be trying to find Pa.” He knew immediately it was Miss Mandy, whose voice was softer, gentler than Glory’s.
“Don’t see why. We got a nice situation here.”
“He’s our pa.”
“I know. And how many times have we caught up to him, think we’re part of his life, when he up and disappears?”
“Glory, he’s just trying to make a living.”
“Mandy, you can dream things are the way you wish they were, but they aren’t. Truth is, Pa is restless. More concerned with scratching his restless itch than worrying about three daughters. Besides, aren’t we big enough to take care of ourselves now?”
Levi listened shamelessly, hearing the harshness in Glory’s voice but hearing so much more beneath—a history of pain.
Glory reminded him so strongly of Matt, whose disappointment and frustration had led to his recklessness. If someone had reached out to Matt before it was too late…
Thank You, God, for this glimpse, this insight into what makes her tick.
Suddenly Glory stood in the doorway. “You’re staying here?”
“Paid my money to your sister.” He knew that wasn’t what she meant. She simply objected to his presence, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it.
She made a protesting noise deep in her throat but didn’t voice her disapproval in words. Perhaps because Joanna watched them. Instead, she marched toward the door. “I’m going to check on Pal.”
“It’s late. Almost dark,” Joanna protested.
“I’ll go with her,” Mandy said.
Glory stopped and planted her hands on her hips, glaring from one sister to the other. “I do not need a nanny. Or a mother. Or a guard. Or… or…”
Joanna waved her away. “I expect the two of you back soon so I can close the doors.”
Exasperation burst from Glory’s mouth in an explosive sound, and she tossed her hands in the air in a gesture Levi took as defeat.
He grinned.
She slanted him a glare with the power to straighten his mouth and make him sit up straighter. “I need no one and nothing,” she muttered before she strode out the door.
Levi’s grin returned as soon as the door closed behind her.
Joanna stepped past him into the kitchen area and settled at the table, entering figures into a big ledger and likely waiting for her younger sisters to return. She left the door between open partway so she could keep an eye on the outer door for more overnight guests.
Many of the men had tucked into their bedrolls already. Several snored loudly.
But Levi sat up, continuing to read by the faint lantern light from the kitchen. He wouldn’t settle down until he knew Glory and her sisters were safely in their beds.
Glory steamed after Mandy, hot air burning from her lungs. Why had that man chosen to spend the night at the stopping house? Seems a real preacher would have found a quiet place to sleep.
Like a hundred miles away straight up the tallest mountain.
They reached Glory’s shop, and she made a great show of filling Pal’s water trough, checking the gate, and examining the inside of her shop. As if someone might have moved in and taken over.
Just like Levi had taken over every spare thought in her head. Oh, how she hated that she couldn’t stop thinking of him. “I think I’ll go check on the other horses.” They didn’t need it any more than Pal did, but returning to the stopping house, knowing that man was there made her skin feel too small.
“You can’t do that. It’s nearly dark already.”
“I can do it if I want.” She sounded petty and childish but couldn’t seem to help it.
“Why are you so angry? It’s because of Mr. Powers, isn’t it? I saw the way you kept looking at him.”
She ignored her sister’s questions. They didn’t deserve acknowledgment.
“Why does he bother you? He’s here to start a church. Seems you should be glad for such a thing.”
Glory snorted. “Who says he’s a preacher? Besides him. And why should we believe him? He could say he was anything, and we’d have no way of knowing. Does he have papers to prove it?”
“Glory, listen to yourself. We didn’t ask Mr. Murray to prove he was a lawyer. No one asked us for proof we could run a stopping house.”
“Proof is in the product, I’d say. We run a good clean establishment with satisfying meals and rules about conduct.”
“Then I guess Mr. Powers deserves the same consideration. A chance to prove himself.”
Glory stared at her sister. Should she tell her of the suspicions? Mention that Toby thought Powers looked like a robber on a wanted poster? “Did you see his vest?”
Mandy grinned. “Sure did. You think he’d sell it?”
Glory rolled her eyes. “Who cares?”
Mandy got a faraway look on her face. “I suppose you noticed how handsome he is.”
“Is not.”
Mandy’s gaze jerked to Glory, disbelief written in every line. “Is too.”
Not prepared to argue with her younger sister, Glory simply rolled her head back and forth.
Mandy suddenly crowed and slapped her thighs. “You think he’s too good-looking to be a preacher.”
Glory favored her sister with a scalding look but utterly failed to curb Mandy’s amusement. Finally, unable to stand still for the mockery, she placed a playful punch on Mandy’s shoulder.
Mandy immediately turned and cuffed Glory on the side of the head.
This was a familiar game they played, throwing pretend punches, dancing back and forth in mock attack. As usual they ended locked in each other’s arms, squirming and laughing.
“I give,” Glory called.
It didn’t matter who said it first. It was all in fun. They broke apart, grinning at each other.
“Give the man a chance, even if he is too handsome for his own good,” Mandy said, throwing her arm across Glory’s shoulders as they headed for home.
“Best I can do is try and stay away from him.” Though she intended to watch him carefully and wondered how she could do both at the same time.
They quieted as they reached the stopping house, knowing some of their guests would already be asleep, and tiptoed inside to the kitchen.
Joanna sat at the table and closed the ledger as they entered. The three headed toward their quarters beyond—a small bedroom on the far side of the kitchen from the room where their guests slept. Glory brought up the rear, and as they crossed the floor, Levi murmured, “Good night. Sleep well.”
Glory broke her stride, struggled to control her annoyance. Then sucked in air and hurried along. How was she to ignore him if he wouldn’t let her?
Chapter 3
Levi left after breakfast—a meal eaten in haste as if people were anxious to be on their way.
Glory had pointedly ignored him all through the meal then hurried to the kitchen and disappeared.
What did it matter? He planned to be around a long time… or at least as long as it took to accomplish his purpose.
He rode over to the shop to see about trimming Billy Bob’s hooves. A sign tacked to the door said OPEN
9 TO NOON. COME BACK THEN. That would be another hour. Time enough to check on the widow Kish.
He detoured into the mercantile and purchased a few supplies then stopped at the hardware store for a new bucket, which he filled at the town pump and carried carefully to the shack on the edge of town. At the door, he saw a basket covered with a bit of rag and folded it back to see four eggs, a loaf of bread, and six potatoes. He covered the basket again and grinned up at the sky, silently thanking God someone else cared about the widow’s dire circumstances. Somehow it made him feel he shared the task with a person of like mind.
His knock brought the widow shuffling to the door. He tipped his head to indicate the basket, and she scooped it up and peeked under the cover.
“The Lord provides,” she murmured. “Blessed be His name. About once a week I find a basket like this on the step. And now you bring me water from the well. The good Lord says a cup of cold water given in His name is rewarded. I’m sure you’ll receive an even greater reward for a whole bucketful.”
“It’s nice to see you feeling better. Yesterday you looked about ready to lie down and die.”
“That’s about how I felt, but my faith is renewed.”
He spent a few minutes with her. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He left feeling she had given him far more than he gave her.
She waved him away. “If you’re so all-fired set on helping people, why don’t you check on Mr. Phelps? I’ve not seen him for several days.” She led him to the door and pointed out a modest house several yards down the trail toward town.
“I’ll do that.” He rode to the house, dismounted, and hung the reins over the hitching post. His boots echoed on the wooden steps as he approached the entrance. His knock rattled the door and rang through the house.
No one answered.
He knocked again and called out, “Mr. Phelps? Are you in there?” Still no sound apart from his own voice. He tried the door. It opened and swung inward. The place had a sour, sick smell to it. “Mr. Phelps? Is anyone here?” Did he hear a faint sound through the door to his left? “I’m coming in.”
He stepped into a kitchen. A half-eaten meal remained on the table, but the stove was cold, the room slightly dampish from being unheated. If he had to guess, he’d say it had been more than a day or two since the stove had been lit.
A door stood past the stove, and he crossed to it and pushed it open. The sour smell practically knocked him back on his heels. An untidy soiled cot stood in one corner, the covers tossed to the floor in disarray. A wardrobe, a chiffonier, and a wooden rocker completed the furnishings. He half turned away when he noticed the pile of blankets on the floor move. Someone or something was in that mess. He crossed the room in two strides and eased the fabric aside.
A man lay there, as white as death, soiled from head to bottom.
“Mr. Phelps, I assume?”
The man flickered a look of acknowledgment.
“You’ve been sick.” Levi wondered how long the poor man had lain in his own filth. He threw aside the soiled blankets, scooped the man into his arms, and gently laid him on the cot. “You’re safe now.” He found a clean blanket and covered the man. “I’ll clean you up and take care of you.”
First thing Mr. Phelps needed was water. Levi hoofed it back to the kitchen, found two empty buckets, and dashed outside to see if the man had a well. He hated the idea of leaving the man to go into town for water, though it wasn’t far. But he’d need lots of it.
He looked about, saw no pump, and wished for an alternative to trotting back to town. God, perhaps You could send help. He heard the clop of a horse and raced around the house, back to the trail.
Glory headed toward him on a beautiful palomino horse. He’d seen the horse yesterday, standing contentedly in a small pen next to the farrier’s shop.
He waved and called.
She reined in. “What are you doing in the middle of the road yelling like a madman?”
“I only—” He didn’t have time to argue though he wanted badly to say he only called out for her to stop. “I need help with Mr. Phelps.”
“What’s wrong? Is he hurt?” Her expression shifted so suddenly it startled him.
“He’s ill. I need water and lots of it, but I don’t see a pump on his place.”
“No, he gets water from the town supply.”
“Do you think—?” He held the buckets toward her.
She yanked them from his hands, almost taking his arms off at the shoulders. “Be right back.” And she kicked the horse into a run.
Levi stared after her. Talk about mercurial. But he didn’t have time to worry about how Glory chose to act. Mr. Phelps needed attention.
Levi found a wood supply, carried an armload to the house, and built a fire. They’d need a barrel of hot water to clean Mr. Phelps and his bedding.
He explained to the man he would have water in a few minutes then gathered up the soiled laundry and hauled it outside. He located a washtub hanging on the side of the house and dumped the bedding into it. As soon as he had water, he would put it to soak.
While he was out, Glory returned. By the time he got to the house, she had filled a pitcher with water, dumped some in the reservoir to heat, and headed back for more water.
Levi shook his head. The woman was as unpredictable as the weather.
He took a glass of water to Mr. Phelps then filled a kettle and set it to boil. He was in the bedroom, sponging Mr. Phelps, when Glory returned, her boots ringing across the floor as she carried water to the reservoir and filled it. “Miss Glory,” he called, but she was gone. She returned twice more while Levi cared for Mr. Phelps, found clean bedding and a clean nightshirt, and made the man comfortable.
“Powers,” Glory called from the kitchen.
Levi went to the door.
“There’s water soaking the bedding. I filled every container in the house. What else do you need?”
Levi stared at her. Water soaked her britches to the knees, and her hat hung down her back as if she had ridden furiously back and forth. Sometimes her wild behavior had a bonus to it. She’d brought more water in less time than any other woman, and many a man, could have done.
“Powers?”
He shook himself back to the task at hand. “The man is weak. He needs something gentle to eat. Don’t suppose you know where I could get some chicken soup for him?”
She spared him a look rife with disbelief. “I don’t know of anyone with chickens to butcher, and no one around here would kill a laying hen.” Then she brightened. “But Joanna had venison stewing on the stove. That’ll do.” And she was gone so fast Levi could do nothing but stare after her.
One more task to be done. There was no avoiding it. He removed his vest and hung it over the back of a chair, rolled up his sleeves, and went outside to take care of the laundry.
He heard Glory return, but he was up to his elbows in hot sudsy water.
She poked her head out the door, saw what he was doing, and grimaced. “I’ll see if Mr. Phelps will take some broth.” She closed the door firmly after her.
Levi laughed aloud. “Trade you,” he called.
Her muffled voice came from the other side of the door. “Not this time.”
He laughed again. She might be wild as an unbroken horse, rebellious and headed for trouble like his brother, but he certainly appreciated her help.
He rinsed the sheets and strung them over the clothesline, dumped out the water, and returned the tub to the nail where he’d found it. As he headed back inside, he heard Glory ride away and stopped to stare out the window, wondering why she hadn’t stayed. Was she that anxious to avoid contact with him? Never mind. They would spend time together somehow, somewhere. He’d see to it.
After he checked again on Mr. Phelps, promising to return later in the day, he returned to Widow Kish and reported on her neighbor.
“I’ll maybe go on over and check on him myself. Poor man.”
Levi thought it might do her a world of good to have
something to do. Time now to return to town and attend to Billy Bob’s hooves.
Glory’s palomino was in the pen again. Must be where she kept her horse. The door to the shop was open, and he stepped inside.
Glory looked up from a book she read. “Yes?” When she saw it was him, her welcome faded. She seemed to struggle a moment with her reaction and schooled it away. “Mr. Phelps okay now?”
“He was resting. Widow Kish said she’d go check on him. Thanks for your help this morning.”
“He’s one of us, and you’re a stranger. Why wouldn’t I help him?”
Words of protest raced to his tongue, but he bit them back. Soon enough she’d see he meant to be one of them, too.
“What can I do for you?” Right words, begrudgingly spoken.
“My horse needs his hooves trimmed.”
“Great. Put him in the corral, and I’ll tend to it.”
“Uh.” She was a farrier? Not that it surprised him all that much. He had about figured out Glory could do anything she set her mind to, no matter how unconventional. “I was hoping you’d lend me the tools so I can do it myself.”
She shook her head. “Don’t lend my tools.” She stuck a rasp in her back pocket, lifted the nippers in one hand and the hoof knife in the other, and headed for the side door opening to the pen. “Bring him here, and I’ll do it.”
“’Fraid not. You see, my horse is particular about who gets close to him.”
She strode past him to stand looking at Billy Bob. “Nice-looking horse.”
“Yup. Many have admired him. Few have ridden him.”
She turned, her eyes flaring with interest. “How’s that?”
“He’s a one-man horse.”
Her gaze shifted from Levi to the horse then back to Levi. “Really?” Her voice rang with doubt.
“Take my word for it.”
She reached out for Billy Bob’s reins and headed for the gate. “He’s coming along fine.” She closed the gate after the horse and put her tools on a stump obviously used for that purpose. “Now let’s get at this job.”