Revealed

by Tamera Alexander

  Since spotting the bounty hunter five days ago, Matthew had spent every day waiting for the man to catch up with them. His imaginings were getting the best of him, but part of him had actually begun to wonder if Annabelle had somehow learned about his past and was planning on turning him over to the bounty hunter for the reward. It was foolish, he knew. She’d never given him any indication that she even knew about the gambling debts, much less that she would ever betray him. But what if she’d seen a poster along the way and had never said anything?

  ‘‘Our first night in the Idaho Territory, and it’s like God’s putting on a show just for us.’’ She spoke softly over her shoulder, as if speaking any other way might somehow cause the display to cease.

  He leaned forward and tore another piece of roasted meat from the skewer. He chewed slowly, watching the patchy tufts of clouds appear in the night sky, then quickly vanish again. He couldn’t help but remember how well she could play a role.

  She turned to him and smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. She held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary before returning her attention to the celestial performance. Matthew knew then that fear was driving him down this path. Annabelle would never betray him that way. Not after what they’d been through. Besides, she would’ve come to him immediately if she’d found out about his gambling debts. She would’ve never let him live it down either, not with the way he’d treated her at first, bringing her past up at every opportunity. No, he was convinced she didn’t know.

  A warm breeze rustled the prairie grass, leaving the faintest hint of moisture in its wake. He would miss nights like this—with her, out here, alone. Three days prior, they’d traversed South Pass, a gap in the Rockies that enabled travel farther west. No narrow gorge, South Pass was a valley measuring almost twenty miles wide. He expected they would meet up with Brennan’s group within the next couple of days—well in time for the July fourth celebration two nights hence.

  ‘‘Does your arm hurt?’’ she whispered.

  ‘‘Not too bad today. It’s getting better.’’ He matched the softness of her voice. Why, he didn’t know.

  She looked pointedly at the meat roasting over the fire. ‘‘You could’ve waited, you know. Given the wound a chance to heal more.’’

  ‘‘We haven’t seen antelope in a week. No guarantee when we’ll see them again. Besides, I wanted fresh meat.’’ And she hadn’t had any in days. The doctor had said she should get plenty of rest, nourishing foods, and fresh air. Fresh air abounded, and he’d been doing all the work he could. Rising earlier to get a head start and encouraging her toward less demanding tasks, but that took some doing. The woman wasn’t easily redirected once she set her hand to something. ‘‘Do you think we’ll find her, Matthew?’’

  Thoughts of Sadie never seemed far from her mind. While he still held out hope that they would find her, the farther north they went, the more doubt set in. ‘‘Yes, I think we will.’’

  ‘‘Thank you for not hesitating when you answered. Hesitation shows uncertainty, you know.’’ She gave him a look worthy of an old schoolmarm before lying down on her pallet. ‘‘Either that, or it means you’re lying.’’

  ‘‘I’ll try to remember that.’’ Smiling to himself, Matthew banked the fire and stretched out on his bedroll, his mind and body equally exhausted. Ever since the night the wolves attacked, he and Annabelle had shared a campfire, and they had settled into a routine. He didn’t mind it. Truth be told, he enjoyed it now. Closing his eyes, he drew his blanket across his chest and began the silent count, betting she wouldn’t make it past five minutes tonight before asking the first question.

  The chirrup of crickets, the crackle of the fire, and a full stomach competed with his task, tempting him toward slumber.

  ‘‘Do you think God makes us pay for our sins, Matthew? Even after we’re forgiven?’’

  Three minutes, twenty-one seconds. He wished his hunches at the gaming table had been this good. He couldn’t remember exactly what night the questions had started, only that he was growing to enjoy lying in the dark under the stars, talking with her. Reminded him of when he and Johnny were boys.

  Matthew considered her question, knowing that the One who could answer her question perfectly was most likely listening at that very moment. ‘‘Yes . . . and no,’’ he answered quietly.

  He heard her soft laughter. Her questions were never easy. Not that he had all the answers, or that she thought he did. He used to think he had things pretty well figured out, but now . . . So much of what he’d once been sure of, he was now sure he’d been wrong about.

  He locked his hands behind his head. ‘‘I think we’re given room in this life to make choices, and that includes making bad ones from time to time. No matter how sorry we may be, we still have to pay the cost.’’ He stared at one constellation until the seven stars blurred, then merged into one. Lord, if you can hear me, if you’re listening . . .I’m sorry for what I’ve done. He swallowed. ‘‘I don’t think that means God hasn’t forgiven us. It just means that we’re responsible for the choices we make. Both the good . . . and the bad.’’

  ‘‘Do you think He ever hurts us on purpose?’’ she whispered after a moment, her voice sounding smaller than before.

  Verses Matthew had been compelled to put to memory as a young boy came back to him, but they would be of little comfort to her. Same as they’d been to him. ‘‘Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord . . . And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.’’ And ‘‘for by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.’’ His throat tightened as he recalled hearing those words preached week after week from the pulpit. With his father standing behind it. ‘‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’’

  He heard a sound and rose up on one elbow. Annabelle was lying on her side, blanket pulled beneath her chin. Even from across the fire, he could see the glistening on her cheeks, and the guilt lining her face sliced through him. She must have thought he had been talking about her bad choices. . . .

  ‘‘Annabelle, I was talking about me just now, not you.’’

  She inhaled a ragged breath. ‘‘It’s just that I . . . I read a story about a man and woman who slept together when they shouldn’t have, and . . .’’ She pressed her lips together.

  Matthew remembered seeing her off by herself earlier that evening, reading, but he hadn’t known what.

  She sniffed. ‘‘The woman became pregnant with a child from . . . their union, and God wasn’t pleased. He forgave the man and woman and said that they wouldn’t die for their sin.’’ She paused, her composure slipping, her voice barely audible. ‘‘But that their baby would.’’

  Matthew got up from his pallet and went to kneel beside her. ‘‘Are you having problems? More pain like you had in Willow Springs?’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘But don’t you see . . .? If God took that child, Matthew . . . he might see fit to take mine and Jonathan’s too.’’

  At the mention of his brother’s name, Matthew thought of Johnny and Annabelle, together, as man and wife. And for the first time, he looked upon the child she carried inside her womb as a part of Johnny. How could he not have made that connection before?

  He sat beside her. ‘‘Annabelle, the story you read, was it about a man named David?’’

  She nodded, her eyes closing. Tears pushed out from beneath her lids.

  He reached out and touched her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  A shiver stole through her.

  He leaned in to tuck her blanket closer around her body. But when their eyes met, he began to question the wisdom of his gesture. Not long ago this woman had been wholly unattractive to him. How had she changed so much in such a short time? He concentrated again on the answer he’d been giving. ‘‘What that couple did was wrong—there’s no arguing that. But there was a lot more involved in that situation than just their sleeping together.’’


  She finally managed an unconvincing nod.

  He noticed her hair then, spilled loose and dark across her pallet. He fingered a strand, wishing he could remove her doubt. He cradled one side of her face, and she released a soft breath.

  ‘‘You and Johnny . . . you were married. It was completely different between you.’’

  The wrinkle in her brow voiced her skepticism, while hinting at a vulnerability he’d not yet glimpsed in her.

  He traced the curve of her cheek and inched downward to the softness of her neck, struck again by how alone they were. His gaze swept the length of her body, lingering before returning to her face again. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Desire moved through him. Not only physical desire for her, but a deep yearning to know her. His hand trembled. His thoughts went where they had no right to go, and vivid images filled his mind. He had no doubt she knew exactly what paths his thoughts were taking. But then again, of course she would.

  She didn’t move. Her expression neither invited more nor did it condemn him for the liberties he’d taken so far.

  Not wanting to, Matthew slowly drew his hand away.

  He took a steadying breath, and surprisingly, another thought surfaced through his tension. One he hoped would help them both. ‘‘I grew up thinking that God was waiting to punish me, Annabelle, for all I’d done wrong—that He was just trying to find a reason to send me straight to hell. But I don’t believe that anymore, and I don’t think that’s what the Bible teaches either.’’

  He chanced another look at her but saw only the softness in her eyes and the curve of her mouth, and he turned away again in order to continue his thought. ‘‘I think that as a person grows closer to God, maybe it’s not so much the consequences of our wrongdoing that are most painful . . . Even though those are hard enough to face sometimes.’’ He paused, thinking of San Antonio, of Johnny. ‘‘Maybe the most painful part is when we finally realize that—in spite of all Christ has done, all He’s given—we end up hurting Him, and ourselves in the long run by wanting what we want . . . more than what He wants.’’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘If that makes a lick of sense.’’

  For the longest moment, she didn’t answer. ‘‘More than you know,’’ she finally whispered.

  Matthew walked to his bedroll and lay back down. He scrubbed a hand over his face and rolled onto his side, away from her—as if that would help any. He’d never get to sleep now. Not with his heart pounding like he’d just run a five-mile race.

  Minutes passed.

  He listened for the evenness of her breathing that would confirm she’d fallen asleep. And didn’t hear it. Stopping himself with her just now had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. But thinking of the men who had used Annabelle, taking what did not belong to them, selfishly meeting their own needs without a thought of what was right or wrong or of what was best for her had helped him restrain his own desire.

  He wouldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t be another one of them. Not now. Not ever.

  CHAPTER | TWENTY - NINE

  ANNABELLE SQUINTED UP AT him in the morning light.

  Matthew was already dressed and . . . was that coffee she smelled? Or maybe his attempt at it. She pushed to sitting and stretched to loosen the soreness in her back, then raked a hand through her hair. ‘‘I overslept. I’m sorry.’’ But little wonder with what he’d done to her last night.

  She had lain there for no telling how long before finally managing to find sleep. And she knew from his shifting and the occasional sigh that he’d done the same. Regardless of her past experiences with men, she found herself in uncharted territory with this one.

  ‘‘You didn’t oversleep. I’m just up early.’’

  ‘‘And already have the coffee made?’’ She stood and smoothed her skirt.

  ‘‘Not as good as yours, but I tried.’’ He handed her a tin cup.

  ‘‘Careful, it’s hot,’’ he warned.

  She detected the telltale gleam in his eyes. Raising a brow, she took the cup by the handle and tried to imitate his voice. ‘‘Every morning you tell me that. Like I haven’t just seen you take the pot directly from the coals.’’

  His mouth slowly curved as he stared at her, arms crossed.

  Emotions brewed behind those brown eyes of his, and she would have baked biscuits by the dozens to know his thoughts at the moment. Then again, remembering last night, probably best she didn’t. She brought the cup closer and blew across the top. Certainly didn’t smell like coffee. Or look like it. She took a cautious sip.

  The second the warmth touched her tongue, she knew.

  She peered up at him over the cup, not sure which was sweeter—the smooth chocolate filling her mouth or the adorable expression on his handsome face. She swished the warm cocoa over her tongue, savoring its sweetness before swallowing.

  ‘‘Delicious,’’ she whispered. On impulse, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his smooth cheek, balancing the cocoa in her left hand, then quickly stepped back before he had time to consider anything further. ‘‘Thank you . . . for this.’’ She raised the cup. ‘‘But even more, for remembering.’’

  She’d seen desire in men’s eyes before. The desire in Jonathan’s eyes, softened with devotion, had been unlike that of any other man before him. And Matthew’s eyes had held a similar passion last night. But the way Matthew looked at her now sent a wave of emotion through her like nothing Annabelle could remember. If the chocolate in her mouth hadn’t already been melted, it would’ve done so on the spot.

  He held her focus, not turning away after a moment as he normally did. She hadn’t moved an inch but would’ve sworn they were closer to each other. She needed to defuse the moment and knew a thousand different ways to do that—but right now couldn’t recall a single one of them.

  As though aware of her need for rescue, he feigned touching the rim of a hat he wasn’t wearing. ‘‘Pleasure’s all mine.’’

  Relieved, Annabelle looked away, only then noticing. ‘‘You’re wearing fresh clothes.’’

  ‘‘Yes, ma’am. And I cleaned up too.’’

  ‘‘I can see that.’’ He’d shaved, and damp curls clung to his collar at the base of his neck. A piece of hair—not a curl exactly, more a wayward strand—fell across his forehead. And though she liked it right where it was, she still had to resist the urge to reach up and brush it from his face. ‘‘What’s the special occasion?’’

  ‘‘It’s Sunday.’’

  She shrugged and took more sips of the cocoa. It had cooled some and was no longer hot—just right. ‘‘You said yesterday that we had plenty of time to catch up with Brennan’s group. What’s the rush?’’

  ‘‘There’s a town about a mile or two up the road, and I’m betting they have a church.’’

  As she swallowed his meaning became clear. ‘‘Really?’’

  ‘‘If Idaho churches are anything like the ones back in Colorado, I’m figuring we can still make it there in time for the singing, if a certain young woman will stop dallyin’ around, drinking cocoa, and get ready.’’

  Annabelle finished the cocoa in three gulps and shoved the empty cup into his hands. ‘‘I could kiss you again, Matthew Taylor.’’

  ‘‘Best not do that, ma’am. I’m gonna have trouble enough listening to the sermon as it is.’’

  She laughed and hurried to get ready, catching his soft chuckle behind her.

  Annabelle could hear the singing as soon as Matthew brought the wagon to a halt beside the others in the field. Even after he climbed down, she sat absolutely still, listening to the blended voices and wanting to memorize the moment.

  The simple white building, adorned with a matching white steeple, sat atop a small rise of land on a side road jutting off the town’s main street. Bursts of pink and yellow flowers blossomed by the stairs leading up to the open doors, and Annabelle wondered if the woman who had planted them was part of the chorus of voices floating toward her.

  In that moment, something
Jonathan had said to her on the banks of Fountain Creek over a year ago took on new meaning. She truly did feel like a new person now, changed inside. While she might be able to pinpoint a moment in time when salvation had come to her, Annabelle had the feeling that growing to understand that gift of grace, and surrendering to it like she wanted to, would take her a lifetime.

  ‘‘I actually meant for us to go inside, Annabelle. Not just sit in the wagon and listen.’’

  She glanced down to see Matthew standing by the wagon, smiling. ‘‘It’s called savoring the moment, Mr. Taylor. Have you heard of it?’’ She grinned at the way he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, fair warning to her that sarcasm was to follow.

  ‘‘That’s all good and fine, but any chance of doin’ some savoring as we walk?’’

  Hand tucked in his arm, she carried the Bible Kathryn had given her in the crook of her arm and accompanied Matthew to the door. He stood aside and waved her to precede him. Suddenly nervous, she shook her head and nodded for him to go first. He gently took her arm and led her alongside him.

  He gestured toward a pew in the back. She scooted between the rows and sat down on the hard wooden bench. It instantly reminded her of the wagon seat, but she didn’t mind. She moved back until her spine was flush against the pew, then surveyed the gathering of forty or so people. The tune of the song they were singing was familiar to her, but the words, thankfully, had been changed. As she took in her surroundings and considered where she was, a smile tickled her mouth. She couldn’t help but feel as if she’d managed to get by with something sneaky.

  She watched Matthew lean forward and pull a book from beneath his seat. Cheating a glance at the man’s book in front of him, he flipped to the page and held it so Annabelle could see.

  He didn’t sing loudly, but the voice she heard coming from him caused her throat to tighten. She leaned back slightly to sneak a glimpse at him. Not only did Matthew know the words without having to look at the page, he also knew the tune. She riffled through her memory for what Jonathan had told her about their church-going days as boys, but he’d always spoken about the Lord in a more present tense. The only good things she remembered Jonathan sharing about his childhood had been about his mother— and the man sitting beside her now.