They remained seated for the prayer that followed as well as the next two songs. Then an older gentleman walked to the front and took a place behind the pulpit. ‘‘Our reading today will be from the fourth chapter of the book of Second Corinthians.’’
Without being told, everyone stood, Matthew included, and she felt his hand drawing her up with him as he rose.
The gentleman at the front read the verses, unhurried, pausing, giving the words time to sink in. Somewhere deep inside her, Annabelle remembered having experienced this as a girl. Open windows on either side of the building ushered in a breeze, spreading the scent of lilacs and sunshine. And newness.
Jonathan had said that a person couldn’t love someone else until they’d first learned to love themselves, and he’d been right. She knew that now. For the first time in her life, she could look inside herself, at who she was, and not cringe at what she saw.
Standing there among all these fine people, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman she might have been if her life had taken a different turn. But then excitement swept through her at imagining what God was going to make of her life now. Now that He had set her on a new course.
Matthew kept his attention on the menu. ‘‘Order anything you like. My boss pays me well.’’
Annabelle responded with a telling tilt of her head and that droll look of hers that only egged him on. ‘‘In that case . . .’’ She turned to the young woman waiting beside them. ‘‘I’ll have the roast beef with potatoes and green beans, please. And a piece of apple pie for dessert.’’
Matthew handed back his menu. ‘‘I’ll have the same.’’
After their waitress left, Annabelle leaned forward. ‘‘She was looking at you, you know.’’
He shook his head at her smirk. If he said he hadn’t noticed the woman’s attention, that would be a lie. But to say his interests were wholly engaged elsewhere was far too revealing. ‘‘You look very nice this morning, Annabelle. I was proud to be with you at church.’’
Her smirk faded as she gently eased back against her seat, apparently at a loss for words. He enjoyed the rare moment and the attentiveness in her expression as she studied him.
The young woman returned shortly with their meals. She placed Annabelle’s before her first, and then set Matthew’s in front of him. ‘‘I checked on what you asked me about earlier, sir. That wagon train passed by here day before last.’’
Matthew voiced his thanks as the woman left, then tossed Annabelle a wink. ‘‘We’ll be with them tomorrow for sure—I promise. Well in time for that celebration.’’
Conversation came easily between them as they ate lunch, and an hour later they headed back toward the wagon. The businesses they passed on the boardwalk were closed, but a fair amount of traffic still busied the streets.
He had a hard time imagining finally reaching Johnny’s land, only to have to leave Annabelle there. But several things had become clear to him in recent days. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life running, checking over his shoulder, afraid of who might be there. He also wanted to honor his brother’s last wish, in the truest sense. Johnny had set out to give Annabelle a new life. He had started this journey, and Matthew would see it to completion. Johnny had been right that night in the shack. Matthew had spent the better half of his life running, and it was high time he saw something through to the end. First, in seeing Annabelle settled. Then, in facing what he’d done in San Antonio.
Though the second reckoning would prove far more difficult, and costly, than the first.
‘‘Matthew . . .’’
He felt her grip on his arm and turned.
Annabelle’s face had gone pale. She couldn’t seem to gain her breath.
He put an arm around her waist, his first thought going to the child inside her. ‘‘Is it the baby?’’
She shook her head in quick, short movements, her focus glued to some faraway point.
‘‘Tell me what to do, Annabelle!’’
She shook her head again and took hold of his hand, squeezing it tight. ‘‘Very slowly, turn and look across the street.’’
He stared at her for a moment, not understanding, then finally did as she asked. He searched the boulevard, scanned wagons and buggies and their occupants, passersby strolling the boardwalk, and people crossing the street.
He shrugged, still not seeing anything.
She squeezed his hand tighter. ‘‘There! Passing in front of the livery.’’
He finally spotted her.
A small dark-haired woman walking close beside a man. Too close. The man had a grip on her arm. She stumbled. The man held her fast, but there was no concern, no tenderness, in the act. She was so small, but she carried herself with a quiet dignity, her black hair falling smooth and straight past her waist.
Matthew’s pulse jumped. He stepped forward. Annabelle stopped him with a hand to his arm, and he heard her shuddered sigh. Together they watched the man and woman disappear into a single-story gray clapboard building at the far end of the street.
CHAPTER | THIRTY
ANNABELLE STOOD IN THE darkened alley and peered across the street to the gray clapboard building, thankful for Matthew’s presence close beside her. The crowd inside the gaming hall had swelled as evening stretched past the midnight hour, and the laughter, coupled with drunken voices crooning bawdy tunes, could be heard two streets over. To an unsuspecting soul, the warm lights and sounds coming from the hall might have seemed like a welcome invitation. But she knew better.
Unable to make out Matthew’s face in the shadows, she sensed his unease. ‘‘Are you sure you don’t have any more questions?’’
‘‘Only about a hundred of them.’’ He laughed softly. ‘‘Main one being . . . is there another huge bartender inside who’s waiting to have a little chat with me?’’
She laid a hand on his arm. He covered it. ‘‘Thank you for doing this, Matthew. Both for me . . . and for Sadie.’’
‘‘If only Johnny were here to see me now. After all the grief I gave him about going to these places.’’ His laugh was hushed. ‘‘Somehow I know he’d see the humor in it.’’
At the mention of Jonathan, they both grew quiet. They talked about Jonathan often, but there were things she wanted to say to Matthew about how she’d felt about his brother, about what Jonathan had done for her, how he’d planted the seed for change in her life. She hadn’t shared that with him yet, but she would, one day, when the time was right.
She went over in her mind the plan they had concocted that afternoon. ‘‘Once you get inside, be sure and ask for—’’
‘‘I remember,’’ he said softly.
‘‘And whatever you do, don’t use Sadie’s name. That’ll give you away for—’’
‘‘Annabelle! I can do this.’’
She went quiet at his sharp whisper. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she imagined they held gentle rebuke, but also determination. The same determination she’d seen in him when they first spotted Sadie earlier that day.
He gently touched her cheek. ‘‘We’ve been through all this. I know exactly what to do.’’
Trusting him, she blew out a breath and nodded.
Matthew was halfway across the street when she remembered she’d forgotten to tell him something. She kept her voice hushed.
‘‘Matthew!’’
He turned and slowly walked backward a few paces.
‘‘I’m praying for you.’’
‘‘And I’m depending on it.’’
Once he crossed the threshold of the open doors, she lost him in the crowd and the smoky haze of cigars and oil lamps.
As the minutes passed, her pulse evened out. With every beat of her heart, she thanked God again for guiding them to this place and asked Him to protect Matthew and help him get Sadie out safely. After weeks of searching every town they’d passed, she had simply glanced across the street and seen that precious child. She’d recognized Sadie instantly—as well as the man draggin
g her along with him.
Mason Boyd was one obstacle Annabelle had not anticipated.
Boyd’s face came to mind, and she marveled again at how closely the artist had come to capturing the meanness in the man’s eyes. The list of crimes printed on the bottom of the parchment she’d seen tacked to the post office wall hadn’t included most of what she’d heard attributed to him, and she believed every charge. She ached inside when thinking that Sadie had been in the company of that foul man all those months.
And she had hated having to tell Matthew earlier that afternoon that she knew the man who was with Sadie. As she waited for him to process the information, she had easily predicted the one question his thoughts would lead him to—the one question she didn’t want to answer.
‘‘How do you know him, Annabelle?’’ His hushed tone revealed the heart of his fear.
She opened her mouth but words wouldn’t come. ‘‘I knew him . . . from before,’’ she finally whispered. At his wordless stare, she nodded.
A sickened look clouded his face.
‘‘I’m sorry, Matthew.’’
He took a step back, shaking his head. ‘‘You don’t need to apologize to me.’’
‘‘But I feel like I need to.’’
His hands went up in a defensive posture. ‘‘Well, you don’t!’’ He turned away from her, his tone abrupt. ‘‘That part of your life is over!’’
She knew that part of her life was over, but he sounded as though he was still trying to convince himself.
‘‘Matthew,’’ she said softly to his back, wishing he would let her see his face. ‘‘I can’t do this alone. I need your help.’’
He bowed his head. ‘‘I’m sorry, Annabelle. I just—’’
She heard his deep sigh, and her breath caught when he took another step away from her. Surely he wouldn’t bring her this far only to desert her now. She took a step toward him, unaccustomed pleading filling her voice. ‘‘Matthew, please . . .’’ She briefly clenched her jaw at her next admission. ‘‘I don’t have anyone else.’’
When he turned back, a frown shadowed his face. Then, slowly, understanding softened his features. ‘‘I’m not going to leave you, Annabelle.’’ His voice was unexpectedly tender. ‘‘It’s just that . . . when I think about . . . what men have done to you . . .’’ He studied the boardwalk beneath his feet, then gradually looked back at her. ‘‘Whatever you need me to do . . . all you have to do is ask, and I’ll do it.’’
Annabelle had sensed hidden meaning in his words earlier that afternoon but hadn’t pursued it. And neither had he.
She kept watch on the building, as though Matthew might walk out with Sadie at any moment. But she knew better. It would be much longer than a few minutes, and he wouldn’t be leaving by the front door, if their plan worked at all. She prayed he would remember everything she’d told him and that God would whisper the rest in his ear as he had need.
She had a hard time standing still and finally decided to head back to the wagon just so she’d be ready. She started across the street, resisting the urge to get close enough to peek through the front window of the gaming hall.
‘‘Mrs. McCutchens.’’
Annabelle jumped at the voice and spun around. All she saw was his shadow, but the man stood no more than ten paces from where she’d just been standing. She squinted, as though that would help her see him in the darkness. ‘‘Who’s there?’’
As he came closer, she took steps back, maintaining her distance.
‘‘I won’t hurt you, ma’am. I’ve been waiting to talk to you.’’
Hearing the drawl in his voice, her throat went dry. ‘‘Mr. Caldwell?’’
‘‘Yes, ma’am. You’ve got a good memory.’’ He walked closer. Her back was to the gaming hall, so she knew her face was hidden in the shadows. His face, however, was softly lit by the light coming through the open doors.
‘‘I’m here to talk to you about the man you’re traveling with.’’
She nodded slowly, her mind racing. ‘‘You mean . . . my husband.’’ She hated to lie. ‘‘What business do you have with Jonathan?’’
‘‘I don’t have any business with him, ma’am.’’ Caldwell’s gaze was unflinching. ‘‘Jonathan McCutchens is buried back in Willow Springs, Colorado Territory. I’m here to talk to you about Matthew Taylor.’’
Suddenly her lungs wouldn’t draw air. ‘‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’’ Even to her, the response sounded strained and unconvincing.
Rigdon Caldwell’s eyes narrowed.
Clearly he didn’t believe her. And she couldn’t blame him.
She prayed, not knowing what to ask for. She only knew that she was more aware of being in God’s presence in that instant than she had been seconds before. Shame filled her at having tried to lie her way through, but—dear God, please forgive me—she would do it again if it meant keeping Matthew and Sadie safe. What other choice did she have? What else could she—
Only what we do for God will last.
She blinked at the force of the memory, wondering how long it had been since she’d thought of it.
‘‘Mrs. McCutchens . . . Annabelle.’’ Caldwell’s voice held sincerity. ‘‘I know the man you’re traveling with is not your husband. His name is Matthew Haymen Taylor, and as I believe you already know, he’s wanted for gambling debts. I’ve been hired to bring him back to San Antonio, where he’ll be given the opportunity to face his accuser and stand trial if deemed necessary.’’
Hearing the charges against Matthew laid out that way somehow brought them into clearer focus. ‘‘Mr. Caldwell, did you know about us that day back in Rutherford?’’
‘‘No, ma’am, I didn’t. But your reaction at those posters didn’t help you much.’’
Heat rose from her chest into her face as she relived that moment. She shook her head. ‘‘He’s a good man, Mr. Caldwell. He’s just made some mistakes.’’
‘‘I understand that, ma’am. But I still have a job to do.’’
She considered that. ‘‘Who do you work for?’’
He paused. ‘‘I work for hire, ma’am.’’
She nodded, taking that in, her thoughts a blur. What was Matthew doing inside? Had he gotten to Sadie yet? Was she cooperating with him? And what did it matter if Matthew couldn’t get past Mason Boyd, and now this man.
With little notice, her thoughts slowed. They took a turn, and she looked back at Caldwell. ‘‘Who hired you to find Matthew?’’
He didn’t answer.
‘‘A moment ago, you mentioned his accuser, Mr. Caldwell. Who hired you?’’
‘‘A man you don’t want to deal with, Mrs. McCutchens. And a man I try never to disappoint.’’
His answer wasn’t surprising, and it was one she understood.
‘‘How much are you being paid?’’
‘‘More than you could possibly afford.’’
She knew he was right. Then something struck her. ‘‘Why did you come to me first, Mr. Caldwell? Why not approach Mr. Taylor directly?’’
‘‘Because every time I’ve seen him, he’s been armed. And he’s also been with you.’’
She frowned, not remembering Matthew carrying his rifle with him into a town.
As though reading her thoughts, Caldwell tugged back his duster. ‘‘He carries his revolver here.’’ He pointed to the one tucked inside his belt, then around to his back. ‘‘Or here.’’
Annabelle remembered Matthew having a gun that night in Parkston, but she hadn’t been aware of him routinely carrying it.
‘‘You may not think much of me or what I do, ma’am, but my fight isn’t with you. It’s with him.’’ He looked beyond her to the gaming hall.
She acknowledged that bit of decency in him and wondered if within that decency she might find an edge. ‘‘Mr. Caldwell, what if you didn’t have to disappoint your employer? What if we could come to some sort of . . . mutual agreement?’’
‘‘Well, that depends. What
exactly did you have in mind, Mrs. McCutchens?’’ He smiled, his expression telling her that such an agreement did not exist.
CHAPTER | THIRTY - ONE
MATTHEW STOOD IN A HALLWAY toward the back of the building, trying to act as if he’d been in this kind of place and done this kind of thing before. He shifted his weight, leaned against the wall, and shifted again, all under the watchful eye of a man whose arms resembled the thick pine beams running the length of the ceiling above them. He’d only gotten this far due to Annabelle’s regrettable know-how—and sincere prayers. She had proven to be a thorough teacher, and so far, he’d passed every test.
But the hardest was yet to come.
He figured nearly two hours had passed since he had first walked into the gaming hall. He’d waited at the bar for almost an hour before being taken back to meet Mason Boyd. That had been an experience Matthew wouldn’t soon wipe from his memory, though he already wished he could. Foul best described the man in every sense.
The creak of a door he couldn’t see brought Matthew’s head up.
The man gestured to him. ‘‘You’re in. Double knock means your time’s done.’’
Matthew walked past him and around the corner, committing details to memory as he went. Only two doors opened from this hallway. One on his right, which stood slightly ajar. The other clear at the end, which he’d already confirmed led out the back of the building, and which was, presumably, why a man stood guarding it. Hoping Annabelle was right about this, and having no reason to doubt her so far, Matthew chose the open door and closed it behind him.
Her back was to him, and he waited for Sadie to turn at the sound of the door latching.
She didn’t.
Light from a single oil lamp on a table illumined the windowless room, leaving shadows to crouch in four barren corners. The only other pieces of furniture were a closed trunk by which Sadie stood and the bed.
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