He hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat. “You make it sound like I’m about to bite the dust.”
She laughed, and the sound warmed his insides. The dread he’d felt anticipating her response began to melt away.
“In a way you already have,” she said. “You’ve died to yourself if you’re brave enough to try again.”
He would not call himself brave, but the clear sense of her words breathed hope into him, fanning the belief that God had forgiven him and offered him a second chance.
Would she?
Annie pulled her mittens on and stepped back from the stall.
“You haven’t answered my question about where you’ve been the last two weeks. We’ve missed you at breakfast.” A slight blush tinted her cheeks as she moved toward the barn doors.
“I had to ‘make my peace with God,’ as you put it. Clear my head, get things straight.”
“And you couldn’t do that at the mercantile?”
Dare he tell her he could think of nothing but her when he was at the mercantile?
Silhouetted in the open stable door, she stopped and spoke over her shoulder. “I was afraid you didn’t like my potbellied biscuits anymore.”
Her teasing tone cleared the air. He shook his head and held one hand against his stomach. “I’ve sorely missed them. But I’ll be back if you’ll have me.”
And then she faced him with luminous eyes. “And why wouldn’t I? You promised me a ride up the river.”
All the breath left his lungs as she turned and walked out the door. He leaned back against the railing and scrubbed his hands over his face and thickening beard. And then he remembered her gift.
He walked into what he’d come to think of as his room and lifted the rolled quilt. He buried his face in a bright star, inhaling Annie’s scent.
Thank You, Lord.
The cat rubbed against his leg and offered her sleepy opinion.
“There’s hope,” he said, kneeling to run his hand along her back. “Today I’ve been given hope.”
He’d take Annie on that ride the next chance he got—if it didn’t snow. He didn’t want to wait for spring, because come spring, he’d be riding out on his own. The prospect pulled his heart in the opposite direction, but he’d known for several days that he was to return to the ministry. It was the right thing to do. Would Annie wait for him if he rode a mining camp circuit? Or join him if he found another church far from Cañon City? Would her father let her?
He laid the quilt on his bedroll and walked down the alleyway to where he’d earlier left his duster and hat on a nail. The print shop had paper. He’d write to his seminary, see if the gold camps or larger towns farther north needed a preacher.
* * *
She knew it.
Only she hadn’t.
Annie hugged her cloak tighter. Caleb Hutton had been hiding something all right, but she hadn’t pegged him as a preacher. Her fingers tingled in her mittens—not from the cold weather but from excitement.
Excitement? Over the fact that Caleb was a preacher?
No, that wasn’t it. But what?
She tucked her hands beneath her arms and slowed her pace.
He didn’t seem like a preacher. But what should a preacher look like, act like? Quiet, intelligent, gentle. She laughed aloud. Her pastoral characterization fit Nell better than Reverend Hartman. He was intelligent and gentle, but she’d never classify him as quiet. The man exuded energy, joked with his small congregation and flirted unashamedly with Hannah Baker, his bride-to-be.
Come to think of it, Annie’s pastor from back home met all three qualities, but he was, well, boring. Caleb Hutton was anything but boring.
She opened the mercantile door to welcoming warmth. Her father and Martha sat by the stove chatting while Karl Turk picked through a notions box on the counter.
Did her father even know the man was in the store?
“Can I help you, Mr. Turk?” Annie stuffed her mittens and scarf behind the counter, laid her wrap over a crate and scowled at her father. Either he was going deaf or he was so helplessly smitten with Martha Bobbins that he had ears for no one but the seamstress.
Turk grumbled and poked through the box.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Annie’s voice raised on the last word and she tied on an apron as she watched the lumberman’s thick fingers fail to catch on any item.
“A razor,” he said. “But I can’t find one in all these gewgaws and baubles.”
“Oh, the razors are over here.” She turned to the shelf behind her and threw one last glance at her father. He caught it and erupted from his chair as if burned by spilt coffee.
Red-faced he hurried to Annie’s side. “Razors, you say. I got a fine assortment in on the last shipment.” He winked at Annie and pulled a long box from the shelf.
She frowned as if scolding a spoiled child, but there was no use staying mad at her jovial parent. It was impossible. Besides, her own spirits were so light she fairly skimmed across the rough floorboards. She gathered her cloak, scarf and mittens and headed toward Martha, who was washing her cup in the dishpan.
“You don’t need to wash your dishes here,” Annie said.
“Oh, yes, I do.” Martha clicked her tongue and shook her head. “If Daniel hadn’t been so caught up in our conversation, he would have known Mr. Turk was here.” She dried the cup, set it aside and pushed a few stray hairs beneath her cap. Looking at Annie like a shy schoolgirl, she blushed. “I didn’t even hear the bell myself.”
Annie laughed and hugged the little woman’s rounded shoulders. “Never you mind. It all worked out.” She poured herself some coffee and added sugar from a covered bowl. “I think he’s quite taken with you, Martha.”
The seamstress blushed even more and pulled at an invisible thread on her skirt. “Do you mind, dear?”
“No, I do not.” She smiled at the older woman’s nervousness. “I think it’s wonderful. My father has been alone far too long—even with me and my sister.”
As she uttered the words, her heart trembled at the thought of living by herself in the storeroom, but she forced the worry away.
Martha held her in a knowing gaze. “Did you find your young man?”
Annie allowed a smile to pull at her lips. “Yes, I did. And I gave him the quilt.” Dare she share her secret with Martha, tell her that she was losing her heart to a wayward preacher-turned-cowboy?
“I really must be going.” Martha lifted her wrap from a chair and snugged it around her shoulders.
Annie followed her to the door in time to hear Mr. Turk mention Christmas trees.
“I brought several down from my last trip to the Greenhorns,” he said. “They’re out behind my place by the river. If you don’t mind spreadin’ the word, I’m sellin’ ’em for two bits a piece.”
How splendid to have a tree for Christmas, festooned in popcorn garland and round, red cranberries. Well, maybe black chokecherries out here in the Rocky Mountains.
“I’ll take one, Mr. Turk,” Martha said. Turning to Annie’s father, she softened her voice. “Could you drive my buckboard down and pick it up for me?”
“I’d love to have one for the store window, too,” Annie said, watching her father calculating the tree’s cost against the opportunity to visit his sweetheart. She turned to Martha. “Will two trees fit on your wagon?”
“I believe they would.” Martha dug a coin from her reticule and handed it to Mr. Turk. “Twenty-five cents, paid in advance.”
He smiled and tipped his hat. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll set one out as soon as I get home.”
“Well?” Annie eyed her father and caught the glint in his eye as he dug in his pocket for a coin.
“Make that two trees, Turk. I’ll be by after I walk Miss Bobbins home and st
op at the livery for her buckboard.”
Annie almost envied her father. She hadn’t ridden in a buggy or even a buckboard since their arrival in town. And she had so wanted to visit the great canyon upriver with Caleb. Would he act on the bold statement she’d made at the livery?
“I’ll mind the store while you’re gone, but don’t dally.” She gave her father a playful pat on his shoulder as he shrugged into his coat.
“I managed to get the mail out, so that’s one less worry for you. I’ll be back shortly.”
That wasn’t likely, but she’d not begrudge him a change of pace after the daylight-to-dark hours he put in.
As soon as he stepped through the door and closed it behind him, Martha tucked her hand in his arm and they headed up the boardwalk. Annie checked the fire and set about clearing the window display to make room for the tree.
She removed dry goods from the heavy oak table and set them on the counter. As she leaned into the table to shove it against the far wall, a shadow lingered at the window, and she looked up to see Jedediah Cooper hovering like a hawk ready to sweep down on its prey.
Her blood chilled.
He moved to the door before she could lock it; the bell tolled as he stepped inside. Instinctively she hurried behind the counter and reached for the broom.
“I was afraid the mercantile was closed when I saw your father stepping out with the widow Bobbins.” Cooper’s voice slid around the words like snake oil as he closed the door and loosened the muffler from his neck.
Annie’s fingers tightened on the broom handle and she raised her chin, determined to not show fear. “How can I help you, Mr. Cooper?”
His lips curled in a sly smile, and he raked a hungry leer across her body. “Don’t be so formal, Annie. By all means, call me Jed.” With great aplomb he pulled the gloves from his hands one finger at a time. “You may help me, Annie, by considering an update of our arrangement for your occupation of the back portion of this fine establishment.”
Annie breathed slowly through her nose, hoping to prevent red anger from surging into her face. “We already reached an agreement, Mr. Cooper. You agreed to our offer before my father and I moved in six weeks ago.”
Cooper laid his gloves on the counter and slowly made his way to the end, where he breached Annie’s sanctuary. She backed toward the opposite end, never taking her eyes from Cooper, mentally measuring how far she was from escape.
“All agreements are subject to change. Didn’t I mention that?”
He lunged for her. She swung the broom at his face, but he fended it off, sending it over the counter.
Annie bolted for the door. Her fingers gripped the knob and turned. He grabbed her from behind, one arm around her waist, a hand over her mouth. He whirled her around. As her hand slipped off the knob, the door swung open, clanging the bell.
“Not so fast,” he breathed against her neck. Stale tobacco from his coat sleeve vied with his whiskey-laced breath, and her stomach lurched. “We’re meant to be, Annie. I knew it when you fell into my arms. So soft and warm.” He spread his fingers to crush her nose, as well. She kicked at his legs and dug her fingers into his smothering hand.
Was that what he intended? To cut off her air until she passed out and then—
His throaty laugh twisted through her. “You’re a fighter. That’s good. I like my women a little feisty.”
She reached up, groping for his face. He swore and hefted her like a sack of flour past the counter, past the chairs, the stove.
Oh, God, help me. She clawed at his fingers. Her lungs screamed for air and her vision blurred, darkening at the edges.
She had to keep fighting.
Squeezed against him, she felt the growl deep in his chest before she heard it. Then he pushed through the curtain and into the darkened back room.
Chapter 12
Caleb thanked Milner, the Cañon City Times editor, whom he left sifting through notes on a cluttered corner desk. He tucked a folded newspaper and extra notepaper into his waistcoat and exited the print shop.
His glance immediately went to the mercantile. Before he’d stepped into the print shop, he’d seen Daniel and Martha walking down the boardwalk. He’d also seen Jedediah Cooper standing in front of Whitaker’s. The dandy had pulled at his cuffs, looked both ways along the street and walked into the store.
Maybe he should pay a visit to the mercantile himself. He didn’t want that man anywhere near Annie, landlord or no. He rubbed his left elbow and jabbed a finger through the thinning material. He could use a new shirt. Might as well get one now.
He adjusted his hat and stepped off the boardwalk. As he approached the mercantile, he saw that the door was wide open, which was strange, given how cold it was outside.
His neck prickled as if lightning were about to strike, and before he even understood why, Caleb broke into a run.
Without looking both ways, he flew into the path of an oncoming buckboard. The horse reared, and the driver pulled up and hollered. Caleb reached for the startled animal’s bridle and spoke soothingly as he rubbed the horse’s neck and withers.
“Sorry about that,” he said to the driver.
“Watch where you’re going!”
Caleb stepped back and tipped his hat as the angry farmer drove by.
He checked the street and ran across to the opposite boardwalk.
When he reached the mercantile’s open door, he thought of his Colt revolver tucked beneath his bedroll.
No time for that now.
He stepped inside and saw Annie’s broom on the floor. No one sat at the stove. His heart galloped into his throat.
He softened his steps and crossed the wooden floor as if approaching a wounded animal. A scuffling behind the curtain convinced Caleb that Annie was in harm’s way, and that he would be wounding whatever animal he found there—man or beast.
His fingers curled into fists, and he held his breath.
In his heart, Caleb knew Annie would not invite a man into her sleeping quarters, especially with her father gone. Yet still, a flash of Mollie Sullivan on her beau’s arm stabbed at Caleb’s memory. He clenched his jaw, reminding himself that Annie was not Mollie, and pushed through the curtain.
Like a giant slug, Cooper’s body pinned Annie to her cot. One hand held her wrists above her head, the other pressed against her mouth. Fear screamed from her eyes, louder than Caleb’s hammering heart.
He’d never wanted to kill another human being. Until now.
Cooper must have seen Annie’s eyes lock on Caleb, for the man glanced over his shoulder. Caleb jerked him to his feet, spun him around and smashed his fist into Cooper’s sputtering explanation. Blood spurted from the man’s nose and a dark gash opened above his lip.
He dropped to the floor, out cold.
Stunned and breathing hard, Annie pushed up on her elbows, her eyes dark pools in her ashen face. Caleb’s chest heaved with murderous emotion as he opened and closed his fists and struggled to gather his wits.
He held Annie’s eyes with his own until she flung herself into his arms, sobbing and trembling. Encircling her, he forced his thoughts from the man on the floor to the woman weeping against him. Her beautiful hair tumbled down her back, and he buried both hands in it, pressing her to his chest.
He pulled his voice from a place deep inside and willed it into softness.
“Did he hurt you?”
Annie shook her head from side to side beneath his hand, and he felt her broken sobs as she fought for control.
“No,” she whispered. “But if you hadn’t come—”
His eyes burned, and bile rose in his throat.
With a steadying breath, Annie relaxed in his embrace and looked into his eyes. “I prayed. I cried out for God to help me.”
Tears welled anew and sp
illed into rivulets down her reddened cheeks. He thumbed them away and smoothed her unruly hair from her face.
“I never dreamed it would be you who rescued me.” A sudden breath convulsed in her chest, and she shuddered. “How did you know?”
Hesitant to let her go, he released one arm and guided her through the curtain to the chairs at the stove. Settling her into the closest one, he squeezed her fingers before releasing them completely. “Give me a minute.”
He cut two lengths of twine at the counter, tied the curtain back with the shorter one to keep an eye on Cooper and bound the man’s hands in several loops with the other. Then he pulled a chair close to Annie and reached again for her hands.
“I was at the printing office. On my way in, I saw Cooper walk in here. When I came out just a minute or two later, I noticed the door was open, and something didn’t seem right to me.”
She clutched his hands like a drowning woman grasping a rope. “Daddy will never forgive himself for leaving me alone. It could spoil everything for him.”
Puzzled, Caleb studied her face. “What do you mean, Annie?”
“Daddy and Martha,” she said. Letting out a deep sigh, she pulled her hands away and twisted her hair into a knot at her neck. “I fully expect them to—” She looked away. “They haven’t yet made a declaration, but Mr. Cooper said...”
Her voice trailed off as she held her hair with one hand, searching through the folds of her skirt with the other.
Her combs.
He stepped over Cooper’s unconscious hulk and rage churned again. He retrieved the combs from Annie’s cot, where they’d worked loose, and pressed them into her hand.
“Thank you. Again.”
He might as well be the one drowning—he kept getting lost in her beautiful eyes, which were full of tears.
“Cooper said what?”
She didn’t seem ready to say. Caleb wrestled with a question he had to ask, needed to ask. Annie’s earlier discomfort at the mention of Cooper had hinted at trouble. He shoved his fervor down and calmed his voice.
The Cowboy Takes a Wife Page 12