Finally a Bride

by McDonough, Vickie;

  She straightened rigid as a newly cut piece of lumber. “I hardly see how that’s any of your concern.”

  “I’m your pastor now. It’s my duty to minister to you, and if I notice an area that you need help in, I feel I should do my best to assist you in overcoming it. An unwillingness to forgive eats away at a person, Miss Davis. It does more damage to the one who carries the weight of not forgiving than it does the person who originally committed the deed.”

  Her face wrinkled up. “Nevertheless, I’m the one asking questions today.” She scanned her paper then tapped a line with her pencil. “You said you received your training from this Pete Jeffers. Has he had any formal training as a minister?”

  Noah shrugged. “You know, I don’t think I ever asked him. Pete lives his life as a witness to those around him. I never doubted that he loved God with all his heart and had dedicated his life to serving others and helping them find peace in the Lord. He knew his Bible from end to end. He taught me as much as I could learn in the years I lived with him. I felt God calling me to minister to His flock. What other training is required?”

  Jack heaved a sigh. Was the man being purposefully vague? He had deftly deflected most of her queries like a skilled outlaw evading a judge’s questioning.

  “Let me ask you this,” he said. “What college did you graduate from to become a reporter?”

  Her mouth opened, but she didn’t know how to respond. Did he know she hadn’t been to college? But how could he? Were her interviewing skills so lacking that he picked up on it?

  He smiled. “Ahh … so you didn’t. What gives you the right to drill me on my credentials?”

  Jack narrowed her eyes. This man was unlike Reverend Taylor in just about every way. “You have effectively avoided answering most of my questions. Do you have something to hide, Reverend?”

  For the briefest of seconds, Jack was certain he blanched, but then he smiled.

  “What an imagination you have, Miss Davis. Perhaps you should be writing novels instead of newspaper articles.”

  Indeed. She’d worked at the newspaper off and on longer than her ma had been married to Luke. Jenny Evans had taught her well how to interview and to read people and catch deception. But what could a minister have to hide? Maybe she was too suspicious. Or maybe she was imagining things that weren’t there because she wanted so badly to score a big story to offer a Dallas paper.

  Jack scanned her list of questions again. She had precious little information for an article. “You never mentioned where you grew up.”

  He shrugged again. “Here and there. My folks never stayed in one place for long, and after my ma died, it only got worse.”

  Jack wanted to grit her teeth and scream at the evasive answer. She studied the man. His eyes were so dark that she couldn’t tell if they were deep brown or black. Shouldn’t a minister have caring, blue eyes instead of ones so dark and mysterious they threatened to suck you in like a whirlpool?

  Yet they weren’t unkind eyes. There was something compelling about them. Compelling her to believe in him. Compelling her to trust him.

  Her mind flashed back to another time. Another place. Another set of dark eyes begging her to believe. But just that fast, the memory was gone.

  She shook her head. What was that? Who was that?

  Reverend Jeffers leaned forward. “Are you all right, Miss Davis? Your mother said you’d recently had an accident. Maybe you are pushing yourself too hard.” He reached his hand out as if to touch her then pulled it back into his lap. “We can continue this interview some other time if you need to rest.”

  Her mind swirled as it had right after she first fell off the roof. Maybe she wasn’t ready to be working again. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the sofa, trying with all her might to grasp hold of the memory that had assaulted her. It was too late.

  “Do you need a drink, Miss Davis? Should I fetch your mother?” At his concerned voice, she opened her eyes again. His worry seemed real. Maybe she was searching for a story where there wasn’t one. She glanced down at her questions a final time, then a new one popped into her mind. “Have you ever been to Lookout before?”

  There it was again. That brief, frantic look before he schooled his expression. He leaned back and crossed his arms, a smile on his lips—a smile that looked decidedly forced. “That would be rather ironic, wouldn’t it? Can’t you just see the headlines? TOWN DELINQUENT RETURNS AS NEW PASTOR.”

  He shook his head and chuckled, as if he’d cracked the funniest joke in years.

  Jack studied him until he sobered and glanced into the hallway at the stairs again.

  The new minister was hiding something.

  She was certain.

  Chapter 7

  Denison, Texas

  Carly once again checked the engraved pocket watch that had belonged to Tillie. She snapped the cover closed and ran her thumb over the swan figure etched into the silver, encircled by two curved branches, thick with leaves. Reverend Barker had said he wanted her to have something by which to remember Tillie. The watch would always be her most cherished possession, but she didn’t need it to remember. Tillie Barker would always hold a special place in Carly’s heart.

  She placed the watch in its velvet drawstring bag and put it in her handbag. Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, she scanned the rolling hills to the west. The telegram she’d received from Rachel said that Garrett Corbett would pick her up. She placed a hand against her jittery stomach. Would the man remember her?

  She hoped that Mr. Corbett and the town had forgotten all about her association with the Payton Gang. She hadn’t thought of her brother in a long while but allowed a moment to reflect on how her life had changed. Ty was long dead now. He hadn’t been a good brother, but he had protected her from his gang members, and for that she was grateful. If only they’d had parents to love and nourish them like the Barkers had cared for her, then surely things would have turned out different.

  She searched the green hills again, then sat back down on the depot’s bench in the shade. Though only late April, the sun shone down with a vengeance, heating the still air. But then, even if it had been winter, she’d probably still be sweating just because of her nervousness. Her foot jiggled relentlessly as she wondered what she’d face in Lookout.

  Rachel had written her that the town had grown a lot in the past ten years. That meant there would be many newcomers who wouldn’t know her story and how she’d pretended to be one of the mail-order brides who’d come to town, hoping to marry the marshal, although in truth, she’d had more sinister plans. None of the mail-order brides the Corbett brothers had brought to town ever had a chance, least of all her. The marshal had long ago lost his heart to Rachel, but he had a quagmire of bitterness to work through before he realized that.

  Carly sighed, leaning her head against the wall. She yawned and closed her eyes. She’d worried so much last night that she hadn’t slept much. Would she be welcomed in the town? Would she be able to find work to support herself? Would people remember that her brother had attempted to rob the Lookout bank? She heaved another sigh. The Bible said to not worry about tomorrow because today had enough cares of its own—and wasn’t that the truth?

  “All right, Lord, I’ll try to not be concerned about my future, and will place it in Your hands.”

  God had brought her so far—out of the life of crime her brother had forced her into, out of prison, out of sin. She would give her future to Him, and at least for today, she’d try not to worry.

  Garrett crested the hill, and the outlying buildings of Denison came into view. The horses must have sensed an end to their journey, because they picked up their pace. The wagon creaked as it hit another rut in the road and bounced out.

  How many times had he made this drive from Lookout to Denison? Garrett shook his head. Too many to count. But with news of a railroad spur coming to Lookout, he might be facing the end of such trips.

  He stretched, trying to work the kinks out of his back,
and chuckled to himself. His horses could probably make this trip alone, if only someone on the other end could load the freight and head the animals back toward Lookout.

  Rubbing his hand along his jaw, he considered his future. If the spur did come through as the mayor said it would, he’d be out of business, for the most part. Yeah, he could pick up deliveries at the depot and take them to surrounding ranches, but his profit would be cut way down. He’d been trying to decide what else he’d like to do, but so far nothing came to mind.

  Duke flicked his long tail, gaining Garrett’s attention. He loved both of his stock horses. He hated the thought of putting them out to pasture, especially when there was a need for good work horses in the county, but he doubted he could part with the two animals, which had been so faithful. Sitting up straighter, he allowed a thought to take wing. Maybe he could raise stock horses. Farmers and ranchers always needed quality animals. He rubbed his jaw, getting excited for the first time in a long while.

  He drew the horses alongside the depot and pulled back on the reins. “Whoa there.”

  Smiling, he hopped down and jogged up the steps and into the depot.

  The clerk glanced up and nodded. “Howdy, Garrett. H’aint seen you in a while.”

  “Virgil.” Garrett nodded. “Ain’t been here in a while. Been back and forth to Dallas, hauling wood and freight for a rancher who’s building a new house.”

  “Guess you won’t be doin’ that much longer, what with the new rail spur going in over to Lookout.” Virgil’s prominent Adam’s apple bounced up and down over the man’s black string tie. The cuffs to his white shirt were faded a dingy gray, matching the clerk’s eyes.

  Garrett shrugged. “Haven’t exactly decided what I’ll do yet. Got some ideas I’m kickin’ around, though. I’m supposed to pick up a package for Rachel Davis. You know where it is?”

  Virgil scowled and riffled though a pile of papers. He turned and studied a stack of crates behind him then spun back around, smiling. “Ah … you had me goin’ there fer a minute.” He squealed out a laugh that resembled a cat choking, and his bald head bobbed up and down as he fought to regain his composure.

  What in the world? Garrett couldn’t think of a thing he’d said that the man would find humorous.

  The clerk swiped his eyes on his sleeve and pointed out the window to the waiting area. “You’ll find yer package out there on the bench.”

  “Thanks.” Garrett glanced back at the man a final time before exiting. It was far too early for the man to be drinking, but Virgil’s behavior sure seemed odd. And why would the clerk leave a package out where just anyone could pick it up—unless it was so big Virgil couldn’t carry it himself. Garrett flexed his arm muscle as he opened the door. He’d manhandle the load alone, just to show Virgil what he was made of.

  The door banged shut, and a woman on the bench jumped. Garrett glanced around the platform for the package, then swung back for a look at the woman. Her gold-colored dress was wrinkled, and her hair was pulled up tight in a stark bun at the back of her head and covered with a straw hat tied down with a sash. She stretched and yawned. His gaze immediately landed on her chest, where the fabric of her dress pulled tight as she locked her hands together and stretched again. She rubbed her eyes, then stared at him.

  Embarrassed and feeling guilty to be caught watching her, he spun around and walked to the other end of the deck but found no crates of any kind. He lifted his hat and scratched his head. What was Virgil up to?

  “Mr. Corbett?”

  Garrett pivoted again and studied the woman’s face. She looked to be in her late twenties and was fairly pretty with her black hair and unusual light brown eyes. She had all the right curves for a woman, even if she was on the thin side. But how did she know his name? The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t look away. There was something oddly familiar about her. Had he stumbled across her path before?

  “You are Garrett Corbett, correct? Or are you Mark, perchance?”

  Now she really had his attention. How did she know his brother? “Who are you, lady?”

  She flinched as if he’d slapped her, making him regret his harsh tone. “I received a telegram from Rachel Hamilton saying you would be by to give me a ride to Lookout. Did she neglect to inform you?”

  “You’re Rachel’s package?”

  She blinked, confusion marring her features. “What?”

  Garrett lowered his head and stared at the floorboards. Now that odd look Rachel and Luke had exchanged at the dinner table made sense. They’d set him up. But why? Who was this woman? And why would Rachel not just tell him he was supposed to pick her up?

  The woman turned back toward the bench and snatched up a worn satchel. “Never mind. I’ll find another way to get to Lookout. Sorry to have imposed on you.”

  Garrett opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He was still trying to figure out what Rachel was up to when the lady opened the depot door and scurried inside. She walked up to the counter and said something to Virgil, who glanced through the glass at him and pointed. The woman shook her head. Virgil shrugged, and the lady stood still for a minute, then spun toward the front door and walked outside.

  Why wouldn’t Rachel tell him he was to pick up a woman passenger? He could think of only one reason—she had something up her sleeve.

  The window in the depot door rattled when Virgil yanked it open. “What did you say to that lady? H’ain’t you gonna give her a ride? Makes no sense for you not to when yer goin’ right back to Lookout. You are, h’ain’tcha?”

  Garrett nodded.

  “Then why you standin’ here? That lady waited for you nigh on two hours. Git on out there and give her a ride.”

  Garrett bristled at Virgil’s scolding. “What’s it to you?”

  The clerk shook his head. “What’s wrong with you? Did she say something that set you off?”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Garrett shook his head. What was wrong with him?

  He didn’t like people getting his goat or pulling the wool over his eyes—and yet he couldn’t quite decide if Rachel had. His feet moved forward before his mind clicked into gear. He had been rude to the lady—not intentionally—but rude all the same. And he was returning to Lookout, so he had no excuse for not giving her a ride.

  He didn’t waste time responding to Virgil but charged out the door and searched the road that ran past the depot. Skirts swinging like a church bell, she marched down the road that led out of town. Was the fool woman going to walk all the way to Lookout?

  Garrett climbed back into the wagon, released the brake, and slapped the reins against the horses’ backs. “Giddyap, there!”

  The wagon jolted forward, nearly tossing him into the back. Guiding it in a wide circle, he finally sat and focused on his target. The gal had stopped and looked one way and then the other. She set her satchel down, untied her bonnet strings, and then retied them and picked up her bag again. As he drew near her, she turned and gawked at him, then spun around and started walking faster.

  He pulled up beside her and tugged on the reins to slow his team. “I’ll give you a lift to Lookout.”

  “No thanks,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I can find my own way. I don’t need your help.”

  “Whoa there, Duke. Daisy.” He wrestled with the horses, which weren’t ready to stop, seeing as how they’d just started their trip home, but they finally came to a halt. He jumped down and hurried after the confounded woman. Couldn’t she see he was trying to help her?

  Garrett caught up and reached for her bag. She spun around, yanking it from his grasp, and glared at him. He held up his palms. “Whoa, lady, I’m just trying to help.”

  “So, now you want to help. Well, you’re too late. I told you I’d find another way to Lookout.”

  Garrett shoved his hands to his hips and couldn’t hold back a grin. “Like walking?”

  “What?” She swirled around and looked down the road. Only a few dilapidated buildings littered the lane.
“Uh … that train man said the livery was this way and that I could rent a buggy there.”

  “Ah … I see.” Good thing he came to her rescue or she might have been wolf bait come nightfall. “The livery is the other direction, ma’am.”

  Surprised flickered in her eyes, and she looked back toward town. She spun around again and marched back in the direction she’d just come. All this swirling was making him dizzier than doing do-si-dos at a square dance. But no female, no matter how irritating she might be, was going to get him into trouble with Rachel. His cousin’s wife just might get it into her mind not to allow him to eat at the boardinghouse any more, and a near-forty-year-old bachelor could only eat so much of his own cooking. He hurried after her again.

  This time, he wasn’t taking any chances. Garrett caught up with her. “Stop! Right now.”

  The woman scowled at him and kept on walking.

  “I aim to give you a ride to Lookout whether you want one or not, so stop walkin’, you hear?”

  If she did, she sure didn’t obey well. Garrett ran past her, turned, and halted right in her path. She had no choice but to stop, go around, or knock him to the ground, and given that he was a good half-foot taller than she and twice her breadth, he doubted the last choice was much of an option. Then he noticed the satchel flying toward his face.

  Carly gasped as her travel bag collided with Mr. Corbett’s head. The man staggered backward then fell flat on his rump. She couldn’t help the giggle that rose up in spite of her irritation. The man was more of a pest than a wasp nest in a privy.

  He hopped right back up and glared at her, his lovely robin’s egg blue eyes flashing. “What was that for?”

  “I don’t like to be pushed around by men.”

  He stepped closer. “I didn’t push you.”

  She leaned toward him. “You know what I mean. I don’t like to be bossed around. I’ve had enough men telling me what to do to last me a lifetime.”