Leaving his own horse standing, he strode to her and grabbed her saddle with his good hand. She let him take it, which was a good thing, since it probably weighed almost as much as she did. Or at least half as much.
She’d released her mount in the corral and headed inside before he and Father Bergeron finished with their own horses.
He fell into step beside the man on their way toward the front door. “I hope me staying isn’t an imposition.”
“Non. We are always pleased when you visit. My cousin is...” The priest seemed to choose his words carefully. “She has much that is new to her since coming to this land. New people. New work. Her heart is conflicted about some of the changes, but she will sort through them. I have no doubt.”
Her heart is conflicted. About him? Or about the Indian who wanted to marry her?
They reached the door and stepped inside. The rich aroma of beans met his senses, and Monti scurried from the hearth to the table and back again.
“Wash up for the meal, then take your seats.” She motioned toward a bucket of water sitting against one wall. That certainly hadn’t been there the last time he’d visited, and he had to bite back a smile as he followed the priest and waited his turn with the water. A woman’s touch was usually a good thing.
The food was excellent, and he took the first opportunity to tell her so.
“Merci.” Her face seemed to pink as she smiled down into her bowl of beans. “I can manage a few meals now without burning them.” When she glanced up, a twinkle shone in her dark eyes.
“And where do you go from here, my friend?” Father Bergeron used a flapjack to sop beans from his dish.
“I need to stop in at my sister’s. If I don’t check in with them every couple of weeks, Emma tends to get ornery.”
“That will require much travel tonight after dark. Stay the night here and leave out in the morning.” He glanced at his niece. “Monti will ride with you. She was just saying yesterday she would like to visit your good family again.”
A cough spewed from Monti, and she clapped a hand to her mouth, probably to keep the food from spilling out. Her face reddened, and she looked to be struggling to speak.
The sight was so charming, it made his response come out before he thought through it. “If I wouldn’t be in the way, I’d be happy to wait and escort Miss Monti to visit my family.”
Monti finally swallowed whatever was clogging her throat and gasped a loud breath. “I have far too much to do for a visit tomorrow. But thanks for the offer.”
Her refusal sent a pang to his chest, tightening his muscles. “Monti.” He spoke low, and waited for her to look at him.
It took her a moment, as she busied herself by pushing beans around in her bowl with her spoon. Finally, she raised her gaze to meet his. There was a defiant spark there that pressed harder on his lungs. She’d not have this wariness now if he hadn’t hurt her. The last thing he wanted was for her to suffer on his account.
“Monti, I’d be honored if you’d ride with me to Emma’s place. You need a visit, and so does she. I’ll make myself scarce when we get there, if that’ll help any.”
The spark eased, but only a little, and the hint of pain she seemed to be trying to mask made him feel lower than a mangy dog in a back alley.
“All right.” She dropped her gaze back to her bowl.
How had he made such a mess of things? Did her anger stem from his having left right after their kiss? He’d done it to save her from himself. But maybe she didn’t understand exactly why she would be better off without him.
His mind dropped instantly to the crippled fingers on his left hand. She’d seen his hand without the glove, but maybe she didn’t realize exactly what it meant.
He slid a sideways glance at her. Her head was down. Not the Monti he’d fallen in love with. And the last thing he wanted was to take away her joy. If it required him to reveal his defects to prove she’d not lost anything worth keeping, so be it.
Chapter Seventeen
At last, the chance to set the record straight.
~ Monti’s Journal
LORD, I DON’T WANT to be angry with him. Monti scrubbed the last of the food remnants from the bean pot, then poured in a bit of clean water to slosh around. Joseph’s presence had her spirit so agitated, she’d been unfit company by the time they sat down to eat.
She had to get control over herself. Take this anger, Father. Show me how to help him.
The door opened behind her, but she didn’t turn to look. She’d know soon enough by the boot thuds which of the men had returned from settling the animals.
The tread was somewhat light, not heavy and determined. It must be Antoine coming in to warm his tired bones. He’d settle in his chair by the fire, don his spectacles, and open his Bible or a book of sermons.
She pushed to her feet and reached for one of the cups she’d just cleaned, then the teapot she’d kept steeping to warm him after being outside. After filling the mug, she replaced the pot and turned toward Antoine.
But it wasn’t him.
Joseph stood a few feet inside the doorway, watching her. He’d removed his coat and hat but still wore his gloves. The gloves he never took off.
She didn’t let her gaze linger on them but focused on his face and tried to summon a welcoming smile. Even if she didn’t feel welcoming, maybe her actions would eventually bring her emotions into line.
She took a step forward and extended the mug to him. “This will warm you. I’m sure it’s cold outside.”
He took the cup, but his gaze never left her face. His mouth parted as though he wanted to say something, but he didn’t speak. Then his focus dropped to the mug, and a breath later, he rested it on the table.
Her gaze followed his movement, steeling herself for whatever he was about to say. Maybe he planned to explain his absence for the last week and a half. The reason he’d left so suddenly after their kiss. Maybe the reason he’d kissed her at all, if he felt nothing for her.
Raising his face, he leveled his gaze on her. “Monti. There’s something I need to tell you.”
This was it. She nodded, preparing her face and body not to react to whatever he said.
He pulled the leather glove from his right hand, and she couldn’t help but drop her gaze to the action. He moved so deliberately, as though this was part of his explanation.
When he laid that glove on the table and reached for the left hand, everything clicked into place in her mind. His injury was part of the explanation.
Her gaze flew to his face, searching for trepidation.
It was there aplenty. But determination seemed to drive him on.
As much as she wanted to see his hand again, she wanted to prove to him that his injury didn’t define him. He didn’t have to hide it like the lepers hid their sores back in Biblical days.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
She kept her focus on his face. But at the edges of her vision, she could just see that his glove was off, yet she couldn’t make out any detail.
“Look at my hand, Monti.” Joseph’s voice was tight, almost angry.
She swallowed, searching his hard eyes. “Why?”
He took a step forward. The hand became slightly clearer as he raised it, extended it toward her.
She didn’t look, just kept her gaze locked on his.
“I want you to see what’s wrong with me. See why I’m no good for you. I’m a cripple. I’ll never be who you need.” He growled the words.
He wanted his statement to make her feel differently—that was plain from the almost belligerent look on his face. And they did. Those words broke through the barrier she’d built around her emotions, pushing her into action.
Without lowering her gaze from his, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Shock tinged his eyes for a moment, then they narrowed as he watched her. As though he was trying to protect himself. Maintain the armor shrouding his heart.
They were through with armor.
&nbs
p; She reached her right hand for his left, lifting it upward so their palms touched. She wove her fingers through his, never taking her focus from his face.
With their hands intertwined, she held their joined hands up between them, stroking with her thumb. “I’ve seen your hand.” Give me the words, Lord. “I knew it bothered you, but I still can’t fathom why you believe it has any bearing on your worth.”
She pressed her free hand to his chest. “You are the man God made you to be, Joseph Malcom. The things that happened to you don’t have the power to make you more or less than that. It’s up to you to decide whether you’ll live up to His plan for you.”
She waited then, sending up another prayer that Joseph would accept her words. Or at least not reject them outright. His face showed a struggle that made her chest ache. Should I say something else, Lord? Something that would help her declarations find fertile soil?
The Lord didn’t seem to be pressing any words of wisdom on her heart, so she held her tongue. And her breath.
At last, Joseph let out a long sigh. His shoulders sagged. “I know you saw it that night. In Emma’s barn. But had you seen it before? That night I fell asleep with the guitar?” His eyes had weary lines at the edges.
“Yes. I wanted to ask you what happened after that, but from the way you kept it covered, I thought it might be best to wait until you brought it up.” The niggle in her gut that had started a minute before now grew more insistent. She had to tell all. If he found out from his sister...
She cleared the lump in her throat. “I, um, asked your sister about the scar.”
He winced, then opened his eyes and scrutinized her. “I would have expected Emma to keep my secrets, but something tells me she didn’t. Did she?”
Monti pursed her lips against a smile. “No. She was more forthcoming than I expected. She’s worried about you.” She pulled their joined hands closer and pressed a kiss to one of his cold knuckles.
He cringed and tried to pull his hand away from her. “I hate the sight of it.”
She looked down at the hand, finally, letting him see her scrutinize it. She tipped her head to see the crimson scar, then craned her neck the other way to see the way his fingers curved limply over her hand. She pulled her fingers from his, flattening her hand so his lay level across hers, fingers to palm.
Then she took his other hand and did the same with her left hand. Now she held both of his flat hands in hers. Without flicking a glance at his face, she examined the backs of both his hands, moving her head back and forth so he would see that she looked at everything. The similarities. The differences.
After another breath, she looked up at him, taking in every line of his face. The depth of uncertainty in his amber eyes. The vulnerability. Did he really worry she thought less of him because of an injury?
But it was there, written on his face, sculpted in his gaze. It made her chest pull tight. Emotion sting the backs of her eyes.
She spread his arms wide and stepped into them, pulling them around behind her so his hands rested on her back. Then she pressed her hands to his chest and met his gaze, pouring every ounce of certainty she possessed into her words. “You are perfect, Joseph Malcom. You only need be the man God made you to be. That’s enough for me.”
His throat worked. He inhaled an audible breath, then released it. The tension and angst seemed to leave his shoulders with the exhale.
Then his gaze drifted down to her mouth, and she knew what was coming.
THE NEXT MORNING, THE lightness in Monti’s chest wouldn’t let her keep from smiling. Especially when she succeeded in broiling the hare, an early morning gift from Joseph, without burning it or the Johnny cakes. She was getting the hang of this cooking. Hopefully Emma would show her some new recipes today, too.
Antoine seemed amused by her cheerful demeanor, and from the way he watched her, it appeared he had a good idea what caused it. What did he think about Joseph? They’d discussed how he seemed to have a burden about him, and Antoine said he hadn’t noticed that the first few times he’d met the man. Which made sense, given the accident.
If Joseph now realized that the loss of his hand didn’t make people think any less of him, perhaps the weight that burdened him would be lifted. Free him, Father.
As it had so many times through the night and that morning, the kiss from the evening before filtered into her thoughts while she readied for the trip to Emma’s. Joseph had seemed tentative at first, but then his kiss had turned almost...hungry. She’d not been much better. Just the memory of her response sent a wave of embarrassment flaming through her.
A sound drifted through the blanket that shielded her sleeping quarters from the rest of the cabin. The door opening, then closing.
“Are you ready, cousin? Joseph has the horses waiting in front.”
She pulled the hood of her coat up to cover her head and neck, then grabbed the saddle bags she’d packed with a few provisions and ducked around the blanket. “All set.”
When she stepped outside, the morning sky hadn’t brightened much from when she’d gone out right after dawn to gather fresh snow for cooking. Gray clouds hung low in the sky, portending another bout of weather. Most likely snow.
Joseph stood with the horses, both sets of reins in his right hand, his left tucked in a pocket.
She couldn’t help but smile at the rugged sight of him in his fur-skin coat. He met her gaze, and the corner of his mouth tipped in that roguish half-smile. The one that lit a fire all the way down to her toes.
Thank heaven for Antoine’s tread behind her, or she’d get caught up in the sight before her. She turned to her cousin. “Are you sure you won’t join us? I know Emma and her family would love to see you.”
He patted her shoulder. “I considered it, but my spirit urges me to spend quiet time with the Lord. I’ll be better for it when you return.”
Quiet time with the Lord. Other than her steady stream of thank you’s and requests, she’d not sat still with her Bible and prayer journal that morning, nor silenced her mind and heart to hear His words and direction. I’m sorry, Father.
She squeezed Antoine’s hand. “I’ll see you before dark comes.”
As she and Joseph rode through the morning chill, the old familiar camaraderie returned. She asked about all he’d been doing while he was gone, and he told of his cave again and the day trips he’d made into the surrounding areas.
He asked about her visit to the tribe of Blood Indians, and she filled a good half hour with stories from that particular adventure. It seemed like every undertaking was an adventure in this land, even this simple trip to visit neighbors. What new stories would she have to tell when she returned to Antoine’s little cabin tonight?
Snowflakes started falling just before they reached the valley where Joseph’s family lived, and the horses seemed to hasten when Emma’s cabin came into sight. Did both animals remember this as home?
Joseph reined his horse when they reached the house, then dismounted. “Go on in. I’ll put these two away.”
As cold as she was, it didn’t seem fair to leave him with all the work. She turned her mare toward the barn. “I can help. We’ll get it done twice as fast.”
“Monti.” His voice held a slight edge of warning. Or maybe that was exasperation. “Let a man do his job for once. I’m not completely helpless.”
Her heart hitched as the words sank through her. She halted her horse, then slipped down to the ground. It took only a few seconds for her numb feet to support her again, and she turned and marched toward Joseph, stopping in front of him. “I know. I just—” She threw up a hand. “I have so much to learn. The more I do for myself, the more I learn. It’s become a habit to participate in everything, I suppose.”
She held the reins out to him. “If you want the job, you can have it.”
He took them, eyeing her with a twinkle in his amber gaze and a tilt of his mouth.
She couldn’t help herself. She reached out and patted the thick layer of co
at covering his chest.
He returned the favor by tapping a gloved hand on her chin. For a second, his gaze hovered on her mouth, and her breath caught as she imagined him leaning forward and kissing her. But then his focus moved up to her eyes, and his smile pulled higher.
Later, it seemed to say. Later.
Chapter Eighteen
This feels better than I deserve. Should I simply accept it?
~ Joseph’s Journal
SHE COULD SPEND A LOT of happy days like this.
Monti sat on the floor by the hearth in the Grants’ main room, little Hannah snuggled in her lap, and the dog, Mustang, stretched out beside her skirts.
“Again.” Hannah bounced in her lap and clapped as Simeon strummed the final chord of a feisty Irish ballad. Emma had sung with him, and the pair made a breathtaking duo.
Simeon grinned at his daughter and did a fast strum of the final chord progression again.
She giggled, tucking her chin into her chest.
He sprawled out in his chair as if exhausted. “That’s all for me.”
“Again.” Hannah bounced, her voice more insistent this time.
Simeon passed the guitar to his wife. “Ask Mama. I’m too tired.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Emma took the guitar and handed it down to Joseph, who sat on the floor opposite Monti. “I can’t play a tune on this thing to save my soul. Uncle Joey will have to do it.”
Monti’s breath hitched as she watched him.
He took the instrument his sister thrust into his arms, but then stared at it. The longing in his eyes was plain, but more than just that emotion stirred in the amber depths. Fear?
“Again,” Hannah gurgled, clapping her hands.
Joseph looked as though he needed someone to help him believe he could do it. Did she dare?
Wrapping her arms around the child, she leaned close to tuck her cheek against the soft curls. “Did I tell you your Uncle Joey was helping me learn to play the guitar?”
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