by Regina Scott
Scout grinned at her from behind the reins. “I thought you might need a ride.”
Beth grinned back. “Even if I didn’t, I’d take you up on the offer. What a beauty.”
Scout ran a gloved hand over the polished wood front board. “It was shipped up from San Francisco.”
“And an excellent investment,” Clay said, coming out of the house with Allegra on one arm, their children right behind. The Howards made quite the pair in their fine clothing, him fair and her dark. He caught Georgie with his other hand before the boy could dash any closer to the team. “Easy there, my lad. You’ll scare the horses.”
“Oh, Mr. Rankin, what a wonderful carriage,” Gillian said, eyes glowing.
Scout inclined his head. “Thank you, Miss Howard. Perhaps you’d like to ride in it with me and Beth. There’s room for four.”
“Then Deputy McCormick can join us too,” Beth said as Gillian begged her parents’ permission.
Scout’s face clouded. “Oh, is he going to church?”
Beth nodded, glancing around the side of the house. Surely it was after a quarter past. Where was he?
Just then he rounded the corner. He’d brushed off his duster and wore black trousers instead of his usual denim, but the dark color still made him look lean and strong. She swallowed, then chided herself, putting on a smile.
“Look who came to drive us to church,” she told Hart as he joined them.
He eyed the buggy. “Mighty fine outfit, Rankin.”
Scout thawed. “Thank you, Deputy. If you’d help Miss Howard and Miss Wallin to their seats?”
Beth didn’t wait. She scrambled up beside Scout as Hart helped Gillian up.
“Sure there isn’t room for five?” Georgie wheedled.
“Next time,” Scout promised.
“Be careful,” Clay warned as Allegra gathered her son closer, apparently concerned he’d try to climb in anyway.
“Always, sir,” Scout assured him. With a flick of the reins, he urged the team around the curve of the drive and back onto the street.
“When did you learn to handle horses?” Beth asked as they started down the street, Gillian gushing at Hart.
“I drove a six-horse team for a time at one of the gold camps,” Scout told her. “You have to do something to eat when you don’t find gold.”
Beth thought she heard Hart humph.
Gillian rested her arms on the bench, golden head poking up beside Scout. “But Papa says you found gold, Mr. Rankin. Lots of it.”
Scout colored. “Enough to keep me comfortable. But it took a while, and I had to pay my way in the meantime.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I didn’t fancy turning out like Pa.”
Beth knew he was addressing that to Hart instead of Gillian. She glanced back as well. Hart’s arms had been crossed over his chest. Now he lowered them with a nod.
“Doesn’t look like that will be a problem,” he said to Scout.
She thought Scout sat a little taller.
The area around the church was crowded as they approached—wagons, horses and a few buggies jostled for space with the resultant rattle and clank of tack and grunt of horses. Scout found a place to leave the buggy and tie up the horses. Then the four of them joined the others climbing the stairs.
The vestibule was lit only by the sunlight trickling in through the open door. Just beyond, dark wood box pews, nearly full, stretched out on either side of a center aisle that led up to the altar and a bronze cross. As if trying to decide where to take a seat, a woman with a flowered hat and a young man stood blocking the way forward. Something white fluttered to the floor.
Hart frowned at it as if expecting it to leap up and draw on him. Beth touched his arm, and his frown eased.
Scout bent and picked the thing up. The square of linen was edged in fine lace and embroidered on the corner with roses. So that was the game. Before Beth could stop him, he touched the woman’s sleeve. “I believe you dropped this, ma’am.”
The owner turned, and Beth recognized Mrs. Jamison. How disappointing that the lady would need to resort to such tricks. Whose attention had she been trying to attract? She barely knew Hart and probably had never met Scout.
Still, she had obviously dressed to impress. Her raven hair was piled up under the hat to fall behind her. Her lavender jacket and sweeping skirts were as fashionable as they were unpractical for the wet Seattle weather.
“Why, how kind,” she said with a winning smile as she took the handkerchief from Scout, brushing her fingers against his. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“Mrs. Jamison,” Beth said, duty bound, “may I present my good friend Thomas Rankin and Miss Gillian Howard. You remember Deputy McCormick.”
Hart inclined his head, and Gillian bobbed a curtsey. Scout seemed to be frozen in his tracks.
The seamstress fluttered her dusky lashes. “Mr. Rankin, Miss Howard, a pleasure. Nice to see you again, Miss Wallin, Deputy. This is my brother, Robert Donovan.”
The dark-haired lad was staring at Gillian. “Miss Howard,” he murmured. Gillian blushed.
Mrs. Jamison had turned her attention to Hart. “I haven’t seen you the last couple of days, Deputy. I hope nothing untoward has happened to keep you away.”
The last two days? Had Hart been calling on the lady? Beth forced the frown from her face.
“Just busy, ma’am,” he told her. “Best we find seats now.”
“Of course.” She smiled at Scout. “Perhaps we’ll have time to become better acquainted after service.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Scout stammered. “Thank you, ma’am.” His gaze followed her swaying progression down the aisle, her brother at her side. Beth thought a starving man might have looked that way at a haunch of venison. She waved a hand in front of Scout’s face, and he started.
“Sorry.” He sighed. “Mrs. Jamison, eh?”
“I hear she’s a widow,” Hart put in.
Smiling to himself, Scout went to take a seat at the rear of the church.
Gillian hurried to where her parents and brother sat near the front. Hart looked as if he would have preferred to join Scout, but Beth led him down the aisle and slid in behind the Howards. So many questions, and no time to ask. She had barely composed her thoughts when the Reverend Bagley entered, and service began.
She’d grown up worshipping in the front room of the family cabin. She wasn’t entirely prepared for the formality of the service, the solemnity. Still, there was something fine, something warm about voices joining together in song and recitation.
Wallin Landing had built a church about a year ago. Her brother Levi’s sermons there tended to be more casual. Reverend Bagley had a pedantic way of speaking, yet his theme, designed to fit in with the Lenten observance, was fitting. He talked about the woman who had broken the alabaster jar and poured out costly perfume on Jesus to prepare him for his death.
“We are reminded that we must live as extravagantly,” Mr. Bagley said, gazing around the congregation through his silver-rimmed spectacles, bushy brows coming down. “We must pour out all we have in His service.”
All she had. It wasn’t much. She’d spent most of the money Ma had left her to bring a piano to the Wallin Landing church. The future of her claim was more precarious than she wanted to admit, and the land would go toward expanding the town, at any rate. She couldn’t see how God could use her wardrobe, which was more extensive than most on the frontier.
All that was left was her character. Her family said she was enthusiastic. Certainly she loved them and her friends.
She couldn’t help glancing at Hart. His gaze was on the minister, his eyes narrowed, as if he wasn’t any surer about what he was supposed to do. Ever since he’d rejected her, she’d refused to think about marrying, about letting herself love. Would there ever be a time she’d be ready to open her heart again, to love as extravagantly as Reverend Bagley suggested?
Chapter Eight
Hart shifted on the pew, trying to keep his gaze f
orward. Still, his shoulders bunched. Why did he feel as if he wore a sign reading sinner? If the good people of Seattle knew the life he’d once lived...
He forced his shoulders back, his chin up. He owed no one an explanation. He’d paid for his crimes, as surely as if he’d been sent to prison. He’d dedicated his life to keeping others from the same pain. He had every right to sit in this pew, listening to Mr. Bagley drone on.
Watching the emotions flicker across Beth’s face.
She was so intent, drinking in every word. The light in her eyes said she understood, she approved. What had the minister said? God expected everyone to pour themselves out for others.
Once that would have been impossible for him. Growing up in the crowded orphanage in St. Louis, he’d had to snatch and fight for every morsel of food, every inch of blanket. No one, from the overbearing woman in charge, to her frightened and scurrying assistants, had stood up for him. If he was going to survive, it was all up to him. That was one of the reasons he’d run away, headed east when he was about Bobby Donovan’s age.
His experience had taught him much. He’d become stronger, more determined. More ornery, some might have said. But he’d also learned that life came at a price. And those who loved must be willing to pay it.
His uneasiness stilled as he considered the matter. He’d always thought he wasn’t good enough for God. Maybe it was his time in the orphanage. Maybe it was the way he’d failed his sweetheart Annabelle. But if Mr. Bagley was right about the good Lord’s expectations, the Almighty ought to be rather pleased with Hart for dedicating his life to the law.
Do You listen to folks like me, Lord? Am I doing what You want?
Something drew his gaze to Beth again. Now, how could God be anything but pleased with her? She was bright, she was happy, she lavished her love on anyone who came near. She must have caught him looking, for she turned and smiled at him. Suddenly he was certain he was right where he belonged. He was still smiling when he followed her down the aisle at the end of the service.
The look must have encouraged the other members of the congregation, for several came forward to shake his hand, let him know they appreciated his work. Hart thanked them, but tried to find a way to extricate himself quickly. Praise was fine, but close encounters could only lead to personal questions he didn’t feel comfortable answering.
Beth swished her blue skirts. “See?” she whispered between acknowledgements. “I knew this would work.”
He’d forgotten he was supposed to be on display. His smile must have slipped, for the next lady hurried to excuse herself.
Beth linked arms with him. “Never mind her. You’re doing splendidly.”
He wasn’t sure whether to preen or protest.
“I have a question for you, though,” she continued as the other members of the congregation strolled past. “Have you decided to court Mrs. Jamison?”
Hart stared at her. “No. Of course not.”
Her smile nearly blinded him. “Oh, good. Because I would not advise it as your matchmaker.”
Relief vied with curiosity. “Why not?”
She sniffed. “A lady has no need to resort to artifice to attract a gentleman. Her character should be sufficient.”
Hart eyed her outfit with its white piping outlining her figure. “No doubt that’s why women spend so much time getting gussied up.”
“Nonsense,” she said, rapping him on the arm with her free hand. “I don’t dress up for men. I dress up for me.”
Just then he caught sight of Mrs. Jamison and her brother exiting the church. He’d decided not to talk to her before services, despite her evident interest, because he knew enough not to arrive late. But this was the perfect opportunity to check on the pair, so long as he didn’t give Beth any ideas.
“Listen,” he said, watching Mrs. Jamison and Bobby, who were moving closer. “I promised myself I’d keep an eye on Mrs. Jamison’s brother.”
Beth frowned, glancing their way as well. “Do you suspect him of something nefarious?”
“Not yet, but I’d like to be sure. And I have a feeling he needs a friend. Come on.” He took Beth’s arm and moved to intercept them.
“Ma’am,” he said, removing his hat with his free hand. “Donovan. Glad you could make services today.”
Mrs. Jamison smiled, but her brother dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet. “I believe this is the first time I’ve seen you here, Deputy,” the seamstress said. “Was there a particular reason you graced us with your presence?”
Those dark lashes were fluttering again. Did she expect him to say he’d come hoping to see her?
Beth stepped into the breach. “Deputy McCormick is often on duty on Sundays, alas. I’m just glad he could be here today.”
The seamstress’s smile remained pleasant. “Did you enjoy the service, Miss Wallin?”
“Very much,” Beth assured her. “What of you, Mr. Donovan?”
Bobby glanced up, meeting her gaze, and color flamed into his cheeks. “Yes, ma’am.” His voice squeaked.
Oh, but Hart remembered being that young and unsure. He’d wanted friends, someone he could count on, and his desperation had led him to the wrong people. The Cathcart gang had already made a name for themselves, robbing stages and outlying farms, before they’d welcomed Hart to their band. Their wild camaraderie had spoken to his troubled heart. He’d realized the cost too late. Unless someone acted, Bobby Donovan could fall into the same trap.
Hart tipped his chin toward a group closer to the lad’s age, including Gillian Howard and Ciara O’Rourke, Maddie Haggerty’s sister, who had gathered under a fir at the edge of the yard. “Have you met some of our young folk, Donovan? I’d be glad to introduce you.”
Beth caught his eye and smiled, then turned to Bobby. “So would I. Nothing like making friends to make you feel more at home.”
The lad followed Hart’s gaze toward the group. He smoothed back one side of his dark hair.
Mrs. Jamison put a hand on her brother’s arm. “Bobby’s just a bit shy. Perhaps another time.” She beamed a smile at Hart. “Don’t forget your promise, Deputy.”
Hart frowned. “Promise, ma’am?”
“To send me your sweetheart for her wedding gown.” Her smile to Beth could have cut through a bull’s hide.
The color vanished from Beth’s cheeks, but she kept her smile in place. “I’ll be sure to tell the lady when she and Deputy McCormick have agreed to wed. Come along, Bobby. I’ll stay with you until you’re comfortable.”
Mrs. Jamison frowned, but Bobby broke away from her hold and followed Beth to join the others. Coming out of the church, Scout headed in that direction as well.
“How kind of her,” the seamstress said, but the words remained as sharp as her smile. “But I appear to have misspoke. I take it Miss Wallin doesn’t intend to have you court her.”
“No, ma’am,” Hart assured her, glad he hadn’t had to report the fact in front of Beth. “I’ve known her family for years. I’m just looking out for her while she’s in town.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult. She appears to be well known and well liked.” She nodded to where Dexter Horton, Seattle’s first banker, and Mayor Yesler had stopped to pay their respects to Beth, who quickly turned to introduce them to Bobby and Scout.
“She is that,” Hart agreed. “Your brother could be as well, if he’d put himself out a bit.”
She sighed, gaze lowering. “Poor Bobby. We lost our parents when he was only ten. Even though I married young, my husband was like a father to him. When he died as well, Bobby was devastated.” She took out a lacy handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
The situation with her brother was worse than Hart had thought. “He needs friends, upright and kindly, to help him find his way. Aiden O’Rourke would be a good choice.”
“O’Rourke?” She cocked her head. “An Irishman?”
Her skepticism betrayed her prejudice. “Brother of the owner of the Pastry Emporium. Fine lad.”
; She made a noise that committed to nothing. “You are well informed about the local population, Deputy. What do you know about Mr. Rankin?”
Horton and Yesler had moved on, and Scout had stepped closer to the others under the tree. Though he was the eldest of the group, he joked around with Aiden, setting Maddie’s dark-haired brother to laughing. Hart could have told the seamstress any number of unsavory stories, but perhaps he ought to let Scout prove himself. Hart had been given the opportunity, after all.
“He’s made something of himself, no doubt,” he told Mrs. Jamison.
“A businessman, then?”
“No, ma’am. Gold fields.”
Her look didn’t change, but something about her brightened.
Beth came hurrying back just then, eyes shining and cheeks pink. “We’ve been invited to a picnic this afternoon up on the knob. Please say you’ll come, Deputy.”
“Donovan invited too?” he asked.
She glanced at Mrs. Jamison. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I do hope you’ll let him join us.”
Mrs. Jamison pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the deputy to keep an eye on him. Will there be other adults present?”
Beth looked puzzled. “Mr. Rankin and I will be there as well. My friend Ciara O’Rourke is close to reaching her majority.”
Mrs. Jamison inclined her head, making the flowers on her hat bob. “Very well. My brother has my permission.”
Beth turned to Hart. “Deputy?”
What could he say? He wasn’t normally the type to picnic, especially with a bunch of youth. He ought to be cleaning his gun, exercising Arno, polishing his boots. But he found himself hesitating to make the excuse.