I already do… But that confession would have to wait. He needed to get home to Abbie. He had a proposal to make—one that had nothing to do with business and everything to do with love.
When he didn’t reply to Ethan’s question about children, the rancher raised an eyebrow. “I’m not hearing your usual ‘hell no, there’s not a woman in the world who could put up with me.’”
John glowered at his friend. “That’s because I’m not saying it.”
The rancher had the good sense to shut his gaping mouth, but Jayne wasn’t nearly as circumspect when she emerged from the back room carrying three wrapped packages. They were decorated with fancy gold ribbons that turned them into courtship gifts.
“I added something special. It’s kind of fancy, but she’ll love it.” Her eyes said, So will you.
John was on the verge of making another denial, but his friends had already seen right through him. Reaching for his billfold, he said, “How much to do I owe you?”
She named a price for the three packages and another one for the clothing she still had to make. “Mrs. Wingate placed a big order for the Emporium last month, so most of it’s nearly finished. Ethan can drop it off on Friday.”
In time for a week from Sunday. An idea lit John’s imagination on fire. He’d have to work quickly, but why not? He had already waited too long. Besides, the opportunity to shock Ethan down to his socks was more than John could resist. Keeping his face blank, he said, “Could you do me another favor?”
“I’ll try,” Jayne replied. “What do you need?”
“Make one of those new gowns a wedding dress.”
The next thing John knew, Jayne was hugging him and squealing in his ear, Ethan was slapping him on the back, and Louisa had nailed him smack on the nose with a handful of applesauce.
Shortly before noon Abbie opened the front door to the parsonage and nearly passed out from shock. Her father was standing on the steps with a valise at his side and a hang-’em-high look on his face. “Good afternoon, Abigail.”
“Father!”
He glowered at her with a coldness she remembered all too well from her childhood. “You seem to have forgotten your manners. May I come in?”
“Of course.” She stepped back and ushered him into the front room. As always, he was wearing a black suit and standing straight to take full advantage of his height. As a lawman and a judge, her father had developed the habit of studying his surroundings with more than average interest. He was doubtlessly noticing the dated furniture and worn rug. John rarely used this room and Abbie didn’t care for it, either. She motioned at a Queen Anne chair with a lump in the seat. “Make yourself comfortable.”
As her father sat, she positioned herself on the divan. There was no point in making small talk with the judge, so she took the offensive. “Why are you here?”
“My grandson sent me a telegram, and I’ve come to take him to Kansas like he asked.”
So that explained how Robbie had spent his money from the café. Abbie held in a sigh. She’d have to talk to him about honesty, but first she had to deal with her father. “Robbie is twelve years old. He’s not in charge of where he lives.”
The judge huffed. “Abigail, I’m shocked. You traveled two thousand miles with a girl who should be in finishing school and a boy who’s grieving his father.”
“Not quite,” she said. “Susanna is staying with friends.”
Her father ignored the reference to his granddaughter. “Nor did you advise me of the trip. The question isn’t why am I here, but rather, why are you?”
If he thought she’d be cowed by his tone, he was mistaken. Abbie wanted to order him to leave, but she couldn’t risk offending him until she had control of Robert’s estate. If her father discovered she and John had formed an alliance for financial reasons, he’d make her life miserable. The best strategy was to be as cool as he was.
Never mind that the temperature in the room had risen twenty degrees and she’d been awake most of the night. At least she was dressed for battle in her gray dress. Squaring her shoulders like a Confederate general, she decided to take the advice John had given Robbie about deception. She couldn’t reveal their marriage. John didn’t care what people thought, but Abbie was keenly aware of his reputation as a minister. If word of their wedding got out, he’d be trapped into explaining the annulment when she left. But if she mixed fact with fiction, she could fend off her father and protect John.
“Father,” she said, taking a breath. “I have some surprising news.”
“Don’t play games with me, young lady. The last time you had a surprise for me it was humiliating. Exactly why the hell are you here?”
Her father never swore in front of women. It was the most blatant disrespect he could have shown. As for the snide reference to Susanna, Abbie wanted to tell him to shut his mouth. Instead she laced her hands in her lap. “I think you’ll be pleased. I’m engaged to be married—to a minister.”
The judge glowered at her. “Am I supposed to be impressed? I’m not. I’m sure Robert left you well-to-do. How do you know this man isn’t after your money?”
Abbie could have laughed at the irony. She’d never known anyone less concerned with money than John. Rich or poor, he would be the same man.
“John is comfortable in his own right.”
The judge scoffed. “From Sunday offerings? I doubt that very much. How did you meet this fellow?”
He’s Susanna’s father. But that information was dangerous. All those years ago, when her father had forbade her to utter John’s name, she’d been resentful. Now she was grateful. If the judge learned she was visiting the man who had “ruined” her, he’d fight for custody of Robbie. Abbie couldn’t take that chance. Sitting primly, she began a tale she hoped her father would believe.
“Robert and the Reverend had some business dealings. When John learned of Robert’s passing, he wrote a letter of condolence. We’ve been corresponding since March.”
Sort of. Abbie figured Susanna had sent her letter in late spring.
The judge sat tall, as if he were holding court. “Go on.”
“It became apparent we were in similar circumstances. He needed a wife and I needed a husband, so he invited me to visit. We decided to get married just yesterday. Robbie doesn’t know yet. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything to him.”
The judge wrinkled his brow. “I certainly won’t. If I have anything to say about it, this marriage isn’t going to take place.”
It already has… Holding in the retort, she replied, “I have deep feelings for John. I believe he has honorable intentions.”
The judge snorted, taking her back to the night he’d forced her to choose between marrying Robert and giving up her baby.
I won’t have that bastard child in my house.
But Father…she’s mine.
Abbie knotted her hands. Her father had never laid a hand on her, but he’d been cruel in other ways. She had grown up starved for affection, which explained why she hugged her kids every day—and why she wanted John to be a father to their daughter.
The judge pursed his lips. “Suppose this man is sincere. A courtship should last at least a year. Nor is it proper for you to be living under his roof.”
Heat rushed to Abbie’s face as she relived waking up in John’s bed with morning sun in her eyes. The sheets had smelled like him, and she had imagined his head denting the pillow next to hers, his hands stroking her breasts, her belly, the curves of her bottom. Fire had licked through her veins, spreading from her neck to her toes until she’d curled herself into a ball. Clutching her middle, she’d let the sensations build until she wondered if she could manage to be a real wife to him. But then her bad shoulder had started to ache and the spots in her left eye had eclipsed the sun. Instead of imagining John’s touch, she had wept for what she had lost to Robert.
She felt those tears now, but she couldn’t afford them. Blinking, she focused on her father. She knew from experience
that he respected facts and not feelings.
“John has separate quarters,” she explained. “Robbie and I live upstairs along with another houseguest. It’s quite proper.”
“You’re not even out of mourning.”
The judge knew darn well she hadn’t loved Robert. Annoyed, she said nothing, letting the silence make her point. Her father stared back, drumming his fingers in a rhythm that was too slow to be unconscious. He was trying to goad her into a fight, but Abbie ignored the manipulation, forcing him to break the stalemate.
“You’re gullible, Abigail, just like your mother.” When he pushed to his feet, she steeled herself for the shout she knew was coming. “What the devil makes you think you can trust this man?”
Because he saw me naked and covered me up. Because he tucked me into his bed and brought me clothes.
Abbie battled the urge to jerk down the collar of her dress and show her father the burns on her chest. How dare he call her gullible! He’d forced her to marry a cruel man whom he had treated like a son. She had survived fourteen years of abuse and raised two children—one of whom he had criticized and the other whom he wanted to steal.
Abbie was close to exploding when the front door opened wide, revealing John looking disheveled and holding three packages wrapped with gold ribbon. She needed to speak to him before her father revealed her deception, but the judge had already turned to him.
“Mr. Leaf, I’m Judge Lawton Moore. I expect a full accounting of your interest in my daughter.”
Her father had deliberately withheld John’s title of “Reverend” as a sign of disrespect. Abbie tensed. If the judge sensed weakness, he’d go for the kill.
After assessing her father with a stare of his own, John set the packages on the table by the door and hung up his hat. He looked at the judge and then at Abbie. She gave a small shake of her head to signal…she didn’t know what. If she said too much, her father would see through the deception. But if she said nothing, John could stumble into a trap.
She had decided to stall by offering refreshments when John squared himself in front of the judge.
“Mr. Moore, your daughter and I are getting married the Sunday after next. If you don’t like it, that’s too damn bad. On the other hand, I’d be pleased to get to know you. Robbie tells me you’re a retired U.S. marshal. He speaks well of you.”
“I see,” said the judge, not giving an inch. “You’re a confident man, Mr. Leaf.”
“And I love your daughter,” John replied. “I intend to see to her every need. That includes raising her children as my own.”
At the reference to Susanna, Abbie stopped breathing. Her father paid no attention to his granddaughter, but it was possible he’d see the resemblance to John. She waited and prayed God would strike him blind, at least for now. When he grunted, Abbie sensed her prayer had been answered.
Still staring at the judge, John said, “Abbie, your father must be thirsty after that train ride. Could you make some iced tea?”
Her mind followed his to the block of ice in the cellar. “I’d be glad to. Would you bring up some ice?”
“Sure,” John replied. “Mr. Moore, if you want to keep an eye on us, you’re welcome to tag along.”
Abbie hid a smile. By asking her father to “tag along,” John had ensured that he’d stay put.
Leaning back, the judge rested his polished shoe on the opposite knee. “I’ll wait right here. So will Abigail. I want to speak to my daughter in private.”
“And you’ll have that chance,” John said. “But not until you and I get a few things straight. Right now, she’s going to pour us all something pleasant to drink, and I’m going to bring up some ice. Are you coming or not?”
When the two men locked eyes, Abbie threw herself into the middle of the conversation. “Father, stay here and be comfortable. I’ll be back in just a minute.”
Before he could argue, Abbie hurried down the hall. John came up behind her and rested his hand on her back. As soon as they reached the kitchen, he whispered into her ear. “What does he know?” he asked.
She turned and put her hands on his chest. The beat of his heart belied his calm exterior and matched her racing pulse. “Robbie sent him a telegram. I’m terrified the lie about being engaged is going to cause trouble for you. How did you know that’s what I’d told him?”
His eyes turned brooding. She could feel the tension in his muscles and smell the morning air clinging to him. His lips parted and then came together again. She’d asked a simple question. Why hadn’t he answered it?
Like steam on a mirror, her thoughts coalesced into a rivulet of understanding. John hadn’t heard a word of the conversation with her father. He had meant what he’d said about getting married in church. Feeling as trapped as she’d been in the alley, she pulled back. But this time he tightened his grip on her hands. “I mean it, Abbie. I want this marriage to be real. I want the world to know you’re my wife, but only if you can put up with the hell that comes with me. If you say no, I’ll understand.”
Of all the confounded proposals…she couldn’t say no without John assuming it was because of his past, but neither could she say yes. She had to take away his hope, so she raised her chin and moved her lips, but she couldn’t speak. Saying no was a bigger lie than their incomplete marriage. She wanted to be his wife more than she could say. She ached to give him every comfort, every joy, the best things life had to offer. She yearned to share his vision and his dreams, to be a partner to him. Apart, they were two lonely souls. Together they were…better. She wanted that wholeness, but how could she have it? She was a shattered woman.
Choking with frustration, she whispered, “I don’t know what to say.”
His eyes flared with confidence. “Come to the oak tree at midnight. We’ll talk.”
Telling John that she couldn’t marry him would be awful, but that’s what she had to do. “I’ll be there,” she said. “But you aren’t going to like what I have to say.”
Needing to break his gaze, she turned away, opened a cupboard and reached for a glass. John came up behind her and clasped her shoulders. His lips grazed her ear. “You can fight, but I’m going to change your mind.”
He released her shoulders and stepped out the door, leaving her to cope as she busied herself with the jar of sun-tea. Why were they talking about marriage when her father was just ten feet away? They needed to plan for the next five minutes, not five years. John came back to the kitchen carrying the ice in a leather strap. As he set it in the sink, Abbie opened the drawer holding the ice pick, making the utensils rattle so the judge would hear them.
“We need a plan for dealing with my father,” she whispered.
“Leave him to me.” John drove the ice pick into the block. Chards clattered against the metal sink. “If he wants to butt heads, that’s what we’ll do.”
But Abbie didn’t want them to argue. She wanted her father to leave her alone. She wanted the comfort of her Washington home, her friends, her garden, her backyard full of birds. She shook her head as she filled the glasses. “We have to appease him. He’s threatening to take Robbie away from me, and he always gets what he wants.”
“Not this time,” John replied. “But I’m a fair man. We’ll give him a chance to adjust to the situation.”
Abbie’s blood drained to her toes. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to treat him to lunch at Mary’s so he can see his grandson. After that, I’ll tell him who I am—and who I was.”
“You can’t!”
John looked at her with careful eyes, then he touched her cheek. His fingers were cold from the ice and his words were just as hard. “Are you ashamed to know me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she hissed. “This isn’t about you. It’s about my children. If my father finds out about you and Susanna, he’ll fight to take Robbie away from me. Please, John. Don’t do that to me.”
At the creak of the hall floor, Abbie jerked back and composed herself. Her
father stepped into the kitchen, eyed the jar of tea and then glared at John. “Must have been a stubborn block of ice.”
“Not at all,” John replied. “Your daughter’s the stubborn one. She thinks you’re here to steal her son. I told her you weren’t that despicable.”
The accusation hung in the air like a bad smell until her father narrowed his eyes. “You’re a tough man, Leaf. I respect that.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s take a walk.”
“That suits me fine. We’ll go to the hotel. You can book a room and see Robbie. He works in the café.”
At the mention of his grandson, the judge almost smiled. “Lead the way, Reverend.”
John opened the door, then waited for her father to pass through. It was an act of respect, a reward for the old man’s compromise. As the door swung shut, Abbie heard John’s voice through the window.
“Robbie tells me you have some wild stories about your days as a marshal.”
“I’ve got a few.”
“Me, too,” replied John.
Abbie stared down at the ice-filled glasses, watching as the condensation dripped down the sides. She could only pray John wouldn’t tell a particular story about a night in Kansas.
Chapter Thirteen
Judges in general made John clench his teeth. A good one would have sent him to the gallows. A bad one had let him off with a slap of a prison sentence. They were still God’s children, but that didn’t lessen his aversion to men of the bench. To soften his irritation, he tried to put himself in Moore’s shoes. His grandson had sent an alarming telegram, and his daughter had taken off for New Mexico. John would have stormed after Abbie, too. And neither would he have been pleased with a hurried marriage.
That bit of understanding made it easier to set aside his irritation. They would all be better off if Judge Moore accepted the engagement as real. Later John would work on convincing Abbie to marry him in church, but for now he could help her most by appeasing the judge. And by giving her wayward son a few things to think about—such as the consequences of going behind his mother’s back.
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