Her Dearly Unintended

by Regina Jennings

  “How’d he go about doing that?” Silas fixed a twinkling eye on him.

  “Pa shouldn’t have worried.” Katie Ellen was warming up to her story. “Ladies wanted Josiah like a baker wants weevils, but he was willing to do anything Pa asked. Including showing up at the auction wearing his ma’s dress and bonnet.” Her chin lifted with a smug smile. Was that a challenge?

  “I’d forgotten that part,” Josiah said.

  Somehow during their banter, Silas had returned his knife to his boot, but his attention had never waned. “How could you forget that?” he asked. “I bet no one else did.”

  “He cut so many capers that season,” Katie Ellen said, “even I’d be hard-pressed to recollect each and every one.”

  “What a pity,” Josiah said. “And I so enjoyed reminiscing about happier days.”

  Placing his hands on the ground, Silas pushed himself up on his feet. He swayed a bit. Josiah was at his side quicker than lightning, but Silas had steadied himself against the rock fireplace. “Don’t mean to complain, Mrs. Huckabee, but your house smells like the inside of a chimney.”

  Katie Ellen stood. “I appreciate you not complaining.”

  “Well, I only mention it so you’d understand why I need to go outside to get a breath. But first, you’uns do me one favor, won’t you? Give her a little kiss, for me. Just so I can feel better about the state of your marriage.”

  “No,” Josiah said. “When and where we kiss is our business. Not for you to decide.”

  She sighed, leaving Josiah to wonder.

  Silas threw his hands into the air. “Then do what you want. Keep in mind, though, you ain’t guaranteed tomorrow. Need to share that love while you still can.”

  And he teetered out the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Josiah kicked a piece of charred wood aside, clearing the floor between them. “I can’t do this anymore, Katie Ellen. This play-acting, it’s not me. I can’t keep hiding the truth.”

  “What is the truth?” Unblinking, she took his full measure. “What you told him about your pa, about staying away from me, was that the truth?”

  No more falsehoods to hide behind. No more time for preparation. Now was the time to present his case and for her to make her decision. Josiah folded his hands together and prayed that she judged him fairly.

  “That was the truest tale ever told,” he said.

  Little lines formed on her forehead. She paced to the fireplace and back again. “But you didn’t want anything to do with me. At first I tried. I came to help your ma, just hoping to see you, and you ignored me.”

  He was shaking his head before she’d finished talking. “I had to stay away for a bit, but since last fall I’ve been trying. Honest. I offered you a ride home after the sale every week. I brought you a crock of honey—”

  “That was for Ma, not me,” she insisted.

  “Sweetheart . . .” With every hope riding on her reaction, Josiah reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away. “It was for you. All this, my work in town, my building that cabin, my keeping friendly with your folks, all this was for you. Now, I don’t think our love will run smooth . . .”

  “I moved the rocks where you wanted them.” She smiled as if it were her greatest accomplishment. “You were right. They looked lonely.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What if I move them again? Will you lose sleep over it?”

  She scrunched up her mouth. “I know I can be difficult, Josiah—even my parents get fed up with me—but all of that stuff that bothered me so much, none of it is as important to me as you are.”

  She stood before him, so perfect, so unguarded, but from now on he’d be her protector. She didn’t need to be afraid of surprises catching her unaware. Then a mischievous twinkle appeared in her eye, reminding him that she wasn’t ever defenseless.

  “But that doesn’t mean I won’t make suggestions.” She stepped closer. “We still need to work as a team.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  The hem of her skirt brushed against his feet. He tried to swallow but found he couldn’t. Her eyes, so big and trusting, melted the last remnants of his childhood from him. Never again would he be as careless and reckless. He had someone who depended on him. Someone who made growing up worth the trouble.

  She laid her hands on his shoulders. He felt her shiver as he placed his hands around her waist. He chuckled. “It’s only me, Katie Ellen. You don’t have to be afraid.” But his heart was racing, too. And when she pulled his head down to hers, his blood roared to life with more force than the lightning storm the night before. With a groan, he dragged her into his arms, leaned her back, and took over the kissing, elated that she’d kicked it off. She stroked his cheek, tugged on his hair, played with his ear, all the while keeping his mouth so busy he didn’t know what the rest of him was doing, just that every inch of his hide was burning up with loving her.

  “That’s what I like to see.”

  Josiah knew the voice meant he should stop, but he couldn’t quite get all worked up about it. Unfortunately, Katie Ellen was. She pushed against him. He stretched his neck out, trying to stay attached to her lips as long as possible, but finally had to break it off.

  “Did you say something?” she mumbled.

  How could he say something? She knew good and well how his lips had been employed. But even he had to admit the events of the last few moments were a little fuzzy. “It wasn’t me . . . I don’t think.”

  “It’s me.” Silas had returned. “Does me good to see you finally getting along. ’Specially since my time here is done. There’s a fellow at the river working on the bridge from the other side. Should have a walkway across soon.”

  The bridge? Who cared about the bridge? Josiah was going to kiss Katie Ellen again, no two ways about it.

  The bridge? Katie Ellen whirled to face Silas. “Who’s at the bridge? My parents?”

  “Come on out and see.”

  She would, but she was in the midst of a very important conversation with Josiah. Conversing, that’s what they’d call it.

  Josiah bent to look out the window. “It’s Pa,” he said. “He came looking for me.”

  Somehow she’d forgotten about the world on the other side of the river. For the last twenty-four hours nothing had existed beyond Josiah and her . . . oh, and Silas.

  “I’ve got some boards on the bank,” Josiah said. “If the river’s dropped beneath the braces, we can hammer the boards back down and at least have a footpath until we can rebuild.”

  A footpath. He was leaving her. Josiah held the door open, and once on the porch he handed her her raincoat, but she shrugged and walked past it. Sunlight burned through the scattered holes in the clouds. Soft shadows raced over the muddy mountains as the clouds finally scuttled away. Work waited on them. Hammering rang over the hills and echoed off the cabin as Calbert Huckabee nailed down the first board across the river. Josiah was constant motion, directing Silas to the old boards, running to the barn for hammers and nails, unfastening his boots for wading in the river.

  And all Katie Ellen could do was watch.

  Every board laid meant that their time together was ending. What would Josiah’s pa think about them being together overnight?

  Calbert was across in a flash. Not pausing to ask questions, he wrapped Katie Ellen in a bear hug. “I’m so glad to see you safe. Your pa and ma are at the house.” He released her and rubbed her arms like she’d been in a blizzard. “The roads are too muddy to get through with the wagon, so I came up to see how long before it’s passable.”

  Josiah cleared his throat and motioned Silas forward. “Pa, this here is Reverend Silas Ruger. He got trapped on the mountain with me and Katie Ellen.”

  “He did?” Calbert threw back his head and laughed. “Ain’t that something? When you didn’t come back, your ma commenced praying up a storm. She was worried you might be up here tormenting Katie Ellen.” Turning to Silas he said, “We’re powerful glad you happened along. My son
lost his heart to this girl years ago, so we didn’t cotton to the idea of them being up there at the house unchaperoned.”

  “Unchaperoned?” Silas’s eyebrows hiked up taller than a sycamore, and he smiled wide. He seemed to relish the sweat that appeared on Josiah’s brow. Katie Ellen ran her hands along her skirt.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, Mr. Huckabee. These two behaved themselves so circumspectly that you’d never have suspected that they admired one another. . . . Not until there at the end, anyway.”

  “Time to go,” Josiah yelped.

  “If my boy offended you, Katie Ellen, you just tell me,” Calbert said. “You know I’ll straighten him out quicker than a sadiron.”

  She hesitated just long enough to earn a look of warning from Josiah. “He treated me just like I deserve.” His eyes held hers. The dimple had never been more fetching.

  “Well, when you’uns decide you need the services of a parson, you be sure and send for me,” Silas said, “and don’t make me wait too long.”

  Josiah caught her hand in his. It was then that she realized she’d forgotten her gloves, but she enjoyed the warmth and roughness of his hands.

  They made their way to the hastily constructed bridge. Calbert led the way across, with Silas following. Josiah tarried at the riverbank.

  “I feel poorly about not staying to help you clean the place up.”

  “Don’t worry about it. What’s a little mess?”

  He smiled. “Good, ’cause I’m in a mighty big hurry to find your pa. We need to have a talk real quick.”

  Katie Ellen smiled. “Are we . . . ? Did you . . . ?”

  “Propose?” Josiah scratched at his chest. “Not hardly. First there’ll need to be a period of carrying-on, in which I’ll do my best to humiliate myself credibly. Singing under your window, dressing like my ma, and any other strange activity you’ve been hankering after.”

  The clouds were thinning. Katie Ellen squinted up at him, sun in her eyes. “I’ll be waiting,” she said.

  He flicked her nose before taking out to the bridge, the swagger in his step more pronounced than ever.

  Katie Ellen watched him cross the boards and finally disappear into the thick forest. Josiah Huckabee, her dearly loved friend and dearly unintended beau. So many things had gone wrong, but she’d learned that she couldn’t do it all on her own.

  Nothing had turned out as she’d intended. . . . And for that she was grateful.

  Keep reading for a special sample of For the Record by Regina Jennings.

  Excerpt from For the Record

  Chapter One

  OCTOBER 1885

  PINE GAP, MISSOURI

  Only a limited patch of Earth could claim the privilege of belonging to Texas. Not that he despised the rest of the world for its misfortune, but there was a difference. Deputy Joel Puckett dropped his saddle bags on the platform of the depot and surveyed the wall of mountains that surrounded the valley. He hadn’t seen all of Texas. It’d take more years than his twenty-four to visit every town from the badlands of El Paso to the swamps of Beaumont, but he knew now that a native Texan could sense when he’d been separated from his homeland, and he felt the loss keenly.

  The train’s chugging had ceased to thunder through the hills, and yet no one came out of the depot to greet him. Rustling started at the top of the hill as a gust worked its way down the mountain, tumbling autumn leaves across the rocky expanse in front of the train station. The sun had already dipped behind the mountain, and the air was cooling. Just a half hour of light left. Joel lifted his Stetson and ruffled his hair. According to Governor Marmaduke, the people here were desperate for help. They were begging for relief from the outlaws who razed their homesteads. So if they were anxiously awaiting his arrival, where were they?

  His boots echoed on the platform as he strode to the building and rattled the door. Locked. The brim of his hat bumped against the glass as he peered through the lone window but found no one. No help coming from that quarter. Joel scanned the dense woods that surrounded him, but no movement seemed deliberate. He picked up his saddlebags and studied the rocky road that passed along the railroad tracks. When they’d arranged for him to ride the train, he hadn’t counted on being afoot once he arrived. He should have insisted on bringing his horse. Who knew what kind of mount they’d be able to provide? But for now he’d have to make use of his own two feet. Uphill or downhill? Which would bring him to civilization sooner?

  The sounds shifted. Joel froze as his hearing instinctively separated the routine noises from the new element. Years of tracking had honed his senses so that any change alerted him. An unknown had entered the area and was even now racing toward him.

  Hooves on rocks. Many hooves. Voices raised, calling to each other not in anger but in a boisterous excitement that usually preceded acts of derring-do. They were coming down the hill fast. Most men would’ve stepped out of sight until they knew what they were facing, but the thought never occurred to Joel. His hand flexed at his side and he didn’t have to check that his six-shooter was in place. His feet were spread wide in classic gunslinger pose. What if he was in over his head? What if he’d made a mistake? With the horses barreling out of the trees even now, it was too late to second-guess himself.

  His blood chilled at the sight of the first rider—an apparition straight from hell, complete with a disfigured, blackened face and horns. As more of them raced from the trees, he realized the masks were burlap sacks, holes cut out for eyes and marked with white paint to make terrifying faces. Cones had been attached at the corners like horns, tassels streaming in the wind from their tips.

  Hooting and hollering, they streamed into the clearing straight at him. Who were they? If they meant him harm, he was hopelessly outnumbered. With coats turned inside out and socks over their boots, the only identifying markings would’ve been those of their horses, but even they looked to be rubbed with soot. Dozens of them now appeared, each waving a bundle of switches in one hand, but they paid him no mind. Streaming past the depot, they continued their ghastly calling as if he were of no more consequence than the squirrels darting about for acorns beneath the oaks.

  Instead of being relieved, Joel fumed. He was not used to being ignored. As the men were disappearing into the trees, Joel cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered a challenge.

  “Hey! Don’t you see me standing here, or are y’all afraid to stop?”

  He was downright affronted that no one thought enough of him to break stride.

  Save one.

  Just before his horse dipped out of sight, a man reined hard to the left. Gravel flew as his horse cut and circled around the depot clearing. The man was massive, and the loose sack over his head only added to his bulky profile. One of his horns had twisted and pointed down like a crazed bull. His horse plunged its head, wanting to rejoin the herd, but the masked man held it steady and steered it directly toward Joel.

  With the disguise, Joel couldn’t make out much about the man besides his size and his attitude. A leader—definitely. Fearless and arrogant. Someone with whom he’d lock horns with sooner or later.

  Might as well be sooner.

  Joel stepped to the edge of the platform and looked down on the rider. Every nerve was taut. Every sense sharpened.

  The man’s expression was not visible through the mask. He shifted in his saddle, and before Joel knew it, he felt the cold wooden handle of his own gun in his palm. But the man hadn’t drawn a gun on him. Instead of bullets flying his way, a bundle of switches skidded across the platform and landed at Joel’s feet.

  One glance to see they posed no threat, and then Joel had the rider back in his sights.

  The man’s horse pranced as the noise of the other riders faded into the woods.

  “A bundle of sticks?” Joel said. “What’s that supposed to mean? Who are you?”

  The white painted circle over the masked man’s mouth distorted and stretched with his answer. “I’m the law.”

  Turning h
is horse, the rider spurred it, and they shot off like a cannonball to catch their companions, thundering across the clearing and ducking where the road entered the woods.

  Joel’s scalp crawled. Releasing a long breath, he holstered his gun and only then allowed himself to consider what could’ve happened. They’d warned him that the mountains were dangerous. He’d thought the risk better than the fate that faced him at home, but now he wasn’t sure. Whatever he’d expected on his arrival, this wasn’t it.

  Nope. This definitely wasn’t Texas.

  Chapter Two

  “While we think your writing shows promise, our readers have no interest in the ineffectual attempts of a mountain sheriff to apprehend criminals in the Ozarks. If you find a topic that would be of more interest to those unfamiliar with your area, please submit again—”

  Betsy Huckabee folded the letter along its well-established creases. Good news/bad news. She could tell a story, but there wasn’t any story worth telling in Pine Gap, according to the Kansas City paper’s way of thinking. How could they not find the clash between the various gangs and outlaws fascinating? But they claimed that their readers couldn’t relate to the incidents. While they might live in the same state, the mountaineers didn’t catch the attention of the city folk. If she wanted to start her career, she’d have to come at it from a different angle.

  Stuffing the letter into her skirt pocket for the hundredth time, she took up the wooden spoon and scraped it against the bottom of the iron pot, loosening what had stuck while she was distracted. There was more onion than squirrel in the pot. While the onions filled the cabin with a pleasing aroma, they wouldn’t keep her stomach from rumbling all night. The hams, shoulders and middlin’ meat of the recently butchered pig were curing in the smokehouse, but they would have to stretch through spring, and evidently Sissy was already worried about running short. Betsy took a log of walnut, tossed it in the cook stove, and then set to stirring again.