A week after he’d saved her physical life, Joe had given her the gift of that Bible, and the Truths therein had saved her soul. She brought it with her to the field to read often.
And so when she heard the footsteps approaching, she didn’t come out of her little hiding place near the oak tree. She had discovered the place quite by accident one day when she’d been following the antics of a rabbit through the field. The oak had a large protruding root that offered the perfect chair surrounded by rose bushes that kept her from sight.
She knew within a moment that it was Zoe Kastain by the humming and chattering she did to her dog Jinx. Liora thought Jinx might sniff her out, but he seemed content to frolic and sniff the bushes near Zoe.
Tipping her head against the oak, she smiled softly and just listened to the girl chatter, and it only took her a moment to realize that Zoe wasn’t talking to the dog, but to God. Liora released a wistful sigh, and thanked God that the young woman had such a lovely family, and not a family like she’d been raised in. She prayed that Zoe would never take God’s love for granted or doubt it. And then she prayed for continued healing for Zoe’s father who had been shot by Patrick Waddell—the man who had sired Liora but never been a father to her in all her years.
Zoe had only been at the field for a few minutes when another set of footsteps entered the meadow.
For one moment Liora tensed. Had Ewan followed her to try and convince her to come back to work for him?
Zoe greeted, “Washington, you’re a good ways from home.”
Liora released the breath she’d been holding.
“Went fishing with Kin.” The clatter of a bucket handle was probably Wash holding up his catch.
Liora’s mouth watered at the thought of fresh fish. Perhaps she’d use her extra quarter to pay the boy to bring her a brace one day this week. But she’d have to think on that and see how many odd jobs she could get this week. If only funds weren’t so scarce. And here she was already worrying about money again. She wrinkled her nose and lifted a gaze to the sky that was visible through the bare branches of the oak tree. Forgive me. You’ve provided for me week after week. Help me to be able to rest in the fact that You will never leave me or forsake me. And that I can trust Your plan for me, even if it turns in a direction I’m not ready for. She returned her attention to the conversation between the two young people.
“You’re looking rather down in the mouth for having spent the morning fishing,” Zoe noted, the soft tink tink of rose hips plopping into her pail.
Washington’s sigh could be heard all the way across the field in her hiding place. “Kin’s got a notion in his head that it might be fun to rob this afternoon’s stagecoach.”
Zoe gasped. “He doesn’t!”
“’Fraid he does. I tried to talk him out of it. But you know how he gets when he has a challenge that’s niggling at him. It’s like he don’t feel alive unless he takes a big risk every so often.”
“You oughta tell the sheriff.”
“Can’t. He took Miss Brindle out to the logging camp this morning. He won’t be back until late this evening.”
Zoe sighed morosely. “They oughta never have moved the stage day to Saturdays. If it was on a Thursday like it used to be, Kin would be in school where he’d stay out of trouble.”
Washington snorted. “Unless he was skipping.”
Zoe chuckled. “True enough.” Then her tone turned serious again. “We have to do something!”
Go to Joe.
Washington’s bucket clanked again. “I don’t want to get him in trouble!”
“He brings his own trouble on himself, Wash. What about Deputy Joe?”
Relieved that one of them had finally thought of it, Liora held her breath so she could better hear what they’d decided.
“It’s not his day to work law. I think he’s out helping old man Jonas chop the rest of his winter firewood. What if you and I just went to Kin’s place and tried to stop him ourselves?”
“You said you already tried that.”
“I think he might listen to you better than he does to me.”
Zoe released a long-suffering sound that let Washington know just how much he was demanding of her. “Fine, but first I have to run these rose hips home to Ma so’s she can start drying them. Doc says they might help Pa improve faster.”
“Fine, I’ll come with you. Your ma might like a couple of these fish for dinner. I caught more ’n we can eat at home.”
Liora waited until their footsteps faded into the distance and then stood from her oak hideaway. Old Man Jonas just lived a mile the other side of town. She’d best get on her way and let Joe know what she’d just heard.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Joe Rodante swung the ax high and hard. He was almost done with this pile of wood and then he just had the stacking to do. Homer would be thankful for the ease of simply being able to bring in an armful of wood each morning instead of having to face the task of chopping enough for the day. He’d already made that point very clear to Joe. Joe hoped that Homer didn’t feel too inept with him stopping by and offering to do the work. He knew the old coot prided himself on a hard day’s labor—had since Joe was a kid in these parts—but he also knew that old Homer was shaky enough that it was dangerous for him to be swinging an ax. He made a mental note to check on him more often.
As he set up the next log, sweat trickled from his forehead and he swiped at it with the back of his hand.
Footsteps sounded behind him. “Joe?”
He lifted his head. His heart seemed to still at just the sound of her voice. Or maybe it was his name on her lips. His eyes fell closed. Of course she showed up when he was dripping with sweat and probably smelled like the south end of a northbound mule. He turned to face her. “Liora, what can I do for you?” He cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant to sound so gruff. He swiped his forehead with his sleeve.
She pressed her palms together. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I overheard something that I really thought you needed to hear too.”
Today she was wearing a beautiful blue dress that brought out the distracting color of her eyes. Why couldn’t the woman wear a gunnysack once in a while? He turned to the pile of tumbled logs scattered around him and started gathering an armful. “What is it?”
She stepped forward. “Here—let me help.”
“There’s no need.”
Ignoring him, she bent to heft her own load. “I don’t mind.”
He swallowed when the sweet scent of her perfume wafted to him—something that always reminded him of citrus and cinnamon and brought to mind California orange groves. He’d probably be envisioning them all afternoon. He withheld a grunt and started toward the backdoor where he was stacking the wood within easy reach for Homer. Who was he kidding? It wouldn’t be orange groves lingering in his mind’s eye, and that was certain.
Liora stopped directly behind him. Back arched, she held out a double armful of logs for him to remove and stack. “I was up in the wildflower field reading the Bible you gave me.”
Joe was careful to keep a neutral expression on his face. If only his heart beat faster when she told him she was reading the Word because he cared deeply for her soul. He did care, but he’d be a fool trying to deceive himself if he thought that was the only reason her comments made his pulse thrum. Ever since she’d started asking him questions about the Word, he hadn’t been able to get the woman from his mind. He’d thought she was beautiful before, but when her blue eyes were shining over a new Truth she’d discovered, it was almost breathtaking.
Careful not to touch her, he removed the last log from her arms, tossed it into a slot in the neat stack he was making, and then brushed past her to get another armful of wood. “So what did you hear?”
Liora dusted dirt and splinters from her sleeves, but then bent to fill her arms with another load. “Zoe was up there picking rose hips for her pa when Washington stopped by. He’d just been fishing with Kin and it seems Kin has gotten it in hi
s mind to do a little mischief to today’s stage into town.”
Joe froze at that. His gaze snapped to hers. “What kind of mischief?”
Liora swallowed visibly. “Wash seemed to think Kin was going to…hold it up.”
“Did you let Reagan know?”
She shook her head. “He took Charlotte out to one of the logging camps earlier and isn’t supposed to be back till after the stage arrives this evening. That’s why I came for you.”
Joe’s gaze sought out the angle of the sun as he darted to the stack and hastily unloaded his armful. “Homer!” he called.
The old man poked his head out the back door, adjusting his suspenders. His rheumy eyes lit up when they landed on Liora. “Well hello, pretty miss. How do?”
Liora dipped a curtsy beneath her armload of wood. “Mr. Jonas.”
Joe set to snatching the pieces from her arms. “Homer, I have to run into town to deal with something that’s come up. But you leave that wood alone, you hear? I’ll be back to finish stacking it before the week is out.”
Homer rubbed his grizzled jaw, eyes narrowing in a way that let Joe know his comments had been taken as impertinent. “I ain’t so far gone that I cain’t stack a few sticks still. Don’t you worry none about me.”
Joe tossed the last length from Liora’s arms against the side of the house and brushed off his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just meant to let you know I’m happy to come back in a day or two. Just can’t finish today.”
Homer waved a hand. “You go on. I ’preciate what you done already. And thank ye, kindly.” He tipped an invisible hat in Liora’s direction. “Ma’am.” And then he disappeared into his house.
Liora glanced toward the mess of scattered logs in the yard. “I could stay and keep stacking them.”
“Not a chance. I don’t want you riding back to town on your own after dark.”
Her chin lifted and her eyes narrowed. “I walked. And I can more than take care of myself.”
He couldn’t help the grin that tipped up his lips. He took her arm. “I don’t want you walking back to town alone after dark even more than I don’t want you riding.” He nudged her toward his mount, tied on the sunny side of Homer’s laurel bush.
Her steps dragged. “Are you ignoring the fact that I said I can take care of myself?”
He grinned down at her. “Mostly. Now”—he gestured to his horse—“do you want to mount up? Or should I toss you aboard?”
She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned closer. “What if I want to walk back, just like I arrived?”
He shook his head and gestured to where the sun was sinking into the afternoon sky. “Don’t have time for that, and I’m not leaving you to walk back on your own, even this time of day.”
Liora loosed a breath. “Joe, I’ve been taking care of myself for a lot of years before you ever came along. There’s no need for me to go all soft now.”
“It’s not going soft to let a man who ca—” He broke off and cleared his throat. Had he really been about to tell her he cared for her? Had he even thought that through? The consequences of starting a courtship with a former whore? “Just”—he motioned to the horse—“we need to get going.”
Liora seemed to have lost her fight, for she turned to mount without so much as another word, and didn’t protest when he swung up behind the saddle and settled in.
He tried to ignore the soft brush of her arms as he reached around her to gather the reins, willed himself to banish the scent of her from his mind, and made a concerted effort to keep his gaze from the slim expanse of her calves exposed by her lifted skirt. He failed miserably at all three.
He hauled the horse’s head around more roughly than he normally treated the poor beast and swatted one haunch with the end of the reins. “Come on. Get up now.”
They set off at a trot for town. And Joe endeavored to set his mind to figuring out where Kincaid Davis might think was a good place to rob the stagecoach.
By the time Zoe got home and left the pail of rose hips with Ma, and she and Wash trekked through the sleet that had started to fall, crossed the creek, and made it down to Camp Sixty-Five to Kin’s house, a couple hours had passed.
And they were too late.
Kin’s pa wasn’t home, but they knew Kin had been there because two of the fish he’d caught this morning had been paper-wrapped and were lying on the ice in the Davis’s ice box on the back stoop.
Zoe studied the worry on Wash’s face as he stood in the Davis’s yard, hands propped on his hips. He hefted a clump of ice-crusted pinecone, and chucked it into the woods with a cry of frustration. His face was tightly furrowed.
She’d known they should have gone straight to Deputy Joe, but she didn’t suppose now was the right time to say so. Still, they had to do something. “What’re we gonna do?”
Wash shrugged.
Zoe imagined Kin riding down on the stage and Old Don Brass pulling his big Winchester and filling Kin’s hide with lead. Her hands trembled, so she clasped them together to keep Wash from seeing how worried she was. Kin’s life could very well be in their hands.
Wash looked around at the run-down lean-to that the Davises called home, and Zoe followed his gaze. Zoe knew that pretty much anything of value Mr. Davis ever received was sold for drink. Why, just this year he’d sold the school supplies that Kin had purchased with money he’d worked all summer to earn. So Kin came to school that first day empty handed. He acted like he didn’t care, but Zoe couldn’t imagine that was actually true. She would have been madder than a mama bear whose cubs were threatened if Pa had done something like that to her.
Zoe had heard what happened before school started—the whole class had known what happened since word traveled so fast ’round these parts—but it had taken her a week to think of her plan, and she could only wish she’d thought of it sooner. But she’d been real proud of all the kids in the school when she’d gone to each of them and asked for a small donation of school supplies and each one had given something. Some a few sheets of paper. Another a pencil. Wash had donated a ruler and an eraser. She and Belle had had Pa help them fix up an old slate. They’d painted it deep blue and added two pieces of chalk. And when Kin arrived for the first day of the second week of school it had been to find a neat pile of necessities on his desk.
Zoe remembered the way his jaw had worked and his eyes had blinked real fast. He’d looked up and caught her watching him, and before she could spin away he’d given her a nod. So much had been said without him ever saying a word at all. She’d nodded in return and then faced the front of the room.
Now as Zoe remembered the incident, she was even more determined than ever to save Kin from himself. If her pa treated her the way Kin’s pa treated him, she might be tempted to take out some of her anger by doing stupid stuff too.
Zoe reached out and grabbed Wash’s arm, tugging him after her. “Come on. We have to hurry. We’re going to stop Kin from doing something stupid.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As the coach rolled toward Wyldhaven, Zebulon Heath felt like a child the day before Christmas. He tried not to fidget. Though the air outside could crystallize breath, the interior of the coach was warmed by the hot bricks beneath their boots and the thick leather curtains that hung over each window. Next to him sat Preston Clay, his newly-hired minister, and across the way the other man who had joined them on the coach at Cle Elum scowled glumly at the passing scenery through the small gap of his window’s curtain.
Zeb adjusted his cuffs. He’d been gone much too long. He couldn’t wait to see how things had progressed since he’d last been in town, and to get started building the church—for Sheriff Callahan had informed him in his last letter that the schoolteacher and Miss Pottinger had organized a box social to raise funds towards the building.
He glanced over at Preston, who had also fingered his curtain slightly to one side so he could watch the countryside roll by. The man was young. But Zeb had chosen him because he carried a seriou
s, almost melancholy expression with him that had, if the truth were told, tugged at Zeb’s heart. It made Preston seem much older than his actual years. And Zeb supposed that wasn’t a bad thing for a man of the cloth. But after traveling across the entire country with the young man, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made the right decision. He’d tried on more than one occasion to get Preston to open up, but the man’s solemnity couldn’t seem to be penetrated.
Zeb, however, had never been the type to give up.
He nudged the parson with his elbow. “Only a few more miles. We don’t have a church building just yet, but our new schoolteacher, Miss Brindle, and our boardinghouse owner, Miss Pottinger, helped—”
A loud snort from the man across the way interrupted, and Zeb’s gaze flew to his, even as his hand fell instinctively to the pistol strapped to his side.
The man’s lips twisted sardonically as he released his curtain. “Miss Pottinger, is it?”
Seeing the man only had words in mind, Zeb relaxed. “Indeed. Miss Pottinger and her lovely mother, Rose.”
The sneer transformed into a snarl. “She’s not a ‘Miss.’ She’s my wife. And the woman you call her mother is actually my mother.” He folded his arms over his chest.
Zeb’s brow furrowed. He’d never met two finer women, and he had no doubt that if the man across the coach was telling the truth that the women had possessed a very good reason for leaving him behind when they moved west. “I’m sure you’ll be able to iron out your differences once you arrive in town.”
“Oh yes. I’m sure we will.” The man turned his attention outside the coach once more.
Despite the tension raised by the surly man’s accusations, Zeb’s excitement grew. Almost home! He made a mental note to search out Sheriff Callahan first thing when the stage came to a stop in town to let him know of the potential trouble.
For now, he decided to ignore the man and continue his talk—one-sided though it might be—with the minister. He pulled out the plot of the town which he’d had printed up on a pamphlet and nudged Preston to pay attention. “The sight for the church is all picked out. There is a flat area just here to the north end of town next to Wyldhaven Creek that will be the perfect place for the church. There’s plenty of room behind the plot for a parsonage in a nice grove of trees just here. And the town cemetery will be located on a hill about a mile outside of town where it will be high enough to avoid any flood damage.”
On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2) Page 10