Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe

by Louise M. Gouge

  “Oh, yes, Miss Sutton. Do let me help.”

  For several moments, the conversation was taken up with Nolan, Anna and Miss Sutton discussing a schedule for practices, with reassurances from Nolan that Sean would be at Anna’s side to protect them all.

  At the Rev’s insistence, Justice and Sean were invited in for dessert. The two grateful lawmen thanked Miss Sutton, as if it had been her idea.

  After dinner and dishwashing, Grace excused herself to go on her rounds of the town. At least that was what she told everyone. In truth, she couldn’t bear to watch all of those men admiring Miss Sutton’s every word and action. Maybe Grace was being petty, but she was also being honest, at least with herself. As she’d known for a long time, she just wasn’t the type of woman men were attracted to. Best accept that and get on with life, doing what she could for her community.

  * * *

  Micah knew a budding romance when he saw one, and in his seven years as pastor of this church, he’d never been wrong. The looks passing between Miss Sutton and Nolan Means sparkled like fireworks on Independence Day. Micah couldn’t be happier. Poor Nolan had been seeking a suitable wife for a banker since he came to town several years ago, only to lose out to the Northam brothers and Garrick Wakefield. But he’d never looked at Susanna, Marybeth or Rosamond the way he now looked at Miss Sutton. As for the young lady, she had never smiled at Micah the way she now beamed at Nolan. Nor did she seem the slightest bit concerned over the outlaws’ threats against the banker, an indication that she possessed more of that grit he’d noticed the other day.

  What a relief. Micah would do everything he could to promote their growing attachment. But where did that leave him, especially since the Lord still seemed to bend his heart toward marriage? How long had Isaac waited for Rebecca? How long had the journey been for Abraham’s servant, who traveled to fetch her? Micah could only suppose the Lord wanted him to be patient. He chuckled to himself. Yes, Lord, I know I need patience, but could I have it right now?

  Yet all the good humor he could muster didn’t solve his marriage dilemma.

  Chapter Eight

  On Monday morning, Grace and the Rev rode behind Sheriff Lawson as they picked their way through the rolling hills west of town, trying to track the outlaws’ path away from the MacAndrewses’ burned-out house. No new snow had fallen, but just as at Mrs. Lewis’s place, too many people had trampled the ground around the property to get a clean boot or hoofprint to connect to anyone outside the community.

  Late yesterday, the day after the fire, however, the sheriff had found an unusual hoofprint some distance away leading southwest. It matched the description Grace and the Rev had given him of the one they saw at the broken-down ranch. This morning, when he tried to round up a posse, pickings had been slim. With only Grace and the Rev available, they decided to do a preliminary search and then gather more men if they found a promising trail to follow.

  Grace tried to keep her mind on the task at hand, but it was more difficult than she’d expected being out here with the Rev today. Other than his usual concern about the outlaws, he seemed real happy. Had he and Miss Sutton already come to an understanding? The woman hadn’t been in Esperanza for a full week, hardly time for two sensible people to fall in love. Well, one sensible man and a slightly flighty female. But Grace supposed love did crazy things to a person, even a levelheaded minister of the Gospel. Humph! What did she know about romantic love anyway?

  “Penny for your thoughts.” The Rev rode up beside her, pastoral concern on his brow.

  Grace started. Had he heard her sound of disgust? Best to head off his insightful probing. “Now, there you go insulting me, Rev. My thoughts are worth considerably more than a penny.” She shot him a playful grin like she’d give one of her sisters.

  He laughed, that deep, throaty chuckle she liked entirely too much. “Yes, I would think so. What would you say to fifty cents—?”

  A rifle shot sounded in the distance. In a split second, Sheriff Lawson tumbled from his saddle without so much as a yip and rolled behind a large boulder. Grace and the Rev sprang from their horses and, crouching low, hastened to his crumpled form. His horse had spooked and now stood shuddering some ten yards away. While Grace watched for the shooter, the Rev cleared small rocks from the ground and turned Lawson onto his back to reveal a bloody hole in his coat on the left side of his chest just above his heart.

  “Sheriff. Sheriff.” Gently touching his face, Grace kept her voice low, although the shooter had to be at least two hundred feet away.

  The sheriff groaned—the best sound she’d heard all day.

  “He’s alive.”

  “Yes. Praise the Lord.” The Rev opened the sheriff’s coat. “It’s above the heart, and the blood’s not dark red, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in danger.” He coughed and cleared his throat, and Grace guessed he was working to keep his emotions in check. She sure was.

  “Lord, save this good man.” The Rev tore off his gloves, removed his own jacket and rolled it to make a pillow for Lawson’s head. “Grace, we can’t get him back to town on horseback or he might bleed to death. Will you be all right here while I go get the doctor and a wagon?”

  “Yep. Let me get my rifle first.” She whistled for Mack, and the gelding ambled toward her. The Rev’s horse followed along. Even the sheriff’s mount moved closer.

  “Thank the Lord for these boulders.” The Rev eyed the cluster of giant rocks giving them cover.

  “Yeah.” Grace didn’t feel very grateful right now, but she wouldn’t tell him. Instead, she gripped his arm. “You be careful.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “I will. You, too.”

  In spite of their dire circumstances, Grace felt warmth slide up her arm and into her heart. It wasn’t her usual giddy reaction to him, but more like a Christian bonding. A feeling that together they would save the sheriff, perhaps even the town. A feeling that together they could accomplish anything.

  As the Rev rode away, Grace shook her head. Such foolish musings. Best to stick to what she knew best. After tying the horses to some dried-out scrub and retrieving canteens and blankets from behind their saddles, she settled down to keeping an eye out for the outlaws and, more important, keeping the sheriff warm and alive.

  * * *

  Micah sat with Grace in the hallway outside Doc Henshaw’s surgery. For over an hour, after comforting the sheriff’s wife, he’d been praying—pleading actually—for the sheriff’s life, just as he had for Grace’s sister Beryl three years before. The trip over the rocky terrain on the way back to town had caused more bleeding, and the sheriff still hadn’t regained consciousness by the time they reached Doc’s house. Perhaps that had been a mercy.

  Because the undertaker’s hearse was the only conveyance that could accommodate the gravely wounded man in any kind of comfort, its arrival back in Esperanza had caused no little stir. Micah had ridden alongside to reassure everyone on the street that the sheriff hadn’t died and to urge them to pray. At present, his own faith dipped with each muted sound coming from beyond the surgery door. After yesterday’s brave sermon, he was setting a poor example for his parishioners. But then, he’d always found it better to be authentic and truthful rather than to put on a facade.

  When she learned of her husband’s injury, Mrs. Lawson wept, of course, but she told Micah that being married to a lawman had toughened her more than her tears suggested. This wasn’t Abel’s first gunshot wound at the hands of an outlaw. Still, worn out from crying, Mrs. Lawson now reclined on the settee in the parlor to rest up for whatever came next.

  Grace heaved a sigh. “Sometimes God doesn’t do things the way we think He should.”

  Micah’s heart warmed over this unexpected expression of faith, and he gave her a sidelong look, questioning her with one lifted eyebrow.

  “Well, isn’t that true? Don’t you alw
ays say that?”

  “Thanks. Just what I needed to hear.” He tried to laugh, but it came out more as a grunt.

  She nudged him with her elbow. “Do you mean to tell me you sometimes have doubts?”

  He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Yep. Sure do.”

  “What happened to ‘all things work together for the good’?”

  His feelings still close to the surface, he shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Her expression softened with understanding. “I won’t tell anybody.”

  “It’s all right if you do. People shouldn’t think I’m above human feelings. I laugh and cry and grieve the same as anyone else. And yes, sometimes I doubt. Then I have to remind myself that God’s love isn’t defined by life’s circumstances but by His own character.” The thought briefly warmed him. Then the sheriff’s desperate situation came to mind, and he had to reject the unbelief that tried to settle in his heart. “It’s not always easy to believe that when bad things happen. As you said, when God doesn’t do things the way we think He should.”

  She gave him a soft, sweet smile. “That’s why you’re such a good pastor. As it says in Hebrews 4:15, you’re touched with the feelings of our infirmities, just like the Lord.”

  “Thank you, but please don’t assign me too much credit, or I’ll fall flat on my face.”

  “You?” She nudged him again. “No, not you.”

  The pocket door leading to the surgery slid open, and Doc Henshaw stepped into the hallway wiping bloody hands on a white cloth.

  Micah and Grace stood to meet him.

  “Where’s Mrs. Lawson?” Doc looked through the open door of the parlor and walked toward it.

  Grace reached out and touched his arm. “How’s the sheriff?”

  Before he could respond, Mrs. Lawson appeared in the parlor doorway. “Is he...?”

  “He’s a tough old hombre.” Doc had picked up Western jargon pretty well in the six years he’d been in Esperanza, something Micah had chosen not to do. But then, Doc was married to Grace’s older sister, Maisie, and the Eberly girls were known for their interesting word choices. “He’ll be laid up for a while, but he’ll make it.”

  Mrs. Lawson sagged against the doctor, not seeming to mind the blood on his white canvas apron. He patted her back. Grace hiccoughed and sniffed. Micah cleared his throat and swallowed hard. Thank You, Lord.

  “If you’re ready, let’s go see him.” As Doc walked the lady toward the surgery, he eyed Micah and Grace. “Give her a minute, then come on in.”

  Soon Maisie, who served as her husband’s nurse, came out and invited them into the room. Across the way on a low cot, the sheriff lay with his chest swathed in bandages and his wife seated beside him. Grace approached and scolded him with a few teasing words. By the time his turn came to speak to the lawman, Micah had sufficiently regained his composure so he could appreciate Sheriff Lawson’s attempt at humor.

  “Forgot to duck,” he said with a groan. Once the uneasy chuckles died away, he added, “Pastor, I know you’ve been praying for me, but could you say a few more words to the Almighty about this broken-down old lawman?”

  “Oh, hush.” Mrs. Lawson gently patted his shoulder. “You have many good years left to keep the peace. Doesn’t he, Doc?” She gave Doc a hopeful, almost-pleading look.

  “If he takes it easy and gives himself plenty of time to heal before trying to take on those outlaws again.” Doc gave the sheriff a stern look.

  “Well, then,” Micah said, “I’ll pray you’ll be willing to rest so you won’t interfere with the Lord’s healing process.”

  It was late afternoon when Micah and Grace left Doc’s house. Without a word passing between them, they walked to Williams’s Café, where they ordered soup, fresh rolls and coffee to ward off the chill of the day.

  After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, Grace blew out a long sigh. “I guess you realize it’s up to me and you now.”

  He knew exactly what she meant. “You’re right, of course, but I think we ought to have the sheriff deputize a half dozen or so other men.” A slight frown crossed Grace’s forehead, so he quickly added, “And women, too. Mrs. Winsted played a big part in keeping Hardison and Smith in check after they tried to rob the bank. She’s as handy with a rifle as anyone.”

  Now Grace blinked, and her jaw slacked briefly. “That’s true. She did. And yet she didn’t receive a threatening letter.”

  “Hmm.” Micah considered the idea for a moment. “If the person who’s stealing her merchandise is in cahoots with the outlaws—” there he went, using Western jargon, after all “—they probably don’t want to risk losing their source of survival supplies.”

  “I ought to just lock up Adam Starling and put an end to it.”

  Leah arrived with their order, so Micah had to wait to respond. Once he’d given thanks for their food, he took a few bites of the steaming bean and bacon soup. In his own conversations with Adam, he hadn’t seen the slightest hint of guilt. In fact, the boy often asked questions about the scriptures that sent Micah to his commentaries for answers. Not many in the congregation did that. “I still think you’re wrong about Adam.”

  “Because you always think the best about everybody.” Grace buttered a roll and took a bite with an exaggerated flourish, as if to make it clear she didn’t mean to compliment him.

  “Not always.” He shrugged. “But I do believe in giving people chances to prove themselves.”

  “Hmm.” Grace concentrated on eating her meal for several minutes. “That was good news about Miss Sutton directing the Christmas pageant. I was surprised when Nolan suggested Anna could help. He’s usually very protective of his sister.”

  Micah took the hint. He wouldn’t be able to convince Grace that Adam was innocent without solid evidence. “That’s true. I’m quite relieved to have the pageant in competent hands.”

  “Something just occurred to me.” She gazed out the window thoughtfully. “It seemed the outlaws were waiting to ambush us.”

  Another change of subject. “Maybe just one of them, since there was only one shot.”

  “Huh. Makes no sense.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him across the table. “This morning when the sheriff was trying to round up a posse, who did he ask?”

  Micah could only tell her what she already knew. “He asked Joel, but I insisted that he stay with his sister. No townsfolk were free to leave work, and none of the trusted cowboys happened to be in town. I think he realized most of the ranchers are still busy preparing for a long winter, because he didn’t take the time to ride out to Four Stones Ranch to ask Nate and Rand.” He had a feeling he knew what her next question would be.

  “Did he speak to Adam?”

  He was right. “I don’t know, but I’m sure you do.” He huffed out a cross breath. “You know he spoke to every able-bodied person in town, so he must have spoken to Adam.”

  “And Adam could have ridden out to warn his friends.”

  In spite of his long, hard day and delayed dinner, Micah’s appetite disappeared. Apparently Grace’s did, too, because she laid her napkin beside her plate and hailed Leah to pay the bill. Once the waitress took her money—she paid for Micah’s meal without asking, which didn’t sit well with him considering their current conversation—Grace stood and adjusted her gun belt. “I’m gonna find him right now.”

  Micah stood, too. “Will you let me question him instead?”

  “What, and let him get spooked and run away?”

  “Grace!” Maybe it was the events of the day finally crashing down on him, but Micah couldn’t hold on to his rising anger. To his relief, no other customers were in the café.

  As it was, Miss Pam stuck her head out through the kitchen door and questioned him with her eyebrows lifted. “Everything all right, folks?”

 
“Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  They spoke at the same time, which would have been humorous in any other circumstances. Miss Pam gave them a doubtful smile. “Glad to hear it.” Then she returned to the kitchen.

  Grace marched out the front door, putting on her heavy jacket as she went. Micah had to hurry to catch her by the arm. “Grace, wait.”

  She spun around, and fire blazed in her bright blue eyes. “What?”

  He took a slow, deep breath and nodded toward the livery stable, where Adam usually spent his afternoons caring for the horses that boarded there. “Let’s go together.”

  “This is a matter for the law, Rev.”

  “Um, did you forget I’ve been deputized?” He couldn’t keep from smirking just a little, something he wouldn’t do with just anyone.

  She rolled her eyes and huffed out a noisy sigh. “Come on, then. If I say no, you’ll just come anyway.”

  “Ah, you know me so well.” Oddly, the thought pleased him, in spite of their current disagreement.

  At the livery stable at the end of the street, they found owner Ben Russell in a back stall currying one of the horses. Micah and Grace had brought their own horses here, along with the sheriff’s, when they’d returned to town after the shooting.

  “Howdy, folks. Be right with you.” Ben finished his work and closed the stall door. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re looking for Adam.” Micah spoke quickly before Grace could show her disdain for the boy. It wouldn’t do to give one of his employers cause to distrust him. “Have you seen him today?”

  “Sure did.” Ben ran a hand through his graying hair, and a shower of dust filled the air. “I sent him over to Del Norte this morning to pick up a couple of my horses. Some tenderfeet on their way to the gold fields rented ’em and never brought ’em back. Sheriff Hobart sent a message to come and get ’em as soon as I could. I don’t know when Adam’ll be back. Might be tomorrow.”