Karen Witemeyer

by Stealing the Preacher

  “I’ve never seen any such blessings.” Silas muttered this observation more to himself than her, but Jo must have heard, for a sad little laugh fell from her lips.

  “Oh, Daddy. You blame God for the bad in your life, yet you refuse to acknowledge his hand in the good. How many times have you bragged about the fact that you never get sick and can outwork any man? Who do you think blessed you with such a strong constitution? And Jasper’s always talking about how smart you are, how you can lay out plans to perfection.”

  “Jasper should keep his mouth shut.”

  “God gave you that intelligence,” Jo continued, determined to ride this train all the way to the end of the track. “And what about Mama?”

  That brought his head around. “What about her? Your God had nothing to do with Martha. I found her on my own.”

  “Did you?” She raised a doubtful brow. “So it was nothing more than chance that placed Mama in the very stage you were set to hold up. A woman who would eventually convince you to leave your life of crime, who would bring you joy and comfort. A godly woman who prayed for your salvation every day of her life, and whose last wish was for her daughter to take over her spiritual vigil so that she might one day see her beloved husband again in eternity.”

  “She asked that of you?” Something rasped the back of his throat. Martha had always been a religious woman, but he never realized his lack of faith was such a burden to her. A burden she passed on to their daughter.

  “She did. But she didn’t have to ask. I would have done it anyway. I love you too much to give up on you.”

  Silas leaned his arm against the half wall behind him, suddenly unsteady. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Why do you think I wanted a new preacher so desperately? I didn’t have Mama’s support any longer. I needed help. And God answered my prayer by sending me a parson who is so much like you that he’s probably the only preacher in the country you could come to respect.”

  Archer was in on this, too? Of course he was. Suddenly his comment at the end of the shooting match made sense. It was all a plot, a plan. They were ganging up on him, herding him places he didn’t want to go.

  “The best part of all, Daddy, is that God used you to bring him here. I never would have found Crockett if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “I’ll send him back,” Silas threatened, panic setting in. He needed space to breathe, to think. He hated being chased, cornered.

  “God’s pursuing you,” Jo pressed, relentless. “He wants you as his own. All you have to do is stop run . . .”

  Her words died away as he sprinted out the barn door.

  28

  A cool breeze ruffled Crockett’s shirt as he rode onto the Lazy R at the conclusion of his afternoon visits. He’d borrowed Joanna’s mount to pay calls on the folks who’d not attended services following the picnic and to check in on the few he’d heard were ill. Everyone welcomed him warmly, although most had been more eager to discuss the shooting contest than church attendance. But he wouldn’t complain. A foot in the door was a foot in the door, no matter how it came to be there.

  The only true disappointment of the day came when he realized how much time those visits had consumed. He’d intended to spend only two or three hours paying calls and instead had spent nearly four. That didn’t leave much time for courting.

  Crockett grinned as his mare trotted toward the barn. It was a good thing Archers knew how to make the most of limited resources.

  Frank was washing up at the pump near the corral trough. Crockett waved, thinking it might be a good idea to freshen up a bit himself before searching Joanna out. He had just tugged the reins to steer Sunflower in that direction when Silas burst out of the barn like a cat with his tail on fire. The mare reared, her shrill neigh a scream in Crockett’s ears. He instinctively tightened his knees and leaned forward in the saddle to keep his seat.

  “Easy, girl. Whoa now.” He patted her neck, and Sunflower finally returned her forelegs to the ground.

  Frank hobbled after his boss as fast as his stiff gait would allow. “Silas?” he called.

  The fleeing man ignored his shout and soon pulled so far ahead, Frank was forced to give up the chase. He shuffled back to Crockett and ran a hand through his damp, graying hair. “What in tarnation was that all about?”

  “I have no idea,” he said, staring after his employer’s retreating back. “It was like he didn’t even see us.” Which was odd. The man prided himself on his detailed awareness of all of the ranch’s workings.

  “Didn’t hear us, neither.” Frank grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, obviously put out by Silas’s callous dismissal. “Something musta got him riled.”

  Crockett dismounted, continuing to stroke Sunflower’s neck as she snorted and tossed her head. Her chest heaved, and a large breath expelled from her lungs. “That-a-girl,” Crockett crooned. He kept a snug grip on the reins, still leery of the mare trying to bolt.

  Bolt. Crockett turned to where Silas was disappearing into the trees out past the corral. “He’s not mad,” he murmured. “He’s scared.”

  “Scared?” Frank scoffed. “You’re out of your gourd if you think that. I’ve known Silas Robbins for more than twenty-five years, and I can promise you that man ain’t afeared of nothin’.”

  Nothing but preachers and religious discussions, Crockett thought with a smile. Then all at once, a picture of what must have happened crystallized in his brain, and his gut lurched.

  “Joanna!” Her name echoed across the yard ahead of him. He spared only a moment to toss Sunflower’s reins to Frank before breaking into a run.

  He found her huddled against the tack wall, arms wrapped around her middle, shoulders trembling. Her eyes lifted to meet his, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she fought to contain the tears that swam in her eyes.

  “I’ve ruined ev-everything.” The hitch in her voice broke his heart. “I pressed him too hard. Said too much.” A fat tear crested the dam and rolled slowly down her cheek. “He ran from me, Crockett.” She swallowed a sob. “He ran from me.”

  He opened his arms and caught her as she staggered toward him. Folding her into his chest, he laid his cheek against her hair and stroked her back. “Shh, sweetheart. He didn’t run from you. He ran from the truth.”

  “I never should have said anything.” She tipped her head back, gently dislodging him. Her eyes shimmered, but she held the remaining tears at bay. “I thought it was the right time. He actually seemed to be listening. But then I went too far. I told him about my promise to Mama and the real reason you came here. I even pointed out how he’d unwittingly played a role himself by abducting you from that train.”

  Joanna braced her palms against his shirtfront, her touch ricocheting through him as she leaned backward against his hold. “He threatened to send you away, Crockett. And heaven knows if he’ll ever let me speak of this again. You warned me to be subtle, to be patient, but I just blundered forward and made a mess of everything.”

  Crockett released his hold on her waist with one hand and moved to cup her chin with his other. “There’s a time for subtlety, and a time to be bold. If the Spirit was moving you to speak, it would have been a sin not to.”

  “But what if it wasn’t the Spirit? What if it was just me?”

  Crockett sighed and snuggled her head back into his chest. “I battle the same question every time I write a sermon.”

  “How do you know?” She mumbled the question against his shirt, leaving her head where it rested in the hollow between his shoulder and neck. The place that seemed to be made for her.

  Crockett rubbed her arm and dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head before answering. “I don’t always know. Not for certain. The best we can do is ensure our hearts are right, our motives pure, and then listen for God’s guidance, praying that he will correct our path if we veer off course.”

  “Do you think I veered off course?” The quiet question tugged at his heart.

 
“No.” The memory of Silas’s agitated dash convicted him. “I know you, Jo. For years, you’ve prayed for your father, wanting only what is in his best interest. If you believed the time was right for you to speak, it was right.”

  “Then why did he run?” She didn’t pull away, but she did tilt her head to meet his gaze.

  For a moment her upturned lips distracted him. Steeling himself against the ill-timed surge of desire, he dragged his focus back up to her eyes.

  “He needs time to think,” Crockett said, “to examine his beliefs. You can’t make the choice for him. He has to choose it on his own. We’ll give him some time, see where the Lord leads next.”

  “But what if he makes you leave?” Her fingers wrinkled the cotton of his shirt as if she meant to hold him captive.

  If she only knew how captivated he already was.

  Crockett smiled down at her, his heart full of promises as he covered her hand with his own. “He might fire me, darlin’, but he can’t make me leave the area. I’ve got a church to run, you know. Besides”—he winked—“I get the feeling the woman who hired me might fancy me a little. I think I can convince her to let me stay on.”

  At last the clouds cleared from her eyes, and her mouth curved flirtatiously. “Oh, you do, do you?”

  Crockett waggled his eyebrows. “I’m not above using my masculine wiles for a good cause.” He shifted his grip on her hand and raised it toward his lips. “Do you think she’d let me stay in exchange for a kiss?” He lowered his head and lightly caressed the skin just below the bend of her knuckles, in the valley where her first two fingers met.

  Her breath caught, and a tremor passed through her, a delicate version of the one pounding through him.

  “You know, Archer,” a gruff voice rasped behind them, making Joanna jump, “I don’t reckon the boss’s mood would improve much if he were to come home and find you dallyin’ with his daughter.”

  Crockett squeezed Joanna’s hand before slowly pivoting to face Frank.

  The older man dropped Sunflower’s reins, his right hand moving to hover above his holster. “Can’t say I like it much, either, seein’ as how Jo’s practically my niece.” His steely stare moved to Joanna and examined her from head to toe, assuring himself she was unharmed.

  “I’d never take sinful advantage of a woman, Frank,” Crockett ground out, his jaw clenching as he strove to keep a lid on his temper. He took a step closer to his accuser. “Especially not one whom I respect and care for as much as Joanna.”

  Frank’s bow-legged stride closed the remaining distance between them. His eyes latched onto Crockett’s, his palm resting on the butt of his pistol. “You telling me you got honorable intentions toward our gal?”

  Crockett gave a clipped nod. “Yes, sir, I am—I do.”

  Instantly the man’s face cleared, and the old grump actually smiled. “Hot diggity!” He cackled and slapped his thigh with his empty gun hand. “I knew it! Wait’ll I tell the boys. Jasper’s gonna owe me twenty bucks.”

  “Frank?” Joanna slid around Crockett’s side, her fingers trailing down his arm until her slender hand nestled into his palm. “I don’t understand.” She tipped her face up to Crockett, puzzlement evident in the lines upon her brow.

  He shrugged slightly, then closed his hand around hers and stroked his thumb over her knuckles.

  “I ain’t so old I can’t remember what it’s like to be young. I ain’t blind, neither. I seen the way you look at her across the supper table when you think no one’s watching.” Frank jabbed his bony elbow into Crockett’s ribs. “Why do ya think I waited so long to follow ya in here? Didja think Sunflower and I were out in the yard shootin’ the breeze? Ha!”

  Truth be told, after finding Joanna, he hadn’t thought of anything but how best to comfort and reassure her. Now his little pixie was blushing up a storm and doing her best to hide her face behind his shoulder. It was all he could do not to grin.

  “You mind keeping this information under your hat for a bit, Frank?” If the old buzzard went squawkin’ to Silas about his and Joanna’s courtship, her father would have him hog-tied and thrown off the Lazy R before he could blink. It wouldn’t keep him away from Joanna, of course. Crockett had meant what he’d said about hanging around no matter what. However, Silas was at a crossroads. The fewer distractions he had to deal with, the better. “We’d like Silas to hear about it from us. When the time is right.”

  “All right,” Frank grumbled, his usual grim demeanor reasserting itself. “But don’t take your sweet time about it. I ain’t met the man yet who can pull the wool over Si’s eyes for long. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if he already suspects something’s afoot. Ever since the picnic, he’s had a peculiar look about him when he watches you work—like he can’t decide if he should keep you around or send ya packin’.” Frank socked him in the arm. “Might be a good idea to stay upwind of him when we go huntin’ tomorrow.”

  The man cackled at his own witticism, then finally moved on, leading Sunflower to her stall near the back wall.

  “You’re going hunting tomorrow?” Joanna’s soft question pulled him away from the complications mushrooming in his mind.

  “Your father grumbled something about putting my rifle skills to use for the Lazy R before I take another afternoon for myself.” Crockett winked. “If you ask me, though, I think he just wants to see if I can hit a moving target.”

  A teasing smile lit up Joanna’s face. “Can you?”

  “I’ve been known to take down a squirrel midleap between trees.” The Archer ranch had crawled with the little rodents. As kids, he and Travis used to have contests to see who could bag the most—until Jim threatened to quit cooking if they didn’t start giving him some variety. Of course, Jim wouldn’t be the one cooking this time. Crockett grinned at Joanna. “I think I can manage to bring something home to your table.”

  It was her turn to wink as she slipped from his hold and headed back toward the loft ladder. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  29

  Silas veered west through a stand of post oaks, separating himself from the rest of the hunting party. He knew these game trails as well as the Tonkawa Indians who roamed the area a hundred years ago had, and frankly, he wasn’t in the mood for company. The conversation he’d had with Jo yesterday had replayed over and over in his mind during the course of the night, robbing him of sleep and leaving his temper dangerously ragged. Worst of all, it’d made things awkward between him and Jo.

  He hadn’t been able to look his girl in the eye this morning, not after running out on her like some kind of coward yesterday. He hated himself for that. She was his baby girl. His Jo. And he couldn’t look at her.

  Not without seeing her mother and recalling the promise Martha had extracted from her.

  All those years they were together, she’d never harped at him about God. She had invited him to services once in a while and insisted on praying before meals, but she’d never nagged him about it. Probably ’cause she knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  Had she really prayed for him every day? Fought some kind of unseen battle for his soul that he’d never even been aware of? Apparently she’d passed the duty on to Jo, leaving their girl to take up the fight. A fight that drained her so much, she’d felt she had to call in reinforcements.

  Archer.

  Silas spat at the ground as he trudged deeper into the woods. What kind of man let his womenfolk fight his battles? So what if he’d known nothing about it. He did now. And that meant he had to make some changes. What exactly those changes were supposed to entail he hadn’t quite figured out. Tightening his grip on his rifle, Silas squinted up at the sky.

  “Why do you care about an old reprobate like me?” The harsh whisper rasped in his throat. “Did you tangle me up with a God-fearin’ woman just to lure me in? ’Cause I ain’t biting. It don’t make no sense for you to go to such lengths to lasso my soul when you wouldn’t lift a finger to stop one of your own sermonizers from caning Andy to death.
So you can just quit chasin’ me.”

  I love you too much to give up on you.

  The words had been Joanna’s yesterday. Yet the voice ringing in his head now sounded nothing like his little girl and everything like the roar of rushing waters.

  Silas gritted his teeth and halted in the shade of a hickory tree—away from the early morning sun forcing its warmth onto the earth. Silas didn’t want to be warm. He wanted the numbness the cold offered. A numbness that would keep him from thinking, keep him from feeling.

  A rustle to his right brought his senses to alert.

  Finally. A distraction.

  Moving deliberately, so as not to make a noise that would give away his position, Silas shifted his rifle into a ready position and stole a careful glance around the hickory’s trunk. About two hundred yards downhill and to the south, a white-tailed deer stepped out from the trees to nose the grass of a tiny clearing. Sunlight glinted off the buck’s rack. The beast was strong. Mature. And easy pickin’s.

  A smile of triumph curved Silas’s lips. The others were safely to the north—too far away to poach his find. He’d be the one with the first kill of the day. And judging by the size of the specimen in front of him, he’d be bringing in the best of the day, as well.

  Silas eased into a secure stance and took aim. Drawing a line up from the buck’s front leg, he sighted the center of the chest. A lung shot. He’d take no chances on the head or spine. Anything less than an instant kill would send the deer bounding into the trees, never to be found. No, this was his chance to prove his marksmanship. To prove his self-sufficiency. To regain the control Jo had shattered in him yesterday.

  A tiny sound echoed somewhere downhill from him, between his position and the buck. Some varmint with bad timing, blast it all. The buck lifted his head and blinked, poised to leap away, but Silas wouldn’t allow it. Without a second thought, he squeezed the trigger.