Ma pressed her lips tight, giving Jack the look that told her a lecture was coming. “You wouldn’t have gotten injured if you hadn’t joined in that fight with those older boys. I told you they’re nothing but trouble.”
“That’s not true.” Jack bolted up, her head aching as if it might explode. She pressed fingertips against her temples and lowered herself back down. “B–but you don’t understand. Butch—”
Dr. Phillips cleared his throat. “Perhaps the scolding could take place later? I need to examine Jacqueline now that she’s awake. She was unconscious for a good fifteen minutes.”
Ma looked well put in her place. “Of course. I’m sorry, Hank.”
“I reckon I should go now that I know you’re all right, Jack.” Luke twisted the brim of his hat and watched her, making Jack squirm.
“Don’t call her that,” her mother growled.
“It’s all right, Ma. I want him to.”
Her mother crossed her arms, and her mouth looked as if it had been sewn up and the stitches pulled too tight. Jack didn’t want to upset her more, knowing Ma was probably fit to be tied since her little girl had gotten hurt. But maybe she could twist things to her benefit. “My head sure hurts, and I’m getting hungry. Sure would like some shoofly pie after dinner tonight.”
Her mother turned back toward her. “Oh, truly? Let me go check and see if I have the fixings.” Looking happy to have something to do, she scurried out of the room, her blue skirts whipping behind her.
Jack looked up at Luke. A wide grin covered his tanned face, and beside her, the doctor chuckled.
Luke shook his head. “Young lady, you’re a stinker. You ought to get nothing but bread and water to eat tonight.”
***
Relieved that Jack seemed to be fine except for some bumps, bruises, and a black eye, Luke left the room so the doctor could check her over without distractions. He stood in the kitchen doorway and watched Rachel rummage around inside her pantry. The lingering scent of baked pies filled the air, and his gaze drifted to the pie safe as he thought of the tasty treats. What kind would she serve with supper tonight?
She held up a jug with some thick, dark liquid in it. “What happened to all my molasses?”
Luke’s gaze snapped back to Rachel. Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes searching. She pushed some things around on the shelf, and Luke watched her, enjoying this time of seeing her relaxed and off guard. In spite of everything between them, he had missed her. Missed holding her close and making her giggle when he kissed her ear. Missed that look of adoration in her unusual eyes. Missed seeing her carefree like she’d once been.
The pretty girl he’d left eleven years ago had blossomed into a beautiful woman with pleasant curves and a voice that still stirred his senses. Something deep inside him wanted to protect her from the troubles of this world. Too bad they could never be together again.
Jack needed a father. But as much as he’d like the job, it wouldn’t be him. He straightened. Would that job go to Rand Kessler?
He looked down at the floor. If he could manage to forgive Rachel completely, maybe they could be friends again. He’d heard a couple of sermons about forgiveness in the seven months that he’d been saved, but nobody ever mentioned how to do that.
Rachel turned around and gasped, splaying her hands across her chest. “Luke! I didn’t hear you there.”
He shrugged. “Doc needed to examine Jack, so I made myself scarce.”
Rachel’s face took on that pinched expression again, and she plunked the jar down hard on the table. “Why do you insist on calling my daughter by that hideous male nickname?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the name Jack.” He couldn’t help grinning as he remembered a couple of rascally cavalry buddies with that moniker. “It’s what she wants me to call her, and I figure it’s a small matter if it makes her happy.”
She shoved her hands to her hips. “It’s not a small matter to me. She has a name. Jac–que–line.”
Luke chuckled at how she emphasized each syllable. “I wanted you to know that I plan on walking over to the schoolhouse each day before and after classes. Maybe I can keep something like this from happening again.”
Rachel’s tense expression softened. “I’d appreciate that, but are you going to do anything to the boy who hurt my daughter?”
He rubbed his jaw with his forefinger and thumb and then scratched his neck, considering what the teacher had told him. It was probably just as well that Rachel didn’t know Jack had jumped back into the fight after Butch turned loose of her. “Mrs. Fairland said that several kids were throwing punches at a big kid who tends to bully the younger ones.”
“You mean that Laird boy, don’t you?”
He shouldn’t be surprised that she knew who he was talking about since Jack had probably told her about the kid. Luke nodded.
“What do you intend to do?” She hiked her chin as if daring him to argue.
“I’m going to have a talk with him and his father. You know his mother is gone, don’t you?”
Rachel nodded. “She died about six months before James did. I didn’t know her too well since she lived outside of town.”
Luke clenched his fist at the mention of her deceased husband. He cleared his throat. “Well, Butch’s father isn’t exactly the nurturing type, if you know what I mean.”
Her lovely blue eyes opened wide. For the first time, he noted the dark shadows under her eyes. Was the boardinghouse too much work for Rachel, combined with the stress of her unruly daughter?
He wanted to make things easier for her. “I’ll let Murphy Laird know that if his boy causes any more trouble, he won’t be allowed to come back to school. I’ll also mosey around the schoolhouse during the times the children are at recess.”
Rachel reached out and touched Luke’s arm. The heat of her fingers nearly scalded him, and he could only stare at her small hand. Why did he always turn to cornmeal mush around this woman?
“Thank you, Luke. I’d feel much better knowing that you’ll be keeping an eye on Jacqueline.”
He didn’t want to worry her by reminding her that Jack ran all over town and the outskirts. Just because Butch wasn’t at school didn’t mean Jack would be safe from him. But he would do his best to protect her. “I don’t think Butch was the one who hurt her—at least I can’t be sure. Could have been one of the others that hit Jack. Accidentally, I mean.”
“Well, at any rate, I appreciate your help and that you carried Jacqueline home. I try hard to make her toe the line, but she still runs wild.” Tears swarmed in Rachel’s eyes. “I don’t know what more to do to make her obey me.”
Luke looked at the ceiling, noticing a spider web in one corner. He wanted to tug Rachel into his arms and ease her pain, but he couldn’t. “I’ll pray for her more, and you need to stick to your guns and make her mind you.”
Rachel’s sorrow ignited into flaming anger. “What do you know about it? I tell her one thing, and she does exactly the opposite. I give her extra chores and make her write scriptures to help her see the error of her ways, but it seems to do no good. What else can I do?”
Luke shrugged. “Maybe she needs a good lickin’ now and then.”
Rachel sucked in a loud breath. “I will not spank my daughter.”
“Why not? Spare the rod, spoil the child.”
She spun around, leaning her hands on the edge of the dry sink. “I can’t bring myself to spank her—not after...”
“After what?” Luke crossed the room and stood behind her, his hands aching to take her in his arms and drive away her anxiety.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Tell me, Rachel.”
She shook her head so hard, he thought sure the pins would fall out of her bun. “I can’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Luke clamped down his jaw. What had happened to cause her to not want to discipline her child in the biblical manner? He didn’t like where his train of thought was taking him. Knowing
he shouldn’t touch her, he reached out, placing his hands on her shoulders. As if he’d been struck by lightning, a fire surged up his arms and through his body. He closed his eyes, steeling himself against the desire to pull her close. He cleared his throat. “I’m here if you want to talk to me, Rach.”
She stood stiff. Her sniffles made his heart ache. Made him want to take away her pain. Father, help Rachel and Jack through this difficult time. Please heal Jack quickly and let there be no long-term effects from her injuries. Touch Rachel, and heal the hurting places in her heart.
The doctor cleared his throat, and Luke stepped back. Heat swept up his neck at being caught nearly embracing Rachel. They both turned to face Dr. Phillips, and Rachel stepped in front of Luke, drying her eyes with her apron.
“How is she, Doctor? Will she be all right?”
The doc smiled and nodded. “Yes, she will. Keep her in bed for two days, and then let her get up and do things around the house. As long as she doesn’t get dizzy and fall, she should be fine.”
Rachel hurried forward and took the doctor’s hands. “Oh, thank you, Hank.”
“Don’t send her back to school until next Monday, and just feed her soup and bread today, and some apple cider if you have any.”
“So she shouldn’t have any pie? I was going to make her that shoofly pie she loves.”
The doctor glanced past Rachel to look at Luke, and he winked. “No, let’s keep her on light things today. Give her eggs and biscuits in the morning, and if her stomach handles that without problems, she can go back to eating regularly.”
Rachel nodded, and Luke grinned at the wily doctor. Wouldn’t Jack be disappointed her little scheme hadn’t succeeded?
CHAPTER 13
Her guests wouldn’t like eating burnt pie tonight, but if the stage didn’t arrive soon, that just might happen. Rachel checked the watch pinned to her bodice again and tapped her toe against the boardwalk. Seventeen minutes and no more. That was all she could wait. A vision of blackened pie crusts, burnt sugar, and a kitchen filled with smoke filled her mind. She glanced down the street in the direction the stage would arrive. A telegraphed message had informed her that the new lamp she’d ordered from a specialty shop in Sherman was on today’s stage.
The bright sun gleamed down on the town, buzzing with its typical Monday morning activity. People ambled in and out of stores and offices, completing business and moving on to their next item of duty. She could hear the children at school squealing during recess. She shaded her eyes and searched for Jacqueline. Her daughter had been back to school for a week, and other than some teasing about her black eye, which the girl was quite proud of, there’d been no other problems. Please, Lord, don’t let her get in trouble today.
Rachel swiped the sweat from her temple. Noon had yet to arrive, and already the day felt as hot as August. Glancing around, she pulled the fabric away from her bodice and fanned in some air. Luke strode out of his office and crossed the dirt alleyway. She lowered her hand as her heart flip-flopped.
The birthday party the town had thrown for him several weeks ago had been one she’d remember for a long time, mainly because of her disappointment. She’d hoped Lookout’s marshal would ask her to dance for old time’s sake, but instead, he’d seemed content just to fill up on her pie and watch the town while chatting with his cousins. Rand hadn’t had any problem asking her, though. He would have danced all evening if she had been agreeable. Oh, what was she going to do about him?
Before Luke’s return, she’d toyed with the idea of marrying Rand. She would have a ranch house to tend but not the huge boardinghouse. Rand was a good man, even if he was a few years younger than her. But even though she found him a pleasant man to confer with, she didn’t love him. And she couldn’t marry another man she didn’t love. She’d been working up her nerve to tell him just that when Luke had returned to Lookout.
Luke. Now that was another subject. Her throat tightened. She could never tell him that she still cared for him. Had cared, even when she’d been married to James. No wonder her husband had been so dissatisfied. Had he sensed that she didn’t love him? But how could he expect love after what he’d done to her?
Her heart ricocheted like a bullet fired inside a stone house when Luke turned in her direction. Luke and James had been friends before she married. Oh, how she wished things had been different—that she could go back and rewrite her story.
“Morning.” Luke tipped his hat and slowed his pace, but that wary look that had been in his gaze ever since he returned to Lookout still lingered. “Uh ... what’s for supper tonight?”
Rachel sighed inwardly, wishing he’d talk to her about something other than food or his laundry, but he seemed determined to keep her at bay. He’d let his defenses down the day Jacqueline had gotten hurt, but they were back in full force. Rachel should rejoice that he’d even bothered to say good day to her when he normally tried to avoid her. Whatever happened to forgiving those who hurt you? “Pot roast, your favorite.”
“Sounds good.” Luke nodded and headed into the stage office.
Too bad it was only her cooking he loved.
She checked her watch again. If she wasn’t expecting that new lamp—the one she wanted to collect before the rowdy stagehands knocked it about any more than it already had been, she would return home. The pies would be done soon. At least she only had Mr. Sampson, a traveling salesman, staying at the boardinghouse and wouldn’t need to fix an overly large meal.
Her heart quickened at the rumble of horses’ hooves and the jangling of harnesses. The boardwalk shook as the stage rounded the corner, looking as if it would tip over, even though it never did.
“Whoa!” the driver shouted, pulling back on the reins. The coach slowed to a halt right in front of the Barfield Stage office amid a cloud of dust and the snorting and heaving of the four sweaty horses.
The shotgun guard climbed down, dropped the steps, and opened the door. A nicely dressed, albeit dust-coated gentleman stepped down then offered his hand to a pretty blond woman dressed in a blue calico. She accepted his assistance and exited the stage. The young woman glanced around, and when she spotted Rachel, she smiled and climbed up to the boardwalk, heading straight for her, straightening her bonnet. “Good day, ma’am. I was wondering if you might point me to Luke Davis’s office. I do believe he’s the city marshal—at least that’s what he said in his correspondence to me.”
Rachel’s chest tightened. “Correspondence?”
The woman knocked the dust from her skirt and looked up. “Oh yes. I’m Leah Bennett, Marshal Davis’s mail-order bride.”
Rachel felt the blood drain from her face. Her mouth was suddenly as dry as a Texas creek bed in midsummer, and her knees quivered as her world tilted. She grabbed a post holding up the boardwalk roof to balance herself. “Luke’s getting married?”
The woman’s cheeks turned strawberry red. Eyes the color of a blue jay sparkled. “Well, that’s the plan. At least that’s what his letter said. So could you please point me in the right direction?”
Rachel glanced at the stage office, knowing Luke would come out at any moment.
Another woman who’d just disembarked from the stage also stepped up next to Rachel. Worried green eyes flitted between Rachel and the blond woman. Her pale face stood out against the curly curtain of auburn tresses that had escaped her chignon. A deep wrinkle creased one cheek, and she had that foggy look of just having awakened. “Uh ... pardon me, but did you say city marshal Luke Davis is the man you are to marry?”
Miss Bennett nodded and smiled. “Why yes, I told you that right after we pulled out of Sherman depot, Miss O’Neil.”
“Saints preserve us.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “I barely remember you sayin’ you were to be married, but I must have fallen asleep. I never heard who ’twas you were to wed. What a dreadful mess.” The woman’s gaze flittered around the town as she wrung her hands. “Whatever will I do? I’ve nowhere else to go.”
&n
bsp; Confused at the woman’s distress and intrigued by her lilting accent, Rachel put aside her shock at Miss Bennett’s declaration and rested her hand on Miss O’Neil’s shoulder. “What’s the matter? Maybe I can help.”
The auburn beauty glanced at Miss Bennett again. “I don’t know how to tell you; truly I don’t.”
“Whatever it is, just spit it out.” Leah Bennett hiked her chin and glowered like a schoolmarm scolding her students.
“I ... oh, how is it something like this could happen?” Sympathy edged Miss O’Neil’s green eyes. Wavy wisps of hair fluttered on the warm spring breeze. “I, too, have come to marry Luke Davis.”
Rachel’s battered heart endured another jab. What had Luke done? How dare he send for two strangers to marry when she had been there all along!
If he was the man of God he claimed to be, wouldn’t he forgive her for betraying him?
Miss Bennett’s blue eyes widened. “Why, that’s preposterous. There must be some mistake.”
“Nay, ’tis true. I assure you. I have Marshal Davis’s letter right here.” Miss O’Neil opened her tattered reticule and pulled out a crinkled page. She unfolded it and handed it to Miss Bennett.
Rachel couldn’t help leaning over. She scanned the words, and her dread and confusion mounted when she saw Luke’s name signed at the end of the letter. There was only one way to get to the bottom of this distressing situation, and that was to confront Luke. Fortunately—or not—he exited the stage office at that moment, pausing outside the door to look at a piece of paper he held.
“But I also have a letter, and I think you’ll see that mine is dated earlier than yours.” Miss Bennett quickly retrieved her missive and passed it around.
Rachel pursed her lips tight. This handwriting was different from that of the other letter. Couldn’t the women see that? Somebody was toying with their affections, and that was wrong. But was Luke to blame?
He stood outside the stage office door, held a piece of paper up to the sun, and studied it.
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