Читать книгу Marrying the Preacher's Daughter - Cheryl St. John - Страница 11

Elisabeth returned from the clothesline with a basket of her clean folded clothing in time to hear a commotion coming from the front hall.

“Not there!” a man shouted. “Don’t grab me there, for pity’s sake!”

She didn’t recognize the voice, but then her father’s more calming words reached her. “We’ll have you settled in just a minute, Mr. Taggart.”

Taggart? She entered the enormous sunlit foyer from the back hallway, stopped and stared.

Her father and Gil supported the tall man, one on each side, and Dr. Barnes followed, carrying his bag in one hand, a carton in the other.

“Just a little farther,” Sam coaxed.

“Any farther and you might as well just shoot me again,” the man growled. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his swarthy face had turned pasty white. A steep set of narrow stairs led from the street up to the house, and he’d just maneuvered them with a bullet wound.

Sam glanced up. “Elisabeth, bring cold water and wash rags to the bedroom on the south corner.”

“But that’s…” At her father’s stern look, she let her voice trail off. Next to mine. What was he thinking? “Yes, sir.”

She set down her basket and hurried to the kitchen. Her father had brought that man here! To their home! She cringed in mortification. Now she’d be forced to face him—and her shame.

Minutes later, she climbed the stairs with a pitcher and toweling. She traveled the now-silent corridor and paused outside the closed door. From inside, she heard rustles and a couple of grunts.

The door opened and her father gestured for her to enter.

Gil stood just inside the room, and she met his interested gaze. “Looks like Mr. Taggart’s going to be your guest for a while,” he said.

Reluctantly, she followed her father inside.

They had removed the man’s clothing and tucked a sheet up around his waist and over part of his chest. His ribs were bound, the white wrapping a stark contrast against dark skin that held scars from previous injuries. Who was this man?

“You did just fine,” Dr. Barnes said, standing over him. “The wound isn’t bleeding.” He turned and took the pitcher from Elisabeth, poured water into the bowl and got a cloth wet. “The Harts will take care of you. They’re good people.”

Gabe took the wet rag from the doctor and wiped his perspiring face.

Dr. Barnes set a bottle on the bureau. “He gets two teaspoons every six hours for pain. It’ll help him sleep. Give him a dose now.”

“You’ll be in charge of his medicine, Elisabeth,” her father directed.

“Me-e?” She hadn’t meant to squeak.

“You’re the most meticulous,” he replied.

She nodded her obedient consent, but kept the disagreeable man she’d hoped never to see again under her observation. He didn’t appear any more pleased with the situation than she, which was a comfort.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” the doc told him.

Gil glanced from the stranger to Elisabeth with a crooked grin and headed downstairs, followed by the doctor.

“Elisabeth will see to your needs,” Sam told Gabe. “And I’ll be back at suppertime.”

He progressed into the hall, and she followed, not wanting to be left alone with their patient. The other two men headed downstairs. “What am I supposed to do with him?” she whispered to her father.

“Give him his medicine and something to drink. Let him sleep. If he gets hungry, bring him a meal.” He took a step toward the stairs, but stopped and met her gaze. “Oh, and you might try thanking him for saving your mother’s wedding ring.”

He turned and walked away.

Her heart picked up speed and, as though the pressure would calm her pulse, she flattened her palm against her waist. She took a deep breath and released it. Slowly, she turned back to the room and entered, lowering the hand to her side. The Taggart fellow leveled that piercing green gaze on her, but his demeanor was blessedly less imposing minus his hat and shirt.

“Alone at last,” he said.

Normally she prided herself on her calm demeanor, but this man managed to fluster her with every breath.

“Where did they put my gun?”

“You’re not going to need your gun here,” she assured him.

Grimacing, he attempted to lean forward, but grabbed his side through the sheet and bandage. “It’s on that bureau.” He pointed. “Bring it here.”

Rather than argue with him, she stepped to the chest of drawers and picked up the surprisingly heavy tooled leather holster that sheathed the deadly looking weapon. He’d shot half a dozen bandits in the blink of an eye with this very gun. Holding it on both upturned palms, she carried it to him.

Meeting her eyes first, and making her even more uncomfortable with his stare, he took the belt from her. Yanking the gun from the its sheath, he swiftly opened the cylinder and fed bullets plucked from the belt into the chambers. After flipping the cylinder closed and sliding the gun under the pillow behind his head, he let the holster fall to the floor.

“I’ll go fetch a spoon and a water glass.” She couldn’t get out of that room fast enough. Elisabeth stood in the kitchen longer than necessary, finding reasons to delay. What kind of man loaded a gun and stashed it under his pillow? What—or who—did he expect to shoot here? He hadn’t been wearing a badge or a star, but just carrying a gun didn’t make him a criminal. Her own father had worn a gun during their travels west and for months after arriving in Jackson Springs.

Finally, she returned and measured a dose from the liquid in the brown bottle. “Would you like a drink?”

“I’d love a drink, lady, but I’ll settle for that water.” Grimacing, he rose on one elbow to take the glass and finish the water. “Thanks.”

Noticing the sun arrowing through the shutters, she closed them and pulled the curtains closed over both windows, leaving the room dim.

“I never asked where you were headed.” She wrung out the cloth and hung it on the towel bar attached to the washstand.

“Here.”

“Oh.” She came to stand beside the bed. “Do you have family in Jackson Springs?”

“I own some land,” he replied. “I’m going to buy horses and build a house. Might buy a business or two.”

“What type of business?”

“Depends on what’s for sale.”

She had to wonder if he had any skills or definite plans or if he’d just set off willy-nilly. “I see.” She left and returned with a small brass bell. “Ring if you need anything.”

Her father’s suggestion burned. She reached to place a hand over the ring that lay under her bodice and, even though the room was only semi-lit, Gabe’s astute perusal followed.

He had protected her from harm, saved her ring and had become injured in the process. Why did she have so much difficulty forming the words?

“Thank you, Mr. Taggart.”

He curled his lip. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Irritating man. She spun and fled.

“He’s wike Wyatt Eawp.”

“Where’s his six-shooter?” another child asked. “Jimmy Fuller said he shot the robbers with a six-shooter.”

Gabe rolled his woozy head toward the open door and caught sight of three little boys. They scattered like chicks in the wake of a bantam rooster, and Elisabeth Hart entered with a laden tray.

In disbelief, he blinked sleep from his eyes. “You have kids?”

Elisabeth frowned. “I’m barely twenty years old, Mr. Taggart.” She set the tray on the bureau and opened the curtains, the thick blond braid hanging down her back swaying with her movements. She slid the window open wider. “Those are my young brothers.”

He blinked at the glare of the late-afternoon light, but the breeze gusting in was most welcome. The sheet stuck to his skin and he plucked it loose. “Your father only mentioned daughters.”

Gabe hadn’t thought she looked old enough to have all those kids, but looks were often deceiving. She stepped close to arrange the pillows behind him. He sat forward with her scent, a combination of freshly ironed linen and meadow grass, enveloping him. He hadn’t expected the alarming effect she had on his senses. He scratched his chin. “He said there was a house full of females.”

“My sisters have come home from school, but they have lessons to complete. My stepmother needs her rest, so…” She snapped open a napkin and draped it over his chest. “You’re stuck with me.” She uncovered the plate of food and carried the bed tray to him. “I prepared a roast while you slept, along with potatoes and carrots. Beef will build up your strength.”

Spotting the plate of food and the savory aroma of meat and gravy made his belly rumble. At least she could cook. He picked up the fork in anticipation. “I haven’t eaten anything that looked half this appetizin’ in a long while.”

“I’m not the cook my stepmother is, but I’m not half-bad. My skills lie in accounting and organization, but I can do most anything I set my mind to.”

He took a bite and savored the taste of the tender roast. She could cook well. “You’re used to getting your way.”

She studied him and shrugged. “I see that things get done.”

He ate several bites, then pointed at the nearby wooden chair with his fork. “Where were you returnin’ from when we met?”

Stiffly, she seated herself. “Morning Creek. I’m the notary public for this county.”

“Unusual job for a female.” He couldn’t say he was surprised. She seemed anything but usual, and her persnickety ways probably made her good with details.

“The position fell into my lap after an elderly parishioner passed away a year ago. The post required someone willing to travel to nearby towns once a month or so.” She raised one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “The job sounded like a good way to do a bit of traveling. And it has been. Until yesterday.” A frown formed between her pale eyebrows. “Nothing like the incident on the train has happened before.”

Her perfect speech amused him. “So the body count’s been low until now.”

She averted her attention to the window, and he was almost sorry for the jibe. Almost. “Ruffle your tail feathers, don’t I?”

She swung her attention back. “You’re the first person I ever met who is deliberately antagonistic. Why do you do that?”

Her directness did surprise him. The females he’d known invariably played coy and solicitous. “I’m not the one who provoked a robber holding a loaded .45.”

She lifted her chin to say, “I was going to give him the ring. I was ready to take it off and hand it over.”

“So you say now.”

Her blue eyes flashed with aggravation. “I’m not a liar, Mr. Taggart.”

Amused, he set down his fork and reached for the cup of coffee. It was strong and black, the best he’d tasted in a long time.

She delved into the pocket of her apron, withdrew a timepiece and glanced at it. She stood. “It’s time for your medicine.”

And then he’d sleep again. He didn’t like the vulnerability of being unconscious for hours at a time. He tested the pain by raising his arm, then glanced at the forested mountainside visible from the windows she’d opened. “This place looks to be set against a foothill,” he said when she approached with the spoon and bottle of medicine. “Is there a main road close by?”

“No. Just the mountain behind us,” she replied. “And a few homes farther down the hillside. Only one street leads up here.” The Hart home stood silhouetted against the lush green pines and above most of the town, protected by the shadow of the mountain.

“I’ll pass on the medicine this time.” He reached for his coffee again, wincing at the pain that shot through his ribs. “And I’d be obliged if you’d run an errand on my behalf.”

Her expression hinted at reluctance. “It’s the least I can do. What’s the task?”

“I need you to inquire about taxes on my land.”

She set away the bottle of medicine. “You’ll be settling here then.”

“Jackson Springs strikes me as a quiet place.”

“What did you do before?”

“Traveled.” He set down his cup. “The roast was tasty. Thanks.”

She picked up his tray. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I’m grateful for the care, no matter how begrudgingly it’s given.”

She ignored that comment. “I’ll visit the real estate office tomorrow. Is there anything else you need?”

He shook his head.

She headed for the door. “I’ll check on you later.”

Gabe reached to move a pillow from behind his back and winced. He lay back as gently as he could. The house was silent, save for a clock ticking somewhere.

He didn’t like lying around, and neither did he cotton to having the Hart woman waiting on him. Besides the fact that he didn’t like her seeing him this way, he had things to do. He needed to find a place to live before his sister, Irene, got here in another four weeks. That should have been plenty of time, but now…

He hadn’t counted on this setback.

As far as anyone knew he was a businessman here to establish himself in a new community and settle into a normal life. So far nothing had gone according to plan, but he could get things back on track.

Without the pain medicine, he slept fitfully. At the sound of a feminine voice, he again woke with the damp sheets sticking to his skin and his head throbbing.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but the marshal is here to see you.” It was her. Still looking fresh and irritatingly healthy. Maybe it was the drugging effect of the medicine on his head, but the woman was downright pretty.

“Is there water in that bowl over there?” He attempted to sit and swing his legs over the side of the bed, but at the pain in his side, lay back against the pillows. “I need to wash up.”

Elisabeth noted the full bowl and arranged toweling on the washstand, then turned back to him. “Can I help you?”

“Send one of the lads in.”

She glanced toward the door and back at him with a look of concern. “The oldest is only six.”

“He can fetch for me. Unless you want to stick around while I get my pants on.”

She stared at him without flinching; he had to give her credit for that. But then with a swish of skirts and petticoats, she turned to where his satchel sat against a wall. As she leaned to grab the handles, her braid swung over her shoulder. She hoisted the bag onto the bench at the foot of the bed and opened it. “I’ll get Phillip.” She looked Gabe square in the eye. “And then I will stand right outside that door where I can hear everything.”

“Suit yourself.” What did she think he was going to do? Give the boy shooting lessons? “Stand right here if you want to.”

She left the room with her back ramrod-straight and returned a few minutes later to usher in a handsome black-haired little fella with freckles. He surveyed Gabe with curious wide blue eyes.

“This is my brother, Phillip,” Elisabeth said. “Phillip, Mr. Taggart needs help getting up and dressing. I’ll be right out in the hall.” She glanced from her brother to Gabe and backed out, leaving the door open a full twelve inches.

“Thanks for comin’ to my rescue,” Gabe told him. “Think you could help me stand without pullin’ on my left arm?”

“Sure!” Phillip hopped right up on the bed and got behind Gabe to push him upward.

Gabe did his best not to grunt or groan. He’d eat dirt before he’d show weakness in front of the boy—or the woman listening outside the door. He wrapped the sheet around his waist and stood, making his way over to the bowl of water. His reflection in the mirror revealed several days’ worth of whiskers on his cheeks and chin. He scratched at it and poured water into the basin. “Can you find the roll of toiletries in my bag there? I need my razor.”

Phillip found the roll and carried the supplies to the stand, where a shaving brush and mug sat at the ready. Gabe used water and powder to make lather and dabbed it on his face.

“My papa gots a black beard, too.”

Gabe gave an unintelligible reply as he drew the razor up his neck and chin.

“I’m getting one, too.”

Gabe eyeballed him in the mirror. “Might be a year or two before you need to shave.”

“I’m gonna grow stubble like you.”

“Ladies like a stubble,” he replied.

“Mr. Taggart,” Elisabeth cautioned from the hallway.

“Tickles when you kiss ’em,” he added.

Phillip pulled a face. “I’m not gonna kiss girls.”

“Mr. Taggart!” she warned more loudly.

He washed, wet his hair and used his brush and comb. “Can you find me a clean shirt and trousers?”

Phillip set himself to the task. Then the boy leaped up to stand on the bench and held out the shirt so Gabe could ease into it. “Is it true you shot all those robbers who tried to steal ever’body’s jewelry?”

Gabe paused in guiding his arm through the sleeve and looked at the child. “Sometimes takin’ another man’s life is the only choice. But it’s never an easy choice and never something to be proud of.”

“Did you ever shoot anyone before that?”

Gabe buttoned his shirt without reply. Phillip helped him don a clean pair of trousers. “Can you pick that up for me?” he asked, and the lad grabbed his holster from the floor and handed it to him. Gabe showed him how to hold it up so he could get it over one shoulder and around his ribs without touching the side that pained him. He took his Colt from under the pillow and slid it into the holster.

Phillip’s eyes widened. “Is that the gun you used?”

“Yep. Has your pa taught you about guns?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, sir. I ain’t apposed to touch one until I’m bigger. Not Papa’s gun, either.”

Gabe absorbed the information.

“You’re a top-notch valet.” He flipped him a coin.

Phillip caught it. “What’s a valet?”

“A fellow who helps a gentleman get dressed. Can’t say as I ever had the need before, but I’m fortunate you were here. I wouldn’t have wanted to endanger your sister’s sensibilities.” Gabe leaned close and whispered, “She’s a good cook, but she’s prickly.”

Phillip grinned.

“Are you decent?” Elisabeth called from the other side of the door. She didn’t like the sound of that man whispering to her brother.

The door whisked open and he stood in the opening in a clean, albeit wrinkled shirt, his dark hair combed into sleek waves. He wore the leather holster with his loaded gun tucked against his good side.

She’d never faced him standing before. He was a good foot taller than she was and filled the doorway with his imposing presence. One side of his mouth quirked up and her traitorous thoughts raced to his remarks about kissing ladies.

“I’ll get the marshal,” she said.

“No. I’ll come down.”

He was a stubborn one, that was for sure. “Phillip,” she instructed. “Walk on Mr. Taggart’s other side.”

“I’d crush the boy if I fell on him,” he scoffed. “Thanks for your help, Phil. Run along and come back tonight, all right?”

“All right!” The lad tossed a coin in the air and shot toward his room.

She accompanied their antagonistic guest to the parlor, where Roy Dalton waited. He shook Gabe’s hand. “Taggart?” he asked.

Gabe turned to Elisabeth. “Thank you.”

She blinked in surprise. She’d been promptly dismissed in her own home. She turned and left to find Josie and Abigail in the kitchen.

“Goodness, you fixed an entire meal while I napped,” Josie said. “I had so much energy when I woke that I’m making pies. Abigail is helping me.”

Elisabeth’s younger sister had learned to bake and cook at Josie’s side, and her desserts rivaled any that the ladies of the church produced.

“Did you remember that the Jacksons will be here for supper?” Abigail asked.

“I forgot.” Elisabeth glanced at her stepmother. “Will there be enough food?”

“We’ll serve your roast, and we can add more potatoes and carrots and maybe a slaw,” Josie answered.

“Mr. Jackson likes roast beef,” Abigail remarked. At seventeen, she thought Rhys Jackson’s presence at dinner was exceedingly romantic. Elisabeth was far too practical to be caught up in such silly imaginings.

As the preacher, her father invited members from the congregation for dinner at least once a week. It had been Josie’s desire to make a home where they could entertain and where their neighbors would feel welcome. The Jacksons ate with them more often than most other families. Beatrice was a widow, but a well-to-do widow, and her son Rhys worked at the bank. Elisabeth suspected that their recurring invitations had something to do with the fact that Rhys was an eligible, well-mannered bachelor.

Her father and Josie had never said they were impatient for her to marry and leave their home, so perhaps the new concern she’d been feeling was only her imagination. The house certainly wasn’t too crowded for her to remain. In fact, bringing Kalli into their midst had added yet another person to the household and the dinner table. She wasn’t a burden on her parents.

“Do you suppose Mr. Taggart and the marshal would care for a glass of lemonade?” Josie asked.

Elisabeth glanced at Josie’s flour-covered hands as she shaped the piecrust and then gave her sister a hopeful look. Abigail sprinkled cinnamon on her sliced apples without looking up. “I’ll pour them lemonade,” she finally offered.

She set out two glasses. “Josie? Do you feel I contribute to the family?”

“Contribute?” Josie looked up. “You are an important part of this family, Elisabeth. Why would you ask such a question?”

She shrugged off her insecurity. “No reason. Forget I asked.”

Sometime later, she carried a tray into the parlor and set it on the serving cart. The men’s conversation ground to a halt. She set a frosty glass in front of each of them on a low table before the settee. Gabe looked decidedly out of place on the dainty piece of furniture.

“Miss Hart, will you join us, please?” Roy Dalton asked.

Surprised, she recovered her composure and seated herself on a chair opposite the marshal.

“Mr. Taggart isn’t willing to accept the entire sum of the reward money.”

Startled, she glanced at Gabe and back. “There is a reward?”

“Three of those fellas were wanted in several states for train robberies,” he replied. “And two of them for murder.”

“Oh, my.” Clasping her hands together, she silently thanked God. They’d all come dangerously close to losing their lives. She remembered the verse in the Psalms that talked about God giving His angels charge over her, and knew it was so.

“Mr. Taggart claims he can’t take all the credit for catching those men.”

“Meaning that God had a hand in what happened?” She looked to Gabe, but he didn’t reply.

The marshal was still holding his hat, and he turned it around by the brim. “Seems he’s of the mind that you were the one responsible for insisting he do something about their apprehension.”

“Oh, he is.” She bored her gaze into Gabe’s and then couldn’t resist a glance at the gun he wore.

“Claims he would’ve handed over his valuables and let those good-for-nothin’s go on their merry way if you hadn’t started the ruckus.”

Anger burned a fiery path to Elisabeth’s cheeks, but she didn’t look away.

“Mr. Taggart’s a real generous and honest fella. Half the reward money is yours.” The marshal took a fat envelope made from folded parchment from the settee cushion beside him and shoved it toward her. “This here’s your share.”

She held the packet in both hands before she realized what had just happened. “What is this?”

“Half the reward money, like I said,” Roy replied.

Reward. For killing those men? Elisabeth dropped the envelope as though it was a poisonous snake. The seams of the envelope burst open and a stack of currency spread across the rug.

Blood money.