Читать книгу Marrying the Preacher's Daughter - Cheryl St. John - Страница 12

“I don’t want that!” Elisabeth sized up the marshal and then Gabe. “I’m not accepting money for those men’s deaths.”

“That’s what reward money is,” Roy replied. He knelt and scooped up the scattered bills and tucked them back in order and closed the paper over them. He extended the package. “It’s your half.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” she objected. “I didn’t hold a gun.”

“They’d have gotten clean away with everyone’s purses and watches if you hadn’t caused a ruckus,” Gabe disagreed. “I gave the bandit mine.” His gaze fell to the chain at her neck, though the ring was beneath her bodice like always. “Your kinship with your jewelry set the whole episode in motion. So half is yours.”

“Well, I won’t take it.”

Gabe raised a brow and looked at Roy. “What happens to the money if she won’t take it?”

The marshal pursed his lips and scratched his chin with a thumb. “Don’t reckon I know. It’s never happened before. Goes back in the city coffers, I guess.”

“Shame all that cash goin’ to waste,” Gabe remarked. “Could’ve bought your brothers shoes or hired your father a hand or…” Gabe appeared thoughtful, then pleased with himself. “You could have taken a trip somewhere.”

“My brothers have all the shoes they need, thank you, and I am my father’s assistant.” She paused, however, considering that a trip might have been nice. But that was vain and selfish thinking. She could have given the money to the church to provide help to those in need.

Could have? She still could. Elisabeth extended her palm. “I’ll take it.”

Seeming pleased not to have to deal with the money, Roy handed over the packet.

“I’ll give it to the church,” she decided.

“It’s yours to do with as you see fit,” Gabe said with a shrug.

“Well, that takes care of the business I came to do.” Roy finished his lemonade and excused himself. She showed the sheriff to the door, then returned to the sitting room.

Elisabeth held the envelope to her chest. The Taggart fellow’s face looked paler than it had been, and he’d set his mouth in a grim line. He was quite obviously in pain and too stubborn to say so. “You should’ve let me bring the marshal upstairs so you didn’t have to dress and come down.”

“I needed to move a bit.” He stood, but swayed on his feet.

She tucked the money in her apron pocket and hurried to his side. “Lean on me.”

“I can manage.”

“I said lean on me, Mr. Taggart. If you fall flat on your face, I’ll never get you up by myself.”

He seemed to consider that as a distinct possibility and wrapped one solid arm across her shoulders.

With him butted up against her side, his imposing height and hard muscle were glaringly obvious. Now the possibility of him falling and crushing her became the issue. “Phillip!” she called.

A minute later, her brother skidded to a stop in front of them.

“Get on the other side of Mr. Taggart and do your best to help me get him to the banister where he can hold on.”

Phillip eyed the holster, but ducked obediently under Gabe’s other arm, and they managed their way to the front hall, where Gabe grabbed the banister and helped support his weight.

“Don’t get behind us,” Elisabeth warned. “Run ahead.”

Phillip scampered up the stairs.

The farther they climbed, the more Gabe leaned his weight against her, until, at the top, she feared they’d both topple down the stairs. With Herculean effort, she used every ounce of her strength to keep him upright. “Come back and get his other side!” she called to Phillip.

The boy was a minimal help, though his face turned red from his efforts.

“Mr. Taggart, you’re going to have to help or we’re going to drop you in a heap right here,” she huffed.

Lifting his head, he rose to the occasion with a grunt and they made it through the correct doorway and to the bed, where they dropped him unceremoniously.

He lay atop the blankets, his face white, his eyelashes lying against his cheeks.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, straightening her skirts and her disheveled hair, while catching her breath. “You’re taking your medicine and sleeping and not getting back out of bed until you’re better able.”

She poured a dose of the liquid painkiller, and with Phillip’s help got it down Gabe’s throat, then got him situated on the bed and closed the curtains.

“Is he dead?” Phillip asked.

“No, he’s breathing,” she answered, but paused to watch his chest rise and fall. “He’s sleeping.”

“He’s sleeping in his clothes,” the boy remarked. “And wearing his holster and gun.”

“That’s his own fault. He could have stayed put and he’d still be comfortable.” Her hand went to the thick envelope in her apron pocket. Just having all that money on her person made her uncomfortable. She would give the ill-gotten gains to her father and let him use it to his discretion. She led Phillip out of the room. “We’ll let him be.”

She carried the money to Sam’s study and left it in his top desk drawer, then hurried to the kitchen to help Josie with supper.

The Jacksons were again their guests at dinner that evening. Beatrice had been a widow for the past five years and occupied herself holding tea parties and peddling her son as a perspective husband. From all accounts it looked as though Elisabeth was her first choice. Beatrice raised a questioning brow at her now. “Elisabeth, we were quite concerned when we heard the news about the holdup and learned that you’d been on the train. How dreadful for you. Thank the good Lord you weren’t injured.”

“I’m thanking God for my safety,” Elisabeth replied, not wanting to talk about the incident.

“Mr. Taggart saved Lis’beth,” Phillip piped up. “And he saved all the people’s watches and rings and money, too. Din’t he, Lis’beth?” He sat with a slice of turnip forgotten on the tines of his fork, his expression serious. “He gots a big gun.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened. Rhys glanced from Phillip to Elisabeth.

Samuel Hart spoke up, saying, “We’re all appreciative for Elisabeth’s safe return home.”

Josie returned to the dining room at that moment. Elisabeth took the refilled bowl of mashed potatoes and reached to set it in the middle of the table. Unconsciously, Josie spread her hand at the small of her back before taking her seat. Elisabeth glanced at Rhys at that moment, confused by the fleeting expression that darkened his features before quickly disappearing.

She’d gone to school with Rhys, though he’d finished ahead of her. He’d always been interested in the Harts and enjoyed coming to their home. He worked at the bank and knew much of the goings-on of the townspeople.

“Does your new position sit well with you, Miss Tyler?” Beatrice asked.

Kalli had been assigned a seat between Peter and John, where she sliced their meat and encouraged them to eat their vegetables. She glanced up. “Yes, ma’am. Quite well.”

“Kalli is a perfect fit for our family,” Josie added.

Elisabeth glanced at her sisters to note any reactions to Josie’s remark. Anna was absorbed in her meal, and Abigail was giving Rhys surreptitious glances. Neither seemed to think anything of Kalli’s presence or the conversation.

Anna glanced up and smiled, and with a surge of affection, Elisabeth returned the smile. She dearly loved her sisters. They shared so much history, and wonderful memories of their mother.

Sam had brought Elisabeth and her sisters to Jackson Springs after their mother’s death and his remarriage to Josie. Elisabeth had been filling the role of caregiver and nurturer and at first felt usurped by Josie’s new position as her stepmother. But it hadn’t been easy to resent a woman so kind and generous and who made her sisters happy. She and Josie had come to an understanding, and she had grown to love the woman dearly.

Still, even though their marriage and family had turned out well, Elisabeth sometimes questioned her father marrying for convenience. She was far from a romantic—in fact she was a painfully logical and practical person—yet Elisabeth had always imagined herself finding a love born of common interests, mutual needs and future plans. She wanted to marry for love and passion, not practicality.

Her father had never questioned Elisabeth’s choice to assist him in his duties, appreciating in fact, that she took care of details and finances while he saw to the spiritual and emotional needs of his congregation. Still, it was the natural order of life for a man or woman to leave her father and mother and marry.

She had turned twenty on her last birthday. Most of the young ladies with whom she’d attended school were married and already had their own children. Elisabeth loved her young brothers and had spent a good share of time caring for them. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t yet experienced a burning desire to have her own children.

Once she was married she’d undoubtedly feel different. Love changed everything. Zebediah Turner had called on her for a season. She’d been to his family’s ranch with her father a time or two. When Zeb had kissed her after an ice cream social, their relationship had grown awkward. He hadn’t called on her again, and he later married someone from Morning Creek.

Studying Rhys now, she wondered about the whole kissing thing. Maybe it just had to be the right person.

“How was school today?” Josie asked, looking to Abigail and Anna.

“I finished all my assignments in class,” Abigail replied. “So I have no studies this evening. I’d like to make pies with those apples Mr. Stone gave Papa, if that’s all right.”

“No one around here ever objects to pie,” Josie answered with a smile.

“I have arithmetic to finish,” Anna said. “May I sit in your study with you, Papa?”

The sound of a bell tinkled from a distance. It took a second for Elisabeth to process the sound. She set down her fork. “Excuse me.”

“Can I come help Mr. Taggart with you, Lis’beth?” Phillip asked.

Rhys set down his fork and studied her with a questioning look.

“Your sister can handle it,” Sam said to Phillip. “Eat your turnips.”

“The man is here?” Beatrice asked. “In your home?”

“He was injured defending my daughter and many passengers,” Sam told her. “The least we could do was offer him a place to recuperate. My wife wanted this great big house so we could be a blessing to others. Over the years we’ve had a goodly amount of guests stay with us.”

Beatrice blotted her lips with her napkin.

“He was sleeping the last time I checked on him,” Elisabeth told Josie. “I imagine he’s awake and hungry.”

“I made him a plate,” Josie answered. “It’s in the warmer.”

In the kitchen, Elisabeth readied a tray and carried it up the back stairs.

“I could’ve come down,” Gabe said when he saw her. He had managed a sitting position with the pillows behind his shoulders.

“That didn’t go so well last time.” She set the tray on his lap. He was still fully dressed, boots and all.

“You knocked me out.” Frowning, he picked up the fork and tasted the potatoes.

She stood at the foot of the bed. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“You’re amusing, but it’s not safe for me to be unconscious.”

“And why is that?”

“Train robbers have friends. And relatives. If word got out that the man who shot their friends was staying here, they might come looking for me.”

“Nothing will happen to you while you’re in this home.”

He raised a brow. “Didn’t see any armed guards when I got here.”

“Our shield and fortress isn’t visible to the eye. Psalm ninety-one assures us that God has given His angels charge over us to protect us in all our ways.”

He looked at her as though she’d just told him she could fly. “In my experience the only sure thing is something I can see and feel.”

He stabbed a bite of meat and chewed it.

“Your limited experience doesn’t change the truth,” she answered.

Gabe looked at the woman. Really studied her. She was as prickly as they came, opinionated and unafraid of speaking her mind—even if her head was full of foolishness. But she was something to look at, that was for sure.

He’d thought so ever since she’d walked down the aisle of that railcar, looking for an empty seat and finding only the one beside him. Her hair was the palest shade he’d ever set eyes upon outside a field of summer wheat. Tonight she didn’t have it braided, but gathered away from her temples and trailing down her back like a schoolgirl’s.

Her delicate features belied her bold statements and cutting barbs, a juxtaposition he rather enjoyed for its uniqueness.

She was slender, but not skinny, with curves in all the right places. She wore a burgundy-colored skirt with a flounce of some sort in the back. Her fitted ivory blouse was printed with flowers the same color as her skirt and the rounded neck opening revealed the chain that held her gold ring.

She caught him looking at it and brought her hand up to touch the piece of jewelry.

“Medicine wore off, and it was awfully quiet,” he said.

“We were having dinner.”

He imagined the whole family around a table. “You can go on back.”

“Are you certain you don’t mind? We do have guests.”

“Any pretty young ladies?”

“No, Mr. Taggart. A widow and her son.”

“A pretty widow woman?” he asked.

She frowned. “‘Beauty is vain, but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.’”

“From the Bible?”

She nodded.

“What about you? You’re pretty.”

Pink tinged her cheeks, the only indication that his question had affected her. “I prefer to be appreciated for my abilities.”

“So, you know you’re pretty?”

“You’re impertinent, Mr. Taggart.”

“No disrespect intended. Most ladies enjoy a compliment.” He dug back into his meal. “Your father said he had a houseful of women, and seems they’re all good cooks.”

“Leave your tray on the end of the bed when you’re finished.” She turned and left the room.

He stared at the spot she’d vacated for a long moment. Her idealism stood firm in the safe cocoon of her protected world, but one of these days when faced with a reality she couldn’t pray her way out of, Elisabeth Hart was in for a big disappointment.

For some reason he couldn’t explain, he hoped he wasn’t around to see it.