Читать книгу The Parson's Christmas Gift - Kerri Mountain - Страница 12

Zane reined his horse to a stop, breathing hard. “Feels good to stretch the legs, eh, Malachi?” He patted the steamy neck as he dismounted by the stream. Closer to town, the brook broadened and slowed into a river. But here, it still gurgled and bounced over rocks.

He hunched down by the edge and trailed his fingers in the water a moment, then scooped a handful to drink. It ran fresh and cold down his throat, and he smoothed the back of his wet hand over his lips and chin. He’d need to shave before service.

Stretching out on the stubbled grass with his hands clasped behind his head, he stared up at a night sky of the deepest blue, covered with stars high above. Miss Rose would have a piece of his hide if she knew he’d come out without his coat.

For as long as he’d lived here, the beauty of the land had never failed to awe him. “Lord, I thank You for Your hand I see in all creation. It’s a comfort to know things are in the order You made them to be.” The scent of sage carried on the wind. He traced the swollen lump around his eye with his fingers.

“I pray, Lord, that You’ll bless the folks here. Make sure I preach the words You give me to their benefit as well as my own. And thanks for watching out for me today when I fell. It could’ve been worse, I reckon. Turns out just my pride got hurt. Keep a special eye on Miss Rose, too, Lord. She’s a dear old soul who’s loved and served You a long while. I’m asking You to send the right person to help her.”

Journey seemed an unlikely choice. She reminded him of a colt his father had bought from a rancher known for poor handling of his animals. That colt never lost the suspicious gleam in its eyes. It always flinched when touched, bolted often and busted fences more times than he could count.

“Until You do, Lord, help me look after Miss Rose. And thank You for putting her here to take care of me like she has ever since—”

Since Sarah died. He scratched his chin and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. A fire blazed in his chest. Sarah. Their baby she carried. The flame that took them burned in him still. Three years without them—where would he be now without Miss Rose’s prayer and love and support?

“I still miss them. I know they rest with You, Lord. It makes it easier, but I still ache that they’re gone. Help me, Lord.”

He stood and brushed himself off, clearing his dry throat. “All these things I lay before You, in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

He nickered to his horse, who trotted over and nuzzled his shoulder. “C’mon, Malachi. Let’s get back. You can listen to my sermon before I turn in.”

He’d always been a fair tracker, but when the Lord had called him to preach, he was sure he’d misread the signs. His palms still sweat when he stood before his congregation. Sarah had always listened to the sermon twice—once the evening before so he could practice and again during Sunday service. Her soft laugh would echo through the tiny home he’d been able to provide, and she’d run her fingers through his hair. He could still feel her wide, moist lips on his cheek.

“Preach it with the fire God’s given you for His Word, for others, and you’ll be fine,” she’d say.

Now he had Malachi. Captive audience, little response. He mounted up and spurred the horse to a trot farther along the stream before heading home. It was too nice a night to head back early.

A cry broke through the night. He grabbed the Spencer gun holstered behind his saddle. He hadn’t heard any talk of bobcats in the area, but it sure sounded like a woman’s scream coming from the stand of trees ahead. He edged Malachi closer, picking his way into the darker night of the woods. What would a woman be doing out at this time of night?

He slid from the saddle and readied the gun in case he’d guessed wrong. A whinny sounded to his right as he drew closer, and it didn’t take the brightness of the moon to find the broad, crooked path of broken twigs. Zane followed.

The thrashing horse caught his attention. The mare’s eyes rolled back to white in panic as she neighed and struggled to get up from her side. He ground-tied his own mount, then moved toward the frightened animal.

“Easy, easy there, girl.” He slid the halter off, stroking her wide brown head. The horse seemed to quiet, kicking only occasionally with her hind hooves.

He patted the heaving side, continuing to comfort the horse in low tones as he slid his other hand along her right foreleg. He grimaced when the bone shifted beneath his touch. Busted.

A soft moan drew his attention to the still, small form lying nearby. Peering through the dimness, he found a floppy brimmed hat lying against a tree trunk. The same one he’d seen on the woman Abby had introduced earlier. Journey? What was she doing all the way out here?

If not for the unnatural angle of her left leg, Zane could’ve believed she’d fallen asleep. She lay on her side, head cradled on her outstretched arm. A few loosened curls draped over her shoulder. He dropped down beside her and eased her over to her back. A bruise formed near her temple, stark against her pale skin. She moaned again and he leaned back on his haunches, pulling her tattered skirt down from where it bunched at her knees.

“Journey? Miss Smith?” He tapped her cheek. “Journey, wake up.”

She tossed her head once to either side as if to refuse him. “Don’t touch me. I—I mean it.” Her voice slurred.

“Journey? Ma’am, it’s me, Zane—Reverend Thompson.” Her eyes fluttered. “That’s it. Come on now.”

He watched her eyes slit open, and she struggled to sit up. He saw her grind her teeth rather than cry out at the pain the movement had to have caused her leg.

“Gypsy?”

He guessed she meant the horse by the way she searched about with her deep brown eyes. She blinked at him as if he’d just appeared. She moved to touch the lump on her head, but he pulled her icy fingers away and held them in his hand.

“Hold on, there.” Zane stayed her with a hand at her arm, not quite touching. “Let’s check you out, first. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Squinting, her head wobbled slightly. “Four. How’s my horse?”

“Three. And she’s not good,” Zane said. He slid down and picked up her left foot in both hands. “Neither are you. I need to check your leg.”

She didn’t protest, only turned her head and squinted in the direction of her whimpering horse. He slid the tattered fabric back to just past the smooth knee. Moving his hands along the leg, he felt the bone move beneath the stockings, much as the horse’s had. Fortunately for her, unlike with the horse, it wasn’t a fatal injury.

She shivered. Wind blew through the trees. “Journey? Are you with me? Your leg’s broken. We need to get you inside.”

“My horse…”

Her white skin glistened in the moonlight, like some ghostly beauty from an old story. Her head bobbed with no particular rhythm as she scanned the space around them.

Zane grabbed a blanket from her now-still horse. He balled it up and placed it under her head.

“Ma’am, my house isn’t far from here if we cut straight through the field. It seems best if I carry you there, then go for the doc in town.”

“I need my horse,” she said, as if that should be his only concern.

He moved his head, trying to keep himself in her field of vision. “We’ll get you inside, I’ll get the doc and then I’ll come back and take care of your horse. Ready?”

She stiffened as he moved to lift her. “I’ll ride Gypsy.” Her voice fairly shook.

He settled back on his heels and slid his hat off to scratch his head. The horse panted behind them, and he knew she hadn’t gotten a good look at the damage. But then, she didn’t seem to register her own damage.

She scrambled to her feet, slender arms swinging to gain balance. The instant she rested her weight on her broken leg, a low moan ripped through her throat. Zane saw her eyes flutter closed and caught her as she collapsed.

Her breath puffed warm on his neck. He knew he needed to get her indoors but set her back to pull a coil of rope from the horse’s halter. He patted the horse’s head and she quivered at his touch. “Hold on, gal.”

Journey moaned softly. He found a few branches nearby to splint her awkward leg before bending to lift her. “I hope you’re as light as you look, ma’am,” he said, peering through the pine boughs waving overhead to the starry sky above.

Malachi was a sturdy sort. Not fast, but steady. Zane was thankful now as he lifted Journey to the saddle. He held her head in one hand and pulled himself into the saddle with the other. Her teeth clenched as he reached for the bridle.

“I mean it, Hank. Don’t you touch me,” she said. He leaned forward, but her eyes never opened.

“Don’t worry, lady,” he said. He lifted soft curls of hair to check the cut on her head again. “You’ll feel a whole lot better, soon’s we get the doc to take a look at you. Giddap, Malachi.”

Journey listened, straining to catch the sounds of the room beyond the pounding in her head. Creaking boards told her she wasn’t alone.

She opened her eyes a slit, peering through her lashes. She could barely make out a window frame opposite where she lay. The glow at her right side could’ve been only a lamp, but the warmth made her think of a fireplace. How did she get here? And where was here? She couldn’t think with this stampede running through her head.

Gypsy. She remembered the horse stumbling, going down.

A shadow crossed over her. She sat up with a gasp as pain flashed hot like lightning down her leg.

“Take it easy,” a voice spoke from the shadow. She jerked her head and opened her eyes wide, but the ache forced her back to the softness of the pillow.

“Abby?” She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the light. “Wh-what happened? Where am I?”

Abby pulled a chair closer to the edge of the bed and smiled down at her. “You’re at Zane’s. He found you in the woods, thrown by your horse.”

“Gypsy? How is she?”

Abby smoothed the blanket over her and leaned back in her seat. “Sam and Zane went to check. Doc Ferris was here. He said your head should feel better in a day or so. It’s a good thing Zane was there.”

Journey shifted, biting her lip against the pain.

“That leg’ll take a while longer. Doc left something to help ease the hurt.”

She slid her leg under the quilt, feeling the stiff binding around it. “How much longer?”

Abby’s lips quirked to one side. “At least a month, maybe more, Doc said.”

She could be snowed in by that time, if the chill in the night air held. Where would she stay? She wouldn’t be able to afford a room longer than a week, and that’s if she didn’t eat. She knew enough to realize Reverend Thompson couldn’t extend his hospitality to her that long. And the doctor! How was she to pay him?

She had to leave before that. She’d give herself the day and let Gypsy rest. Then she’d be ready to move on. If she went slowly, they’d make out fine. She could just take it easy, not push the horse too much and keep her leg bound.

“I’ll need to settle up with the doctor before I leave.”

Abby patted her arm. “Don’t you worry. Once you get settled in at Miss Rose’s, you can work it out with her. I’m sure she’ll help you. You can pay her back when you’re on your feet again. Let me get that pain medicine. You’re about due.”

Abby moved to the table behind her. It seemed this room served as kitchen, sitting room and sleeping area for the pastor. It must be his bed she lay on. Her leg throbbed in time with her head. She had to get out of here.

“Here you go.” Abby nudged a spoonful of liquid to her. “This’ll help you rest, too. You’ve had quite a night. I should’ve told you to stick closer to town.”

She swallowed the liquid, but Abby’s words burned her with embarrassment. What would she think if she knew there had been no plan to stay? Not that it mattered now. Did it? Was there any way to explain how grateful she was for the kindness they’d shown and make them understand that she couldn’t allow it anymore? It didn’t seem likely, not without telling too much.

“I’m not one to be hemmed in,” she said. She fisted the blankets around her and slid down into the pillow.

“Believe me, I can understand that,” Abby said. Her eyebrows lifted, and Journey braced herself for more questions. “I didn’t expect you to ride so far out of town. We were looking for you to come back any time when Zane came pounding on the door. He’d found Doc Ferris at the Wilsons’ and sent him out here, then came for Sam to help with your horse. I had Sam hook up the wagon and bring me along to see what I could do. I thought you might feel better if you came to with a familiar face around, instead of a complete stranger here.”

Journey fought the gathering tears. She nodded and her throat felt tight. “You’re right. Thank you.” She didn’t know this woman well, but it was better than waking up with an unknown doctor prodding around. “Where are they?”

“Doc Ferris figured you’d rest quietly awhile, and he needed to get back to the Wilsons’ to check on their new baby before he headed back to town,” Abby said. “Zane and Sam should be back any minute now, soon as they get your horse checked over.”

Journey felt the bandage over her temple as she brushed a curl from her forehead. She smoothed the blanket at her waist with the other hand even though Abby had already done that. Her leg felt better since taking the medicine, and her head slowed its throbbing. She yawned.

“Did Reverend Thompson—Zane—say how she was?”

“Your horse?”

“Yes.” She yawned again. “Gypsy.”

Abby turned away, as if she suddenly remembered the spoon and bottle she still held. They clinked together on the table. “Zane didn’t say. He was more anxious about Doc Ferris getting out here to see you. He said you were in and out, calling him ‘Hank’ or something like that.”

Journey kept her eyes down, staring at her hands on the quilt. A chill fell over her. She no longer felt drowsy. What else might she have said?

But Abby chattered on, unaware that she’d struck a nerve. “If anyone can patch up your horse, it’s Zane. He worked with his father raising horses before Mr. Thompson passed away. What he didn’t know about horses wouldn’t fill a thimble, and he taught Zane everything.”

She slid back down on the bed, pulling the covers all the way over her shoulders, and Abby put another log on the fire. “Keep warm. Doc was worried you’d fall into shock, being out in the cold air like you were. But you look better already than you did when I first arrived. Your color’s back.”

Boots on the porch boards outside the front door roused her. She and Abby turned as the door swung open, revealing Zane and Sam. Journey caught the shake of Sam’s head when he looked at his wife. The sharp whinny of the horse echoed in her memory. How bad could it be?

Zane looked haggard. The bruise around his eye from his fall at Miss Rose’s was dark and swollen. He rubbed a hand over the shadow beard on his chin, and she felt sorry for the trouble she’d caused him. He shrugged her saddlebag from his shoulder and hung it on a peg near the door, then hooked the gun he carried above it. He turned and stared at her.

She grew uneasy, self-conscious, thankful the doctor hadn’t needed to disrobe her to splint the leg. She felt bare toes scrape the blanket only on that foot, the other stocking still in place. Why didn’t he say something?

He swiped a hand through his hair and cleared his throat, then placed his hand on his hip.

“How bad is she? I have to know.”

Zane cleared his throat again and looked over to Sam and Abby. Then his gray eyes turned in her direction and he drew in a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am—Journey,” he said. “I had to put her down.”

The coldness swept through her again, and this time her injuries weren’t to blame. She covered her face with her palms.

Slender fingers squeezed her shoulder. Journey looked up to see Abby’s teary face. She’d cry herself if she thought it would do any good. She’d come all this way. She couldn’t let herself get caught now. But without Gypsy…

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Abby said. “We’ll help you. Miss Rose has plenty of space and a good little riding horse she’ll let you use, I know it. We’ll work things out with her.”

“I have nothing to bargain with. I can’t stay here. I’m sorry, I should have said before, but I couldn’t possibly—”

“Sure you can,” Sam said. “I’m sorry about your horse. Believe me, I know what it’s like to lose a good mount like that. It feels like you lost your best friend. But the Lord works in mysterious ways, right, Zane?”

Zane nodded. “Don’t worry about anything, Journey. It’ll work out.” His voice rasped as he stood in the flickering light.

You don’t know! How could you take my horse? She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to shove him out the door and demand he bring Gypsy back.

“I’ll stay with you tonight, and we’ll let you get some rest,” Abby said. “Zane and Sam can stay out in the barn. Then in the morning they can ride over and talk to Miss Rose, let her know what’s happened. After church we’ll ride you over in our wagon.”

“But how can I work for her now?”

“It’s the company she needs most,” Abby said.

“And we’ll be around to give her a hand,” Zane added. “I guarantee she’ll not consider you a bother.”

Her options had been shot out from under her. It was all decided. She’d stay in Walten until her leg healed. Until she could afford another horse. Until she paid all the debts this one night had cost her. She sighed. Or until the law caught up with her.