The Maverick Preacher

Adie raised her chin. “I am.”

The flash in his eyes told her that he’d assumed she’d given birth out of wedlock. Adie resented being judged, but she counted it as the price of protecting little Stephen. If Mr. Blue chose to condemn her, so be it. She’d done nothing of which to be ashamed. With their gazes locked, she waited for the criticism that didn’t come.

Instead he laced his fingers on top of his Bible. “Children are a gift, all of them.”

“I think so, too.”

“He sure can cry. How old is he?”

Adie didn’t like the questions at all, but she took pride in her son. “He’s three months old. I hope the crying doesn’t disturb you.”

“I don’t care if it does.” He sounded defiant.

She didn’t understand. “Most men would be annoyed.”

“Crying’s better than silence…I know.”

MILLS & BOON

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VICTORIA BYLIN

Victoria Bylin fell in love with God and her husband at the same time. It started with a ride on a big red motorcycle and a date to see a Star Trek movie. A recent graduate of UC Berkeley, Victoria had been seeking that elusive “something more” when Michael rode into her life. Neither knew it, but they were each reading the Bible.

Five months later, they got married and the blessings began. They have two sons and have lived in California and Virginia. Michael’s career allowed Victoria to be both a stay-at-home mom and a writer. She’s living a dream that started when she read her first book and thought, “I want to tell stories.” For that gift, she will be forever grateful.

Feel free to drop Victoria an e-mail at VictoriaBylin@aol.com or visit her Web site www.victoriabylin.com.

The Maverick Preacher

Victoria Bylin

Be kind and compassionate to one another,

forgiving each other, just as God in Christ

forgave you.

—Ephesians 4:32

To my husband, Michael…

Your faith inspires me,

and your love sustains me.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Denver, Colorado

July 1875

If Adelaide Clarke had been asleep like a sensible woman, she wouldn’t have heard the thump on her front porch. As moonlight streamed through her window, she stopped breathing to block out the smallest sound. Last week a shadowy figure had broken the same window with a rock. She had an enemy. Someone wanted to drive her out of Denver and the boardinghouse called Swan’s Nest.

Trembling, Adie listened for another noise. None came.

The thump had sounded like a rotten tomato. The sooner she cleaned up the mess, the less damage it would do to the paint, but she worried about waking up her boarders. The women in her house would fill wash buckets and gather rags. They’d scrub the door with her, but all four of them would tremble with fear.

Whoever had caused the thump could be lurking in the dark, waiting to grab her. Adie had been grabbed before—not in Denver but back in Kansas. Shuddering, she closed her eyes. If she’d been on speaking terms with God, she’d have prayed until she dozed. Instead she counted backward from a hundred as her mother had taught her to do.

Before she reached ninety, she heard a low moan. The timbre of it triggered memories of gutters, bruised ribs and the morning she’d met Maggie Butler. Adie knew about moaning. So did the women in her house. Mary had arrived bruised and angry in the dead of night. Pearl, thin and sick with pregnancy, had appeared at dawn. Bessie and Caroline, sisters from Virginia, had arrived in Denver on a midday train. Bessie had served with Clara Barton in the War Between the States and suffered from nightmares. Caroline had seen her husband lynched.

If a woman needed shelter, Adie opened her door wide, just as Maggie Butler had once opened her door to Adie.

She slid out of bed and reached for her wrapper. As she slipped her arms through the sleeves, she looked at the baby in the cradle next to her bed. No matter how Stephen Hagan Clarke had come into the world, he belonged to Adie. Grateful he hadn’t been colicky as usual, she touched his back to be sure he was breathing. He’d been born six weeks early and had struggled to survive. Maggie Butler, his natural mother, hadn’t been so fortunate.

Comforted by the rise of his narrow chest, Adie hurried down the staircase, a sweeping curve that spoke to the house’s early days of glory. She crossed the entryway, cracked open the front door and looked down at the porch, staying hidden as she took in a body shrouded in a black cloak. A full moon lit the sky, but the eaves cast a boxlike shadow around the tangle of cloth and limbs. Adie couldn’t make out the details, but she felt certain the person was a woman in need. She had owned Swan’s Nest for three months and word had spread that she rented only to females.

She dropped to a crouch. “Wake up, sweetie. You’re safe now.”

Her visitor groaned.

Startled by the low timbre, Adie touched the dark fabric covering the bend of a shoulder. Instead of the wool of a woman’s cloak, she felt the coarse texture of a canvas duster. She pulled back as if she’d been scalded. In a way, she had—by Timothy Long and his indulgent parents, by the people of Liddy’s Grove, by Reverend Honeycutt but not his wife. Adie hadn’t given birth to Stephen, but she could have. Timothy Long had accosted her in the attic. If she hadn’t fought him off and fled, he’d have done worse things than he had.

Moaning again, the man rolled to his side. Adie sniffed the air but didn’t smell whiskey. If she had, she’d have thrown water in his face and ordered him off her porch. Before meeting Maggie, she’d supported herself by cleaning cafés and saloons, any place that would pay a few coins so she could eat. The smell of liquor had turned her stomach then, and it still did.

Adie worried that the man had been shot, but she didn’t smell blood, only dirt and perspiration. Judging by his horse and the duster, he’d been on the road for a while and had come straight to Swan’s Nest, not from a saloon in the heart of Denver. Maybe he was a drifter or even an outlaw on the run. Adie didn’t rent to men and didn’t want to start now, but her conscience wouldn’t let her close the door.

Neither would her common sense. What if the stranger died? A dead body meant calling the sheriff. Calling the sheriff meant exposing Swan’s Nest to scrutiny. A reporter would show up from the Denver Star. The next thing she knew, she’d be answering questions that came dangerously close to revealing the truth about her son and Maggie Butler. Calling for help, even the doctor, put Adie and her son at risk. She saw only one solution. The man had to wake up and leave. Using all her strength, she rolled him to his back. “Wake up!”

He didn’t stir.

None too gently, she patted his cheek. Black whiskers scraped her palm, another sign of his maleness and time spent on the trail. She pulled back her hand. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

The circumstances called for drastic measures. She hurried to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, then opened the high cupboard where she kept smelling salts. She lifted a vial, picked up the glass and went back to the porch. If the ammonia carbonate didn’t wake the man up, she’d splash his face with the water.

Dropping back to her knees, she tried the smelling salts first. They stank worse than rotten eggs.

Her visitor got a whiff and jerked his head to the side. His eyes popped wide, revealing dilated pupils and a sheen of confusion.

“Wake up!” she said again.

He looked at her with more hope than she’d ever seen on a human face. “Emily?”

“I’m not Emily,” Adie replied. “Are you ill or shot?”

He groaned. “I’m not shot.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Not a drop.” His voice faded. “No laudanum, either.”

Why had he added that? Thoughts of opium hadn’t crossed Adie’s mind. “Here,” she said, holding out the water. “This might help.”

He reached for it but couldn’t raise his head. Setting aside her reluctance, she put her arm behind his shoulders and lifted. As he raised his hand to steady the cup, she felt muscles stretch across his back. His shoulder blades jutted against her wrist, reminding her again that he had a physical strength she lacked.

He drained the glass, then blew out a breath. “Thank you, miss.”

She lowered his shoulders to the porch, then rocked back on her knees. “Who are you?”

“No one important.”

Adie needed facts. “What’s your name?”

“Joshua Blue.” He grimaced. “God bless you for your kindness.”

Adie’s lips tightened. Considering how God had “blessed” her in the past, she wanted nothing to do with Him. “I’m not interested in God’s blessing, Mr. Blue. I want you to leave.”

“Blessings aside,” he murmured, “thank you for the water.”

Adie didn’t want to be thanked. She wanted to be rid of him. “Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

“Can you ride?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “I came to rent a room.”

“I don’t rent to men.”

“I’ll pay double.”

The money tempted her in a way nothing else could. Before meeting Maggie, Adie had been homeless. She valued a roof and a bed the way rich women valued silver and jewels. It had taken a miracle—and Maggie Butler—to make Swan’s Nest Adie’s home. She owned it. Or more correctly, she owned half of it. Franklin Dean, the new owner of Denver National Bank, held the promissory note Adie had signed with his father. The older man had viewed banking as a way to help hardworking people, but he’d died a month ago. His son lacked the same compassion, and Adie had clashed with him the instant they’d met. They’d done battle again when he’d tried to call on Pearl against the girl’s will.

Adie’s blood boiled at the thought of Dean, all slick and shiny in his black carriage. She’d managed to keep up with her mortgage but not as easily as she’d hoped when she’d signed the papers. Her guests paid what they could and she didn’t ask for more. So far, she’d made ends meet. She’d also served broth and bread for supper when the pantry ran low. No one ever complained.

A few extra dollars would be welcome, but she had to be careful. Swan’s Nest lay on the outskirts of Denver, several blocks from the saloons but close to the trails that led to Wyoming and places notorious for outlaws. Before she rented a room to Joshua Blue, she needed to know more about him. Double the money could mean double the trouble.

“Are you an outlaw?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

Adie wrinkled her brow. Human beings lied all the time. Timothy Long had lied to her in the attic she’d called her room. Reverend Honeycutt had lied to the town. Maggie had been as close as a sister, but even she’d had secrets. Adie studied the man on her porch for signs of deception. In her experience, evil men bragged about their misdeeds. Joshua Blue had offered a humble denial. She took it as a good sign, but she still had to consider Stephen. He’d been born too soon and had almost died. She feared bringing sickness into the house.

“What about your health?” she asked. “If you’re ill—”

His jaw tightened. “If I had the pox, I wouldn’t be here.”

“But you fainted.”

He grunted. “Stupidity on my part.”

“That’s not much of an answer.”

“It’s honest.”

Looking at his gaunt face, she wondered if he’d passed out from hunger and was too proud to admit it. She’d had that problem herself. Sometimes she still did. If she skipped breakfast to save a few pennies, she got weak-kneed and had to gobble bread and jam. How long had it been since Joshua Blue had eaten a solid meal?

“All right,” she said. “You can stay but only until you’re well.”

“I’d be grateful.”

“It’ll cost you four dollars a week. Can you afford it?”

“That’s more than fair.”

“You’ll get a bed and two meals a day, but your room won’t be as nice as some. It’s small and behind the kitchen.”

“Anything will do.”

Maybe for him, but Adie took pride in her home. She’d learned from Maggie that beauty lifted a woman’s spirits. The upstairs rooms all had pretty quilts and matching curtains Adie had stitched herself. She picked flowers every day and put them in the crystal vases that had come with the house. She thought about brightening up Joshua Blue’s room with a bunch of daisies, then chided herself for being foolish. She had no desire to make this man feel welcome.

“The room’s not fancy,” she said. “But it’s cozy.”

“Thank you, Miss—?”

She almost said “it’s Mrs.” but didn’t. Necessary or not, she hated that lie. “I’m Adie Clarke.”

“The pleasure’s mine, Miss Clarke.”

For the first time, he spoke naturally. Adie heard a clipped accent that reminded her of Maggie. Fear rippled down her spine, but she pushed it back. Lots of people traveled west from New England. When she walked down the Denver streets, she heard accents of all kinds.

“Can you stand now?” she said to him.

“My horse—”

“I’ll see to it after I see to you.”

His eyes filled with gratitude. “I’ll pay for feed and straw. Double whatever you charge.”

Adie had forgotten about his offer to pay twice what she usually asked. She felt cheap about it, especially if he’d fainted from hunger. “There’s no need to pay double.”

“Take it,” he said.

“It’s not right.”

“It’s more than fair,” he insisted. “I’m intruding on your privacy in the dead of night. Please…allow me this small dignity.”

Adie saw no point in arguing. If Mr. Blue wanted to protect his pride with money, she’d oblige. “Let’s get you into that room.”

She stood and offered her hand. When he clasped her fingers, she felt strength inside his leather glove and wondered why he hadn’t eaten. Grimacing, he pushed to a sitting position and put on his black hat. Using her for leverage, he rose to his full height and faced her. Adie’s gaze landed on his chin, then dipped to the Adam’s apple above the buttoned collar of his white shirt. She judged him to be six feet tall, rail thin and too proud to lean on her.

She let go of his hand and turned. “I’ll show you to your room.”

She stepped over the threshold, paused at a side table and lit a candle. As she held it up, Joshua Blue stepped into the room and took off his hat. The candle flickered with the rush of air. Light danced across his craggy features and revealed a straight nose that struck her as aristocratic. His dark hair curled around his temples and brushed his collar, reminding her of crows gleaning seed from her mother’s wheat field. Everything about him was black or white except for his eyes. They were as blue as his name. In a vague way, his gaze reminded her of Maggie except her friend’s eyes had been pure brown. Stephen’s eyes hadn’t found their color yet. Adie hoped they’d turn brown, a closer match to her hazel ones.

Blocking her worries, she led her new boarder down a corridor with green and pink floral wallpaper, through the kitchen and down a short hall that led to his room. As she opened the door, she raised the candle. The tiny space looked as barren as she feared. The room had a cot and a dresser, but mostly she used it to store odds and ends she donated to charity or tried to sell herself. Dust motes floated in the gold light, and a cobweb shimmered in the corner of the ceiling. Not even daisies would have lifted the gloom. A mouse scurried away from the glow.

Adie felt embarrassed. “I’ll clean it out tomorrow.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s dirty.”

“Not as dirty as I am,” he said dryly.

She stepped into the room, lifted a rag from the pile on a trunk and swatted the cobweb. It broke into pieces and fell on her face. The vague sensation sent her back to the attic in the Long house, where Timothy Long had threatened to smother her with a pillow if she cried out. The storeroom had the same smell as the attic, the same dust and collection of unwanted things.

Adie wanted to run from the room, but Joshua Blue was standing in the doorway with his hat in one hand and his eyes firmly on her face. He’d trapped her. Or more correctly, she’d trapped herself. What a fool she’d been. Thanks to Timothy Long she knew better.

Show no fear. Stay strong.

The voice in Adie’s head belonged to Maggie. As always, it gave her strength. She coughed once to recover her composure, then looked straight at Mr. Blue. “Do you need anything else?”

He looked pinched. “Do you have another candle?”

His tone made her wonder if the dark bothered him as much as it bothered her. She indicated the top of the dresser. “There’s a lamp—”

“I see it.”

He lit the match and wick, then adjusted the flame. Adie stepped to the door. As she turned to say good-night, Mr. Blue took off his hat and tried to stand taller. He looked weary to the bone and frail enough to pass out again.

She had no desire to fix him a meal, but he needed to eat. “Would you like a sandwich?”

His face turned pale. “No, thanks.”

Adie wondered if he had a bad stomach. “Broth?”

He swallowed as if his mouth had started to water. She could see him thinking, weighing her inconvenience against his hunger. She took pity on him. “How about bread and butter? Maybe with strawberry jam?”

“No bread,” he said. “But I’d be grateful for a glass of milk.”

Adie knew all about bellyaches. In addition to a cow, she kept a goat for Stephen. “I have goat’s milk. Would that—”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s in the kitchen.”

Holding the candle, she led the way down the hall. She set the brass holder on the table, indicated a chair and opened the icebox where she had two pitchers. The prettiest one, blue crystal etched with cornflowers, held the cow’s milk she served her boarders. The other was smaller and made of pewter. She set it on the counter, took a glass from the shelf and poured.

As the stranger lowered himself to the chair, she heard a stifled groan. She turned and saw him sitting straight, but he looked as pinched as Stephen with a bout of colic.

“Here,” she said, handing him the milk.

He took it, sipped, then drank more deeply. As he lowered the glass, he closed his eyes and exhaled.

The contented silence reminded Adie of her son after a late-night feeding. She glanced at the clock. Soon Stephen would wake up hungry and she still had to put the horse in the carriage house. If she hurried, she’d be back before her son stirred. If he woke up early, Rose or Pearl would check on him.

“I have to see to your horse,” Adie said to her guest. “Will you be all right?”

“I’m much better.”

His voice rang with authority, as if he were used to speaking and being heard. Adie could scarcely believe she’d taken him for a meager drifter. With the candle flickering, he filled the kitchen with the shadows of a giant. He frightened her, yet he’d just guzzled milk like a baby. Confused by her thoughts, she set the pitcher on the table. “Help yourself.”

He lifted it and poured. “Just so you know, Miss Clarke. I’m an honorable man. You have nothing to fear from me.”

As he raised the glass from the table, his eyes found hers and lingered. Adie felt as if he were looking for her soul. He wouldn’t find it. She’d left that part of her heart in Liddy’s Grove. Ever since, she’d drawn lines and expected people to stay behind them.

“I have a few rules,” she said.

“Whatever you say.”

“Under no circumstances may you go upstairs.”

“Of course.”

“Dinner’s at six o’clock. If you miss it, you can make yourself a sandwich.”

“That’s fair.” His eyes twinkled. “Anything else?”

If she made the list long enough, maybe he’d leave. Adie searched her mind for male habits she recalled from her days as an orphan. She’d lived with six families in four years. She’d also cleaned saloons and cheap hotels. She knew about bad habits.

“No cursing, drinking or smoking,” she said.

“That suits me fine.”

“No shouting,” she added. “I can’t abide by it.”

Joshua Blue looked amused. “I’ll try.”

“If you use a dish, wash it.”

“All right.”

“I don’t want you sitting on the front porch. If word gets out I rented to you, other men will knock on the door.”

“I’ll keep to my room or the stable. How’s that?”

“Fine.” Except his courtesy annoyed her.

The man’s eyes locked on to hers. “I know where I stand, Miss Clarke. You’ve opened your home and I won’t betray that trust. I have urgent business. Once I see to it, I’ll be on my way.”

What business? Adie wanted to ask but sealed her lips. If she didn’t ask questions, she wouldn’t have to answer them. “Then we’re agreed.”

“We are.” He lifted the glass of milk, sealing the deal with a mock toast, a gesture that looked strangely natural considering his appearance.

Adie headed for the front yard where he’d left his horse. In the moonlight she saw a gray mare waiting patiently. Glad to be dealing with another female, she led the horse to the carriage house. The hens twittered as she passed the chicken house. Several yards away she saw her milk cow at the fence marking a small pasture. The cow spent most of her time grazing on the sweet grass, but Adie kept the goat, a cranky thing named Buttons, inside the outbuilding. Her son depended on the nanny goat and she couldn’t risk it getting loose.

When she reached the carriage house, she lit the lantern inside the door, then turned back to the mare and inspected the things strapped to the saddle. Her gaze went first to a rifle jutting from a plain leather scabbard. A canteen hung from the saddle horn and a set of saddlebags draped the horse’s middle.

Adie felt ashamed of herself for what she was about to do, but a woman with a secret couldn’t be too careful. Only her friends knew Stephen wasn’t her natural born son. Somewhere he had a father, a man Maggie had loved and protected with her silence. Adie didn’t know the whole story, but she’d loved her friend and had admired her.

She felt otherwise about Maggie’s powerful family. Maggie had said little about them, but she’d once let it slip that her brother was a minister. Rather than shame him with an illegitimate child, she’d left home. Maggie never mentioned her family’s wealth, but Adie had seen her fine things—silk chemises and embroidered camisoles, stockings without a stitch of darning, shoes with silver buttons. Adie had been in awe, but it was Maggie’s education that made her envious. Her friend had spoken French, played the harp, knew mathematics and could recite dozens of poems.