“Take your hands off the lady, or you’re dead.”

From beside her, the stranger’s low-timbered voice was calm, but laced with lethal intent. The hair on Elisabeth’s neck stood up.

No one else was privy to the robber’s predicament. The green-eyed man’s gun was still concealed between the two men, the business end jammed up against the robber’s belly. Elisabeth dared a glance and saw the stranger’s other hand clamped over the man’s wrist, keeping that revolver pointed toward the floor and protectively away from her.

What could only have been seconds, but seemed like an hour, passed with their ragged breaths loud and the tick of a pocket watch encroaching on her consciousness.

“We ain’t got all day, Hank!” one of the other thieves shouted.

The robber leaning over her attempted to move, and pandemonium broke loose. A shot rang out and Elisabeth’s rescuer grunted in pain. The robber tugged at Elisabeth’s collar, and the man beside her fired his gun.

The stench of gunpowder stung her nose. Men shouted. Women screamed. Elisabeth watched the events unfold in a haze of fear and disbelief.

CHERYL ST.JOHN

A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist are the words that Cheryl uses to describe herself. The award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels says she’s been told that she is painfully honest.

Cheryl admits to being an avid collector, displaying everything from dolls to depression glass, as well as white ironstone, teapots, cups and saucers, old photographs and—most especially—books. When not doing a home improvement project, she and her husband love to browse antiques shops. In her spare time, she’s an amateur photographer and a pretty good baker.

She says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and have time to work around her growing family.

Cheryl loves to hear from readers! Email her at SaintJohn@aol.com.

Marrying the Preacher’s Daughter
Cheryl St. John

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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And all these blessings shall come on thee,

and overtake thee, if thou shalt hearken unto the

voice of the Lord thy God. Blessed shalt thou be

in the city, and blessed shalt thou be in the field.

Blessed shall be the fruit of thy body, and the

fruit of thy ground, and the fruit of thy cattle, the

increase of thy kine, and the flocks of thy sheep.

Blessed shall be thy basket and thy store.

Blessed shalt thou be when thou comest in,

and blessed shalt thou be when thou goest out.

—Deuteronomy 28:2–6

This story is lovingly dedicated to the readers

who so patiently waited for Elisabeth’s story.

I appreciate you!

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

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Colorado

June, 1876

“Toss your guns down now!” a male voice shouted. “Hands in the air.”

Elisabeth Hart couldn’t see past the layers of netting on a woman’s hat in front of her, but sounds of alarm rippled through the passengers who sat in the forward rows. The interior of the railcar was sweltering beneath the midday sun, and she blotted her eyes and forehead with her lace-trimmed handkerchief. What should have been a routine stop along the tracks to take on water had become life-threatening.

Thuds sounded as firearms hit the aisle. A man in a battered hat and wearing a faded bandanna over the lower half of his face came into view. Eyes darting from person to person, he snatched up the guns.

Another masked bandit appeared in the wake of the first. Sweat drenched the front of his dusty shirt. “Turn over all your cash and jewelry. Ladies’ bags, too, and none of you gets shot.”

Two more thieves held open gunnysacks and gathered the looted items.

Fear prickled at Elisabeth, but a maelstrom of rebellious anger made her tremble. How dreadful of these men to point guns and make demands. Every fiber of her being objected to their lack of concern for the safety of the passengers and the downright thievery.

She turned to the tall, quiet man who’d been sitting beside her on the aisle side of the bench seat since they’d left Morning Creek, noting the way his hat brim shaded piercing green eyes. He watched the gunman with intense concentration, but made no move to stop what was happening. “Aren’t you going to do something?” she whispered.

The man cast her a glare that would have scorched a lesser woman. One eyebrow rose and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“They’re going to rob us,” she insisted. “You still have your gun. I saw it inside your jacket when you leaned to lower the window earlier.”

He focused on the man wielding the revolver, but spoke to her. “Can you count, lady? Just give ’em what they want so nobody gets hurt.”

“But—”

Pausing beside them, the masked robber pointed his gun directly at her seat partner’s chest. The man gave Elisabeth a pointed glare and calmly raised his hands in the air before looking up.

“Right in here,” the robber said.

The seated man handed him a coin purse and tossed several silver dollars and his pocket watch into the bag.

The barrel of the gun swung to Elisabeth. “Lady?”

Elisabeth’s temper and sensibilities flared, but fear kept her silent. Her heart beat so frantically, she thought her chest might burst. She wanted to refuse, but didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Begrudgingly, she forfeited her black velvet chatelaine pocket with the silver handle and removed the gold bracelet she’d received for her last birthday, dropping both into the burlap sack.

The robber pointed at her neck. “You got a chain under there.”

She clapped her hand protectively over the plain gold ring that rested on a chain beneath her damp and wrinkled cotton shirtwaist. “This was my mother’s!”

“Just give it to him,” the green-eyed stranger cajoled in his maddeningly calm manner.

“Now just wait,” Elisabeth argued with a glare. “You don’t understand. This was my mother’s wedding ring.”

The stranger gave her a quelling look that singed her eyelashes. Passengers called out their displeasure and shouted for her to give up her jewelry same as they had.

The ring was all she had of her mother. Since she’d drowned, Elisabeth had worn it every day…and tried to fill the woman’s shoes. The wedding band symbolized Elisabeth’s childhood and her sacrifices. Parting with it would break her heart…but she didn’t want to be the cause of anyone getting shot. What would her father have to say in this situation?

She closed her eyes. Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. Her true treasures were in heaven. The ring wasn’t as important as the lives at stake.

The robber leaned down close as if he meant to take the ring from her neck. She raised her hand to her throat to prevent him from touching her. She could do this on her own. He grabbed Elisabeth’s collar and yanked so hard that she jerked forward and the top button popped off.

In that same second, a grim click sounded. The bandit paused dead still.

Elisabeth stared into his shining dark eyes, and the moment stretched into infinity. She could hear her blood pulsing through her veins, her breath panting from between her dry lips. Was this the day she was going to die and meet her Maker?

“Take your hands off the lady, or you’re dead.” From beside her, the stranger’s low-timbered voice was calm, but laced with lethal intent. The hair on Elisabeth’s neck stood up.

No one else was privy to the robber’s predicament. The green-eyed man’s gun was still concealed between the two men, the business end jammed up against the robber’s belly. Elisabeth dared a glance and saw the stranger’s other hand clamped over the man’s wrist, keeping that revolver pointed toward the floor and protectively away from her.

What could only have been seconds, but seemed like an hour, passed with their ragged breaths loud and the tick of a pocket watch encroaching on her consciousness.

“We ain’t got all day, Hank!” one of the other thieves shouted.

The robber leaning over her attempted to move, and pandemonium broke loose. A shot rang out and Elisabeth’s rescuer grunted in pain. The robber tugged at Elisabeth’s collar, and the man beside her fired his gun.

The stench of gunpowder stung her nose. Men shouted. Women screamed. Elisabeth watched the events unfold in a haze of fear and disbelief.

The man who’d threatened Elisabeth crumpled, slumping sideways over the back of a seat. A horrifying crimson blotch spread across his shirtfront. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out.

The stranger leaped from his seat with his arm outstretched. “Get down!” he bellowed. A rapid succession of shots nearly deafened her. She cupped her hands over her ears, belatedly realizing he’d been ordering her to get down. Praying for safety for the other passengers, she folded herself onto the floor and knelt with her heart pounding. The shock of seeing that man shot and bleeding stole her breath.

Minutes passed with her thoughts in chaos. Would she see her family again? If the stranger protecting her had been shot, maybe other people were being killed or injured, and all because she’d delayed. She’d been going to give him the ring.

An eerie silence followed in the wake of the previous pandemonium, and it took a few minutes to comprehend what that could mean.

The sound of hesitant footsteps and voices told her the battle was over. She opened eyes she hadn’t realized were squeezed shut, unfolded her body and peered over the seat in front of her.

One of the male passengers had picked up the gunnysacks and now doled possessions back to their owners. In numb silence, she accepted her monogrammed velvet pocket and gold bracelet from his outstretched hand while her mind struggled to comprehend what was going on around her. A conductor and several other railroad men stepped over prone bodies on the floor. The sight made her stomach lurch. Elisabeth could only stare in numb disbelief.

One of the uniformed men made his way to the stranger who was seated on a bench with his back against the side of the railcar, his hand pressed to his ribs. “Find something for bandages!”

Spurred out of her frozen state of shock, Elisabeth straightened and stepped into the aisle. She raised her hem and, holding it in her teeth, tore a wide strip from her petticoat. “Here.”

Others provided handkerchiefs and scarves, and the conductor handed over the wad of material for the fellow to press against the wound. “Sit tight,” he said. “We’ll get you to the doctor in Jackson Springs quick as we can.”

Several men dragged the robbers’ bodies to the back of the car, the dead men’s boot heels painting shiny streaks of blood on the wooden floor. Her stomach roiled and she thought she might be sick.

“Are you all right?”

She swung her gaze to those green eyes, now dark with pain. “Y-yes, I’m fine.”

Had he killed all of those men? He made a halfhearted attempt to sit a little straighter, but grimaced and stayed where he was.

He’d probably saved her life. Without a doubt he’d saved her from losing her precious ring. She perched on the edge of the seat beside his leg, and reached to replace his hand with hers, pressing the cloth against his cream-colored shirt, where it was soaked with blood that flowed from his side. “I’m Elisabeth Hart.”

“Gabe Taggart,” he replied.

“That was a very brave thing you did.”

His expression slid into a scowl. “Didn’t have much choice after the stupid thing you did.”

Taken aback, she was at a loss for words. Before that horrible man had reached for her, she’d been prepared to hand over the ring. Now she felt foolish for ever hesitating.

Steam hissed and the train jerked into motion, picking up speed along the tracks. The stranger winced at the jerking movement. The woman who’d been sitting behind them made her way along the aisle in the rocking car. “Thank you for rescuing us,” she said to Gabe.

Casting a disapproving scowl at Elisabeth, she returned to her seat. Elisabeth glanced at a few of the other occupants of the railcar and noted an assortment of scathing looks directed toward her. None of them understood the value she placed on the ring or the reason for her delay. She hadn’t meant to endanger anyone.

Silently, she prayed for his life, asking God to forgive her for putting him at risk because of her selfish attachment to an earthly treasure. Out of habit, she reached into the jacket pocket of her traveling suit and rubbed a smooth flat stone between her fingers. The keepsake was one of several she’d picked up during her family’s perilous journey to Colorado. The stones reminded her of the sacrifice and dedication that had brought them to a new state and a new life.

The train rocked and turned a bend. Several other passengers expressed their thanks to Gabe as the train neared its destination. When at last they reached Jackson Springs, the tale spread to the baggage men and the families waiting on the platform. Several men carefully loaded Gabe Taggart into the bed of a wagon and drove him away.

Grateful this particular chapter of her life was over and that Taggart would be getting medical attention now, Elisabeth released a pent-up breath and joined the others disembarking.

“Thank the Lord, you’re safe.”

Elisabeth turned with relief and embraced her stepmother, their bodies separated by the girth of Josie’s growing belly beneath her pretty green day dress.

“What happened to that man?” her six-year-old half brother Phillip asked. He had shiny black hair like their father’s and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

“He prevented robbers from stealing our things,” Elisabeth answered, trying to keep panic and guilt from her voice.

“Lis-bet, Lis-bet!” Peter and John, the three-year-old twins, jumped up and down waiting for her to greet them.

She picked up Peter first, kissing his cheek and ruffling his curly reddish hair. After setting him down, she reached for John. He kissed her cheek, leaving a suspiciously peppermint stickiness on her skin.

Josie turned and motioned forward a slender dark-haired young woman that Elisabeth had assumed was waiting for another passenger. “This is Kalli Tyler. She’s my new helper. Your father thought I needed someone full-time, and I didn’t argue. She’s a godsend, truly. You two are going to get along well.”

“I’ve heard all about you,” Kalli said with a friendly dimpled smile. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She kept her voice steady, but her insides quivered in the aftermath of that drama. She collected herself to study the other young woman.

As her father’s assistant, the notary public and a tutor, Elisabeth did have her hands full. It was wise of Father and Josie to hire additional help. At seventeen and sixteen, her sisters, Abigail and Anna, were busy with school, studies and social activities, and their bustling household did need extra assistance to keep things running smoothly.

“I brought a wagon and Gilbert,” Josie told her. “You had bags, and I’m not up to the walk.”

“Of course,” Elisabeth answered. “Phillip, help me find my bags, please.”

She turned toward the pile where luggage was being stacked just as two men carried one of the robbers from the train on a stretcher. He’d been shot in the chest and his vest was drenched with dark glistening blood. The man was quite plainly dead.

Chapter Two

“Stop!” Stunned, Elisabeth grabbed her little brother and spun him away from the sight. “We’d better wait until the crowd thins out so we can find my satchels.” Thankfully, the throng of onlookers had prevented Phillip from seeing what she’d just witnessed.

“I wanna see!” He wriggled, but she held him fast, staying behind him and keeping him faced the other way.

Josie had to give him a stern look before he stopped struggling. Finally, he leaned back against Elisabeth. Regret ate at her stoic confidence. Her ring definitely didn’t seem as important as it had before. Especially if her hesitation had been the cause of these men’s deaths. She swallowed hard.

At last the final body was removed and the crowd thinned. Phillip joined her in locating her satchel and another bag and carried the biggest one with both hands on the handle, the weight of the case banging against his shins.

A tanned hand reached to take the leather bag from him, and Elisabeth glanced up. “Gil!”

Her longtime friend was now a deputy. The silver star on his vest winked in the sunlight. He wore his hat cocked back, revealing his smiling blue eyes, and his familiarity was a comfort. “Heard there was some excitement,” he said.

He hefted both bags into the back of the wagon, and while her family climbed onto the seat and over rails into the wagon bed, she gave him a friendly hug.

“You’re trembling, Lis.”

“I’m a little shaken up, I guess.”

He was the only person ever allowed to call her by a shortened version of her name. At about sixteen, she’d stopped letting his teasing bother her, and thereafter it had become his habit. “I’m glad you weren’t involved.”

“Well, actually…”

“Actually what?”

She thought better of what she’d been about to reveal and pulled away. “Actually, I read an entire book in the two evenings I was in Morning Creek,” she answered, avoiding her involvement.

“You’re a wild one, you are,” he said and helped her up to the bed beside her younger siblings and Kalli. Josie was on the springed seat, and he climbed up beside her. “I’m going to deliver you home, but I need to get right back and help with the paperwork and identifying the—uh—criminals.”

Kalli occupied the boys by singing a nursery rhyme, and Elisabeth was grateful for the distraction she provided. Gil halted the team at the bottom of the hill, where the church sat beside a tiny empty parsonage.

Her father exited the church’s side door and crossed the lawn, his black hair shining in the afternoon sun and a smile on his handsome face.

“Papa, there was robbers on the train!” Phillip called.

Samuel Hart’s smile faltered and he studied Elisabeth with concern. “Are you all right?”

She jumped down to embrace him, and gave him a brief explanation.

“I’ll head over to Dr. Barnes’s to pray for the wounded hero,” her father said. Elisabeth had expected nothing less of her father, a man of compassion and faith.

Gil led the team up the hill toward their home at the top of the tree-lined street. When the shrubbery and mature trees that surrounded their vast yard came into view, Elisabeth sighed with appreciation. Josie had been a wealthy widow when Father had married her, and her inheritances had supplied this dwelling where, in the years since, love had abounded and faith flourished.

While the others bustled around her, Elisabeth studied the asymmetrical house with its bay windows, balconies, stained glass, turrets, porches, brackets and ornamental masonry. The structure was two-storied, except for a third floor at the top of one pointed turret. That was the room where she and her sisters had spent hours reading and dreaming. She still used the space to relax and find a peaceful spot away from the boys.

Elisabeth exhaled with relief at being safely home.

She found her bags just inside her doorway where Gil had set them. She needed to unpack. Father would have duties piled up for her.

Sweat trickled along his spine, but the bandanna he’d tied around his head beneath his black cowboy hat kept perspiration from his eyes. Vision was critical when a keen eye meant the difference between life and death.

Gabe studied the cabin baking beneath the blistering sun. The man he’d been hunting for the past six weeks was holed up in there with a bottle of whiskey and a slug in his thigh. If he hadn’t passed out from pain or bled to death, heat and starvation would drive him out eventually. Gabe rested his rifle against a bolder and reached for his canteen. Empty? He’d only just filled it. His throat was burning and dry; he needed water badly.

Heat more searing than the sun licked up his side. The dry grass around him was on fire! He jumped up to escape the flames and a shot rang out. His prey had exited the cabin and aimed another shot at Gabe, now standing and exposed.

Gabe reached for his rifle. It was gone, and in its place a coiled rattler lifted its head and shook its tail in warning.

Gabe jerked awake.

He lay drenched with sweat and his side throbbed. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. For a moment he didn’t recognize the room, but then the train robbery and his subsequent ride to the doctor’s home came back to him.

“He’s one stubborn fellow.” Vaguely, Gabe remembered the doctor removing the bullet from his side, but now instead of a blood-spattered apron, the man was wearing a clean white shirt and tie.

“Heavy, too.” The black-haired fellow beside him threaded his hair back from his forehead and stared down.

Grimacing, Gabe raised up on one elbow.

“No more getting out of this bed,” the doctor ordered and poured a glass of water from a nearby pitcher. He had silver hair at his temples, but was probably only ten years older than Gabe.

That’s right. He’d made a foolhardy attempt to use the outhouse on his own. Gabe gulped down four glasses of the cool liquid before he lay back. “How long was I out?”

“You blacked out when I removed the bullet yesterday. It cracked your rib, but traveled a ways. Now stay put or I’ll tie you to this bed. Good thing the reverend came along or I’d never have gotten you back in here.”

Reverend? “Am I dying?”

“You’re not dying,” Matthew Barnes assured him. “You’re just weak from losing so much blood. You need to rest and build up your strength.”

“Why’d you call the preacher?”

“He didn’t call me.” The man offered his hand. “I’m Samuel Hart. My daughter was on the train yesterday. She’s one of the passengers you saved from being robbed. She told me all about the incident.”

“Hart,” he said with a scowl. “The blonde?”

“That’s Elisabeth.”

Gabe groaned. “She had a strong aversion to parting with her neck chain.”

Samuel Hart nodded. “She’s worn the ring on that chain ever since my first wife died.”

Gabe glanced around the room, finally noting there was another man lying on a cot several feet away. He looked to be sleeping or unconscious. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Snake bite,” Dr. Barnes replied. “Just got here an hour or so ago.”

Gabe turned his attention back to the preacher. “If the doc didn’t call you, why are you here?”

“I came yesterday, too, though you never woke up. I prayed for you and came back to see how you’re doing.”

Gabe couldn’t recall anyone praying over him before. “I hurt like I’ve been dragged behind a team of horses.”

The man in the other bed moaned, and the doctor moved to attend to him.

“Well, thank God you’re alive,” the preacher said.

Gabe studied him again and attempted to sit up, but pain lanced through his side and took his breath away. He rested a hand over the bandages. “I’ve been shot before, but it never hurt like this.”

“Cracked ribs hurt more than a wound,” the doctor said. “But you can’t take a chance on opening that hole or letting it get infected.”

“I can’t stay here,” Gabe objected. For one thing, if any of the train robbers’ friends had heard of him being shot, the first place they’d search would be the doctor’s. “I have business to see to.”

“Where do you plan to go?” the doc asked him. “You need close supervision for at least a week or better.”

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full with the snake-bit fella,” Gabe replied.

“You can come home with me,” the preacher said.

Gabe gave him a sidelong look.

“I have a big house full of women who can help me look out for you.”

“I do have to head out this afternoon and make calls,” the doc advised. “Plus look after this fella. You’d likely get better care at the Harts’.”

Gabe hated to admit it, but the thought of moving more than his toes made him sweat. He’d pulled through a lot worse than this, though. “All right. The preacher’s house it is.”

Chapter Three

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.

Chapter Four

“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.

Chapter Five

The following morning, Gabe found a pitcher of water outside his door, carried and poured it into the bowl on the washstand. It irritated him that the wound in his side was so debilitating, even to the point of making it painful to raise his arm.

After washing and shaving, he dressed and opened the door. Minutes later, Elisabeth appeared. “My father has excused me from my duties for a few days in order to look after you.” Her tone relayed her displeasure in the fact. She extended a piece of paper. “I got to the land office early. This is how much you owe.”

She’d obviously seen the amount, since the paper wasn’t folded or in an envelope. He glanced up, noting her almost pleased expression.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Guess that will take care of my share of the reward money.” Did she think that was all he had to his name? He went to the bureau, took out his packet of money and counted it. He extended all but a few bills. “That’ll cover the taxes.”

She took the money.

“One more thing.”

She met his gaze, and her eyes reminded him of a clear mountain lake.

“I’m going to need a place to live until I can build.” It was probably going to be a few weeks before he could work much himself, but he could hire someone to get the house started.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She turned back toward the hall. “I’ll bring your breakfast and then run your errands.”

While he ate, a dark-haired woman tapped on the open door. “Mr. Taggart? I thought it was about time I came to introduce myself. I’m Josie Hart.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. You’re a fine cook, and I thank you for lettin’ me stay here.”

“You’re most welcome.” She was a pretty woman with a friendly smile and the girth of an expected new life under her white apron. “I climb the stairs as few times as possible during the day, so I wanted to stop by now.”

“Pleased you did.”

“How is your injury?”

“More bother than I’d like, but I’ll be fine.”

“Elisabeth has gone downtown, so I’ll be listening for your bell, and I’ll have Phillip come if you ring.”

“Shouldn’t need anything, ma’am.”

Elisabeth had mentioned her stepmother. That was why Elisabeth looked nothing like this woman…and why she set such store by that ring around her neck. Her own mother had died.

He knew what it was like to lose a parent. He’d lost both of his when he’d been sixteen and Irene barely ten. He’d tried working two jobs, but it had been no life for a little girl, so he’d hired on with a cattle drive and left his sister in the best place he could find.

It hadn’t taken long for him to learn there was more money to be earned hunting bounties than punching cows. Before long Irene was in one of the best boarding schools in Pennsylvania and he was earning a name for himself.

Now nineteen, his sister had been after him to bring her to live with him. In order to do that, he needed to make a new start, make a home for her and leave his past behind.

Irene didn’t know what he’d done all those years. He’d led her to believe he’d made enough herding cows to invest and create a tidy nest egg. She would never know the truth as long as he had his way. And he always had his way. He’d be the most respectable man she could ask for in a brother, and he’d see to it she found a husband worthy of her.

If it wasn’t for this bullet hole in his side, he’d be buying lumber and roofing nails right this minute. The frustration of this setback ate at him. He wasn’t used to relying on other people.

Especially not persnickety women.

He checked his revolver and tucked it into its holster against his side.

“My ma sent me for the tray.”

Gabe turned at Phillip’s voice.

Eyeing him, the boy picked up the meal tray. “I gotta go to school.”

Gabe nodded and gave him a silent salute.

He shouldn’t have been so blasted tired just from getting up and shaving, but winded, he lay back down. He’d been sleeping a short time when footsteps woke him.

Elisabeth was turning away to leave.

“I’m awake.”

She stopped and turned back. She held a sheaf of papers. “This is your deed and your proof of taxes paid.”

After handing it to him, she opened the curtains and the shutters so he could look over the papers. After a cursory glance, he set them down. “Appreciate it.”

She looked away and then back. “There are homes for sale here and there. The boardinghouse has an opening. There’s a room over the tailor’s for rent.”

“I need a little more room than that. A small house would do.”

“Well, there is one small house. It’s at the bottom of the hill, just down from here, and it’s vacant.”

“I’ll take that then.”

“Don’t you want to see it first?”

“I can hire someone to clean it.”

“That won’t be necessary. The church owns it and takes care of the upkeep. I’ll let my father know you’ll be renting it.”

“As soon as the doctor says I can be on my own, I’ll move in. Maybe in a day or so.”

The time couldn’t pass quickly enough for Elisabeth. She wanted to send this man on his way and get back to her normal routine.

Two days later, Gabe stood at the open window, staring out at the mountainside behind the Hart home. The day was bright and the scent of pine lay heavily on the air. He squinted at the forested foothills that rose above the grouping of houses. From half a dozen clotheslines, laundry flapped under the sun.

“You must be restless by now.”

He turned at the male voice to see Sam Hart just inside the doorway. “You could say that, yes, sir,” he replied.

“Did Elisabeth mention we’re having guests for dinner this evening?”

He shook his head. Elisabeth didn’t speak to him any more than was necessary.

“Think you’re up to joining us? I’m sure you need a different perspective.”

“Don’t want to horn in on your company.”

“Nonsense. You’re a new citizen to Jackson Springs. It’s time you meet a few townsfolk and let them get to know you. My wife and I enjoy having additional guests at our table.”

Gabe nodded. “All right, then.”

That evening Phillip showed up to assist him in dressing, though Gabe was able to prepare on his own. The lad talked nonstop, telling Gabe about a litter of kittens born under their back porch and how he’d been taking scraps to the mother cat.

Gabe handled the stairs more easily than the last time he’d attempted the descent, and Phillip directed him to the sitting room.

Sam stood from where he’d been sitting on a sofa beside a matronly woman and greeted them. He thanked Phillip and made the introductions.

The stout woman offered her hand in greeting and he touched her fingers briefly, ruefully remembering how he’d asked Elisabeth if their guest was a pretty widow woman. “Mrs. Jackson.”

Getting to his feet, her son gave Gabe the once-over. His brown hair had been cut short and oiled into order with a precise part just shy of the center of his head. The lines from the teeth of his comb were visible. He wore shiny brown boots with a pinstriped brown suit. Not a bad-looking fellow. He extended a hand.

It came as no surprise to Gabe that Rhys Jackson didn’t have any calluses on his palms. “Any connection to the town of Jackson Springs?” he asked.

“My father’s father founded this town thirty-six years ago,” Rhys answered.

He wasn’t overly tall, but he was built sturdily, with wide shoulders and a broad chest. “Where are you from?” Rhys asked.

“Born in Illinois but traveled of late.”

“What’s your trade?” he asked.

“Worked in a machine shop for a spell,” he replied. “I’ve made shingles and built bridges. Even mined salt for a time.”

“Couldn’t make up your mind?” Rhys asked.

Gabe picked up on the barb. “Like to keep my options open.”

One of Elisabeth’s sisters was seated on a bench near a window, and she studied Gabe curiously.

Sam glanced at her. “Have you met Anna?”

“I haven’t.”

“Anna is my youngest daughter—at least for the time being. Anna, meet Mr. Taggart.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” she said and rose to greet him with a little bow and a bashful nod.

“Your daughters are equally lovely,” Gabe said to his host.

Anna’s hair was paler than Elisabeth’s, not as dense or wavy however, and her smile was warm and infectious. He guessed her to be about sixteen. She held a closed book, her index finger keeping her spot. Once the attention was turned away from her, she opened the book and apparently picked up where she’d left off. She seemed content and confident. Watching her made him think about his sister and wonder about the years of her childhood and youth, growing up at the academy and not with a family like this one. He’d never had experience with this kind of atmosphere before.

He’d always believed he’d made the best choice for her, and he still did.

He couldn’t have provided her education or safe upbringing if he’d had to work in a mine or a factory. The few times he visited the school, he’d been impressed by the stability and routine. Irene had been given every opportunity that an education and a respectable background could provide.

Now she needed a husband with a good job and a secure future. Someone established and responsible.

He glanced at Rhys. At a break in the conversation, he asked, “What do you do, Mr. Jackson?”

“After his death, I took over my father’s position as president of Rocky Mountain Savings and Trust.”

“Banking,” Gabe acknowledged with a nod.

Another fair-haired young lady came to announce it was time to take their places in the dining room, and he was introduced to Abigail.

“I’ve heard all about you from my little brothers,” she told him with a twinkle in her eye. “Of course their descriptions are exciting and involve guns and robbers.”

She was younger than Elisabeth, not quite as slender, but just as pretty. He had to wonder if Elisabeth would shine in the same way if she allowed herself a charming smile and the same exuberance.

They reached an enormous dining room with a long table suited to dinners such as this. The table itself had a covering made of fancy needlework, and atop it were platters and bowls holding a mound of mashed potatoes, mouthwatering sliced beef, a slaw and other vegetables. He’d never seen so much food outside a restaurant in his life.

Rhys seated his mother and took the chair beside her as though familiar with the arrangement. Gabe waited for instruction.

“Please, sit here,” Josie said, standing behind an empty chair.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He stood behind the chair she indicated, but waited until she sat to take his own seat.

Sam sat at the head of the table, his wife at his right and Mrs. Jackson on his left, putting Rhys directly across from Gabe. Josie was on Gabe’s right.

Sam continued with introductions, and Gabe learned the twin to his left was John. Beside John sat their nanny, Miss Tyler, and then Peter. Phillip sat at the foot of the table, and along the other side were Abigail, Anna and beside Rhys, Elisabeth.

As the food was passed and he helped himself, he considered the seating arrangement. Were Elisabeth and Rhys courting? He couldn’t picture her accompanying him for a buggy ride or a picnic, but then maybe it was only Gabe she behaved so poorly toward. He made a point to pay close attention to her interaction with the others.

She chatted with Anna on her right, and Anna told her about a dress one of her classmates had worn that day. Elisabeth lent her undivided attention to the description.

“We might want to spend a few days in Denver,” Elisabeth suggested. “That shop where we found the periwinkle gabardine might have a similar lace.”

She appeared sincerely interested in helping her sister create a dress like her friend’s.

There was a loud rasp, like the turn of a doorbell, and Elisabeth stood, holding out her hand as though to stop Josie from standing. She dropped her napkin on the seat of her chair, reminding him he hadn’t even unfolded his. “I’ll get it,” she said.

Gabe opened his napkin discreetly.

“Where are you from?” Josie asked from beside him.

“Born in Illinois,” he replied.

“I’m from Nebraska. Sam found me there and brought me to Colorado.”

“A divine appointment to be sure,” Sam said with a fond smile directed at his wife.

Elisabeth returned. “It’s a telegram for Mr. Taggart.” She handed him the folded and sealed paper and went back to her seat.

Uncertain what to expect, Gabe opened the telegram. His examination shot directly to the sender. Irene Taggart.

Tired of waiting STOP Will arrive on the tenth STOP Cannot wait to see you STOP.

His food rested uncomfortably in his belly. He hadn’t told his sister he’d been shot. The last time he’d contacted her he’d told her his arrival date in Jackson Springs and assured her he’d send for her when he had a home ready.

He didn’t have a home ready.

“Bad news?” Sam asked, and Gabe realized everyone’s attention had focused on him and the piece of paper he held.

“No. No, it’s good news, actually.” He folded the telegram and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “My sister will be arriving sooner than I’d expected.”

“You have a sister?” Elisabeth asked, the first time she’d spoken to him since he’d entered the dining room.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

Sam looked at his daughter, and she attempted to cover her surprise. “I just never pictured you with a family.”

“I wasn’t hatched.”

An uncomfortable silence settled on the gathering until Josie interrupted it with, “Do you have family other than your sister?”

“My folks died a long time ago,” he answered. “Irene’s been at boarding school in Chicago.”

“How old is she?” Anna asked.

He thought a second. “Must be she’s nineteen now.”

The news that Gabe Taggart had a sister shouldn’t have surprised Elisabeth, but it did. People weren’t born in a vacuum, but if she’d been going to imagine his family, she’d have thought up scruffy-bearded brothers, not a sister at a boarding school.

“I own land nearby,” he said, as though offering an explanation to the others. “I’d planned to have looked it over by now and started building a house, so I’m behind.”

Rhys focused his attention on the other man. “Where is this land of yours?”

“From what I can tell, the piece is northwest of here,” Gabe replied, then shrugged. “Doc won’t let me ride, so I haven’t seen it.”

“Do you think you could tolerate a buggy ride?” Sam asked. “We could go look at it tomorrow.”

Gabe smiled, his teeth white. “I’d be obliged, Reverend.”

“Your sister is welcome to stay here with us,” Josie offered.

Elisabeth couldn’t quite pinpoint the look that crossed his features. He studied Josie for a moment before speaking. “That’s generous of you, ma’am, but I’ve got a place for us to stay until I build a house.”

“Oh, really?” Beatrice entered the conversation for the first time. “And where will that be?”

“Seems it’s nearby from what Elisabeth tells me.” He tore his gaze from Josie to glance at the older woman.

“The parsonage,” Elisabeth explained. “Mr. Taggart has rented it.”

“Well, that is close by,” Josie said. “You’ll be able to join us for dinner at least once a week, and I won’t hear any different.”

“I can’t argue with an invitation like that.” The smile he gave Elisabeth’s stepmother softened his features. His green eyes actually sparkled with appreciation. Elisabeth experienced an odd feeling, like the falling sensation in a dream, and placed both hands on the tabletop to steady herself.

“This is the best meal I’ve eaten in months,” Gabe said. “The Hart females sure know their way around a kitchen.”

“I made rice pudding,” Abigail added, quickly vying for his attention.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and appreciation.

“It’s still warm.” Abigail glanced at her stepmother. “May I serve it now?”

“Just as soon as we clear away a few dishes,” Josie replied.

Elisabeth slid out her chair with the backs of her knees and stood. “Abigail and I will clear the dishes. You stay seated.”

Kalli got up. “I’ll help.”

In the kitchen, Abigail said to Kalli, “Mr. Taggart is handsome, don’t you think?”

Kalli blushed. “Indeed,” she agreed. “It’s not fair that a man has eyelashes like that.”

Elisabeth scraped plates and rinsed them in the pail in the sink before stacking them. Handsome? She supposed if he’d ever done anything but scowl at her, she’d have a different opinion of the man, but he hadn’t smiled at her like he’d smiled at the others this evening. Not that she’d wanted him to. She’d never have imagined her stepmother and siblings to be so easily fooled.

On her next trip for more dishes, she deliberately looked at his eyelashes. He caught her stare, and she turned away in discomfit.

Abigail carried her bowl of steaming cinnamon-scented rice pudding to the table and Elisabeth placed a stack of painted china jelly dishes beside it. Abigail sat, so Elisabeth spooned pudding and carried the bowls around the table, placing them in front of the diners. When she reached Gabe, she stood as far away as possible and leaned in to set the dish before him.

He turned a curious glance upward. “Thank you.”

“We don’t need any bridges.”

Elisabeth glanced up to discover Rhys speaking to Gabe.

“And there are no salt mines nearby. Will you be making shingles in Jackson Springs?”

She sensed a mocking edge, as though Rhys was belittling the other man’s skills or perhaps even questioning his intent.

“Actually, I’m planning to invest,” Gabe replied.

Rhys lifted his eyebrows. “As in stocks?”

“Perhaps. But I’m more interested in finding someone who needs capital to get a business started. I don’t want to work the business, so as long as it’s a sound principle. I’d be a silent partner. Meanwhile I’ll buy a few horses and try my hand at ranching.”

Gabe had Rhys’s attention now. The man sat forward, ignoring the dessert placed before him to focus on Gabe. “And you have the capital to fund a venture such as that?”

It was a rude question, akin to asking the man how much money he had, but Rhys was a banker, and she supposed it was his nature to question.

“That I do, Mr. Jackson.”

“Rhys. Call me Rhys.”

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