PRAISE FOR
THE WINTER PEARL

“Molly Noble Bull has written a charming story with twists and turns for a character the reader will really root for.”

—Lauraine Snelling, bestselling author of The Red River North series

“The Winter Pearl is a jewel of a novel! I literally couldn’t put it down and found myself reaching for a tissue more than once. Molly has beautifully blended a heart-stopping adventure and a glorious romance filled to the brim with God’s love and redemption—all set against the backdrop of the Old West. I can’t wait to see more from this talented author.”

—Diane Noble, award-winning author of The Butterfly Farm

“I cared about Molly Noble Bull’s heroine, Honor McCall, from page one of The Winter Pearl to the end of her satisfying and surprising journey where she discovered the precious pearl of grace set in a filigree of hope, redemption and forgiveness.”

—Tamela Hancock Murray, award-winning inspirational author of Virginia Hearts

The Winter Pearl
Molly Noble Bull

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my husband, Charlie Bull, to our family—

Bret, Burt, Bren, Jana, Linda, Bethanny, Dillard, Hailey

and Bryson. And to our pastor, Rev. Jerry Scott.

But to God give the glory.

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

Falling Rock, Colorado

Late October 1888

“I’m not one to go without a woman for long, missy.”

When Honor McCall had first heard her uncle say those words, she’d been sitting beside him in the wagon on the drive from the farm to the cemetery in nearby Falling Rock. She’d trembled then. Now, standing at Aunt Harriet’s grave and digesting what Uncle Lucas must have meant, she realized she’d never stopped shaking.

She did not want to marry her late aunt’s husband. If only the God that Aunt Harriet had told her about would provide her with a means of escape.

Although her aunt had been a Christian all her life, Lucas wasn’t allowing a funeral service. There was no one to attend the burial because only the grave diggers knew about the death. It was surprising that Lucas had driven Honor to the cemetery to watch the men dig the hole. Knowing him, that was more than she’d expected.

As the diggers lowered the crude, wooden coffin into the ground, Honor saw a flash of gray behind a group of trees. In a moment, it became a young man in a gray suit, coming toward them, and she knew she’d never seen him before.

Her heart knotted. Lucas would not be pleased by this turn of events.

The stranger had thick brown hair and broad shoulders that reminded her of Lucas. Though her uncle was at least twenty years older, both men were tall and well built. But the young man’s clothes looked spotless, and he held what appeared to be a black Bible in one hand and an umbrella in the other. While Lucas, also in a gray suit, had liquor stains down the front of his jacket, and he gripped a half-empty whiskey bottle as though it were glued to his right hand.

Dreading a confrontation, Honor wished the young man would just go away. At the same time, she hoped he would stay. There was something in his presence that made her feel safe.

She’d been so overwhelmed by the death of her aunt, she’d hardly noticed the weather. Now she felt the nip of a fresh norther that had just blown in. Dark clouds gathered, and an icy wind stirred the pines that surrounded them. Her shivers deepened.

When the younger man reached the graveside, Lucas glowered at him. “What do ya think you’re doing here, mister?”

“My name is Jethro Peters, but my friends call me Jeth. I’m just visiting here in Falling Rock. I live over in Hearten. I’m the pastor there, and when the diggers told me someone died, I came to see if I could be of help.”

Lucas studied the minister, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging slack, the way it always did when something unusual happened to him. After a moment, his thick eyebrows drew together. His face turned red, and a crease appeared in the center of his forehead.

“Your kind ain’t welcome here,” he said, his voice rough and gravelly. “We don’t need no preacher.”

“Yes, Uncle, we do.” Honor could hardly believe she’d found the courage to speak up. She knew she could be beaten for her words, but for her aunt’s sake, she’d had to say what was in her mind.

Lucas scowled. “What did you say, girl?”

“I said that we need a preacher here today—at least, I do.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Aunt Harriet was a Christian, and she would have wanted someone to say a prayer over her grave and read from the Good Book.”

“I would be glad to do it,” Jeth Peters said softly, “if you will allow it, sir.”

Honor expected Lucas to curse the preacher and drive him away, but strangely, he kept silent for a few moments, staring at the younger man. Then he looked down at his dirty black boots. “All right,” he mumbled. “Say what you have to and read from that there book you got. Then git. I ain’t never had no use for do-gooders.”

Jeth Peters nodded. In a clear voice, he read from the Bible. When he finished, he said a prayer.

The Bible reading sounded strange to Honor’s ears, but the prayer made her feel warm all over. She longed to say “Amen” loud enough for her uncle to hear, but decided against it. One more word could set Lucas off, and that might embarrass the minister.

Rain started to fall before the diggers had finished covering the grave.

The minister opened his black umbrella and offered it to Honor. “Here,” he said. “We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

Honor shook her head. “I couldn’t take your umbrella, sir, but thank you for offering. And thank you for coming today. I’m sure it was just what my aunt would have wanted.”

“My pleasure.”

The preacher’s wide smile lifted her spirits for an instant. Then thoughts of what Lucas might do to her at home washed away those good feelings.

“Will you take my umbrella if I stand under it with you?” the young man asked.

Stand under it with him? He obviously had no idea how dangerous such an act could be for her. The young minister couldn’t know that Lucas would never allow her to stand close to any man, especially a man of the cloth. But defiance suddenly gripped her.

To her own surprise, she lifted her head and said firmly, “Yes. I would be happy to share your umbrella with you. It is kind of you to ask.”

Lucas took a swallow of whiskey from the bottle without comment. She wondered if he was aware of what had been said. Or was he too drunk to have really taken in what was going on? No matter, sooner or later, he would insist that Honor pay for the things she’d said and done here today, of that she was certain. She shivered again.

Jeth stood under a spreading pine, watching as the young woman and her drunken companion climbed into the wagon. She’d called the man Uncle. Other than that, Jeth hadn’t learned anything about them. Still, he wanted to know more, especially about her.

Her eyes were honey brown, fringed with long dark lashes, and her skin was as pale as alabaster—and flawless. So was her softly rounded figure, in his opinion. Her hair had been hidden under a cotton bonnet, but a few dark auburn curls had escaped—enough for him to know that her hair was long and probably very soft to the touch. And she’d smelled as sweet as rosewater. His experience as a pastor had taught him to notice things about people that other folks might miss—like the fact that the young woman’s face, despite all its beauty, didn’t contain any laugh lines.

It wasn’t surprising that a deep sadness appeared to encase her; her aunt had died. But Jeth wondered if perhaps joy wasn’t something she knew very little about—even in the best of times.

Was she married? Betrothed? He hadn’t had such thoughts about a woman since before he met his late wife….

Jeth glanced away. A lump now dwelled in his throat as well as his heart. Pain, sudden and strong, blocked out everything. When he glanced back, the wagon had disappeared beyond a clump of pine trees.

In the four-room cabin Honor called home, the stale odor of alcohol surrounded her. Aunt Harriet had always kept the place clean and neat, but no matter how often she’d scrubbed the pine floors, Lucas had always found a reason to complain.

Honor glanced at the black iron skillet, hanging over the cookstove. The tears that she’d been holding in all day spilled down her cheeks. Quickly, she wiped them away. Memories of her aunt standing in front of the stove, cooking for her family with that very skillet saturated her mind.

Her gaze traveled to the door of the room Aunt Harriet had shared with Lucas. He was in there now—passed out on the bed, if she was lucky. Dabbing her eyes with a white handkerchief, Honor straightened her back. Lucas could come in here at any moment, but he wouldn’t find her crying—not ever. It had been heartbreaking to say goodbye to Aunt Harriet, but now Honor’s strongest emotion was a desperate fear—fear of being alone in the house with Lucas.

He had started to look at her in peculiar, leering ways shortly after her fifteenth birthday. She’d managed to stay out of his presence and avoid his attention most of the time. But what would happen now that her aunt wasn’t here to protect her?

At that moment, Lucas tottered out of the bedroom on shaky legs, eyeing the table and the whiskey bottle in the center of it. Holding the back of a kitchen chair for support, he reached for the bottle, tipped it back as he drank. Then he wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand.

He’d started drinking before breakfast that morning. Now, he reeked of whiskey—even his sweat seemed to give off fumes.

Standing in front of the stove, trying to appear calm, Honor thought about Lucas and his lustful glances through the years. She knew she would only encounter worse in the future. She was like a caged animal searching for a way out.

Lucas glared at Honor. “After what happened at the cemetery today, you owe me for not beating you the minute we came in the house.”

She looked at his big hands. A shudder ran down her spine. His hands were strong and deeply tanned from the Colorado sun.

His face was bronzed, too, and with his high cheekbones and straight nose, some would still call him handsome, though his thick brown hair had thinned on top.

Some would call him successful also, since Lucas knew farming. Honor gave him his due in that regard. Yet when she looked at him, all she saw were a rough, unshaven face and bloodshot, blue eyes, with a twisted malevolence lurking behind them.

“Your aunt was sick for six months before she died, and I ain’t had no woman since she took to her bed,” Lucas began ominously. “But I aim to do the right thing by you. So we’ll drive into town in the morning and get hitched. But not by no preacher. Don’t even ask.”

Lucas studied Honor’s face—like a bobcat with a rabbit in its sights. “You’re willing to marry me, ain’t ya, girl?”

Never! Honor’s mind screamed, but she swallowed. “Yes, Uncle,” she said softly.

“And from now on, call me Lucas. It ain’t fittin’ for my future wife to call me Uncle.”

“Very well, Lucas.”

When he slammed the empty bottle on the kitchen table, it shattered. He laughed. “You’ve lived here for free long enough,” he said. “It’s time you paid for your keep. Now, pick up them broken pieces of glass.”

She wanted to shout at him, to tell him she would never marry him. Never! She would yell and scream and fight to her last breath before she’d let him touch her. But she bit her lower lip. What good would yelling do? Lucas was big and powerful, and he had no mercy in him. Her only chance was to escape from him.

Honor took the broom from its place beside the woodstove. Sweeping up the tiny bits of glass, while he looked on, she made her decision. She would run away at the first moment of opportunity that she saw. In his drunken state, Lucas might not notice that she was gone for a while.

“Now,” he demanded, “fix me my supper.”

“I’m—I’m out of potatoes for the stew, Uncle,” she said, feigning a light tone. “I’ll need to go out back and get some.”

“Then be quick about it. I’m hungry.”

Honor still wore her best dress, the tan one she’d worn to the burial. When she wrapped her shoulders in her brown woolen shawl and pulled on her brown and yellow print bonnet, she snatched the vegetable basket from the shelf by the back door. Without another glance at Lucas, she went out.

The root cellar was to the right of the garden. If he was watching now, when his mind cleared Lucas would remember that she had turned in the opposite direction. Honor prayed he wouldn’t notice. Walking, then running, toward the wooded area behind the house, she discarded the basket as she fled.

The cool October air smelled of nuts and pinecones. The wind murmured through the bare branches of the trees, tossing the soft curls around her face. Below her bonnet, her long auburn hair blew every which way.

Honor darted a fearful glance behind her. Nothing moved. She slowed her pace, tying the ends of her knit shawl in a knot. The soft garment did little to shield her from the slicing breeze, but it was better than no covering at all.

By the time Honor reached the turnoff that led into town, her breath was coming in deep gasps. She knew better than to stay on the road. If Uncle Lucas had a shred of wits about him, he would look for her there first. Besides, she couldn’t take the chance of being spotted. Travelers moved along the road all the time. Her best bet, she decided, was to follow a line of trees.

Darkness had painted the sky a grayish-black by the time she arrived in Falling Rock. The bare trees looked like skeletons in the dim light of three street lamps. It was late enough that all proper folk were off the streets. The only men and women in public now would be those inside the Silver Nugget Saloon on the corner—or those standing outside that establishment. Honor skirted around and behind the saloon, making her way toward the church. Her aunt had told her that the building was kept open day and night. She would be safe there.

Honor hoped that by now Lucas would have passed out. Her best chance for escape hinged on his not coming after her until morning—and on her not being seen by anyone else. There were plenty of men around who thought like Lucas, and a young woman of barely nineteen years would be a quick target for them. Her aunt had cautioned her that such men were always out there.

As soon as she entered the church, Honor found a pew toward the middle of the chapel, and stretched out on it. Anyone who came in would not be likely to see her. She couldn’t afford to fall asleep, but it was nice to rest her bones.

A sudden growl of hunger rumbled from her belly, loud enough to be heard if a stranger stood nearby. Yet her cravings went beyond her need for food. Peering at the dim outline of the pulpit at the front of the small church, she longed for a home, a place in the world. She also wished for someone who would love her unconditionally—the way her aunt had, before she died. Beyond that, Honor dreamed of never having to see Lucas again. If she’d known how to pray, she would have asked God to grant her requests.

Honor pressed her back against the hard wooden pew, wondering if the minister she had met that morning had a wife and children. She scarcely remembered her own parents. They had died of a fever before Honor reached the age of three. Her aunt Harriet, who lived in Colorado, had taken her in four years before she married Lucas. Were it not so, Honor might have spent her growing-up years in an orphanage. Although sometimes she wondered if that would not have been better than living in a house with the likes of Lucas Scythe.

Sitting up, Honor rubbed the palms of her hands across the oak pew and felt the strong yet rough texture of the wood. Her aunt had taken her to church every Sunday—until Lucas put a stop to it.

Harriet Scythe had been a churchgoing woman and a member of the choir, too. Lucas must have known how leaving the church would injure her, but then, hurting others appeared to give him a great deal of pleasure.

Her aunt had once told Honor that the folks at church had thought Lucas was a decent man before they married. Honor had wondered if he’d only pretended to be good and kind. Maybe he’d thought Aunt Harriet had money, since she’d inherited the cabin and the family farm. In any case, he’d managed to fritter away what little she once had, drinking and gambling at the saloon in town.

Aunt Harriet had never complained about anything. But her bruised arms and swollen, red eyes had told Honor all she needed to know.

As Honor sat in the church, remembering, her eyes grew heavy. She yawned, and stretched out again on the pew. Despite herself, a few minutes later, she was asleep.

A sound woke her just before daylight. She jerked, finding herself half on, half off the pew. Pulling herself back onto the wooden bench again, she stiffened and became still. She held her breath.

Had someone entered? Was it Lucas? Honor coiled into a tight ball. The church was silent once more. A few minutes later, she slept again.

Something brushed her face. Honor was instantly awake. She sat up, looking around. A soft thump sounded, and she turned in time to see a white cat disappearing behind a stairway leading to the choir loft. Honor sighed in relief. It wasn’t Lucas.

Aunt Harriet would say she should pray if she hoped to survive this terrible ordeal. But if there really was a God, He seemed far away to Honor. She was on her own in getting out of this trouble. Since she would not go back to the cabin, not ever, and she couldn’t remain in Falling Rock, Colorado, Honor had to get away. Yet where would she go? And who would take her in?

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but before they could fall, Honor sniffed. There didn’t appear to be a safe place in the world where she could rest her head, but she refused to cry. She had to think.

She needed a job, but employment choices for a young woman were few. She didn’t have enough skills to become a schoolteacher, and she wouldn’t become a saloon girl. So what did that leave? Nothing that she could think of.

A bookshelf, attached to the back of the pew in front of her, held two hymnals, one new and one old and worn. Honor took the new songbook in both her hands. The brown cover smelled fresh. She opened to the first page. In the pale light of early morning, she squinted at the dedication.

This hymnal is given to the Glory of God in memory of my dear wife, Selma, the love of my life.

Honor ran her fingers down the smooth, white page, studying the inscription. Were there really men in the world who could love a woman the way this nameless husband seemed to have loved his wife? Men were good at pretending. Lucas had taught her that. She put the hymnal back on the shelf and turned to gaze out the windows.

The morning sun still hid beyond the horizon, but the eastern sky was bright. A golden light edged the hills at the end of the street and it glinted on a collection plate in the center of a table directly under a window.

Would there be money in that plate?

Of course not. What pastor worth his salt would leave money in an unlocked church? That would be like opening the door to every outlaw for miles around. Still, what if money was left there? And what if she took some?

Honor hated to even consider the thought. Her aunt would have said that such musings were sinful. Yet Honor remembered her aunt also telling her that the collection money went to pay for the pastor’s keep and to help the poor and needy. Well, who needed money more than Honor?

The right thing to do would be to wait until the preacher came in for the day and ask him for financial help. But if she waited, she could miss the early morning stage out of town.

Biting her lip, she deliberated. Thieves deserved to go to hell. Sinful thoughts came from the devil. Lucas never allowed Aunt Harriet to pray openly or study the Good Book, but she’d managed to teach Honor the Ten Commandments. And Honor knew stealing was a sin.

But what if she vowed to pay back all the money someday? Considering recent events, surely God would understand.

On the chance that money waited in that silver plate, Honor crept to the window. Even at a distance, she could see several coins and a number of bills. Her throat tightened. Her fingers shook as she reached her hands forward and scooped up all of the money they could hold. As she turned back to the wooden bench, she heard someone coming.

Trembling, she slipped into the nearest pew and stretched out to hide. The faint tap, tap of footsteps on the brick floor drifted up from the entry of the church. Honor dared not move.

Chapter Two

A man and woman whispered to each other as they moved down the aisle of the church. Honor held her breath. Now what? The squeak of old wood told her that they had selected a pew not far behind her. The scent of lilacs filled the air.

“Annie,” Honor heard the man say. “I know your poor old bones are tired, because mine are, too. But, honey, do you really think it’s all right for us to sit in here ’til the stage leaves? Why, we ain’t even members of this church.”

“A church is God’s house, Simon, no matter where it is,” the woman answered. “Besides, I reckon if you put something in the plate—under that there winder—it should take care of everything.”

Honor froze. If the man named Simon came over to the window to put money in the plate, he might be able to see her crouched on the pew. Slowly, not making a sound, she inched along the pew, out of the light coming in from the window and into the shadows.

“Well, Simon. Are you gonna put something in or ain’t you?”

Simon groaned. “Oh, all right. I’ll put in a coin or two if that will satisfy you.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“So now I’m ‘dear,’ huh?”

Another squeak of the wooden bench indicated that the man had left the pew and was headed for the window. Honor shut her eyes. A minute later, the bench creaked again. She didn’t feel safe, but at least she hadn’t been discovered yet.

For the next hour, Honor learned more about Annie and Simon than she cared to know. Their conversation held no interest for her, but it assured her that they were harmless. The elderly couple planned to visit their daughter in Pine Falls. Honor wondered if she had enough money to travel that far. She still hadn’t counted her loot.

Loot? Why, I’m nothing more than a common thief, she thought.

A lump lodged in her throat when she contemplated what she’d become. Not in her worst nightmare had she ever envisioned that she would stoop so low.

Simon’s offering in the silver plate couldn’t possibly add up to the amount of money Honor had taken. A feeling of shame swept over her. She wanted to tell God she was sorry for what she’d done, but she didn’t know how. The only prayer that Honor knew was one Harriet had taught her before they stopped going to church, and years had passed since she’d recited that one.

But she remembered how it began. Our Father, who art in Heaven.

The sun had risen over the horizon now and was beaming through the east window. Inching back along the pew, closer to the light, Honor reached for a hymnal. When Lucas wasn’t around, sometimes her aunt had enjoyed singing hymns as she did her daily chores. She said that church music gave her strength.

Strength. Honor could use some of that.

Flipping through the songbook, she didn’t find any of the hymns her aunt had once sung, but she noticed some blank sheets of paper near the back of the book, titled “Note Pages.”

She considered using one of the sheets to compose a note, a letter to members of the church. And what better place to write it than the back of a hymnal? She reached for the pencil that was in a slot on the bookshelf, and began to write.

Dear Church People,

I hated to steal the money from the collection plate, and I wrote in the hymnal, too. I know I did wrong, but I was once told that the collection money went to the minister and to the poor and needy. Well, I’m poor and might need money more than the preacher does.

You see, I have to leave town today. If I don’t, my uncle will beat me and force me to marry him. He might even kill me.

Thank you for leaving the money in that plate so I could find it when I needed it the most. If I knew how to pray, I would tell God I am sorry for what I did. Since I don’t, would you folks please pray for me?

As soon as I can find a job, I promise to pay back everything I took, a little at a time.

Yours truly,

H.

Honor placed the songbook back on the shelf. She was wondering if there was a way for her to count her money without making a sound, when the bell in the tower suddenly pealed six times. Honor flinched each time. Somebody had to be pulling the rope to ring that bell, but she hadn’t heard a sound above her all night long. Yet, someone other than Annie and Simon was nearby. The minister? If he came down and saw her in the church or the churchyard, might he stop her from leaving?

The bench behind her squeaked, cutting off her racing thoughts. Honor didn’t move a muscle.

“Wake up, Simon,” Annie said. “It’s time to go.”

“What? Oh. Well, I wasn’t asleep no-how.”

“You were, too.”

“No, I was just resting my eyes,” Simon insisted.

“You can rest your eyes when we get on the stage.” There was fond exasperation in the woman’s voice. “Get up now, Simon. We have to get out of here. It’s six o’clock. The stage leaves at six-thirty, and we still have to buy our tickets.”

The bench creaked several times. Then Honor heard the tap, tap of their shoes as they moved back up the aisle. When the heavy front door of the church closed, Honor cautiously sat up and began to quietly count her money.

She had ten dollars and fifty-one cents, more than she had dreamed of finding. She could go to Pine Falls, for sure. That much money might take her all the way to Denver.

She’d almost reached the entry of the church when she saw the shape of a man in the shadows to the left of the door. Though she couldn’t actually see him, she felt him—and there was something in the air between them, a kind of regret. Was it coming from him? Or was it her distress?

Guilt engulfed her. Did he know what she’d done? Would the man try to stop her to recover the money? She hesitated by the door, waiting to see what he might do. But he never said a word.

“I’m sorry,” Honor whispered.

Without saying more, she raced out the door and down the path toward the livery stable where stagecoach tickets were sold. Once the stage pulled out, she would never have to see Lucas or Falling Rock, Colorado, again.

Honor waited in the carriage with Annie and Simon for the fourth passenger to arrive. The silver-haired couple looked older than she had expected, and she learned that their last name was Carr. Honor couldn’t help liking them, but she wished they weren’t so talkative.

The red velvet interior of the carriage looked new, and, although the back of the seat was wooden, the bench was padded.

Honor had heard that within a year, the railroad would be coming to Falling Rock. Tracks were being laid throughout the state, and stagecoaches could soon become outdated. A stagecoach had brought Honor to Colorado after her parents died, but she was too young to have a clear memory of that journey.

Now, fidgeting with the small velvet bow at the neck of her dress, she waited for the fourth passenger. She wished she had a hat with a net veil like Annie Carr’s little black one. Honor also admired the string of pearls around the older woman’s neck.

Aunt Harriet had had a pearl necklace that she’d inherited from Honor’s grandmother, but one day it vanished. Lucas was behind the disappearance, of course.

Proper ladies wore pearls and store-bought hats, not homemade print bonnets like Honor’s. But there wasn’t much cause for Honor to worry about becoming a lady now.

The driver had explained that the fourth passenger would be delayed as a result of unforeseen circumstances. Honor hoped whoever it was would hurry and be done so they could leave. Lucas could come looking for her at any moment.

When she heard a click at the door, she looked up expectantly, and then recoiled. Lucas! Trembling, she pressed back and covered her mouth with her hand to keep from shrieking.

In the next moment, she saw that it was the minister who’d prayed at her aunt’s grave, standing outside the carriage in his gray suit. He looked so much like a younger version of Lucas that for an instant, she’d thought he was her aunt’s husband.

Standing in the street, with one hand on the door handle, the handsome young man smiled warmly at the passengers in the carriage. “Sorry to have kept you nice folks waiting. Jeth Peters,” he said, leaning through the door, offering Simon Carr his hand, which the older gentleman took in a friendly shake. Jeth identified himself as the pastor of a church over in Hearten.

When Simon finished introducing his wife, Annie, Jeth turned his gaze on Honor for the first time. His smile fell away. “I want to express my sympathy once again for the loss of your aunt,” he said.

Annie and Simon glanced at each other, then at Honor. She recognized the expression of sympathy in their eyes.

“Reckon we’re sorry, too, miss,” Simon said.

Honor’s heart squeezed. “Thank you.” She ducked her head, trying not to look at Jeth.

Was he the man from the church who’d hid in the darkness? Had her sin been discovered? Did he know what she’d done? When Honor glanced up, finally meeting his sky-blue eyes, the warmth in them suggested he wasn’t concealing thoughts about her. But who could be sure?

Jeth climbed into the carriage and took a seat beside Honor. “I don’t believe you told me your name at the burial yesterday. May I know it now?”

“My name is Honor. Honor Rose McCall.”

“Honor.” He smiled. “I like that.”

Why had she told him her real name? She could have lied. Now it would be easier for Lucas to find her.

“Honor is a good character trait to have,” he went on, “and one we should all live by. Are you on your way to Pine Falls?”

“Yes,” Honor said a little too sharply, and pressed her lips together.

Jeth turned his gaze to the Carrs. “And where are you folks headed?”

“We’re going to Pine Falls, too,” Annie said, “and we’ll be gone for quite a spell. We’ll be home by Christmas, though.” She turned to her husband. “Won’t we, Simon?”

“We sure better.”

Annie Carr looked back to Jeth. “Did I hear you say you were a preacher?”

A grin started in Jeth’s blue eyes. “That’s right.”

Annie’s wrinkled lips turned up at the edges in reply. “Reckon you could answer some questions about the Bible?”

“Watch out, Preacher,” Simon put in. “My Annie is a longwinded woman when it comes to Scripture.”

Jeth chuckled under his breath as Annie Carr began asking her questions. Honor glanced out the window on her side of the coach.

A quaint little log cabin with a peaked roof stood on a hill. It reminded Honor of the clock her grandmother had sent to Aunt Harriet for a wedding gift. Grandma McCall was dead now, but when she sent the present, she wrote that she’d bought it from an Amish wood-carver during a visit to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

Painted statues of a little man and woman inside the clock had captivated Honor as a child. She’d spent hours in front of the clock, sitting cross-legged on the floor, waiting for the toylike couple to come out of their little house to check the weather.

Sometimes, the statues stayed out on their front porch for a while. At other times, they went right back inside and shut the door.

Honor was like that, too.

She’d been a happy, winsome child who loved playing in the sunshine—until Lucas came into her life. After that, she went inside herself and only came out occasionally to see if things had changed. Nothing ever did.

An image of Honor and Lucas sharing a house together as man and wife flashed through her brain. Her heart constricted.

Lucas couldn’t force her to marry him, but if he found her, he would whip her. Could she survive another of his beatings?

Aside from fearing him, she was disturbed and disgusted by the thought of seeing Lucas again. She knew she would always feel that way.

The stagecoach rocked, bumping Honor against the door. Holding herself stiffly on the bench, she gazed out the window again. They would be driving south from Falling Rock through what the ticket agent had called “rugged country.” There was to be a stop in Hearten, then on to Pine Falls. Some of the trees were leafless. Others were alive with all the fall colors—red, orange, yellow, gold and shades of rusty brown.

The ticket agent had explained that traveling through the hills would not be easy. The roads were rocky and there were numerous low-water crossings. Nevertheless, Honor loved the beauty that surrounded her.

“God gave us a good world to live in, didn’t He, Miss McCall?”

It was Jeth Peters who spoke, and Honor turned to face him, nodding a quick reply. She hadn’t realized the minister was sitting there watching her. She wondered how long he’d been doing so.

“I noticed you looking out at the scenery,” he continued, “and I figured you must enjoy the magnificence of nature as much as I do.”

“Yes.” Glancing away again, she squeezed her hands together tightly. She didn’t care to talk. She hoped he’d take the hint.

“White-topped mountains are peaceful looking,” he said. “Aren’t they?”

She turned back again, nodded, and then looked away once more.

“It’s real peaceful over in Hearten, too, where I live,” he went on. “The stage will be stopping there before going on to Pine Falls. Hope you have time to look around before you have to get back on the stagecoach. Have you taken this route before, ma’am?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then let me prepare you.”

When he leaned a bit closer, she flinched and pressed her shoulder against the side of the carriage. A hint of puzzlement crossed his face, but then his expression became sober.

“The first creek will be easy to cross,” he explained. “But some of the rivers ahead are deeper. The currents will be swifter.”

“Are you trying to scare me, Preacher?” she asked.

“Not at all.” He chuckled, and a twinkle gleamed in his eyes. “Still, a person should know what to expect.”

They crossed the first creek easily, just as Jeth had predicted. The banks held only a trickle of water. What he’d said about the rivers worried her, though, because she’d heard that a stagecoach could be swept away by the rapids in an instant.

Annie and Simon Carr had fallen asleep. Simon snored; the echo of it filled the carriage.

Jeth laughed softly, sharing his amusement with Honor. She smiled back, giving herself permission to relax. The stress she’d felt since Aunt Harriet died slowly began to melt.

The ride had been bumpy since they’d left town that morning, but now, all at once, it felt like the carriage hit something large and hard. The coach rocked and tilted to the left. Annie and Simon were jolted awake as they tumbled toward the door. With the stagecoach canted to on one side, Honor slid across the seat, landing in Jeth’s arms.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed.

He gazed down at her, and she felt the warmth of his smile.

If the man weren’t a minister, Honor would say he enjoyed their brief encounter. Then the rig straightened, and she returned to her half of the padded bench.

Squeaking and jerking, the stagecoach continued down a road, which really wasn’t much more than a set of deep ruts. Then the vehicle stopped. The driver got down from his perch and came to the window on Jeth’s side of the carriage.

“We’re gonna be going up a steep hill,” the driver told him. “And the horses could sure use some help pushing the load if you two men are of a mind to lend a hand.”

“Of course we’ll help.” Jeth glanced at Simon. “At least, I will.”

“Reckon that makes two of us,” Simon added.

“Now, you be careful, Simon,” Annie warned. “You ain’t as young as you used to be.”

“Neither are you, my dear.”

When the two men exited, the driver turned his gaze on the women. “Both you ladies better sit on Mrs. Carr’s side of the coach. ’Cause you’ll be thrown to her side anyway, once we start up that hill.”

Honor considered offering to help push. She certainly felt fit enough. But Aunt Harriet would have said it wasn’t ladylike to do such a thing, and Honor didn’t want to draw more attention to herself or to be judged improper.

The stagecoach slowly moved upward at a steep angle. Honor fell against the back of the seat and held down the skirt of her dress to keep it from slipping up and showing her ankles. If she had thought the journey jolted her back and forth before, she needed a new word to describe the ride from that point on.

At the top of the hill, the carriage stopped again. Honor checked the condition of her clothing. The tan dress had been her aunt’s wedding gown, and the wide lace collar looked soiled—no doubt the result of her dash into town through the woods and a night spent sleeping in it. The pearl buttons that went up to her chin appeared clean enough, but her sleeves were dirty.

After she’d bought her ticket, she’d placed her remaining paper money in the lace-edged cuff of her right sleeve. After the rough ride to the top of the hill, she wondered if she still had the bills. Pressing her fingers against the cuff at her wrist, she felt the stiff wad and breathed easier.

Honor moved back to her original seat. She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt, then stuck her head out the window to see what the world looked like from the top of the hill. She saw three riders coming up behind them at a fast gallop, and her pulse began to race. They wore masks. For a moment, she couldn’t react.

Outlaws.

“Jump back inside!” she heard the driver shout to Jeth and Simon Carr. “I’m gonna try to outrun ’em.”

Both doors flew open. The stagecoach lurched forward—starting off at a fast pace, while the two men crouched on the floor.

“Get down!” Jeth yelled to the women. “Both of you.”

Honor jumped to the floor beside Jeth, Annie Carr right behind her. The men pulled pistols from their belts.

Honor hadn’t expected Jeth to be armed—he was a preacher. However, she felt relieved, knowing he carried protection.

“Will we be able to outrun ’em?” Annie asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeth replied. “I think so. At least, I hope so.”

Every muscle in Honor’s body tensed as the carriage rolled on down the hill. Clinging to the edge of the bench, she tried to imagine the driver and the man riding shotgun whipping the horses, urging them to run even faster. She could only hope the two men driving the stage could outrun their pursuers.

The carriage took a sharp curve, wobbling and swaying back and forth over the big rocks. Honor was tossed against Jeth again and again, and he jostled against her.

She felt a sudden jolt as the carriage lurched sharply. “What’s happening?”

Jeth peered out a window. “We lost a wheel! I can see it rolling down the hill.”

The carriage swerved to the right. The screeching cry of iron against rock rang out. All four passengers tumbled to the side of the stagecoach. Honor could scarcely breathe until Jeth pulled her out from under Annie. The crippled rig careened down the hill, half rolling, half dragging. They were coming close to the edge of a cliff. Annie screamed.

“Move out of my way, Miss McCall!” Jeth shoved Honor to one side and crawled to the door.

The stagecoach lost speed, then banged against the side of an embankment. They were all thrown to and fro. The rig slid a few more feet. Then stopped.

“Praise the Lord!” Jeth released a big breath of air and wiped his brow. “Someone must have cut those horses loose. Anybody hurt?” He glanced around and smiled. “Guess not. What a blessing.”

“We’re safe, then?” Honor asked, feeling a first rush of relief.

Jeth shook his head and cocked his pistol. “Now we’ll have to deal with the outlaws.”

Honor shrank to the floor as shots blasted from both directions. Jeth placed his hand on her back to keep her there. At the ring of a bullet hitting metal, Honor glanced out the window just as a rifle flew by.

“The stagecoach driver lost his weapon,” Jeth announced.

Jeth and Simon aimed their pistols at the three riders who had caught up with them. Before the two men inside the carriage could discharge a single shot, the outlaws surrounded the crippled stagecoach.

“Everybody out with your hands up,” a bandit with gray hair shouted down from his horse. “And be quick about it.”

Jeth tucked his pistol in the waistband of his trousers. “Do whatever they tell you to do, Miss McCall,” he whispered. “This is not the time to try anything risky.”

Honor stepped down from the stage and stood between Jeth and Annie Carr. When she raised her hands above her head, she noticed that the edge of one bill protruded from the cuff of her dress.

Two of the robbers had dismounted. A young-looking man with a pimply face above a red bandanna held a basket that reminded Honor of the one she had discarded back in Falling Rock. Another outlaw stood beside him, aiming a gun at the hostages. The man with gray hair remained atop a big, reddish horse. He held a rifle on the group as well.

“Put all your money and valuables in the basket there,” he ordered them. “And hurry up, or you’ll be sorry.”

When Honor thought nobody was watching, she attempted to push the money back in the cuff of her dress. The next moment, everything went black.

Chapter Three

Lucas awoke with a jerk. Someone was pounding on his front door.

“All right, all right,” he shouted. “Hold on to your horses. I’m comin’!”

He sat up. A massive headache made him wish he were still flat on his back. He pressed a hand over his forehead and looked around. He was shivering on the hard kitchen floor. Had he been there all night?

He stumbled to his feet. His legs felt like jam. Slowly, he made his way to the door and opened it. An icy wind swept inside. His shoulders shook from the cold.

The grave diggers he had hired stood on his porch. All three men wore dark clothing, gloves, and something furry-looking covered their ears.

“Mr. Scythe,” the tallest one said. “Remember me? Hector Brown?” He motioned toward the other two. “And these are my brothers, Joey and Abner. We hate to bother you at a time like this, but you forgot to pay us for burying your wife yesterday.” He handed Lucas a sheet of paper.

“A bill?”

Hector nodded.

“Oh, yes. The money.” Lucas searched for something to say, to stall for time. “You’ll have to excuse me. I ain’t feelin’ well today.”

Hector nodded again. Joey and Abner just stood behind their brother, staring at Lucas.

Lucas shook his head. If it ain’t one thing, it’s somethin’ worse, he thought. “Wait here, and I’ll go see what I can do.”

He started to close the door, to shut out the chill, but when he saw the hard look of warning in Hector’s eyes, he left it open.

Lucas stormed into the kitchen and grabbed the cookie jar, one of the places Harriet liked to hide money. He removed the wooden lid of the clay pot and tossed it on the floor. Then he poured out the contents of the jar. Broken cookies, crumbs, and a sprinkling of sugar spilled onto the table. A few coins clinked together. They rolled around and stopped.

He scooped up the money and counted it. Thirty-six cents. He winced. The diggers expected more. Well, there was nothing he could do about that now.

Lucas pasted a smile on his face and walked back to the door. “Here’s thirty-six cents. Sorry, I know it ain’t enough. But it’s all I’ve got until I sell them calves I’ve been feedin’. This’ll have to hold you ’til then.”

Hector Brown stepped forward, filling the doorway. “We expected to be paid in full. When will we get the rest?”

“As soon as I can find the time to drive my calves into town and sell ’em.” Lucas grabbed the door and began to swing it shut as he spoke. “I’ll keep in touch. And much obliged to ya.”

“Wait, Mr. Scythe.” With the toe of his black boot, Hector prevented the door from closing all the way. “We’ll be back. You can be sure about that.”

When Lucas finally closed the door, he leaned against it for a moment, listening to the three men depart. He felt hungry as well as cold. Thirsty, too. For something stronger than cow’s milk or water.

Now, where was that Honor-girl? “Missy,” he shouted. “Get in here!”

No answer.

“Don’t play games with me. I ain’t in the mood.”

Lucas grimaced. That girl was never around when he needed her.

As he moved toward the kitchen, he glanced in a mirror on the parlor wall—then stopped and looked again. His eyes seemed more red than usual. His face had a drawn, pasty look.

He remembered why he was wearing his gray suit—to attend the burial of his wife—but he couldn’t recall arriving at the graveside, much less leaving it. Come to think of it, he’d been having a lot of memory problems lately.

Lucas laid two small logs in the woodstove. When he had managed to start a fire, he pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. Honor must be out in the garden, he decided. Reaching out, he held his hands in front of the fire, to warm them while he made his plans.

First, he’d get Honor to fix him something to eat. Then he would look for any other hidden money. Harriet had always hidden money from him, but she must have put it somewhere else this time.

Later, he would drive into town, buy a couple of bottles of whiskey, and maybe pay Miss Ruby a visit. His slow smile became a chuckle.

He vaguely remembered asking Honor to marry him, but he would worry about getting hitched some other time.

Lucas went out onto the back porch. “Missy! Come in here this minute!”

Calves bellowed. Chickens squawked from the henhouse. But not a sound from Honor. Lucas spent the next ten minutes searching the farm buildings, but he was unable to find her.

She could have hiked into town to buy supplies, he supposed. He’d noticed the flour sack was almost empty. Yeah, that must be what she done, he convinced himself.

Cursing his late wife for selecting a hiding place he couldn’t discover, Lucas tore up the house and barn looking for money. Honor could clean up the mess when she got back from Falling Rock.

His breath became rapid from all the labor in his quest, and he felt a little shaky. He wanted alcohol—bad. He wouldn’t hold out much longer without it.

Honor had been gone a long time. Too long. How much time did it take to go into town, buy a few things on credit at the general store, and walk back to the farm? Was that girl really shopping? Or had she left with the rest of his money?

The word left roared inside his head. Lucas stiffened, and he felt rage rising in his blood. “Why, that little—”

The truth hit him like a sock in the jaw. His late wife had hidden money, and Honor had taken it. The muscles around his mouth tightened. She’d robbed him. He still didn’t want to believe it. Lucas balled his hands into fists. Yes, that’s what happened. He would like to strangle her.

Hadn’t Harriet always saved every penny she could get her hands on? And wouldn’t she have told Honor where she kept it? His late wife had called Honor her cherished niece, her sweet little Rose of Sharon.

Lucas swore, kicking a kitchen chair. The chair banged the back wall, then fell on its side on the floor. Those two had always plotted against him. Whispering behind his back. Exchanging glances when they thought he wasn’t looking.

“But no more!”

Lucas picked up the cookie jar and threw it across the room. The clay pot crashed against the iron stove, smashing into hundreds of tiny pieces.

Grabbing a loaf of bread from the bread box, he tore off a chunk and crammed it in his mouth. Then he reached for a slice of jerky and gobbled it down. Lucas looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon. Honor had a head start on him. If he expected to catch up with her and recover his money, he would need to ride out as soon as possible.

Jeth lifted Honor gently onto the back of the wagon. Then he climbed up, wrapped her in a warm blanket and sat down beside her.

The outlaws had disappeared as soon as they’d collected their spoils. The passengers and the crew were left behind with the crippled stage. Jeth had ridden one of the stagecoach horses into Hearten for help, returning with blankets, two wagons, a local doctor, and a few other folks from Jeth’s church.

Jeth glanced at Dr. Harris, seated up front in the wagon and taking the reins. The doctor had examined Honor and bandaged her head as soon as he’d arrived. Now he was acting as their driver. Annie and Simon were in the other wagon.

Jeth cradled Honor’s head in his lap as the doctor cracked his whip. The wagon rolled forward slowly.

A cold breeze whistled around them. When locks of Honor’s long auburn hair blew across her eyes, Jeth pushed them back from her face.

Her thick mane looked shiny, and the strands felt soft in his hands. Jeth frowned. He shouldn’t notice such things. He yanked his hands back as if her hair had scalded them.

When he looked down at her again, he felt a grip of fear. Honor looked pale. She hadn’t moved at all, and now seemed gravely ill.

Lord, he prayed. You know all about this young woman, and I’m sure You have a plan for her life. Heal her, Lord, I pray—spirit, soul and body—to Your honor and glory.

Lucas carried his riding gear into the horse stall. His gray mare pulled back her ears, as she always did when she was about to be saddled.

“You turning on me, too, Lady?”

The horse blew out through her nose, making a gentle, snorting sound. Lucas put down his load and stroked the animal’s head. Merely touching her velvety nose softened him a little.

“Easy, girl.” He reached down and patted the mare’s round belly. “You’re getting big, ain’t ya? I’ll be riding ya nice and slow today. So don’t fret none. Gotta take care of that colt inside ya, don’t we.”

The mare snorted again.

An image of Honor flashed before Lucas. His gentleness vanished. Wait ’til I get my hands on that girl. She’ll be sorry for running out on me, he vowed.

Lucas arrived in town at three and went straight to the saloon. He hoped to buy a drink on credit.

Standing at the bar, he grinned at the bartender. “A shot of whiskey, Mitch. Just put it on my bill.”

“Sorry, Lucas,” Mitch said. “Your credit is all used up.”

“I sure am dry. Couldn’t you spare me one shot?”

“Not unless you’re willing to wash dishes.”

“I reckon I could.” Lucas hid his hands in his pants pockets so Mitch wouldn’t see how they shook. “But I have a couple of things I need to do here in town first.”

“Then I suggest you go and do them. This here saloon will still be open when you get back.”

Lucas had been counting on that drink to make it through the day. Knowing he wouldn’t get a drop without working for it made him even thirstier. He licked his lips. He could almost taste whiskey in his mouth.

“Well, if you ain’t gonna give me nothing to drink,” Lucas said, “will you at least give me a little information?”

“Yes, I can do that.” Mitch wiped a glass with a white cloth. Then he put it on the counter and cocked his head. “What kind of information?”

“That niece of mine has done run off with all my money. Would you have any idea where she might have went to?”

The bartender shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. The sheriff might.” Mitch glanced toward one of the tables. “He’s sitting right over there.”

Lucas had never liked Sheriff Manning. Years ago, the sheriff had made it clear he had no use for Lucas Scythe. Still, if the sheriff knew something, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

There were two local men at the round table in the corner with the lawman. Lucas ambled toward them.

Sheriff Manning was leaning back in his chair, drinking from a beer mug. His fat belly hung over his belt, and his blue shirt was stretched to the limit. Some of the buttons looked like they might pop off at any moment.

“Well, Scythe,” the sheriff said, “what dragged you to town in the middle of the day? Whiskey?”

Lucas stiffened.

The other two men grinned.

Arms at his sides, Lucas clenched his fists. His jaw hardened. He should punch all three of them out for their taunting. They had it coming, even if he landed in jail. However, to get the information he needed, he had no choice but to rein in his anger.

“My niece, Honor, has done run off with my money, Sheriff. She’s a low-down thief and that’s the truth.”

“Well, well. What a shame. Have you tried paying that girl for the work she does for ya, Scythe?”

“She gets room and board.”

“Room and board.” The sheriff exchanged a glance with the other men at his table. “Maybe she thought she deserved more. Ever think of that?”

The other men looked straight at Lucas, waiting for him to answer.

Lucas felt his face heat up, and fury burned like hot coals inside him. He cleared his throat, trying to keep calm. He’d learned the hard way that if he hoped to be looked on favorably by the sheriff and others in the community, he must pretend to agree with them, whatever the cost.

“Any idea how I could find her ’fore she spends all I got?”

“If your niece had money, she might have taken the stage to Pine Falls or on to Denver,” the sheriff said. “Or she could have taken the stage to Cold Springs. Who knows?”

Slim Perkins sat across from the sheriff. He set his mug on the table. “Since Ben Kraken sells stagecoach tickets down at the livery, he might know.”

Why hadn’t Lucas thought of that? “Thank you kindly, Slim.”

Lucas glanced toward the door. His absentmindedness appeared to be growing by the minute. He swallowed, wishing for a drink. “I best go on over there and see what Ben can tell me, then.” He looked back. “And I’m much obliged to all of ya.”

Nobody at the table made a comment. They merely watched him go like they all had a secret they weren’t willing to share with him. Lucas turned, clenching his jaw. If he hoped to find Honor, he’d better just walk away.

Lucas brushed through the swinging doors, but he stopped before stepping off the covered porch in front of the saloon. Snowflakes were floating down, melting before they hit the ground. The chilly air and the refreshing sight of falling snow lifted his spirits. He straightened his shoulders and turned up his collar against the wintry breeze. If he expected Ben to provide him with answers, he would need to look composed.

Glancing up and down the street, he took in his town. Until now, he’d seldom seen the place in daylight.

Falling Rock reminded him of Cold Springs, the town he grew up in. He had never realized the similarity until now. Trees lined both sides of the street, and snow-tipped mountains towered in the distance. Neatly dressed people strolled in and out of the hotel and the general store.

Looking down at the gray suit he’d worn since Harriet’s burial, Lucas wished he’d cleaned up a bit before leaving the cabin. A week ago, he wouldn’t have cared. Now, he did. He should look respectable if he expected folks to give him the information he wanted.

Lucas started down the street and turned left at the corner. He’d almost forgotten he would have to pass by the church to reach the livery. He considered turning back, selecting a different route, then decided he just wouldn’t look at the little church with its whitewashed walls and stone porch. Not this time. As a child, he’d had his fill of church and religion.

Yet when he reached the small structure, he found himself peering inside the open doorway. Harriet had once been a member of that church. He guessed she must have been considered a member until the day she died.

A middle-aged man in a dark suit came out and stood on the porch. The preacher? Lucas didn’t want to find out. He stepped up his pace. Hurrying down the street, he didn’t look back.

By the time Lucas reached the livery stable, his breath was coming in gasps. Then he coughed.

The room used for blacksmithing jobs smelled of smoke. Ben Kraken stood in front of a heavy anvil mounted on the stump of a big oak tree. He was hammering a piece of iron into a horseshoe.

“Good afternoon,” Lucas said from the doorway.

Ben must have heard him, but he kept on working. His hammer hit the metal again. Whop! The metal glowed red-hot.

Even on such a cold day, the room was sweltering. Lucas unbuttoned the top button of his jacket and stepped inside. Ben raised the heavy hammer again. When it came down against the soft metal and the anvil, another loud metallic bang rang out.

Lucas stepped closer. “I said hello.”

“I heard ya.” Ben glanced at Lucas out of the corner of his eye. “Good afternoon. Or it will be—if you came in to pay what you owe me.”

Lucas felt his temper rising, but he feigned a pleasant expression. “My niece run off with all my money, and I come lookin’ for her. What else could I do?”

Ben Kraken lifted the hot iron with a pair of long-handled tongs and dropped it into a tub of water. The water sizzled. A puff of gray smoke spiraled upward.

Lucas took a step back from the tub. He had a deep need to punch Kraken in that big nose of his until it bled. Hearing Ben speak in mocking tones and with such a lack of respect was galling. Nevertheless, to get what he wanted out of the man, Lucas would hold back. For now. He could settle the score later.

“Do you know if Honor took the stage somewhere?” he asked in a calm voice.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Lucas stepped forward again. His hands clenched into fists, and his wrath grew, but he held his tongue. Looking Kraken right in the face, he glared at him. “Why won’t ya tell me, Ben?”

“Word gets around.” Ben looked down at his work, ignoring the rage that Lucas could hear in his own voice. “The whole town knows how you treated your wife and that poor girl.”

Ben pulled the horseshoe from the water with the tongs, then turned and thrust the metal into the forge. The blaze licked the iron, crackling and popping. Red and yellow sparks flew.

Lucas jammed his hands deeply into his pockets to prevent them from flying out as fists. “But if I don’t get my money back,” he pointed out, “how was you expecting me to pay ya?”

Ben dragged the iron from the fire. “Knowing you, I doubt I’ll get paid anyway.” The metal had turned a bright red. Heat radiated from it. Ben took the horseshoe back to the anvil and reached for the hammer. “Besides,” he said, “if I can help that girl a little, I will.”

Lucas gritted his teeth. Kraken was asking for it. He counted to ten, trying to calm down. Then twenty. At last he asked, “Did a stage leave for Pine Falls early yesterday morning?”

“As a matter of fact, one did. And somebody robbed it,” Ben said. “I had to send out another coach to take the folks on to Pine Falls.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“If they were, I don’t know about it,” Ben said shortly.

“I guess I’ll ride over to Pine Falls, then, and take a look around. See what I can find out. And thanks for your help.”

“The best thing you can do for me, Scythe, is to get out of my livery stable. And don’t come back without my money.”

Lucas stood in the doorway, glowering at the back of Ben Kraken’s head. He fought the desire once more to punch him and keep on hitting until Kraken cried for mercy.

Lucas turned and headed to the saloon. He really needed a drink now. If necessary, he wasn’t too proud to wash dishes.

When he’d saved enough to buy a bottle of whiskey, he would ride on over to Pine Falls. The trip would take a day or two—maybe more. If he took it slow and easy, his mare should be able to make it all the way.

Maybe he would post a “Wanted” sign in the saloon. He thought for a moment. What should a sign like that say?

Pondering, he scratched his right ear. Twenty dollars. Thirty. That’s it, thirty.

WANTED

Miss Honor McCall for stealing from Lucas Scythe. Thirty-dollar reward for information on her whereabouts.

Lucas spent the rest of the day and most of the night working at the saloon. When the bartender wasn’t looking, he snatched a few drinks. During his supper break, he printed a sign on a piece of wood with some black paint he found in the storeroom.

He kept a close eye on Mitch. When Lucas saw the bartender escort a rowdy drunk outside, Lucas took a hammer, nails and the wooden sign, and sneaked to the pine wall at the front of the saloon where other signs were posted, looking for an available spot. A vacant square of discolored wall was right in front of the door.

Lucas nailed his sign to the wall with one whack of the hammer. Then he crept back to the kitchen and started washing dishes.

When the saloon closed for the night, Lucas stepped up to the bar to get his pay. Mitch handed him a few small coins.

“Is that all I get?” Lucas asked.

“Sorry, Scythe. I saw you steal drinks when you thought I wasn’t lookin’.”

“Have a heart, Mitch, and give me a whole bottle. I reckon I’ll do anything to get it,” Lucas wheedled. “Why, I’ll promise to come in early tomorrow and work until closing time again if you’ll give me a bottle of whiskey. Is that a deal?”

“You think you know how to get what you want, don’t ya.” Mitch shook his head like someone who didn’t want to believe what he’d just seen and heard. “All right, I guess I could give you one bottle. But you better be here tomorrow. Early.”

“You can count on me.”

Lucas rode home, chugging down whiskey as he went. He finished the bottle before falling into bed. With nothing in his belly but liquor, he fell asleep immediately.

Honor opened her eyes and sat up. She was in a bed in a clean room, but had no idea how she’d gotten there. A sharp pain in her head and a wave of nausea caused her to consider lying back down, but she didn’t want to give in to the discomfort.

Rose-print curtains framed the windows, and a cool breeze came into the small bedroom. A cast-iron stove stood in one corner, with a stack of wood nearby, but no warming fire blazed in it to take the chill from the air.

Glancing around, Honor noted a carved, wooden headboard, and a rose-cushioned chair with oak arms, placed beside the bed as if a guest was expected. A middle-aged woman of average build suddenly appeared in the doorway. She had salt-and-pepper hair and wore a white apron over a dark blue dress.

“Good morning,” she said in a welcoming tone. “I’m Regina Peters, the reverend’s mother.”

Honor blinked. “Is it still morning?”

“It’s morning, all right,” came the cheerful reply, with a sunny smile. “But you arrived yesterday around noon.”

“Yesterday?” Honor pressed a hand against her forehead and felt some sort of bandage. She wanted answers—explanations, though she barely felt able to ask questions.

“What happened to me?” She lay back against the soft pillow.

“You were on the stagecoach coming from Falling Rock when the stage was robbed,” the woman said. “Afterward, they brought you to Hearten, to my boardinghouse to rest up, and I dressed you in one of my nightgowns.”

Although she’d never seen Mrs. Peters before, there was something about her that reminded Honor of Aunt Harriet. Maybe it was the warmth in her gray eyes and the way the edges of her mouth lifted when she smiled. There was kindness in the woman’s face—just as there had been in Aunt Harriet’s—and Honor felt drawn to her.

At the thought of her late aunt, a wave of sadness swept over Honor. Her beloved only relative had died, and Honor had run away from…

Lucas. She sat up in bed again, her heart pounding.

Mrs. Peters came to the bedside and pressed her hand gently on Honor’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing,” Honor answered quickly. “Has anyone been asking for me?”

“No. But if you’re upset, I can’t blame you. Bumps on the head are no fun. Being robbed isn’t, either.”

“Robbed?” Honor’s hands began to shake. “Was I robbed?”

Mrs. Peters nodded.

Honor remembered getting out of the stagecoach, but nothing after that. She’d planned to mail whatever money she had left back to the church in Falling Rock, but now she had nothing and no way to begin to repay what she’d stolen.

“I know you must have a lot of questions,” Mrs. Peters said softly. “And I’m sure my son will answer every one of them just as soon as he gets back to the house.”

“Where is Reverend Peters?”

“He went over to our church to check on things. A preacher’s work is never done. But he’ll be back before you know it. The church is just down the road.” Mrs. Peters patted Honor’s shoulder again. “Why don’t you lie down and try to rest until he gets here? Or would you like something to eat? I have warm chicken soup in the kitchen. Would you like some?”

Honor shook her head. “Maybe later. But thank you for asking.”

“You know,” Mrs. Peters said, “according to my son, you’re a very nice person.”

“Me?” Honor put her hand to her chest.

Mrs. Peters nodded. “My son is a pretty good judge of character, and I just know he’s right about you.”

What would Mrs. Peters say if she knew Honor had robbed the collection plate from a church? The preacher might think he was a good judge of people, but he wasn’t. Nobody knew that better than Honor.

Chapter Four

Honor woke the second time that day to the scent of roses. A white vase filled with flowers sat on a table at the end of her bed. She guessed that Mrs. Peters had brought in the arrangement while she slept. When she heard a noise in the hallway she turned her gaze to the doorway.

Jeth Peters entered the room. “So, how are you feeling?” he asked warmly.

“Fine.” Honor tried to return his smile, but all she could think about was how stiff he looked. With his hands behind his back and his legs planted apart, he reminded her of a toy soldier—one of the tin men she played with as a child.

She liked the look of his dark curly hair and his blue eyes, but he seemed so self-conscious and uncomfortable in her presence. Could it be that all preachers turned into toy soldiers when alone in a room with a woman? Honor pulled the covers higher on her neck lest he become even more embarrassed.

“You took a big whack on the head,” Jeth said. “We’ve been worried about you.”

We? Who did he mean? Could Lucas have come here while she was sleeping? A chill ran down her back. “Who’s ‘we’?” she asked.

“Me, my mother, Mr. and Mrs. Carr, the stagecoach driver, and almost everybody else in Hearten.” He moved to the table at the end of her bed and pulled a pink rose from the arrangement. “Mama sure likes flowers. In the spring and summer her garden is full of them.” Jeth offered her the rose.

Honor waved a hand, refusing his gift. Lucas had given her aunt flowers whenever he’d wanted something in return. Honor had nothing to give.

As Jeth continued to hold out the pink flower, she saw that it was made of silk. So the scent she’d noted was rosewater. How had she not realized such an obvious fact immediately?

Honor looked back at Jeth. “Would you mind telling me exactly what happened? I still don’t remember much.”

Jeth returned the flower to the vase. Facing her, he again stuck his hands behind his back. “When you got off the stage, one of the outlaws caught you trying to hide your money and hit you over the head with the butt of his gun. Our entire congregation is praying for you.”

“Was anyone else hurt?”

He shook his head, and she saw his shoulders relax a little. “The rest of us did exactly as the robbers said to do—especially after we saw what happened to you.”

Jeth paused, as though he expected her to reply. When she didn’t say anything, he stepped to the window near the foot of her bed and turned his back toward her.

Honor sat up. The pain in her head had faded slightly. “The elderly couple—Annie and Simon—” She swallowed. “Can you tell me…?”

He turned briefly, gazed at her, and then peered out the window again.

Honor wondered what he found so interesting out there. All she saw was brownish-green grass, trees, and a few clouds in a blue sky.

“What would you like me to tell you?” Jeth prompted.

She hesitated; she’d almost forgotten what she had planned to say. “Oh, about the Carrs. How are they?”

“They’re fine. Except that, like you, they lost all their money.”

When he turned back to face her, Honor flinched. It had happened again. For a moment, she had thought she was looking at her uncle instead of at Jeth. Why did she keep seeing a resemblance? The two men were nothing alike.

“The stage company honored the Carrs’ tickets,” Jeth continued, “and they caught another stage to Pine Falls.” He took a step toward her. “They sure hated to leave before they found out how you were doing.” A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “How are you doing?”

“My head hurts. Other than that, I’m all right.”

“Frankly, I’d be a little surprised if your head didn’t hurt—after the smack you got.”

A jumble of questions swirled in her head, but in her present state, she had trouble sorting them.

“You said the stage company honored the tickets of the other passengers?” she finally managed to ask. “Will they honor mine?”

“Of course.” White teeth gleamed in his smile. A lock of thick brown hair fell across his forehead. “In fact,” he added, “your ticket is waiting for you down at the stage office here in Hearten. As soon as you’re able to travel again, you can pick it up.”

“I’m ready now.”

“No, Miss McCall, you’re not.” He shook his head firmly several times. “Dr. Harris wants you to stay in bed for the rest of the week.” Jeth stepped to her bedside and touched her forehead. “Well, at least you don’t have fever.”

His palm felt rough on her skin. Weren’t preachers supposed to have smooth hands? The only real work they had was to preach a sermon on Sunday and preside over a funeral or wedding every once in a while.

He stepped back from the bed and adopted his soldier stance again, hands behind his back. “When you’re well enough, we’ll see about getting your ticket.”

“But I want—”

“No ‘buts.’ Doctor’s orders. In the meantime, try to enjoy your stay here—and my mother’s cooking.”

“I have no money to pay—”

“We know, and it’s all been taken care of.”

“How?” Honor felt a twinge of alarm. “Who paid for my room and board?”

“The Lord did,” he said.

That sounded too unlikely to be believed. “Would you please explain how God was able to do that?” she asked.

“The money came directly from the collection plate at our church,” Jeth explained. “But it really came from the Lord.”

“Why would God give me anything?” she asked.

“Because He loves you, that’s why.”

Honor shook her head doubtfully. The preacher must be just talking his line. God could never love someone like Honor McCall.

After Jeth left her room, Honor considered what he’d said, and she thought about the terrible irony of her situation. She was being supported by money from one church’s collection plate, after stealing from the collection plate at another church.

She’d done a terrible thing. Yet God was rewarding her with goodness. It didn’t make sense.

The sun shone high in the sky by the time Lucas woke up. When he climbed out of bed and crossed the room to draw the curtain, he saw two riders coming up the road.

Not those grave diggers again, he hoped.

As the riders grew closer, he realized they weren’t the Brown brothers after all. One of them looked too small to be a grown man, and the other was heavy and stout, with carrot-colored hair and a red beard.

No matter who they were, Lucas wasn’t in the mood for visitors. He closed the curtain and turned back to his bed. When a knock sounded at the door, he considered ignoring it, but curiosity captured him. He got up and headed through the kitchen to the small parlor.

Lucas opened the front door. Cold air blew inside. A thin layer of frost covered his front porch. And a man and a boy he’d never seen before stood there, staring into his face.

“Mr. Scythe,” the man said, “I’m John Crammer.” He glanced at the skinny, blond boy. “This here is my little brother, Bobby.”

The brothers wore tattered dark coats and caps. Puffs of smoke seemed to come from their mouths, their breaths visible in the wintry air.

“Someone told us you put a sign up in the saloon,” John Crammer said, “offering a reward for information on Miss Honor McCall. Is it true?”

“It shore is. Have you seen her?”

“Maybe.” John took a step forward as if he expected to be invited inside. His black boots crunched on the icy porch. “I seen a young woman get on the stage yesterday headed for Pine Falls—the one what was robbed.”

“Was she my niece?”

“I can’t rightly say, sir, but I think so. I knew Honor when we went to school together in Falling Rock—but that was back before she dropped out.”

Lucas held the door open only a crack, to keep out the cold wind. “My late wife taught Honor to read and write here at home. My Harriet was a former schoolteacher, you see, and a smart woman.” Lucas had kept Honor close to home most of her life. Not many in town knew her. Apparently, John Crammer was an exception.

John shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Mighty sorry to hear about your wife’s death,” he said.

Lucas nodded, studying the pair. The boy had a mass of curly blond hair beneath his black cap. Though Lucas’s mind was still cloudy, he intended to remember John and Bobby Crammer.

“So, do I get my thirty dollars?” John asked. “I could shore use it, seeing as I’m about to get married.”

“You’ll get nothing from me until I know exactly where Honor is,” Lucas replied firmly. “But if you’re wantin’ to make a little money, I might have a job for you.”

“What could that be, sir?”

“I need to be gone for a few weeks, looking for my niece. If you and the boy would look after my place and my cattle for me until I get back, I’ll give you one of my milk calves and call it even.”

“I reckon that sounds like an honest trade,” John said. “We accept. When are you leaving?”

“Today.”

At noon, Mrs. Peters returned to Honor’s bedroom. She placed a wooden tray on the bedside table, then removed a blue cloth that covered a white bowl. The aroma of chicken broth made Honor’s mouth water.

“Hungry?” Mrs. Peters asked in a perky voice.

Honor glanced at the older woman’s radiant smile and friendly expression and couldn’t help smiling in return. “Yes, ma’am, I would like some. Thank you for asking.”

Jeth’s mother chattered away as Honor ate her soup, talking about herself and her son. Honor learned Mrs. Peters was a widow and owned the only boardinghouse in Hearten, Colorado. Honor also discovered that Jeth rented a room there. In addition to being a pastor, he farmed the six acres behind the rooming house and was the handyman for all house repairs.

Now Honor understood why his hands were rough.

“My son is a widower,” Mrs. Peters said suddenly, simply.

Honor met her gaze. “I didn’t know.”

Honor hoped to hear more details, but instead of continuing to speak, Regina Peters gestured for Honor to lean forward. Then she reached for the pillow behind Honor’s back.

“Jethro lost his wife in a terrible fire that burned down the parsonage,” Mrs. Peters said as she fluffed the pillow. “My son hasn’t fully recovered from the pain of it yet.”

Honor looked into the older woman’s eyes again. “How terrible.”

“Yes, it was.” Mrs. Peters placed the pillow behind Honor’s head and put gentle pressure on her shoulder, encouraging her to relax. Then she pulled the covers up to Honor’s neck, tucking her in as if she were a small child.

“Jethro was visiting his former in-laws, Reverend and Mrs. Andrew Fields, in Falling Rock, when the grave diggers told him about your aunt’s death, Miss McCall. Ordinarily, Reverend Fields would have been the one to visit the gravesite, but he’s been a little under the weather the last week or two. So Jethro went in his place.”

“I don’t know Reverend Fields, but I’m sorry he’s sick,” Honor said. “And I hope he’s feeling better now?”

“Yes, let’s pray so.”

After Mrs. Peters left the room, Honor started thinking about Jeth again. Was he the man who had stood in the vestibule of the church on the morning she stole the money? Did Jeth know she was a thief? If so, why had he played innocent and acted nobly? There must be a reason.

She needed to leave Hearten as soon as possible. She couldn’t go on being a burden to these good people much longer.

It was Honor’s plan to move to Pine Falls. She had a lot of money to pay back. But first, she needed to find a job.

From the edge of the bed, she glanced out the open window. Jeth and his mother were in front of the boardinghouse, sitting in a wagon. A moment later, the team of brown horses started down the dirt driveway, Jeth at the reins.

A gust of wind rattled some papers on the table at the foot of the bed, sending them spinning. The vase of flowers stopped them from whirling to the floor. Honor crawled to the end of the bed, gathered the papers, stacked them, and placed a book on top, to keep them from scattering again. She was turning away when her eye fell on the title at the top of the first page: “Sermon for Sunday.”

Had the sermon been left deliberately? Was Reverend Peters hoping to convert her? More likely, it was an oversight. Still, she wondered….

Honor glanced toward the bedroom door. If she was going to leave now, this might be her best opportunity to get away without being noticed.

Swinging her legs around, she rose out of bed. When her feet touched the soft rag rug, she felt as if the carpet had grown wings and was about to fly away. To keep from falling, she grabbed the bedpost and waited for the wave of dizziness to disappear.

Several moments later, the flying carpet became a rug again, and she reached for her tan dress. Pulling the garment from the hook on the wall, she saw that it had been cleaned, freshly ironed, and smelled faintly of rosewater. She buried her nose in the sweet scent, grateful for Mrs. Peters’s kindness. Honor’s shoes, bonnet and shawl were on a shelf by her dress—and those items, too, had all been cleaned.

Honor still felt slightly woozy. Jeth had said Dr. Harris wanted her to stay in bed for a week. For a moment she was tempted to follow medical advice and climb back under the covers. But no, if she planned to make her escape, she had to do it now.

Jeth and his mother were indeed generous to have done so much for her. Aunt Harriet had always valued giving thanks, and Honor couldn’t leave town without writing a thank-you letter.

After quickly buttoning up her dress and gathering her bonnet and shawl, Honor went downstairs. In the entry hall, she noticed dark wood paneling. A small maple desk stood against one wall, and writing materials lay on the desktop. Honor sat down to write.

Dear Reverend and Mrs. Peters,

You have been more than kind to me, and I appreciate all you have done. But it is time for me to leave now. I hope to have left on the noon stage by the time you get back.

Yours truly,

Honor McCall

The minute she stepped out the door and onto the wide, front porch, a rush of cold wind whipped around the corner of the big, old house and slapped her in the face. The air smelled like rain. For a moment, she doubted her strength, and her resolve weakened. Perhaps she should have stayed in bed.

Another norther must have blown in while she was recuperating in the bedroom upstairs, and she wasn’t dressed warmly enough. She longed for her old woolen cape, but she’d left that back at the cabin with Lucas. Still, she was determined to leave now.

Honor stepped into the wind, head lowered. The ends of her long hair flew below the print bonnet. Draping her shawl over her bonnet and around her shoulders, she continued up the road on shaky legs. Since she never reached her destination, Jeth had said that Honor’s ticket was being held until she could pick it up. All Honor knew was she’d never been to Hearten before and had no idea where to find the ticket office.

Wagon tracks went to the right. She turned to the left as droplets of frozen rain hit her cheeks. Honor took a dozen steps, then slipped and fell. Quivering from the dampness and cold, she tried to rise and slipped again. Her head began to spin. The next moment, a blanket of darkness shrouded her.

Lucas rode toward Pine Falls, in search of Honor. He’d found a little food in the root cellar on the farm and had wrapped it in a potato sack to bring along. He was taking a route that avoided Falling Rock—too many debts waited for him there. His plan was to make a stop in Hearten, pick up a couple of bottles of whiskey, and move on.

There were no saloons in Hearten. The whole countryside was dry, though he’d heard of several ranchers who brewed spirits on the side. Maybe he could find one of them.

His mind seemed clearer now, and he’d been thinking about the minister from Hearten, who had been at the cemetery. The preacher had reminded him of somebody. Try as he might, Lucas couldn’t think who.

When he was a child, his mother had read to him from the Good Book. Since the preacher carried a Bible, maybe that was what stirred his recollections. All he knew for certain was that seeing the reverend had caused him to recall events he would rather not remember.

His mare, Lady, moved into a soft trot. A frosty breeze whipped Lucas’s ears. He pulled up the collar of his brown jacket. He had never thought he would miss Harriet. But he did. With a jolt, he realized he missed his mama and his childhood home, as well.

Lucas had ridden a horse named Old Smokey to school every day when he was a boy. He could almost see his mama standing at the kitchen door, waving goodbye to him and his big sisters as they sat astride the big gelding. Back then, Lucas was known as Lawrence Smith, but it had been years since anybody had called him by his real name.

His mama had wanted him to become a Christian and get a good education, but he’d fulfilled neither of those goals. Maybe he would have if he’d stayed at home instead of running away when he was barely fifteen.

Both his parents had been churchgoers, but his father was a hypocrite. Every time Pappy got drunk, he’d beat Lucas severely. Mama never said a word about the old man’s drinking, but she scolded Lucas when she found him behind the barn one day, sipping spirits with his friends.

As soon as he was big enough, Lucas had joined a cattle drive. He’d admired the strength he’d seen in his first trail boss, Adam Scythe. He wanted to be just like him. Before signing with the outfit for the next drive, he’d changed his name to Lucas Scythe. Like Lucas’s father, the trail boss had been a hard drinker, and Lucas had thought drinking would make him a man. In the end, he had become more of a drunk than Pappy.

Mama would have been disappointed if she’d known how her only son turned out. That was why Lucas never went back to Cold Springs for a visit. No point in making Mama feel worse by showing her what her son had become. Lucas swallowed an ache in his throat. Word had reached him that his parents died years ago, but he’d never checked out the rumor.

Patches of ground were visible under the melting snow. From a distance, the earth had a reddish color—like Honor’s hair.

Missy. At the thought of her, Lucas’s face hardened. When he found that girl, he’d teach her a lesson. She deserved a few knocks for taking his money and heading out of town. Then he would marry her. Why, she was young enough to have babies. He’d always wanted a family, but Harriet couldn’t have children.

Lucas slowed Lady, then pulled her to a stop. He wanted to think. Miss Ruby Jones lived on the far side of Falling Rock. If he looped around, he could ride out to her farm without being seen. Maybe he would pay her a visit before riding on to Hearten.

He never saw Ruby much after Harriet got sick and not at all toward the end, but Lucas intended to visit her now. Would she agree to see him? After all this time, she could have found someone new. He looked forward to being with her again, especially since Ruby always kept plenty of whiskey in the cabinet in her parlor, but if she turned him away, so be it.

When Honor opened her eyes, Jeth Peters was sitting in a chair near her bed, watching her.

“So, you’re awake.” He smiled.

Remembering her fall in the snow, she glanced under the covers and saw that Mrs. Peters must have removed her wet clothes and helped her into a flannel nightgown. Relieved and grateful, Honor pulled the quilt around her neck again.

“Now,” Jeth said. “Would you mind telling me what you were doing walking around in a freezing rain without so much as a coat on?”

“First, sir, you tell me why you left one of your sermons in my room.” She motioned toward the papers on the table. “Did you think I needed to be preached to or something?”

“I didn’t know I left my sermon in here. I’ve been looking everywhere for it.” He reached for the stack of papers. “I came in once to check on you earlier and I must have left my sermon notes then.” His forehead creased. “And, Miss McCall, will you please stay put for a while? I’d like to rest up for a few days before I have to rescue you again.”

Chapter Five

Jeth sat in the chair beside Honor’s bed, entertaining her with amusing stories about Timmy, a mischievous little boy in his congregation.

Honor was chuckling softly, when a tall gentleman with white hair and wearing spectacles suddenly appeared in the doorway. The little black bag he carried identified him as a doctor.

Jeth stood and crossed the room. “Dr. Harris. Thank you so much for stopping by, sir.”

The men shook hands, then Jeth smiled and gestured toward Honor. “Miss Honor McCall, I would like to present Dr. Alvin Harris. He’s the one who examined you after the robbery and bandaged your head.”

Honor nodded. “I’m glad to meet you, Doctor. Thank you for all your help yesterday—or whenever the robbery took place.”

“I’m glad to meet you, too, Miss McCall. And the stage robbery was yesterday. Though somehow it seems longer ago than that, doesn’t it? How are you feeling?”

“Much better than when I first woke up, thank you.”

“I hope you’ll get better and better, young lady.”

Jeth stood beside Dr. Harris. Honor thought he’d looked uncomfortable from the instant the doctor had come into the room. Nervous and slightly flustered, like a guilty child.

Jeth motioned toward the chair. “Please, Doctor, won’t you sit down. I should go downstairs anyway and tell Mama you’re here.”

“I know he’s here.” Mrs. Peters stood in the doorway. “But do go down and wait for us in the parlor, Jethro. I know Dr. Harris will want to give you a report on Miss McCall’s health as soon as he’s had time to examine her.”

“Yes.” Jeth walked to the door. “That’s just what I’ll do.”

The snow had vanished. Though a cool wind whistled down from the mountains, the day was clear and sunny. But even if it had been cold and icy, the valley would have reminded Lucas of springtime as he rode into the pasture in front of Ruby Jones’s farmhouse. Everything about her had that effect on him.

How many times had Ruby insisted there was something almost magical about her farm? Especially her house, with its white shutters and all the fancy gingerbread trim around the eaves. In the next breath, she would talk about how unhappy she was. How tired of being “the other woman” in Lucas’s life. Her moods moved back and forth faster than a lady’s fan on a hot summer night.

He had stopped seeing Ruby after it became clear that Harriet was dying, and she’d said she understood. But did she still care? Or had she found someone new? With Ruby, it was hard to tell what she was thinking, and they hadn’t been together in almost two months.

He never knew whether Ruby was going to kiss him or hit him over the head with a frying pan. Raising his collar against the chill, Lucas wondered what she would be like this time.

“Reckon I’ll find out soon enough,” he thought.

A white picket fence circled what Lucas called her dollhouse. Since he was here the last time, she’d painted her home butter yellow. A man would go insane in an over-decorated house like hers. Lucas unsaddled Lady, tied her to a tall pine out front, and gave her some water from the nearby well.

As he started up the stepping stones leading to Ruby’s front porch, the door flew open. Ruby burst out onto the porch, arms outstretched, and waited for him. Her laughter, like music, floated toward him. Ruby had never lost her sense of grace or her ability to pull in the sun with one of her smiles.

“Oh, Lucas. I’m so glad you stopped by. I haven’t seen you in ages and ages.”

Since he didn’t see a frying pan in her hand, he moved forward.

Ruby had been a dance-hall girl until she’d inherited the farm from a great-aunt. Though almost forty, she looked younger. Dressed younger, too. Ruby was one of those women who refused to grow old—always trying to turn fall into early springtime. She almost got away with it.

She probably expected Lucas to marry her now that Harriet was gone. They’d been keeping company for almost ten years. But marriage to Ruby wasn’t in his plans.

Yet already, the sweet scent of her floral perfume drew him closer and closer. Around her, he always felt like a hooked trout on a short line.

Ruby’s smile evaporated, and she sent him a sorrowful look. “I regretted hearing about Harriet’s death. You have my deepest sympathy, Lucas.”

“Thank you.”

Just as suddenly, her grin reappeared. “But, as they say, life must go on.” She grabbed his hand. Pulling him forward, she opened the door. “Hurry now. We have a lot to talk about.”

“I need a drink first.”

“Later.”

Lucas stopped as soon as he walked into the house, and then he coughed. An overpowering odor of perfume choked him. The air reeked. His eyes watered. He wished for a handkerchief.

The parlor had been rearranged since the last time he had seen it. New yellow chintz curtains hung on all the windows. Orange and yellow paper flowers in white vases were everywhere. He took a moment to absorb it all.

“Like it?” she asked.

“Maybe. Now, about that drink—”

“Please, Lucas.” She squeezed his hand. “Tell me what you really think. It’s important.”

Breaking free of her grasp, he surveyed the rest of the room. “Where’s that there chair I always sit in?”

“Over there.” She pointed to an overstuffed chair near the fireplace.

“It used to be blue.”

“Now it’s yellow.”

“I can see that.” He looked around again. “Where’s the cabinet that you keep the liquor in?”

“I’ve rearranged a little. I’ll explain more in a minute. We should discuss a few things first.”

Here it comes, he thought.

“Would you like to sit down?” she asked.

He looked down at his dusty clothes, then at the yellow chair. “I ain’t sitting in no chair like that. I might get it all dirty.”

“Maybe you’d be more comfortable if you washed up before supper. The kettle has enough hot water left to warm the tub, and the clothes you left last time you were here are clean and ready for you to put on.”

“I reckon I’d be more comfortable if you gave me a drink.” He looked around again. “Now, where did you say that cabinet was? I don’t mind helping myself, if you’ll point the way.”

“I said I’d explain later. I’m going to get the kettle. There’s already a big bucket of cold water upstairs. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

She floated from the room on the balls of slender feet like the dancer she’d always been.

Lucas moved across the room to the china closet and opened it. He saw only white dishes.

“Looking for something?” Ruby’s voice came from behind him.

He whirled back around. “The whiskey. I was looking for the whiskey.”

“I—I don’t happen to have any down here right now.”

“Don’t have none? Why not?”

“I told you. I’ll explain after a while.”

“Well, you’re sure taking your sweet time about it, ain’t ya?”

Ruby wore a white apron edged with ruffles over her green dress. A dark green ribbon tied back her long brown hair. At hardly more than a hundred pounds, she looked like a doll herself. Except for a few wrinkles around her chocolate-colored eyes, she appeared almost as young as Honor. Regardless, she was a long way from nineteen. Lucas intended to keep that in mind when selecting a mother for his future child.

“So if you would like to go upstairs now and take a bath,” Ruby said, “you’ll find cloths for washing and drying next to the washtub.” She handed him the kettle. “I’ll have supper ready by the time you finish, and then we can talk.”

Ruby was up to something. He’d seen that look before. Still, a hot bath appealed to him. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find me some whiskey up there, he speculated.

Lucas took the stairs to the guest bedroom. Like the downstairs rooms, everything had been changed since his last visit. Sheer, yellow curtains replaced the blues ones he’d seen on the windows before, and a lacy, white bedspread covered the double bed. A tub for bathing stood in the middle of a circular rag rug. The bucket of cold water waited near the rug. Lucas put the kettle next to it.

His feet hurt from walking his horse a mile or so back, and he wanted to sit down and take off his boots. The only chair looked as fancy as the bedspread. Seated on the edge of the bed, he pulled off his boots, and Harriet’s warning filled his mind.

Don’t empty your boots on the floor, she’d always said.

Old, naggin’ women are all alike, he told himself. That’s why I’m gettin’ me a young one—like Honor.

Lucas poured dirt from his boots onto the floor until nothing more came out. Then he let them drop. Thump. Thump.

Now where would Ruby have put the whiskey? She must have a bottle or two hidden somewhere.

A chest of drawers stood against the north wall. He pulled out the top drawer and threw out what was inside, tossing everything on the floor.

When he didn’t find any bottles, Lucas jerked out the second drawer and repeated the process. Then the third drawer and, finally, the fourth.

Heat warmed his face. His muscles tensed and anger welled inside him. Now he really needed a drink.

Crouching down, Lucas looked under the bed. Nothing. His jaw tightened as he got to his feet again. He snatched the covers and threw them on the floor.

“Where’s that whiskey?” Lucas bumped his toe on the iron bedpost. “Ouch!”

Hopping on one leg, he reached down, grabbed his toe and held it. He’d thought his feet hurt before, but nothing compared to what he felt now.

A yellow trunk, decorated with painted flowers and vines, stood at the foot of the bed. He threw back the lid and removed dresses, petticoats and delicate undergarments. Near the bottom, his hand touched a hard object under a frilly, pink nightgown. He pushed the gown to one side. A dark-colored flask, flat on both sides, caught his attention.

He grabbed it and unscrewed the top. The smell of whiskey filled the room. Lucas lifted the flask to his lips and swallowed. The golden liquid burned its way into his stomach. He sighed deeply and took another gulp.

“Lunch is almost ready,” Ruby called from downstairs.

“Be there in a minute,” he shouted back.

Lucas dropped his dirty clothes on the rag rug. First, he poured cold, then hot water into the wooden tub. At last, he climbed into the warm water, carrying the flask with him.

Ten minutes later, Lucas, in tan trousers and a fresh blue shirt, came downstairs. He felt better after bathing and putting on clean clothes. Just not as good as he would feel after he had a few more drinks.

The dinner table was covered with a blue linen cloth. Ruby set out her best white china. Lucas sat down and reached for the platter of fried chicken.

“Not yet, Lucas.”

“Why not?”

“We haven’t said the blessing.”

“Blessing? When did you start that?”

“A few weeks ago. I go to church every Sunday. You should, too. I was baptized.”

“Baptized? You?”

She nodded. “I’m a saved Christian now.”

He wondered if she still drank, but didn’t ask.

Ruby folded her hands like she was about to pray. When Lucas didn’t fold his, she sent him a scolding glance—like his mother used to do when he was a child.

Lucas groaned and folded his hands.

“Thank you, Lucas,” she said.

After Ruby said grace, she handed him the chicken.

“What am I getting to drink?” he asked.

“Did I forget to give you your tea?” Casually, she pointed to the steaming cup by his plate. “Oh, there it is.” Her smile held a hint of amusement. “Drink up while it’s hot.”

“Tea ain’t what I want, and you know it.”

“Sorry. It’s all I have on hand. Now, will you please pass the mashed potatoes?”

After lunch, they moved into the kitchen for apple pie and coffee. Lucas enjoyed her desserts, but he would like some alcohol better.

Did Ruby intend to pour him a shot of whiskey or not?

“Have you finished your pie yet?” she asked.

He took the last bite and swallowed. “I have now.” He wiped his mouth with a blue-and-white checkered napkin.

Ruby got up and stood by her chair. “I would like to go out and see your mare before we have our talk.” She pulled a carrot from a bowl on the kitchen table and held it up for him to see. “This is for Lady. I remember how she likes carrots.”

She gathered several other things and placed them in a wicker basket. None was a bottle with liquid in it. So he didn’t pay much attention.

“Shall we go?” she asked.

“I reckon. The sooner we go, the sooner we’ll get back and I can have that drink.”

They went out into the sunshine, and Ruby rushed over to his mare. The basket swayed back and forth on her arm as she fed Lady the carrot.

“Hello, girl,” Ruby said. “How are you doing?” She turned and smiled up at Lucas. “Horses have such soft noses, don’t they?”

“I ain’t never thought much about it.”

It was a lie. He had thought about it. But he’d always considered it unmanly to let anyone know how he felt.

His saddle, blanket and other equipment had been dropped together under a pine tree. Ruby picked up one of his saddlebags. Then she pulled a small book from her basket and slipped it in the bag.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“I got this Bible from the preacher at my church in town. The inscription inside said it belonged to Harriet. She must have left it at the church. I thought Honor might like to have it now.” She stuffed a small wooden box in with the Bible.

Lucas reached for the bag, taking it out of her hand. “What else are you puttin’ in there?” He peered inside.

“That string of pearls you gave me last Christmas. I know you stole it from Harriet, and I think the pearls should go to Honor now.”

For all Lucas cared, she could take the book and necklace and throw them in the creek. Then he had a second thought. Were the items worth something? Could he sell them? Lucas always needed money.

Ruby moved over to his gray mare again and patted the animal’s swollen belly. “Don’t you just love babies?”

“I like colts. They make me money.”

“Always money.” She turned and smiled at him again. “What about human babies? Wouldn’t you like to have one?”

“I never gave it much thought,” he said, knowing it was another lie. “Harriet couldn’t have no children.”

“I can. At least, I hope I can.”

Lucas tensed. “Are you—are you in the family way, Ruby?”

“Not yet. But I’d like to be.” She moved toward him and put her arms around his neck. “Will you marry me, Lucas?” She beamed up at him. “You always said you would. Someday. And someday is here. Please, Lucas, say yes.”

“You know better than to pen me in, Ruby. I’ve been penned up for too long as it is.” He took hold of her arms and removed them from around his neck. “I don’t want to get married.”

To you, he thought.

“Don’t say that!” Ruby covered her mouth with the palms of her hands. “Not now!”

Lucas tensed. “The only thing I want is a good shot of whiskey.”

“But you promised…”

“I don’t want you, Ruby. You can’t have no babies. If you could, you would have had a couple by now.”

Her eyes widened. “How can you say such a cruel thing?”

“’Cause it’s true.”

Her mouth turned down at the edges. The softness he’d seen in her face a few minutes earlier vanished. Slowly, her jaw tightened. She looked hard, yet strong…and beautiful.

Anger boiled inside him, threatening to bubble up. His face and neck heated quicker than a kettle on a hot stove. Didn’t Ruby know enough to back away while she had the chance?

“What makes you so sure I’m the one who can’t have children?” she taunted. “Did you ever wonder if maybe it’s you, Lucas? Maybe if Harriet and I had been with a real man, we could have had all the babies we wanted.”

He stiffened. His hands became fists.

Ruby screamed. “Don’t!” She got down on her knees. “Please, Lucas! Don’t hit me.”

He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. After what she had said, she deserved it. And yet…

His chest heaving with suppressed rage, Lucas turned toward his mare. The muscles in his face were as stiff as iron. Slowly, he saddled his horse.

When he’d mounted, he looked down. Ruby rocked back and forth on the ground, crying.

“Goodbye, Ruby. And thank you kindly for a mighty fine meal.” He pulled out the flask and held it up for her to see. “Thanks for the whiskey, too.”

Lucas took a swig from the flask. Then he turned his mare toward Hearten and rode away.

He would sell the items that had belonged to Harriet. Honor didn’t deserve them after what she did. Besides, he needed money. Otherwise, he might need to find a temporary job before going all the way to Pine Falls.

Jeth didn’t feel like sitting in the parlor on one of his mother’s ornate, store-bought chairs while he waited to hear what Dr. Harris had to say about Honor. Pacing back and forth in the entry hall in front of the double doors, he paused only long enough to check his pocket watch.

He thought of Honor’s letter—the one he had discovered on the desk near the door. What if he hadn’t noticed it in time? She could have died—frozen to death in the icy rain.

Miss McCall could still be seriously hurt and might need weeks to recuperate. Yet she’d written him a thank-you letter before wandering off in the cold. She must be one of those modern girls he’d been reading about in the newspaper.

The reporter had written, “These young ladies will feel more comfortable in the twentieth century when it finally arrives than they ever felt in the nineteenth.”

Jeth headed for the kitchen. He respected Honor’s independent spirit, but to his way of thinking, her judgment was misguided.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, sat down at the table and looked around. Where was the doctor? Jeth drummed the fingers of one hand on the table. The man should have finished examining Honor long ago.

At the sound of creaking from the stairway, Jeth glanced toward the door, put down his cup and started to rise from his chair.

“No, don’t get up,” his mother said from the doorway. “We can entertain the doctor in here as well as the parlor.”

Dr. Harris stood behind his mother, his hands on her shoulders. Jeth liked the picture they made. At over six feet, the doctor barely fit under the lintel of the door and he looked even taller next to his mama.

Jeth had always thought the doctor was sweet on his widowed mother. But so far, Dr. Harris hadn’t declared himself.

Mrs. Peters gestured toward the chair across from Jeth’s. “Sit down, Alvin, and I’ll get the coffee.”

Dr. Harris settled into the chair and leaned back, folding his hands over his chest. Jeth wondered what the doctor must have thought when he found him alone in a room with a young, unmarried woman. He should have been standing in the doorway instead of seated in a chair by her bed. Now he wanted a report on Honor’s health, but the doctor looked tired.

“Alvin was up all night with Mr. Sloan’s mother,” Mrs. Peters explained. “The dear woman isn’t doing too well. So we need to keep praying, Jethro, and have patience. Wait on the Lord.”

Jeth nodded, drumming his fingers again. “Yes, we certainly do.”

The doctor’s eyes were closed and he was snoring softly. It was amazing that he could fall asleep so quickly, and it would be a shame to wake him, but Jeth needed to hear how Honor was doing and didn’t know how much longer he could sit and wait.

Jeth cleared his throat.

The doctor jerked forward. His eyes popped open.

Mrs. Peters placed a steaming cup of coffee before the doctor. “Here ya go, Alvin.” She poured fresh coffee into Jeth’s cup and returned to the stove.

Steam from both cups curled up and disappeared into the air. The doctor reached for his cup and took a swallow of the hot liquid. He made a sighing noise of contentment.

“Well, Doctor,” Jeth prompted, “what can you tell us about Miss McCall? Is she going to be all right?”

“She’s still dizzy and sick to her stomach. The pain in her head bothers her, too.” The doctor took another mouthful of coffee and swallowed. “Though she’s improving nicely, I’ve told her to stay in bed for at least a week. She didn’t like hearing that, and I can’t blame her. It’s no fun, staying in all the time with nothing much to do but look out the window. I’m counting on you and your mother to keep her from being bored. Can you find the time to do that, son?”

Jeth had a few more humorous anecdotes involving Timmy and the other children from his congregation that he could relate. He hoped they would amuse Honor.

“Yes, sir,” Jeth said. “I think I can.”

“I know you can,” Dr. Harris replied approvingly. “A young man like you can do anything he sets his mind to do.” The doctor looked over at Jeth’s mother and smiled. “Isn’t that right, Regina?”

“I believe so,” she said.

Dr. Harris turned back to Jeth. “Your mama and I might have some news to tell you.” He winked, then nodded toward Regina Peters. “Come on over here, woman, and let’s get this job over with.”

Jeth saw his mother’s cheeks turn a rosy pink as she came to the doctor’s side. Dr. Harris pulled a chair next to his own and draped his arm across the back. “Sit right here, Regina, where I can keep you close.”

She ducked her head shyly, then sat down and blushed some more.

Jeth’s grin grew and he felt excitement at what he thought would be good news. “Are you two getting married?”

“You betcha,” the doctor said.

“When?”

“Right after the first of the year.”

Jeth rose from his chair. “Congratulations.” He went around the table and hugged them both. “I couldn’t be happier.” He gave his mother an extra squeeze. “But why wait?”

The doctor grinned at Regina. “Your mama said she has some things she has to do first. Promises to keep.” Dr. Harris turned his smile on Jeth. “And we want you to perform the ceremony. Will you, son?”

Jeth nodded. “I would be honored. Welcome to the family, Doctor.”

“Welcome to my family, son.” The doctor patted Jeth on the back. “I guess you’ll really be my son soon, won’t you.”

“Yes, sir. I guess I will.”

Jeth was glad his mother had found love again after all these years, and he’d always liked Dr. Harris. But he couldn’t help wondering what would become of the boardinghouse after his mother married.

Should he start looking for a new place to live?

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