Victoria Bylin - The Maverick Preacher

“It’s settled,” he said. “I’m going with you to the bank.”

Adie frowned. “You’re pushier than Mr. Dean.”

“Only for a good cause, Miss Clarke.”

She sighed. “If you insist, but—”

Pearl interrupted. “I insist. This is all my fault.”

Adie put her hands on her hips. “Nothing is your fault, Pearl. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Except she looked down at her toes.

Josh’s mind flashed back to Emily asking to speak with him in his study. Like Pearl, she’d mumbled and stared at her feet. Josh would regret his first words until his dying day. He’d called his own sister a foul name. He’d ordered her to give the baby away. And for what? His pride…his reputation. What a hypocrite he’d been. In truth, he’d committed worse sins than Emily. By condemning her, he’d denied her the very mercy Christ had shown him and every other man.

Looking at Adie and Pearl, he felt the full weight of his failings. Men had a duty to protect the women they loved. Mothers. Sisters. Wives. He’d failed on two counts. Not only had he harmed Emily, but his mother had died two years ago when he’d been numb with laudanum. If he’d been clear-headed, he might have convinced her to see a doctor for her dizzy spells. As for the third kind of woman—a wife—Josh had vowed to never marry. Without a wife and children, he could pursue his work every minute of the day.

Even without the inclination to marry, he felt protective toward all females. That included Adie and her friends…especially Adie. Annoyed by the thought, he pushed it aside. So what if he liked red hair? He had a call on his life, and that would never change.

“I’ll get my coat,” he said to the women.

He went to his room, where he lifted the garment off a nail and put it on. After Adie made the payment, he’d excuse himself for a bath and a haircut. At the barber, he’d ask about pawnbrokers.

He went to the entry hall, where he saw Adie at a mirror, tying the ribbons of her bonnet. She’d lifted her chin, giving it a defiant tilt. She looked too young to be a mother, but Stephen was living proof. As she gave the ribbons a tug, Josh found himself admiring the way she faced problems. She didn’t duck the truth, neither did she shy away from facts that couldn’t be denied. He wished he’d had a friend like Adie in Boston, someone who’d have made him look in the mirror as she was looking in it now.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Me, too.” She lifted a drawstring bag and clutched it with both hands.

Josh opened the door and let her pass. It had been a long time since a woman’s skirt had brushed over his boots. In Boston, he’d put that awareness out of his mind. He tried to do it now but couldn’t. Losing Emily had made him conscious of the simple things women did to soften a man’s hard edges, things like smiling and noticing flowers.

As he followed Adie through the front door, he took in the walkway and manicured shrubs. He’d arrived at Swan’s Nest in the dark and hadn’t noticed the surrounding area. Another mansion stood catty-corner across the street. As they walked down the road, he saw a third home. Set back on a large parcel of land, it was half-demolished. He wrinkled his brow in surprise. “Why is it being destroyed? The house looks almost new.”

“It’s five years old.”

“Seems like a waste.”

Adie stared straight ahead. “It is, unless you plan to build five houses in place of one.”

Josh put the pieces together. “That’s why Dean’s harassing you. He wants Swan’s Nest so he can tear it down.”

“That’s right.”

She glanced at the demolished remains, now three hills of ragged gray stone. “Mr. Dean bought that house last month. I knew the couple who owned it.”

“What happened?”

“Bad investments.” Her lips tightened. “The husband owned a silver mine. When it went dry, they lost everything.”

“And Dean bought the house.”

“For a song.”

Josh thought of his cousin in Boston. Elliot liked money, but he wasn’t a squirrel about it. He gave away as much as he kept. Sometimes more. A little competition might do Dean some good.

“Tell me more,” Josh said.

“That’s all I know.” Adie made a show of inhaling and raising her face to the sun. “It’s a beautiful day.”

Small talk couldn’t get any smaller than the weather. Josh gave her a sideways glance and saw the set of her jaw. In his experience, people were quick to talk about news and scandals. Considering Dean’s visit and the demolished house, he found the change in subject odd, even suspicious, but he followed her lead.

“Summer here is dry,” he said. “It’s quite a change from Boston.”

“I’d imagine so.”

Was it his imagination, or did she look frightened? As they passed a third mansion, a stone monstrosity with turrets and a flat roof, she changed the subject again. She told him about the vegetables she’d planted and why she preferred beans to squash. In other words, she told him nothing. Women usually bragged on their children. Adie didn’t mention her son once. Neither did she breathe a hint of how she’d come to Denver.

Josh knew about secrets. He’d kept his own. He’d also ridden with men who said nothing and others who told lies. Adie was intent on building a wall of words. Josh didn’t mind. After months of gruff male talk, he was enjoying the singsong quality of her voice and the simple pleasure of walking by gardens filled with flowers.

As they neared the heart of Denver, her chatter faded to stray comments about the shops. She stopped talking altogether when they reached a church. Made of rusticated stone, the building had a tall bronze steeple and massive stained glass windows. He’d never seen such beautiful work, not even in Europe. He looked at the pitch of the roof and imagined a vaulted ceiling and the echo of a choir. He blinked and saw mahogany pews filled with people. He pictured a podium carved with an eagle. He’d used such a podium in Boston. He’d never use one again, but he could appreciate the beauty of the church simply as a man.

He glanced at the double doors, then at Adie. “Let’s go inside.”

“No, thank you.” She clipped the words.

Josh would respect her wishes, but he needed to open the door for himself. He turned up the steps. “I’ll just be a minute.”

She kept walking.

The church could wait. Adie couldn’t. He caught up to her in three strides and saw a glint in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s none of your business.”

Josh had used the same tone when a church elder questioned him about the laudanum. “I don’t mean to pry—”

“Then don’t.”

“You seem upset.”

“Upset?” Her expression turned murderous. “Franklin Dean goes to that church. Pearl’s father is the pastor.”

He knew that Dean had harmed Pearl. Even if a woman welcomed a man’s advances, he had an obligation to protect her, to say no for both of them until the benefit of marriage. As for Pearl’s father, had he shunned his daughter the way Josh had rejected Emily? He needed to know. If he could spare Pearl a minute of suffering, he’d tell his story to her father.

“Tell me more,” he said to Adie.

She stopped in midstride. When she looked into Josh’s eyes, he knew he’d hear the truth and it would hurt.

“He raped her,” she said in a dry whisper. “They were engaged. He took her on a buggy ride and he forced her.”

Emily’s face, tearstained and afraid, flashed in front of his eyes.

“Go on,” he said.

Adie’s voice quavered. “The next day, Dean went to Pearl’s father. He ‘confessed’ that they’d gone too far and asked for permission to marry her immediately. Reverend Oliver ordered her into the parlor. He made her stand there and listen to that snake apologize. Her own father acted as if she’d been as sinful as Dean.”