Victoria Bylin - The Maverick Preacher

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

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

“It’s fine.”

“It’s dirty.”

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

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

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

Show no fear. Stay strong.

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

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

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

“I see it.”

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

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

His face turned pale. “No, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, please.”

“It’s in the kitchen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m much better.”

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

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

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

“I have a few rules,” she said.

“Whatever you say.”

“Under no circumstances may you go upstairs.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

“That suits me fine.”

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

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

“If you use a dish, wash it.”

“All right.”

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

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

“Fine.” Except his courtesy annoyed her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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