The Maverick Preacher

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Adie paced down the street, almost running to put distance between them. Josh didn’t understand her reaction. She’d already revealed the truth of her son’s birth, and he hadn’t judged her for it.

He wanted to ask her about Emily, but he knew she wouldn’t answer. Instead he caught up to her and walked in silence, recalling the times he’d asked strangers if they’d seen his sister. Most said no without thinking. He’d learned to ask less obvious questions. That’s how he’d traced Emily to Kansas City. He’d shown her picture to a clerk in a St. Louis pawnbrokerage. The man had shaken his head. Later he’d recalled a woman asking for directions to the train station.

The bank loomed on their right.

“We’re here,” Adie said.

He stepped ahead of her and held the door. As he followed her inside, he saw a teller cage, a cherrywood counter and a clerk in a white shirt. To the right, a waist-high railing surrounded a massive desk. A leather chair resembled an empty throne, and a low shelf boasted artwork. Josh found himself staring at marble sculptures depicting Greek gods, cherubs and women. The mix made him uneasy. Franklin Dean was nowhere in sight, so he stood back as Adie made the payment.

As she tucked the receipt in her bag, he guided her to the door. The instant it closed behind them, she looked jubilant.

“Thank you, Reverend.”

“For what?”

“Your rent helped to pay my mortgage.”

She made him feel like an errant knight. “My pleasure, Miss Clarke.”

“I’m making a roast for supper. I hope you’ll join us.”

Her hazel eyes shone with happiness. Josh liked roast, but he liked this woman even more. Common sense told him to avoid Adie and her autumn eyes, but supper would give him a chance to ask her boarders about Emily.

“I’d be grateful,” he replied.

Concern wrinkled her brow. “Is your stomach strong enough? I could make you a custard.”

Babies ate custard. Men ate meat. As kind as it was, Adie’s offer irked him. “My digestion’s much better.”

“Good.”

Having supper with five ladies made a bath a priority. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to run an errand of my own.”

“Of course.”

As Adie retraced her steps down Colfax Avenue, Josh headed for the part of town where he’d find a bathhouse among saloons and gaming halls. Tomorrow he’d come back to this sorry place and ask about his sister, praying he’d find her and hoping it wouldn’t be in an upstairs room.

Maybe she’d found a sanctuary like Swan’s Nest. The thought cheered him. It also raised questions. Adie’s dress, a calico with a high neck and plain buttons, spoke of a simple life. She worked hard to care for her boarders. How had she come to own a mansion, especially one with the air of old money? She kept one parlor closed, but the other had a marble hearth, cornices and wall sconces. An oriental rug protected the hardwood floor, and the latest flowery wallpaper lined the hall. While most of the Denver mansions were made of stone, someone had spent a fortune to haul in wood for siding.

Most notable of all, a stained glass window adorned the entry hall. Round and wide, it depicted a white swan with an arched neck floating on a lake of blue glass. Swan’s Nest struck Josh as a perfect name, especially considering its owner and her female guests. Tonight he’d eat a home-cooked meal in the company of good women. They’d chatter, and he’d listen to their birdsong voices. He wouldn’t be lonely for conversation, and he might glean news of Emily.

Two hours later, Franklin Dean entered the bank he’d inherited from his father. A review of the day’s business showed Adie Clarke’s payment. Irritated, he summoned Horace, his driver, and left for the Denver Gentlemen’s Club.

As usual, he’d eat supper alone. He blamed the unfortunate state of his evening on Pearl. Didn’t she know how much he loved her? He’d die for her. Sometimes, like this afternoon when he’d seen the foolish preacher at Swan’s Nest, he thought he could kill for her.

He hoped the circumstances wouldn’t come to that. He knew from experience that dead bodies raised questions. He hadn’t meant to strangle Winnie Peters, but she’d started to scream. Why had she done that? Frank didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He’d left her body in a ravine and paid Horace to remove her belongings from the hotel. No one missed her. She’d come to Denver alone and hadn’t made friends.

As the carriage passed through town, Frank considered today’s visit to Swan’s Nest. It hadn’t gone well, and he’d missed Adie’s visit to the bank. If it weren’t for her, Pearl would be living at the parsonage. By now, her father would have forced her to marry him. Instead she’d found refuge in a mansion that should have belonged to the bank.

Frank scowled at his father’s shortsightedness. Swan’s Nest was on Seventeenth Street, a dirt road that led to the outskirts of Denver. As the city grew, that street would fill with businesses. In a few years, the land would be worth thousands of dollars. Frank’s father had sold the mansion for a song, and Frank wanted it back.

He had to get rid of Adie Clarke and he had to do it soon, before Pearl had the baby and his son was born without his name.

“Horace?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you recall the job I asked you to do last month?”

“Of course, sir.”

Frank had asked his driver to send Miss Clarke a message, so Horace had thrown a rock through her bedroom window. Miss Clarke had replaced the glass and said nothing, not even to the sheriff.

“It didn’t accomplish what I’d hoped,” Frank said.

“Another plan, sir?”

He thought of the garden he’d seen on the side of the house. A smirk curled his lips. “I believe Miss Clarke’s vegetables need attention.”

“Yes, sir.”

Horace stopped the carriage in front of the Denver Gentlemen’s Club. Frank exited the rig, then pressed a shiny silver dollar into his driver’s hand.

Horace’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you, sir.”

With his walking stick in hand, Frank entered the club where he’d find fine food and drink. Tonight he had everything he needed…except Pearl. Only Adie Clarke stood in his way.

Chapter Five

“Good evening, ladies. May I join you?”

Adie had been about to carve the roast when she looked up and saw Reverend Blue, tall and lean in a black coat and preacher’s collar, standing in the doorway. His cheeks gleamed with a close shave and his hair, dark with a slight wave, wisped back from his forehead. Adie nearly dropped the carving knife. The drifter who’d fainted on her porch was nowhere in sight. In his place stood a gentleman. His eyes, clear and bright, shone with mirth. He’d surprised her, and he knew it.

He’d surprised her boarders, too. Pearl’s face had turned as pale as her white-blond hair. Mary, her cheeks red with anger, glared at him. Bessie beamed a smile, while Caroline stared as if she’d never seen a handsome man before.

Adie was as tongued-tied as Caroline but for different reasons. While walking to the bank, she’d chirped like a cricket to stop him from asking questions about Stephen. She’d kept her focus until they’d reached Colfax Avenue Church. She hated that building as much as she loved Swan’s Nest. She felt that way about all churches, especially ones led by men like Reverend Honeycutt and Maggie Butler’s brother.

Looking at Reverend Blue, she didn’t see the trappings of such a man, but still felt more comfortable with the drifter.

She indicated the chair on her right. “Please join us.”

As he approached, she glanced around the table. If he asked questions, her boarders would answer truthfully. The thought terrified her. They all knew she’d adopted Stephen after the death of a friend, but she’d never breathed Maggie’s name. As slim as the details were, Adie didn’t want a stranger, especially a preacher, knowing her business.

She positioned the meat fork, lifted the knife and sliced into the roast with too much force. As the cut went askew, the blade cracked against the platter.

Still standing, Reverend Blue indicated the roast. “May I?”

Caroline broke in. “Please do, Reverend.”

Irritated, Adie set down the knife and took her seat, watching as his fingers, long and tanned by the sun, curved around the handle. Maggie’s hands had been pale, but her fingers had been just as tapered. As he cut the meat into precise slices, her nerves prickled with an undeniable fact. Joshua Blue had carved a hundred roasts. Like Maggie, he’d sipped from fine crystal and knew which fork to use. Her stomach lurched. In the same breath, she ordered herself to be logical. Lots of men knew the proper way to carve meat.

Reverend Blue arranged the last slice on the platter and sat to her right. Adie had no interest in saying grace, but Bessie insisted on keeping the tradition. Tonight the older woman looked at their guest. “Would you give the blessing, Reverend?”