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Journey stood steadily under Abby’s gaze. She thought if she held her breath she could probably hear the gears whirring in the woman’s brain.
Abby turned to her husband then, looking down slightly to meet his eyes. “What about Miss Rose? She’s been hoping to find someone to help out around her house. I’m not sure what arrangements she’s thinking on, but I could take you out there if you’re interested.”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town. I was thinking—”
“Nonsense. Miss Rose is a fine woman. Once you meet her, you’ll never want to leave.”
“It’s not that…” Journey stammered.
Abby looked up from where she was cutting the thick cloth. “At least speak with her. You never know how well things might work out.”
Journey searched for an inoffensive excuse. “I don’t want to be a bother. If you’ll direct me to her house, I’d—”
“It’s no bother at all. She lives on a ranch outside of town. Let me get my things and I’ll take you there,” Abby said, tying a string around the fabric Journey had purchased. “If you like, you can leave your trunks inside until you return.”
Fear fluttered like a moth in her throat. “I’m traveling rather light. All I have is my horse tied out front. I’m certain I could find the place on my own.”
As Abby patted the package and pulled her coat from a nearby hook, Journey caught her questioning glance but noticed it didn’t stop her motion. “It’d be easier to show you. Sam knows I need to get out on days like this, anyway. He can handle the store for a few hours until we get back. I haven’t had a chance to visit Miss Rose in a while myself. We’ll take some sandwiches and have a nice little picnic. It’ll give you a chance to get to know her.”
“You can tether your horse around back, if that’ll suit,” Sam offered. “My wife’s a natural guide, born and raised right here in Walten. Montana grows them pretty, that’s for sure.”
Journey forced her arms and legs to relax. There seemed no way around it, short of racing out the front door and galloping away on Gypsy. “If you’re sure.”
Sam moved back toward the storage room. “I’ll hitch up the team. Oh, and, Miss Smith—”
“Please, call me Journey.”
A dimple joined the grin on Sam’s face. “Journey, if things don’t work out with Miss Rose, come back here. We can’t offer much more than a cot, but we might be able to find some work for you.”
She nodded once, turning her head in time to catch the knowing smile Abby directed his way. Journey wrinkled her brow, wondering what these people expected from her.
“Thanks. I’ll just go and tie my horse around back.”
“Wait! Take your cloth—on the house.” Abby thrust the neat package her way.
“I don’t need charity.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true.
But she heard the insistence in Abby’s voice. “Not charity. I guess Sam owes you for the mess he swept over you. We can’t be treating our customers that way or we won’t have them long.”
She studied Abby. She seemed sincere enough, and she had made a point of not noticing the tattered seams in her dress. “I appreciate your kindness,” Journey said, looking away as she slid the wrapped cloth into her satchel.
“I’ll meet you around back,” Abby said.
Journey nodded. Their kindness overwhelmed her a little. Maybe Hank’s training had become more ingrained than she thought. They were just the type of people he had always sought—helpful and unsuspecting. Fortunately for them, she’d rid the world of at least one of his kind.
Journey slid farther into the corner of the narrow wagon seat. Abby had peppered her with a dozen questions before they’d even left sight of town. The sparse grass crackled under the wagon wheel, and she considered her odds of surviving a leap of escape.
“How far to the ranch?”
Abby paused. “Oh, probably three or four miles. Did you live—”
“It’s easy to get caught up in the scenery here,” Journey said.
“It is beautiful. Some folks complain about it being drab, with all the browns. They don’t pay attention to the shades of the mountains in the light, or the pockets of sage tucked in everywhere. I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else. But listen to me jabber about myself. Where’d you hail from?”
“Back East.”
“Yes, of course. I suppose most folks around here do, what with all the families settling in the area. What part?” Abby turned a smile her way.
Most folks took the hint when she answered in such an obviously vague way. “Well, I…I traveled quite a bit before coming here.”
“I’ve never been out of Montana,” Abby said. “But my pa’s family came once to visit…”
Journey’s attention wavered as she tried to ease her pounding heart. She considered making up something but hesitated. Lies had cost her plenty in the past. Weren’t lies part of the reason she found herself here now? Hopefully the woman would lose interest.
“I’ll bet you have a lot of stories about your trip west,” Abby said.
“I suppose I’m one of those who’d rather hear the stories of other folks,” Journey countered. She eased her lips into a smile, but it didn’t come so easily to her eyes.
“Then Montana’s the place for you. Plenty of storytellers around, waiting for a willing ear.”
Journey nodded. She’d met grandmothers who adored their grandbabies less than this woman adored her home.
Tension quivered down her limbs. How could she end this line of conversation? “You—y’all do seem real friendly. I do appreciate your kindness.”
Abby’s thin fingers tapped her knee. “Oh, let me guess—you’re from the South, right? Maybe somewhere in Georgia? My aunt Beth lives there. I remember when I was little and she came to visit us. She had the most delightful accent. I just recognized a little of it there in your voice. Am I right?”
“I, ah, I am from the…from the South, but—”
“You’ll have to describe it all for me sometime. I always hoped to go back and visit my pa’s family, see where he grew up. He and my ma moved back last fall, so to hear about it would make them feel a little closer.”
The wagon lurched to the right and climbed steeply, bringing a large two-story ranch house into view. Journey breathed in the dry air, glad for the break in Abby’s too-friendly curiosity. She had to stay alert. If something so minute as a tint in her voice could connect her back to Georgia, she wouldn’t be safe even through Christmas.
She examined the ranch. A sturdy barn with an empty corral faced the broad porch of the home, with about thirty yards of grass-pocked dust between. The bluff they’d crossed boxed around one edge of the property, but the view beyond scooped across the wide valley. Sage and scrub brush were the only thriving plants she could see across the landscape. The property was secluded from the casual traveler but not closed off.
A pounding hammer echoed and drew her attention to a broad-shouldered figure on the roof.
“That’s Zane—Reverend Thompson. He’d said he was going to see about patching some leaks for Miss Rose,” Abby said. “The last time Zane visited, it rained, and he said he had to move three times when water started dripping down his back. Each time Miss Rose just pulled out another pot to catch it.”
Journey knew what it was like to have to make do with what you had. She watched the man kneeling along the roof, sleeves rolled back over deeply tanned arms, shirt clinging between his shoulder blades despite the cool day. His dark brown hair glistened in the midmorning sun.
“You know him well?” She licked her dry lips.
“Oh, Zane and Sam grew up together. Their families came west together. I knew Zane long before he became our pastor. They say a prophet isn’t honored in his hometown, but somehow Zane has made it work. He’s a wonderful pastor, a true man of God. And of course those gray eyes of his don’t hurt him, either.” Abby patted her knee with a light laugh. “You’ll get to hear him tomorrow.” Journey forced another smile.
Tomorrow? She’d be long gone by then. She didn’t need any pastor to make her see her guilt. She knew it well enough already.
“Journey? Is everything all right?”
She nodded, swallowing hard. Everything would be perfect—just as soon as Walten and all of its fine and overly welcoming citizens were miles of trail dust behind her.
Chapter Two
Everything moved so fast—too fast. Abby’s chattering wearied her. She couldn’t keep up. Journey rubbed her aching temples.
The wagon rolled to a stop beside the porch. “Hello, the house!” Abby called, climbing down over the wheel. Journey did the same and stood close to it.
“Thought I heard a wagon,” a deep baritone answered. Reverend Thompson.
She watched Abby dig a sandwich out of the picnic basket and hand it to him as he stepped down the ladder and drank a dipper full of water. “We’ve come to share a lunch with Miss Rose.”
“And this is?”
Journey felt his gaze as he unwrapped his sandwich. With a deep breath to steady her shaking, she tilted her head up to introduce herself. “Journey. Journey Smith.”
“Now there’s an unusual name. Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I imagine Abby’s introduced me already.” She stared at the hand he held out for a moment before shaking it. He smiled, crinkling his eyes at the corners and revealing a wide row of straight teeth and a cleft in his cheek. A shock of dark brown hair ruffled off his forehead, and a small thatch tufted at the back, making him look more like an unruly schoolboy than a minister. His square jaw proved more convincing, though his lips curved into a smile that seemed etched onto his face and had a depth she doubted lessened in many circumstances. “I’m Reverend Thompson to most folks, plain Zane to Abby. What brings you all this way?”
“Journey’s new to the area, looking to settle in for a while. I thought maybe we could work something out with Miss Rose. She’s been talking about hiring some help around here.”
“That so?” Zane bit into the sandwich and nodded once slowly as he chewed, as if considering the idea. He swallowed. “Could work fine for you both. Miss Rose is inside. I’m sure she’ll be glad to talk with you.”
He gazed directly at her, his gray eyes alight in the sun. “So how’d you come by a name like that?”
Breath caught in her throat, choking her. One of the few questions Abby hadn’t thought to ask.
“It’s a family name.”
His eyebrow tilted in a question, one she couldn’t read. “Well, that’s nice,” he said. “I—We’ll look forward to having you in our town.”
Had they all assumed she’d decided? She wasn’t staying here. She couldn’t. She scanned the landscape again. Could she?
The young pastor continued. Before she could force a sound from her dry throat, his attention spread to both of them. “I expect we’ll see you tomorrow at church. Hope everything works out for you, Miss Smith.”
“Reverend Thompson.”
“Please, feel free to call me Zane,” he said, seeming not to notice her wavering voice. He grinned, glancing up to the roof. Sunshine burnished the planes of his face a deep bronze. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have a few more boards to replace. I’ll leave you to your visit. Thanks, Abby,” he added, waving the sandwich. He snatched another bite as he headed up the ladder.
Journey watched him climb to the roof before following Abby.
An elderly woman with white-gray hair opened the door before they could knock. Her round blue eyes lit with a warm smile for Abby, and with a question for Journey.
“Who do we have here? Come on in, and bring your friend. My, but I haven’t seen you in a spell,” she said. “What’s brought you ladies out today? Come in, come in.”
Warm sunlight streamed in two wide windows on either side of the far wall, making the room bright and airy with a view of the distant mountains. A few delicate vases sat on shelves below them. Two daguerreotypes stood on a high shelf, shrouded with a layer of fine dust. Otherwise the room held little adornment beyond the ornate couch and a simple wooden rocker.
The fireplace in the middle of the house glowed with faint embers. On either side, a doorway opened. One led to the kitchen and Journey guessed the other led to Miss Rose’s bedroom. Simple in design and decoration, it was so unlike the garish and cluttered rooms she’d lived in up until now. She liked it, quiet and unobtrusive.
They followed the tiny figure into the kitchen. Freshly baked bread steamed through cloths on the sideboard. The scent filled the room to the farthest corners.
“I was about to slice some bread for lunch,” the woman said. Journey noted her slow, sure step and the steady voice.
Abby rested the basket she carried on the table. “Then we’re just in time, Miss Rose. I’ve brought some chicken sandwiches for all of us. Zane already took one, and there’s plenty more.”
Miss Rose sat, then slid out a chair and nodded Journey into it. “I’m assuming your friend has a name you just haven’t got around to sharing.”
Abby’s light laugh held none of the nervousness Journey felt. “This is Miss Smith. She wandered into town this morning, looking for work and a warm roof to sleep under. Journey, this is Mrs. Rose Bishop.”
Journey forced her hand forward in greeting. Something about the woman reminded her of the ladies who would pass by the saloon on Sundays, all fine and proper. Except that this woman seemed to possess a kindness, a fairness—confidence born of something more than money and position. She tried to hold her fingers and voice steady. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bishop. Please, call me Journey.”
“Only if you’ll call me Miss Rose,” she said, getting up to set a kettle to heat. “Everybody does. Make yourselves at home, and I’ll get the settings.”
It seemed Mrs. Bishop—Miss Rose—could well handle the affairs of her own home. It didn’t appear as if much needed to be done on the grounds that Miss Rose couldn’t find a nearby rancher to lend a hand. She moved slowly but with a fairly steady step. While the house wasn’t spotless, it wasn’t unlivable, either. What would she want with hired help?
But Journey needed to find a more stationary hideout, and after months on the trail, eyeing every shadow, she was tired. The warmth and comfortable feeling this house offered could seep right in. She’d be inclined to let it.
She couldn’t afford to let it.
Abby sat down across from her and placed sandwiches on the three plates Miss Rose brought out. Journey clasped her hands together, squeezing one thumb. Her knee bobbed as her mind raced to come up with a way to bring this meeting to a close before she agreed to something. She wanted to stay. She wanted to think she could belong in such a home. But where had her instincts taken her in the past? She was no longer fit for these fine people.
Miss Rose smiled, skin pulled paper-thin over her round cheeks. She seemed about to say something when Zane’s hammer interrupted. Journey caught her motion to take a plate and pass a cloth-wrapped sandwich her way. Then the ladies bowed their heads without a word while she twitched in her seat.
“So you’d be willing to help out an old lady like me?” Miss Rose said when the pounding stopped. “You might find I’m too ornery for your liking.”
“I’m not the easiest person to live with, either, ma’am.” Hank had shown her that often enough. “I wouldn’t want to obligate you.”
“Nonsense. I’ve been looking for someone to move out here and help me some. My old bones can’t go like they used to. I’ve been praying the Lord would send just the right person. To be honest, I’m looking for the company as much as the help.”
Journey nodded and drew her eyebrows together. “You really think I could do that?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Abby’s own furrowed brow.
“Now that’s hard to tell from this side of it,” Miss Rose said. “Can you clean? Wipe windows?”
“Yes.”
“Muck out a few stalls?”
“Sure.”
“And you’re in need of a place to stay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, then it seems like we’re in a position to help each other. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that you’d wander into town, into Abby and Sam’s store, when here I am looking for someone like you.”
“Like me, ma’am?”
Miss Rose looked her over, and Journey sensed the woman knew there was something more than met the eye. “Yes,” she said. “Someone just like you.”
