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Abby shook her head. “I have a feeling she wasn’t planning to be here long, though.” Her shoulders rose with a forceful breath. “Does Sam have the wagon ready?”
“He’s ready and waiting.”
“Good. I’ll go out and get the blankets ready, and you can bring her out,” Abby said, pulling on her sweater from the back of the chair.
Zane started. He hadn’t thought of how they would get Journey to the wagon, but looking at her now, he knew she wouldn’t be managing it on her own.
“It’ll be good if she stays asleep. I know from experience that leg will pain her these first few days especially.” He didn’t add the fact that she hadn’t been too fond of him the last time he’d tried to help.
Abby grinned and patted his shoulder on the way out. “Don’t be nervous, Zane. It’s not like she’ll bite.”
“You didn’t see her last night when I brought her in here.”
Abby got a strange look in her eyes, the one that told him her thoughts were moving the conversation into a different direction entirely. “Maybe in time both of you will change your perceptions, then. You deserve to give some girl the chance to make you happy again.”
He laughed softly as she swept out the door with a wink. Abby, the eternal matchmaker. She’d been the one to introduce him to Sarah.
Striding over to Journey’s prone form, he adjusted his hat and bent down to pick her up. Instead of the tense fear that weighed her down last night, she felt no heavier than a new colt. He pulled her head against his shoulder before managing to get a grip under her knees to lift her up.
Her hair followed in a trail that swept past his elbow, a fiery wave of still-damp curls. She smelled of lavender soap, and he knew Abby had been adding any little thing she could to comfort their newest resident.
Standing upright, he felt her shift against him, burrowing her face into his shoulder with a soft murmur. Thick lashes brushed her tanned cheek, which blurred a fine spray of freckles that could be seen only from this close. Her wide mouth parted open slightly, and he felt her soft breath at his neck.
Zane tightened his hold and focused on moving her out the door without jarring her bound leg. But had she been awake and not fighting against him, he knew she would feel his pounding heart in the hand that brushed his chest.
Abby needed to stop putting ideas into a man’s head.
The rumble of pans being placed in a cupboard roused Journey. She ran her fingers over the heavy brocade of the couch where she lay. The fire crackled and cast a soft light over the room, which had grown darker since her arrival that afternoon.
Her throbbing head reminded her why she was there. A groan escaped before she could stifle it. She eased into the pillow as Miss Rose came into view, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a drying towel in her hand.
“Did you sleep well?”
Journey stretched her leg, the one that wasn’t broken. “I must’ve. I forgot where I was for a moment. What time is it?” Her whole body felt stiff.
“Nigh onto seven o’clock.”
“I guess I slept the day away.”
Miss Rose smiled. “It’s the best thing for you. You had enough excitement last night to wear a body out. And I’ll bet the ride here this morning didn’t help any. Are you hungry?”
Her stomach rumbled before she could deny it. “A little.” She mustered a small grin.
“Good. You dropped off before supper and we hated to wake you, so I saved you a plate. Let me warm it a bit and I’ll bring it in for you.”
Journey pulled herself up further with her arm. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. I can come out.” She paused as her vision swam.
Miss Rose had already moved back into the kitchen, but her crackling voice carried through. “You’ll do no such thing. Doc Ferris said you’re to keep that leg up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Doc Ferris’s word carried a lot of weight, Journey already knew. Pain medication was given every two hours, no matter how she tried to beg off. No weight on that leg meant being carted to the house by Zane Thompson in his arms, much to her embarrassment. She’d slept through the move from his house, at least. But now here she sat, being waited on by the woman she’d been hired to care for.
The steaming plate placed on her lap aroused her hunger even more. She smiled her thanks and leaned forward as Miss Rose propped more pillows behind her. The chicken leg and green beans smelled delicious, and a thick slice of bread with a generous spread of butter and a drizzle of honey made her mouth water. She calculated the cost of such a meal and made a mental note to keep a ledger. But for now there was nothing to do for it. She’d have to eat if she was going to stay strong and mend quickly. She poked a bean with her fork.
Miss Rose must have been satisfied, because she smiled and said, “I’ll leave you to your supper. I figure you’ll want some time to ponder your situation.” Then she moved back toward the kitchen.
Journey sat back into the cushions, grateful for the solitude. But ponder? There wasn’t much she could do. Miss Rose welcomed her with open arms and seemed pleased with the arrangement. Tears fought their way into her eyes as she thought about the kindness these people had shown. How could she tell them why she had run? Didn’t they deserve to know? What if they threw her out? What would she do then?
Her options had been cut off. She tried to think what had spooked the horse in the first place, but a fog surrounded all the particulars of the night before. Now here she sat. No horse. No money. No job. Broken leg. She tore a corner from the bread and chewed, trying to slow her jumbled thoughts.
Part of the reason she’d taken up with Hank back then had been because she’d felt she had no choice. But the day she had stood up to Hank was the day she’d realized she was never without options. Even now, looking over her shoulder, waiting to be caught for her crime, she was better off than she’d been with Hank.
Biting into the tender chicken, she thought about her predicament. She couldn’t walk around, but there was nothing wrong with her hands. There had to be something. No great loss without some small gain, Mama had always said. Where was the glimmer of hope?
Journey licked the salty crisps from her fingers. Cooking meant standing. Tending children was out of the question. She drew in a deep breath. Something would come to her. The one thing she did have was time to think—a lot of time to think.
She silently thanked Abby for taking the time to help wash her hair before she had dozed off. She’d need some pins to put it back up. She yawned. Maybe it could wait until tomorrow.
The shuffle of feet from the kitchen drew her attention. “I thought you might want your saddlebag,” Miss Rose said, nodding toward the floor by her side. “Zane left it there for you.”
She glanced at the buckles. They didn’t seem to have been opened since she’d fastened them yesterday. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You might as well get into the practice of calling me Miss Rose,” the old woman said.
“I’ll work on it.” She squirmed under the blanket, trying to shift her aching leg into a more comfortable position. “I appreciate what you’re doing, honestly I do. I’d be at a loss without your kindness. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll pay you back for everything, somehow. I hate to be beholden.”
“Nonsense. I’m glad to help. And I don’t want you fretting about it. This gives me my chance to play the Good Samaritan.” She patted Journey’s good leg and took her empty plate. “We’ll even it out when you’re able, dear.”
“You’ll find I’m not very ‘dear,’” she whispered. “Please, just call me Journey.”
“I think there’s more ‘dear’ in you than you give yourself credit for.” Miss Rose stroked a hand over Journey’s hair. Like Mama used to do. Warmth for this woman grew no matter how she tried to stop it.
“Zane left this package for you. He brought it in with your saddle.” Miss Rose handed her a lump tied in brown paper, then returned to the kitchen.
The fabric she’d bought at the store. She’d have a fine dress, plenty warm for winter. At least she could work on that.
She always could sew a fine seam. Mama had taught her to stitch and to sew in the afternoon hours before she’d go to work. If she could find sewing to do, it might not be much, but at least she could pay something toward her board until she was up and around again. She would ask Abby to post a notice in the store.
She turned her attention to the saddlebag, listening for Miss Rose to return. Looking over her shoulder, she fumbled the buckle open and hefted the bag to her lap to reach the bottom of the deep pocket.
The touch of cool metal brought a sense of relief. They hadn’t found it. She pulled the Double Derringer gun from the pack and slid it into her skirt pocket. The smooth nickel barrel and walnut handle felt secure in her fingers.
Yes, there were options. Spring was a long winter away. She had to wait and not tip her hand. Because if they knew she had killed a man, her only options would be prison or a rope.
Chapter Seven
A knock at the door woke Journey. The final glow of sunlight slanted lower through the back window. At least she hadn’t slept as long this time. She eased up and swiped the curls clinging against her cheek from her face. Miss Rose stood from the nearby rocker and shuffled to the door.
“Zane! What a nice surprise!”
She slid lower under the covers. Maybe if she closed her eyes…
But Miss Rose’s voice called her. “Journey, are you awake? Pastor Thompson is here to see you.”
Not Zane this time—Pastor Thompson. This must be a business call. She pushed herself up again but kept the blanket close. The room swam slightly and the pressure in her head felt as if it would push her eyes right out of their sockets. She nodded to Miss Rose, who continued to block the doorway.
“Come on in, Zane,” she said as she opened the door wider. “Have a seat and I’ll put some coffee on. Journey, I’ll get that medicine for you. Your head’s probably feeling rocky again by now. I’ll be right back.”
Miss Rose slid off to the kitchen, leaving Zane to stand in the doorway. He grabbed the Stetson hat from his head and shut the door but seemed to linger longer than necessary before he faced Journey. She watched him rock heel-to-toe once, his eyes scanning the room for a place to lay his hat before sitting in the ladder-back chair at her feet. He finally capped it over his knee and ran his hand over his thick hair.
“Miss Smith,” he began, leaning forward. “Journey, I wanted to see you, wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your horse.”
She stared at him a moment and he paused. His gray eyes held shadows but didn’t flinch. He was looking for something. She rubbed her throbbing head.
“I’m sure you are.” She smoothed unseen wrinkles from the quilt.
His broad shoulders sagged a little. “I know horses, been around them all my life. I hate to see that kind of thing happen, but I want to assure you, there was no other option. That foreleg was busted up good.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. She would have liked to have made that call herself.
“Believe me, I’d have liked nothing better than for you to have given the order. If you’d been in any shape, I’d have let you. But the horse was suffering. I know you would have done the same.”
She nodded. She knew it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d taken the thing she needed most.
Zane sat up in the chair, crossing a booted foot over his knee. He slid his hat across the bridge of his leg and hung it from the heel. “Could’ve been worse for you. What were you doing out that far from town anyway?”
“Exploring,” she said but refused to meet his gaze.
He tapped the brim of his hat. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you let me know. Part of my job around here is to help wayfaring strangers…and explorers.” He had the audacity to smile.
“I’ll work it out.” Her voice sounded gritty and harsh to her own ears. The day had been too long. She cleared her throat delicately and tried again. He’d only done what he had to. “It’s good you were there to find me.”
“Glad I was there. I wish there’d been more I could’ve done. How are you feeling?”
Miss Rose returned with a tray of steaming mugs. “I expect she has a headache the size of the Beartooths. Here, Journey.” She filled the spoon from the tray with laudanum.
Journey swallowed the bitter liquid. “I appreciate you taking me in, but there’s no need to fuss over me, too. I’m feeling fine.”
But Miss Rose just waved the empty spoon. “Nonsense. You take advantage, missy. Once you’re back on your feet, you’ll wish it back. Now, what would you like, coffee or tea?”
“Tea, please.”
She took the cup and saucer. The pastor was handed a steaming mug of coffee without being given a choice.
“You have to let Miss Rose fuss at you. Otherwise, she’s fussing at me.” He smiled and took a swallow. “And you do look much better than you did last night. But with the knock you took, I dare say you’re not feeling all that fine just yet.”
Journey said no more and looked into her cup. It made no sense to argue. Besides, he was right.
“So where were you headed?” Zane asked.
She stared at him over the edge of the mug she held to her lips. She moved it stiffly to her lap, breaking eye contact to glance at the door. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”
He set his cup down on the little table beside him, keeping his fingers wrapped around the handle. She slid back against the armrest but tried to pull herself upright.
His eyebrows shifted and quirked. “I thought if someone was expecting you somewhere, I’d send a telegram for you.”
“No!” She jolted forward and pain shot down her leg. Tea sloshed over the blanket that covered her lap. Zane moved to pull it away before the heat could soak through. “I’m so sorry! I’m forever making a mess of things.”
“It’s all right.” He shook out the quilt and brushed at it with his handkerchief. “There,” he said, laying it back over her. “Good as new.”
“Thank you.” He looked down at her, waiting for an explanation. “It’s just that, well…there’s no one expecting me.”
His look told her he was skeptical. “You’re sure?”
She looked away from him and Miss Rose. “I’m sure.”
Placing his mug on the tray, he stood to go, and for a moment she thought he was angry. But his lips pulled into a smile, though his teeth didn’t show.
“If you think of anything—anything at all I can do to lend a hand, you let me know. Like I said, I’m sorry for the way things worked out for you.” He squeezed the old woman’s thin shoulder. “But you couldn’t be in better hands. Miss Rose is a fine woman and very good at taking care of folks.”
“I appreciate all your help, Pastor.” She shook her head. “Zane. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful. It’s just…”
“I know,” he said, in a tone that told her he somehow did. “Life has a funny way of throwing us once in a while.” He turned to Miss Rose. “Thank you for the coffee. Hot and black, just how I like it.”
It surprised Journey to see him bow and place a soft kiss on the old woman’s cheek. “Let’s pray before I go.”
Pray? Mama said she had prayed with that skinny little parson at the end of town before she died. It hadn’t changed her situation any, and Journey couldn’t imagine it would change her own. But apparently the job of pastor required it. If it meant he was leaving, she’d sit through it. He asked questions requiring answers that would only make things more complicated for everyone. It wore her out. The less they knew about her, the better they’d all be. And she never could lie well. No, she’d have to keep her distance from Pastor Zane.
“…Lord, we thank you, too, for our visitor. She’s hurting, and we ask that You heal her and help her to find a home here. Be with Miss Rose as she cares for her, and may they find comfort in each other’s company. Guide us, Lord, to live lives pleasing to You. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Miss Rose startled Journey by echoing his amen. So now he’d leave.
Zane put his hat on and ambled toward the door. The sky was a muted evening gray. He turned as he stepped onto the porch.
“Thank you, ladies, for the visit. And, Journey, I meant what I said. You let me know if you need my help. To tell the truth, I feel responsible for the horse.”
Miss Rose nodded to her as if she expected a response.
“It’s not your fault. And I’m not your problem,” Journey said slowly. “I know it’s not something you wanted to do, and I’m glad you were there to do what I couldn’t. Gypsy was a good horse and we’ve seen a lot of trail together. I’ll miss her.” She paused to steady her voice. “But accidents happen.” She tried to spout all the expected responses, hoping she’d get to the proper one quickly so he’d go. The only help he could give would be to provide her a horse.
He tipped his hat. “Glad you see it that way, ma’am. Take care of that leg, and let Miss Rose fuss at you some, like I said. Just so she stays in practice.” He grinned and grabbed Rose’s hand with a squeeze. “I’ll check in on you,” he told her.
And then he was gone. But as much as she wished it otherwise, Journey knew it wasn’t the last she’d seen of Reverend Zane Thompson.
“Well?”
Zane turned at the bottom step to face Miss Rose, who had followed him out to the porch. “‘Well,’ what?”
