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  His last words came out slowly, softly, and with deliberate forethought. And each one found a weakness in her armor and struck to the heart.

  Annabelle tried to draw a breath but the air felt trapped at the base of her throat. How often had she used those very same words when thinking about herself. But never had she heard them spoken back to her with such pained gentleness.

  ‘‘And I still don’t buy your line about the child being his either. If there even is a child. Convenient plan though—I’ll give you that.’’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘‘You asked me a question earlier. Now I guess I need to ask you the same one. Have your feelings changed? Are you sure you still want me for this job?’’

  Watching Matthew Taylor stand before her, patiently waiting for her answer, it was clear that he had no clue how much he’d just wounded her. Did she still want to hire him? Or would she rather have Bertram Colby? Bertram Colby would never think of addressing her in the way Matthew Taylor just had. Of course, Bertram Colby didn’t know her past, and she hadn’t just buried his only brother.

  Only what we do for God will last.

  In her mind’s eye, Annabelle saw Jonathan’s flowing script and the words he’d written, and something flickered inside her, akin to a flame, growing steadier and stronger. She slowly shook her head. ‘‘No, Mr. Taylor. I’m not sure that I do still want to hire you.’’

  He let out the breath he’d apparently been holding. Again a look of resignation shadowed his handsome face.

  ‘‘And I may well regret it one day. Soon,’’ she added. ‘‘But the job is still yours.’’

  He gave a brief, sharp laugh as if to say he thought she was jesting.

  To prove that she wasn’t, and knowing he wouldn’t like it, she found pleasure in her next words. ‘‘We leave at sunrise on Saturday. That gives us three days. Do you think you can have everything ready by then?’’ Barely waiting for his nod, she continued. ‘‘The wagon’s out back with the supplies—you can check the horses too. Prepare a list of items you think we’ll need, and then let me look over it so I can add anything that might be missing. Purchase whatever else you think is required. See that the trunks and crates in the barn are loaded and that the team is hitched and ready.’’

  Remembering, she reached into her pocket. ‘‘Here’s money for the supplies as well as a third of your pay up front, as was advertised. If you need more, let me know. And just so our understanding is clear, Mr. Taylor, you’ll get the rest once—’’

  ‘‘Once I get you to Idaho.’’ He took the wad of bills from her hand without touching her and held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary. ‘‘I’m real clear on our understanding.’’ He pocketed the cash. ‘‘I’ll see to the horses first thing in the morning, and I’ll have everything loaded and ready to go on Saturday.’’ He nodded once. ‘‘At sunrise, like you asked. Mind you, I don’t know what you’re used to, but I aim to meet up with Brennan’s group as soon as possible, Miss Grayson. We’ll each have our duties on the trail too. Everybody has to pull their own weight. We’ll keep a steady pace, movin’ with the sun and resting come nightfall.’’

  ‘‘I’ll match whatever pace you set, Mr. Taylor.’’

  He stared at her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. ‘‘Miss Grayson, I do believe we have ourselves a deal.’’

  ‘‘Very well.’’ She turned to go, then paused. ‘‘By the way, I’d appreciate your addressing me by my married name. Like it or not, I was your brother’s wife.’’ She smiled and tasted a hint of arsenic in the gesture. ‘‘And for the record, I’ll ask you to kindly remember who’s done the hiring here.’’

  She walked into the house, quietly closed the door behind her, and leaned against it for support. A tremble stole through her. What had just happened to her out there? She was supposed to be a new creature in Christ, refashioned in the likeness of His image, and yet she’d enjoyed every single second of putting Matthew Taylor in his place. How would she survive weeks on the trail with someone who brought out the absolute worst in her, and with so little effort?

  Perhaps it wasn’t too late to change her mind. She turned and peeked through a slit in the curtain.

  Matthew stood poised at the edge of the porch steps, his profile testimony to his pensive mood. Perhaps he was sharing a thought similar to hers. She took the chance to observe him, feeling much like a child succumbing to the lure of the cookie jar. Handsome didn’t aptly describe the man, no matter his shortcomings. Not with that languid air of confidence he wore so casually. But she knew better. That kind of appeal was only surface deep. If given the choice, she would choose the older brother again. Without hesitation.

  Matthew suddenly turned and looked back at the door.

  Annabelle dropped the curtain and pressed up against the wall, her pulse racing.

  Not until she heard his boot heels on the porch stairs did her heart consider returning to a normal rhythm. She leaned her head back and sighed. Sizing people up had always been a gift, but she had definitely underestimated Matthew Taylor. Not only in the depth of his resolve but most assuredly in his devotion to his brother.

  CHAPTER | THIRTEEN

  LIKE A TAP ON THE SHOULDER, instinct prompted Matthew to turn.

  He did, slowly, and spotted the man standing in the open doors of the livery. Early morning light filtered gray through the cracks of the aging wooden structure, barely illuminating the interior. Heart pounding, Matthew noiselessly stepped back into the empty stall behind him, pretty sure the man hadn’t seen him yet.

  Jake Sampson took the reins of the stranger’s horse and led the animal directly toward Matthew. Telling himself he was jumping to conclusions, Matthew couldn’t ignore the warning bells going off in his head. He pressed up against the side of the stall and hoped Sampson would figure he was in the back with the grays he’d brought in that morning.

  Sampson chose the empty stall next to his, and Matthew breathed easier.

  ‘‘You gonna be in town long, mister?’’

  ‘‘Long enough. A day or two at most. I need directions to Sheriff Parker’s office.’’

  The voice wasn’t familiar, but the accent bled of Texas drawl, and Matthew’s jaw tightened hearing it. He’d definitely never seen the man before, but that didn’t ease his discomfort.

  ‘‘Sheriff Parker left Willow Springs a few months back. Man by the name of Joshua Garvin took his place. But I doubt he’s in yet,’’ Sampson said, closing the door to the stall. ‘‘That’ll be two dollars down, and we’ll settle the rest when you come back for him.’’ There was silence for a few seconds and Matthew could picture Sampson pocketing the bills. ‘‘This being Thursday, Sheriff Garvin’s over at Myrtle’s about now havin’ steak and eggs. You could prob’ly catch him over there. Got some business with him, do you?’’

  Matthew clenched his teeth at the way Jake Sampson was carrying on. He’d give any woman a run for her money.

  ‘‘Just need to pass some names and faces by him. I’d be obliged if you’d look through them too, when you have time.’’

  ‘‘Be happy to. Lots of people come through my place here, and I get to know all of ’em.’’

  ‘‘Let me know if any of them ring a bell,’’ the stranger said as the two men walked toward the front. ‘‘Any tips and I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll stop back by after breakfast and pick them up.’’

  When Matthew finally heard the steady rhythm of Sampson’s mallet on the anvil, he stepped from the shadows. Waiting until the man turned his back, Matthew quickly crossed to the back of the livery and made his approach from that direction.

  Sampson looked up, smiling. ‘‘I about forgot you were here, Taylor. I’ll get to them grays later this afternoon. They’ll be ready by morning—don’t you worry.’’ He gave the lever on the side of the forge a few pumps, feeding the flames in the pit, then bent back over his work.

  ‘‘No problem. I appreciate you seeing to them.’’ Matthew spotted a stack of papers on Sampson’s workbench a few
feet away.

  ‘‘You said you were leaving in a couple of days. Where you headed this time?’’

  Matthew studied Sampson for a minute, silently debating. ‘‘I feel like trying my luck in California.’’

  ‘‘California . . .’’ Sampson let out a low whistle. ‘‘Now that’s a place I promised myself I’d get to some day. Never have, though. Guess all that gold layin’ around for the taking is gone by now, huh? You travelin’ alone?’’

  ‘‘Mornin’, Jake. Can you take a quick look at something for me?’’ In unison, both Matthew and Sampson turned at the question. Matthew recognized the man standing in the doorway from having seen him around town, but he didn’t know his name.

  ‘‘Sure thing, Wilson!’’ Sampson said, laying his hammer aside. ‘‘I’ll be right with you. Just let me finish up in here.’’ He wiped his hands on his apron. ‘‘It’s gonna be a busy one, Taylor.’’

  Grateful for the reprieve from the older man’s questions, Matthew sighed. ‘‘That’s okay, I need to be going anyway. Thanks again for seeing to those grays, Jake. I’ll be back for them tomorrow.’’

  As soon as Sampson disappeared out the front, Matthew crossed to the workbench and picked up the stack of parchments. He estimated fifteen or twenty sheets and leafed through the first ten, glancing up at the door every few seconds.

  Eleven, twelve. Gradually, his unease lessened.

  Hearing Sampson’s laughter coming from outside, he kept flipping the pages, sometimes reading the name first, other times scanning the charcoal likeness. On one page, the reward amount at the top drew his attention, and he studied the rendering of the man below. Not really familiar looking but something about the face made him linger.

  He read the name again. Nothing.

  A noise sounded behind him. Matthew dropped the stack back onto the workbench and turned. Finding no one, he chided himself on being so jumpy and flipped through the remaining pages.

  On the next to the last sheet, he froze.

  His thumb and forefinger tightened on the parchment. An icy finger of dread trailed up his spine. He shot a quick look at the door, then back down again.

  ‘‘I don’t know. I may have that part inside, let’s see if . . .’’

  Matthew creased the page and crammed it inside his shirt. Thinking again, he picked two more from the stack at random and did the same. Better not to draw attention to the one page that was missing. A crooked trail was harder to follow than a straight one.

  ‘‘Find any you like, Taylor?’’

  Heart pounding, Matthew ran his hand over the harness he was now holding. ‘‘I like them all. You do real good work, Jake.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, sir. I’ll make you a deal on one too.’’

  ‘‘I appreciate that. I’ll think about it and let you know in the morning.’’

  Matthew was halfway back to the Carlsons’ before he realized he hadn’t stopped at the mercantile. He retraced his steps and left the list with the woman behind the counter, managing to be friendly without encouraging conversation. Leaving the store, he made his way back to the Carlsons’ home using less traveled alleyways and being sure to stay far away from Myrtle’s.

  ‘That was a delicious dinner, Mrs. Carlson. Thank you for inviting me to stay.’’ When Hannah reached for his empty plate, Matthew handed it to her, rising from his seat. She motioned for him to sit back down, and he did so, reluctantly. He enjoyed the Carlson family, but the parchment he’d tucked into his saddlebag earlier was wearing a hole in his conscience, plus he was tired and sore from working on the wagon all afternoon.

  ‘‘You’re welcome, Mr. Taylor. I’m glad you could join us. You’re invited to take the rest of your meals with us over the next couple of days too, if you’d like.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, ma’am.’’ He felt a tug on his sleeve.

  ‘‘Are you staying for dessert, Mr. Taylor?’’ Lilly smiled up from the seat beside him. The eleven-year-old was a younger version of her mother, with thick dark hair and violet eyes—and a fondness for jabbering, as he’d discovered over the past hour.

  ‘‘Of course he’s staying, Lilly.’’ Patrick scooted his chair back from the table and assisted Bobby up to his lap. ‘‘He wouldn’t want to miss your mother’s cherry pie. Now help with the dishes, please.’’

  Matthew settled in for a few more minutes.

  ‘‘Matthew, you’re also welcome to bed out in the barn, if you like. That way you could work as late you want, and you’d be close in case Mrs. McCutchens needs something, or if the two of you need to discuss anything about your trip.’’

  Knowing what Carlson was up to, he nodded, then looked across the table at Annabelle. She stared at Lilly, then back at him. He read something in her eyes and got the distinct impression that if they were alone she would tell him what she was thinking—which made him glad they weren’t. Her gaze wove a trail to the base of his chair, and he suddenly became aware of a soft thumping noise on the floor . . . and then realized it was his own boot.

  She smiled at the sudden silence.

  He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to hire him after all he’d said to her yesterday. Even more, he couldn’t believe all that he’d risked by saying it to her. Yet he would’ve felt like a coward had he not stood up to her, especially after the way she challenged him. The satisfaction he’d anticipated at telling her what he truly thought about her hadn’t come, and he couldn’t shake the memory of the look on her face. For the briefest time, she had appeared genuinely wounded, as though no one had ever told her what she was to her face before.

  His thoughts went to the child she claimed was Johnny’s. Who was to say she hadn’t simply invented the story to further ensnare his brother? To keep Johnny from putting her aside? And even if she was in the family way, she couldn’t prove it was his brother’s baby.

  He turned back to Carlson. ‘‘I appreciate your offer, Pastor. That would be handy, thank you.’’ Staying in their barn would keep him from having to go back and forth through town too—something he wanted to avoid. He wished they could leave sooner, but there was too much left to do. ‘‘And actually, Mrs. McCutchens and I spoke yesterday. I think we got things pretty well laid out. Wouldn’t you say, ma’am?’’

  Annabelle wore a pleasant countenance, no matter how quiet she’d been during dinner. Not that he was complaining.

  ‘‘Yes, I believe we have a very clear understanding, Mr. Taylor.’’ She rose and gathered the rest of the plates, then peered down at his right boot as she walked by.

  Matthew pressed his boot hard to the floor. Silently appreciating her subtlety, he didn’t show it. Even when she wasn’t talking, the woman spoke too much.

  After eating, in record time, the best cherry pie he could remember, he seized the opportunity and said good-night.

  With her skirt covering her legs, Annabelle let them dangle off the front porch, swinging them back and forth. She breathed in the cool night air. ‘‘I think I’ll miss the Colorado nights most of all.’’ At least the ones she’d experienced since leaving the brothel.

  Patrick sat next to Hannah on the porch swing a few feet away, his arm around her shoulders. The gentle creak of their swaying was the only sound in the darkness surrounding them.

  ‘‘Hannah and I were wondering . . . did you and Jonathan talk much about Idaho? About your home there and what it would be like?’’

  ‘‘Some. He couldn’t wait for us to get there so he could show it to me. He said it was the most beautiful land he’d ever seen, and that’s saying a lot, because he loved it here. He actually said Idaho reminded him a lot of Colorado. But whatever kind of place it is doesn’t matter—it’ll be special to me because it was special to him.’’

  She reached for her tea, and her wedding ring tinked against the glass. Being here again, talking on the porch late at night, reminded her of when Jonathan had courted her. They’d spent many an evening out here visiting with the Carlsons.

  ‘‘I was thinking again
today about Jonathan’s letter,’’ Hannah said. ‘‘I never realized he was so gifted with words.’’

  ‘‘Neither did I.’’ Annabelle smiled to herself. ‘‘Until I read it. I just knew he used to write some after I’d gone to bed.’’

  Night sounds filled the quiet. Crickets, nestled safe in Hannah’s flower beds, chirruped their lullaby. The aspen leaves quaked in the wind and the sound of a thousand tiny bells carried on the breeze. Annabelle closed her eyes, listening.

  The snap of a twig brought her eyes open.

  It sounded again, just around the corner, to the side of the house. Probably some curious coon foraging for a late-night dinner, but still . . . She searched the darkness, not frightened . . . just no longer convinced they were alone. Perhaps Matthew had decided to accept Patrick’s invitation to join them after all. He’d seemed on edge at dinner tonight—jumpy. It could stem from his eagerness to start the journey, but she doubted it.

  ‘‘Have you learned anything else about Sadie and where she might be?’’

  Hearing Hannah’s soft question, a pressing weight filled Annabelle’s chest. ‘‘No. I checked at the saloon yesterday, then went back to the brothel to talk to some of the other girls. I asked everyone I knew, but none of them could tell me anything.’’ She listened for the sound on the side of the house again but heard nothing.

  ‘‘Whoever has Sadie is long gone—I’m sure of it. With her looks, she stands out too much for them to keep her nearby.’’ Which was part of the girl’s appeal, and curse. ‘‘But maybe, in a way, that’s a good thing. If she’s in one of the towns we pass through on our way north, or has been recently, I should be able to track her down.’’

  ‘‘What will you do when you find her?’’