Revealed Page 31

  Suspicion tinged his expression. ‘‘How did you unlock the door?’’

  ‘‘Oh, that was the easiest part,’’ she answered with a sigh. And it really had been. ‘‘My father was a locksmith. I learned how to pick a lock almost before I learned how to read.’’ She waited, hoping she’d satisfied his curiosity, at least for now, yet knowing she’d have to tell him the truth. Soon.

  ‘‘How is she?’’ he asked after a pause, looking ahead.

  Sadie was walking back toward them.

  ‘‘She’s hurt, and tired, and scared. But despite what people think when they first meet her, she’s a fighter. I think she’ll be all right, in time.’’

  Matthew stopped the wagon, and Annabelle scooted over to make room for Sadie on the bench seat. She took the girl’s hand in hers, warming when Sadie moved closer. She wasn’t surprised that the child rejoined them, not with the cluster of wagons looming ahead.

  Huddled together on the edge of the encampment, a group of boys bent over a collective task. A series of cracks and pops suddenly sounded, and with whoops and hollers the boys set out in different directions. One in particular was headed straight for them. Looking up, he skidded to a halt when he noticed them, sending clouds of dust puffing about his heels. He yelled something to the others, and they all took off running back to camp. As the boys neared the wagons, men and women ceased their doings and turned. One man in particular stood out among them.

  Annabelle recognized him immediately as he strode toward their wagon.

  Lean and well-muscled, Jack Brennan stood a head taller than every other man around him. She guessed him to be roughly Matthew’s age, maybe a few years older. People fell in behind him as he passed, and it struck her again that she’d never before seen a man lead with so little effort.

  He approached Matthew’s side of the wagon. ‘‘Mrs. McCutchens.

  It’s good to see you again.’’

  She’d forgotten the kindness in his voice and the gentle strength that emanated from him. No wonder men followed him without question and women with marriageable daughters fell in tow. ‘‘Mr. Brennan. It’s good to see you again as well.’’

  She caught Matthew’s hasty glance from Brennan to her and back again, and wondered at his reaction.

  Brennan took a step closer. ‘‘I’ve thought about you often in recent weeks, ma’am.’’ His voice softened. ‘‘And about your husband as you laid him to rest near Fountain Creek.’’

  She hesitated a split second. ‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered, pretty sure she hadn’t shared that detail of her plans regarding Jonathan’s burial before they parted ways.

  ‘‘Jonathan was a good man, God rest his soul.’’ Brennan extended his hand to Matthew and introduced himself. ‘‘My personal thanks to you for escorting Mrs. McCutchens safely back to us.’’

  Reaching down, Matthew shook his hand soundly. ‘‘Matthew Taylor, and it was my pleasure to do it.’’

  Annabelle waited for Matthew to mention his connection to Jonathan, but surprisingly, he didn’t. He remained oddly silent.

  Brennan’s glance encompassed the three of them, and she wondered what conclusions he might be drawing about Sadie. The girl’s silky black hair and delicate features made looking past her impossible. But to his credit, Brennan didn’t ask, nor did his gaze linger overlong.

  ‘‘Well, we’re glad you’re all here. You’re just in time for the celebration!’’ He motioned. ‘‘Bring your wagon on around, and we’ll help you get settled for the night.’’ He looked back at Annabelle. ‘‘There’s someone else here who’ll be happy to see you again too, ma’am. I’ll make sure you find each other over dinner.’’

  Annabelle knew the minute Bertram Colby spotted the three of them sitting on a blanket. His friendly countenance brightened as he wove a path through the crowd, balancing his overfull plate. Perhaps he’d secured another position as a trail guide, which would account for his presence here. ‘‘Mr. Colby, what a pleasant surprise.’’

  ‘‘Oh, it’s so good to see you again, Mrs. McCutchens. Taylor here’s been guidin’ you well, I’ve no doubt.’’ He clapped Matthew on the shoulder as Matthew stood to shake his hand.

  Matthew winced slightly, it being his injured arm. ‘‘Good to see you again, Mr. Colby.’’

  ‘‘Yes, Mr. Taylor has done an excellent job of guiding us.’’

  Annabelle noted Colby’s attention swing to Sadie. ‘‘Mr. Colby, this is Sadie, a friend of ours from Willow Springs who joined us.’’

  Colby lifted his hat. ‘‘How’dya do, miss?’’

  Sadie gave the slightest of nods, then confined her gaze to her lap.

  Annabelle motioned for Colby to join them. ‘‘What brings you out here, Mr. Colby?’’

  ‘‘Well believe it or not, there’s a story behind that, ma’am.’’ He shoveled in a bite of apple pie and chewed.

  ‘‘Is that so?’’ Annabelle raised a brow and grinned, aware of Matthew’s close attention and having sensed a growing unrest in him since they’d arrived.

  The past two hours hadn’t afforded them time to talk. Not with men from neighboring wagons surrounding him to ask about their journey, and women coming to offer condolences on Jonathan’s passing and to see if they could help with anything. With effort, Annabelle drew her focus back. ‘‘I’m sure we’d all love to hear that story, Mr. Colby.’’

  As Colby spoke, she found her gaze returning to Matthew, then Sadie. Sadie had hardly touched her food. She sat poised, erect, and completely withdrawn. From Matthew’s occasional glances, Annabelle knew he’d noticed Sadie’s behavior too.

  Once Colby finished his tale, Annabelle seized the pause in conversation. ‘‘It’s amazing how God works in people’s lives, Mr. Colby. I’m so glad our paths have crossed, and I hope we get the chance to visit again. Now, if you’ll please excuse us . . .’’ She rose and discreetly indicated for Sadie to follow her lead. ‘‘I think Sadie and I will retire for the evening.’’

  Colby and Matthew stood as well.

  ‘‘Retire? But there’s dancin’ to be done, ma’am.’’ Colby’s expression went sober and he looked down briefly. ‘‘ ’Course, with you still bein’ in mourning and all . . . There’s still the fireworks and music. Surely you fine ladies don’t wanna be missin’ that.’’

  ‘‘Yes, Mrs. McCutchens, please stay. I think you’ll enjoy the festivities we have planned for the evening.’’

  Annabelle turned at the sound of Jack Brennan’s voice.

  ‘‘The fiddlers are just getting warmed up, and . . . I’d appreciate the chance to speak with you later.’’

  ‘‘I’d like that, but—’’

  Matthew stepped forward. ‘‘I’ll take Sadie back since she’s not feeling well. You go ahead and enjoy the festivities, Mrs. McCutchens. I know you’ve been looking forward to this, and . . . no doubt you’d enjoy time to talk with your friends.’’

  ‘‘Talk with your friends.’’ Annabelle detected a stiffness in his voice. She tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at her. Even more surprising was Sadie moving closer to Matthew, silently accepting his offer.

  Colby held out his arm and grinned. ‘‘Well, I guess that settles it, ma’am. Let’s you and me head over and get us some cider.’’

  Seeing no way out of it, Annabelle accompanied Mr. Colby while Matthew escorted Sadie back to the wagon.

  After nearly an hour of listening to Bertram Colby’s stories while watching others dance, Annabelle finished her cup of spiced cider and managed to excuse herself. She made her way back through the crowd toward the wagon. Numerous people had approached her, offering condolences on Jonathan’s passing, treating her with respect and kindness, which still felt foreign. These were good people, and a sense of community existed among them that made her long to be a part of it. But while pleasant enough, this evening simply hadn’t turned out as she’d imagined.

  She felt a touch on her arm and turned. ‘‘Oh, hello, Mr. Brennan. . . .’’


  ‘‘You’re not trying to sneak away before the fireworks, are you?’’

  She feigned a look of surprise at having been caught. ‘‘Actually, I was. I’m sorry. I need to head back and check on Sadie.’’

  ‘‘Mind if I walk in that direction with you?’’

  ‘‘Not at all.’’ She picked her way around the various campfires, smiling at the couples and families seated on blankets, enjoying the activities. Several people stopped Jack Brennan on the way, and he took the time to speak with each of them.

  Once clear of the crowd, Annabelle glanced back over her shoulder. ‘‘You’ve been busy this evening, Mr. Brennan. I think the line of young women waiting to be your dance partner wrapped halfway around the camp!’’ She laughed. ‘‘I daresay you’ve acquired several admirers on this trip.’’

  A shy look crossed his face. ‘‘It’s only because there are so few of us single men along this time.’’

  Though knowing that wasn’t the case, she let the comment pass.

  Fires dotted the outer rim of camp and helped to illuminate the dark path. They could still hear sweet harmonies from the fiddles as they neared the westernmost circle of wagons. The music’s earlier fast pace had calmed, no doubt due to people tiring, and Annabelle imagined couples dancing slowly, and maybe a trace closer, to the tunes being played now.

  ‘‘Did you and Mr. Taylor, and the young lady, have any problems on your journey?’’

  ‘‘A few mishaps, but we made it fine.’’ As they walked, she told Brennan about the flash flood and the wolves, not bothering to correct his misassumption that Sadie had been with them from the start. Then something else came to mind. ‘‘Mr. Brennan, something I think you need to know, not that it makes any difference, but . . .’’ She briefly told him about Matthew being Jonathan’s younger brother and how he’d shown up to apply for the position.

  Brennan’s expression reflected surprise—then regret. ‘‘Having to find out about his brother that way must have been hard on him.’’

  Annabelle thought back to their time in Willow Springs. ‘‘Yes, it was especially difficult for a while.’’

  His steps slowed. ‘‘Mrs. McCutchens, there’s something I need to tell you as well. I’m not certain, ma’am, whether this is of huge importance or not. But I feel I should mention it in light of Jonathan’s passing.’’

  She paused, and he stopped beside her. ‘‘I must admit, Mr.

  Brennan, you have my curiosity piqued.’’

  ‘‘The day before we left you, Jonathan gave me a letter and asked that I post it for him.’’

  ‘‘A letter . . .’’

  ‘‘I don’t know what it contained, Mrs. McCutchens. Jonathan didn’t volunteer that information, and I didn’t see it as my place to ask.’’ His voice grew soft. ‘‘All I knew at the time was that he was dying and that he asked me to do this for him.’’

  ‘‘And it was kind of you to agree to do it. Whatever it was, it must have been important to Jonathan or he wouldn’t have asked it of you.’’

  ‘‘Those were my thoughts as well.’’

  She hesitated. ‘‘By chance, Mr. Brennan, do you remember who the envelope was addressed to?’’

  ‘‘Yes, ma’am. It was addressed to the Bank of Idaho in Sandy Creek. I mailed it at the next town we came to. A few days after we had to leave you.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Which was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, ma’am.’’

  ‘‘Mr. Brennan, we all understood the possibilities of what could happen on the journey. You were very clear on that from the outset.’’

  ‘‘I appreciate your understanding, Mrs. McCutchens, but . . . reciting what might be done and then following through with it once something happens are two very different things.’’

  ‘‘How true that is.’’ They continued on down the path.

  When their wagon came into sight, she spotted Matthew seated on an upturned barrel. The campfire he’d built was burning low and steady, offering dim light to the area. His head came up at that moment, and even though they were still some distance away, she got the feeling he was staring straight at her.

  ‘‘I can walk from here, thank you,’’ she said to Brennan. ‘‘I want you to know how much I appreciate what you did for Jonathan, and for telling me about it now.’’ After they’d bid each other goodnight and he started to leave, she remembered her earlier question. ‘‘Mr. Brennan . . .’’

  He turned.

  ‘‘You mentioned something earlier about my having laid Jonathan to rest near Fountain Creek. How did you know about that?’’

  A sad smile crossed his face. ‘‘Jonathan told me something when he gave me that letter. He said he needed to take care of two final things. One was the letter, and the other was about being buried by Fountain Creek, where the two of you courted.’’ He paused as though trying to remember the exact wording. ‘‘Jonathan said he entrusted me with the first and knew he could entrust you with the last.’’

  Annabelle briefly closed her eyes, almost able to hear the deep resonance of Jonathan’s voice as he would have made that request of Brennan. ‘‘Thank you . . .’’

  Walking the rest of the way alone, she laid a hand over her abdomen. Still weeks away from showing, she thanked God for having brought Jonathan, and this precious baby, into her life. Looking up, she slowed her steps, swallowing against the knot in her throat. And thank you, Lord, for also bringing this man into my life.

  Two brothers, so very different, yet so similar. Just like her feelings for them both.

  Matthew rose at her approach and moved toward her, his back to the fire, his face cast in shadows.

  She realized then what it was she’d been looking forward to about tonight. What it was she’d been anticipating. It wasn’t the music or the fireworks or the food. It had been about being with him, and enjoying those things together.

  ‘‘How’s Sadie feeling?’’

  He glanced back at the wagon. ‘‘She’s fine. She’s inside, asleep.’’

  ‘‘Have you just been sitting here all this time, by yourself?’’

  He nodded. ‘‘Feeling guilty?’’

  His voice held a smile and prompted one from her. ‘‘Maybe a little,’’ she admitted.

  ‘‘Sadie and I talked for a while. Then once she went to sleep I settled in here, enjoying the quiet and waiting for you.’’

  Annabelle held up a hand, not sure she’d heard correctly. ‘‘You and Sadie talked ?’’

  ‘‘For a while.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’

  He nodded again. ‘‘Did you have a nice time at the dance?’’

  She didn’t want to complain, especially since he’d missed it.

  ‘‘Yes, it was very nice.’’

  He tilted his head in the direction where Brennan had just walked. ‘‘I should probably go talk with him about Sadie. Let him know who might be following us, just in case. I won’t be long.’’ He started in that direction.

  As he passed her, Annabelle touched his arm and he stopped.

  ‘‘I already told Mr. Brennan about all that, just now, as he walked me back.’’ Guilt trickled through her at the lie, and she wished her face was shadowed instead of his. ‘‘I thought it would be best if he knew . . . just in case something happened, like you said.’’

  Matthew nodded as though he understood the situation, which she knew he didn’t. She needed to tell him the truth. She wanted to. She just didn’t know how to go about it yet.

  ‘‘Thank you for taking care of that.’’

  ‘‘You’re welcome,’’ she whispered, surprised when he stepped closer. And even more so when he reached for her hand.

  Caught off guard, she watched, speechless, as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her open palm. Once, twice.

  A tremble moved through her.

  He shifted, and the glow of firelight fell across his face. ‘‘You don’t have to be nervous around me, Annabelle.’’

  ‘‘I . . . I’m
not nervous.’’ She just couldn’t breathe, that’s all.

  His slow smile said he begged to differ. ‘‘You’re trembling.’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘I’m . . . just chilled.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’ With his other hand he touched her cheek. ‘‘You feel a mite warm to me.’’

  She attempted a laugh, but it came out strangled-sounding. She would have thought her previous experiences with men would have dulled her to the shiver working its way up from somewhere deep inside her. She’d always been in control. Shielded. Detached. As though watching from a distance. But now . . .

  She gently pulled her hand away and took a step back.

  ‘‘What’s wrong?’’

  ‘‘Nothing’s wrong, Matthew. I just . . .’’ How could she explain this hesitance inside her? For anyone familiar with her past, it would be laughable. Yet humor was the furthest thing from her mind.

  ‘‘Just what?’’ he asked after a moment, his smile gradually reaching his eyes.

  If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought he was toying with her. But she did know better. She knew him. And yet she also knew that if Matthew hadn’t made up his mind by now to stay in Idaho, then he hadn’t grown to care for her as much as she’d hoped. And she already cared for him far too deeply.

  He moved toward her. ‘‘Annabelle, I—’’

  Again she put distance between them.

  ‘‘Why do you keep moving away from me?’’ His quiet voice held only question—not accusation.

  She looked everywhere but at him. ‘‘I’m not moving away.

  I’m . . . giving us space.’’

  ‘‘What if I said I don’t want that much space between us? Not anymore.’’ He took a step closer. ‘‘And what if I were to say I don’t think you want that either?’’

  Her mouth slipped open. She promptly closed it, wondering what had gotten into this man. Whatever it was, she needed to stop it before it went any further. ‘‘Then I’d say I think you’ve been into the whiskey again, Matthew Taylor. And with no wound to blame it on this time.’’