Cowgirl Under The Mistletoe. Louise Gouge M.
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prison.
Grace considered her own sisters’ participation in stopping the robbery. “Good thing Laurie and Beryl aren’t here.” Once again, she’d allow that Romans 8:28 applied in this case.
“You’re in danger, too, Grace.” The Rev grunted in his gentlemanly way. “But I don’t think anyone will be safe as long as those men are free. We’ll have to pray those lost souls will see their need for salvation before they cause any more harm.”
Grace clenched her jaw. She had been praying, and look what it got. The varmints broke out of the strongest prison in Colorado, and now the decent folks of Esperanza would be living in fear until they were caught. For the hundredth time in nearly three years, Grace wished she’d shot Dathan Hardison and his crazy-as-a-loon partner dead.
“Well, I’ve got business to tend to. ’Scuse me.” She touched the brim of her hat like a man would do and strode away, her heels thumping on the boardwalk. The Rev caught up with her, only this time the cadences of their footfalls didn’t quite match, as they had earlier.
They arrived at Cappello’s Haberdashery at the north end of the building and stepped inside the open door.
“Welcome, welcome.” The sprightly little Italian man grinned broadly, causing his wide black mustache to wiggle oddly. “What can I do for you fine folks?”
Grace asked about possible thefts, and he reported that no such thing had happened in his establishment.
“But I shall be on guard.” Mr. Cappello waved an index finger in the air like Caesar vowing to defend Rome. “And you, Reverend Thomas. What is your pleasure today?”
The Rev was already trying on hats in front of a mirror on the glass countertop. “I’m thinking of changing my style.” He looked at Grace. “What do you think?” He indicated the bowler he sported, so different from his Stetson. Although both were black, the bowler changed his look from that of a man who belonged in the West to a citified dandy.
Grace coughed out a little laugh, unable to subdue a slightly derisive edge to her tone. “You goin’ courtin’ or something, Rev?”
He turned his attention back to the mirror. “I’ve been thinking about it.” He spoke absently, as if talking to himself.
Grace’s heart plummeted to her stomach. Now she’d lose his friendship for sure. Then what would she do? One thing was certain. She wanted the best for her friend, so maybe she should help him look for a young lady who was worthy of him. That idea didn’t sit too well with her, though she couldn’t imagine why.
As Grace and the Rev checked with the other five businesses, all reporting they’d had no thefts, she felt like she was in the company of a different person. That hat truly did the Rev no justice, not out here in Colorado. He looked more like some city slicker, a dandy, a tenderfoot, like the ones who came through town from time to time and either toughened up or fled back East.
They neared the street where they’d go their separate ways, and he stopped and touched her arm. “Grace, I’ve been thinking.”
“You’re gonna take that silly-looking hat back to Mr. Cappello.” She could only hope.
He chuckled and shook his head. “No. This is a bit more serious than our differing opinions about my attire.” He glanced up and down the street. Although a whole lot of people walked about tending their business, none were close by. “I want to help you and the sheriff investigate the thefts at the mercantile.” His gaze was steady, like when he was making an important point during one of his sermons. “And I want to help you put Hardison and Smith back in prison. Hardison may have thought very little about our few short private chats, but I learned more about him than he realized.”
“That a fact?” She considered the idea. With Sheriff Lawson getting a bit absentminded these days, she knew she’d need help to solve both crime problems. She had in mind her married friends, the Northam brothers, but maybe the preacher, being single, would prove a better partner. He did have a whole heap of insight into human nature. “Yeah, that sounds good.” She laughed. “Who would suspect that a preacher, especially one wearing a bowler hat, might be trying to catch outlaws?”
He blinked like he was surprised, and she feared for a second or two that she’d overdone her teasing. Then he laughed with his usual good humor. “So it’s a deal?” He held out his hand.
She gave it a hearty shake. “It’s a deal.”
Micah prepared his notes for the Wednesday night prayer meeting with special care. He must say just the right thing about the outlaws and the local robberies. The people of Esperanza were hardy, stouthearted folk. Otherwise they wouldn’t be living here in this harsh land. But no one ever benefited from their town leaders stirring up alarm. Of course most folks probably already knew about both threats.
Most of the time, only a third of the congregation came to prayer meeting. Some folks lived too far out of town to make a midweek trip. Others only came on Sunday to put on a show. The more involved members of the church knew the importance of praying together, so they made every effort to attend on Wednesday evenings.
After one more prayer for guidance for tonight, Micah made his way from the parsonage to the church, entered by the back door and set his notes on the lectern.
At the same time, Nate and Rand Northam came through the front door, early as always, to set out hymnbooks. Micah walked up the aisle to shake their hands and then glanced over Rand’s shoulder. “Any other Northams coming tonight?”
“No, they all stayed home,” Nate said. “Grace told us about Hardison and his crazy crony, so we moved our wives and children up to the big house so our folks could look out for them.”
“If only I hadn’t killed Hardison’s cousin.” Rand’s drawn expression revealed both worry and sorrow. “He never would have come to Esperanza for revenge in the first place. He never would have noticed our small town.” He shook his head. “Never would have tried to rob the bank.”
Rand had shot the outlaw’s cousin, a wanted murderer, for cheating in a card game in Del Norte over six years ago. Three years ago, Hardison had showed up and tried to charm the community, all the while threatening Rand in private. He’d even come forward in church one Sunday pretending a conversion experience. But his eyes lacked the look of a man whose repentance was genuine, so Micah hadn’t trusted him from the start. In their few subsequent chats, Micah further discerned the falseness of his supposed conversion.
“You’ve been forgiven, Rand.” Micah set a hand on his younger friend’s shoulder. Here was a prime example of true repentance. “You need to forgive yourself once and for all. Besides, as you well know, men like those two don’t need an excuse to do evil.”
Rand’s expression cleared. “Thanks. I have to keep reminding myself that the Lord’s truly and completely forgiven me. Times like this make it harder.”
“Just look at it this way, brother.” Nate poked an elbow into Rand’s ribs. “Mother can’t ever get enough of her grandchildren, so this is her opportunity to spoil them.” He chuckled. “Poor Dad. He won’t have a moment of peace with the three of them climbing all over him.”
“Soon to be four, come December.” Rand’s remorseful expression cleared, and paternal pride took its place. “I’m glad for an excuse to make Marybeth stay with Mother. She always tries to manage things on her own, but Randy’s getting to be a handful, and in her condition...” He stopped and offered a self-conscious grin, as if embarrassed for discussing such a private matter with them. “She needs Mother’s help.”
At the reminder of Rand’s impending expansion of his family, Micah had an odd moment of longing, a yearning even, he’d never felt in all his twenty-nine years. How rewarding it must be to have a wife and children to care for. He’d love to have a sweet little daughter or