The Maverick Preacher. Victoria Bylin
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Lots of people traveled west from New England. When she walked down the Denver streets, she heard accents of all kinds.
“Can you stand now?” she said to him.
“My horse—”
“I’ll see to it after I see to you.”
His eyes filled with gratitude. “I’ll pay for feed and straw. Double whatever you charge.”
Adie had forgotten about his offer to pay twice what she usually asked. She felt cheap about it, especially if he’d fainted from hunger. “There’s no need to pay double.”
“Take it,” he said.
“It’s not right.”
“It’s more than fair,” he insisted. “I’m intruding on your privacy in the dead of night. Please…allow me this small dignity.”
Adie saw no point in arguing. If Mr. Blue wanted to protect his pride with money, she’d oblige. “Let’s get you into that room.”
She stood and offered her hand. When he clasped her fingers, she felt strength inside his leather glove and wondered why he hadn’t eaten. Grimacing, he pushed to a sitting position and put on his black hat. Using her for leverage, he rose to his full height and faced her. Adie’s gaze landed on his chin, then dipped to the Adam’s apple above the buttoned collar of his white shirt. She judged him to be six feet tall, rail thin and too proud to lean on her.
She let go of his hand and turned. “I’ll show you to your room.”
She stepped over the threshold, paused at a side table and lit a candle. As she held it up, Joshua Blue stepped into the room and took off his hat. The candle flickered with the rush of air. Light danced across his craggy features and revealed a straight nose that struck her as aristocratic. His dark hair curled around his temples and brushed his collar, reminding her of crows gleaning seed from her mother’s wheat field. Everything about him was black or white except for his eyes. They were as blue as his name. In a vague way, his gaze reminded her of Maggie except her friend’s eyes had been pure brown. Stephen’s eyes hadn’t found their color yet. Adie hoped they’d turn brown, a closer match to her hazel ones.
Blocking her worries, she led her new boarder down a corridor with green and pink floral wallpaper, through the kitchen and down a short hall that led to his room. As she opened the door, she raised the candle. The tiny space looked as barren as she feared. The room had a cot and a dresser, but mostly she used it to store odds and ends she donated to charity or tried to sell herself. Dust motes floated in the gold light, and a cobweb shimmered in the corner of the ceiling. Not even daisies would have lifted the gloom. A mouse scurried away from the glow.
Adie felt embarrassed. “I’ll clean it out tomorrow.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s dirty.”
“Not as dirty as I am,” he said dryly.
She stepped into the room, lifted a rag from the pile on a trunk and swatted the cobweb. It broke into pieces and fell on her face. The vague sensation sent her back to the attic in the Long house, where Timothy Long had threatened to smother her with a pillow if she cried out. The storeroom had the same smell as the attic, the same dust and collection of unwanted things.
Adie wanted to run from the room, but Joshua Blue was standing in the doorway with his hat in one hand and his eyes firmly on her face. He’d trapped her. Or more correctly, she’d trapped herself. What a fool she’d been. Thanks to Timothy Long she knew better.
Show no fear. Stay strong.
The voice in Adie’s head belonged to Maggie. As always, it gave her strength. She coughed once to recover her composure, then looked straight at Mr. Blue. “Do you need anything else?”
He looked pinched. “Do you have another candle?”
His tone made her wonder if the dark bothered him as much as it bothered her. She indicated the top of the dresser. “There’s a lamp—”
“I see it.”
He lit the match and wick, then adjusted the flame. Adie stepped to the door. As she turned to say good-night, Mr. Blue took off his hat and tried to stand taller. He looked weary to the bone and frail enough to pass out again.
She had no desire to fix him a meal, but he needed to eat. “Would you like a sandwich?”
His face turned pale. “No, thanks.”
Adie wondered if he had a bad stomach. “Broth?”
He swallowed as if his mouth had started to water. She could see him thinking, weighing her inconvenience against his hunger. She took pity on him. “How about bread and butter? Maybe with strawberry jam?”
“No bread,” he said. “But I’d be grateful for a glass of milk.”
Adie knew all about bellyaches. In addition to a cow, she kept a goat for Stephen. “I have goat’s milk. Would that—”
“Yes, please.”
“It’s in the kitchen.”
Holding the candle, she led the way down the hall. She set the brass holder on the table, indicated a chair and opened the icebox where she had two pitchers. The prettiest one, blue crystal etched with cornflowers, held the cow’s milk she served her boarders. The other was smaller and made of pewter. She set it on the counter, took a glass from the shelf and poured.
As the stranger lowered himself to the chair, she heard a stifled groan. She turned and saw him sitting straight, but he looked as pinched as Stephen with a bout of colic.
“Here,” she said, handing him the milk.
He took it, sipped, then drank more deeply. As he lowered the glass, he closed his eyes and exhaled.
The contented silence reminded Adie of her son after a late-night feeding. She glanced at the clock. Soon Stephen would wake up hungry and she still had to put the horse in the carriage house. If she hurried, she’d be back before her son stirred. If he woke up early, Rose or Pearl would check on him.
“I have to see to your horse,” Adie said to her guest. “Will you be all right?”
“I’m much better.”
His voice rang with authority, as if he were used to speaking and being heard. Adie could scarcely believe she’d taken him for a meager drifter. With the candle flickering, he filled the kitchen with the shadows of a giant. He frightened her, yet he’d just guzzled milk like a baby. Confused by her thoughts, she set the pitcher on the table. “Help yourself.”
He lifted it and poured. “Just so you know, Miss Clarke. I’m an honorable man. You have nothing to fear from me.”
As he raised the glass from the table, his eyes found hers and lingered. Adie felt as if he were looking for her soul. He wouldn’t find it. She’d left that part of her heart in Liddy’s Grove. Ever since, she’d drawn lines and expected people to stay behind them.
“I have a few rules,” she said.
“Whatever you say.”
“Under no circumstances may you go upstairs.”
“Of course.”
“Dinner’s at six o’clock. If you miss it, you can make yourself a sandwich.”
“That’s fair.” His eyes twinkled. “Anything else?”
If she made the list long enough, maybe he’d leave. Adie searched her mind for male habits she recalled from her days as an orphan. She’d lived with six families in four years. She’d also cleaned saloons and cheap hotels. She knew about bad habits.
“No cursing, drinking or smoking,” she said.
“That suits me fine.”
“No shouting,” she added.