The Parson's Christmas Gift. Kerri Mountain
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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