The Parson's Christmas Gift. Kerri Mountain
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head barely hurt at all this morning, and the ache in her leg was tolerable without the pain medication that she’d refused the past two days. Doc Ferris had been out yesterday to rebind it and check the lump on her head. He’d proclaimed both on the mend but recommended keeping the leg raised as much as possible for another week at least. And Miss Rose followed his recommendations to the letter.
The stable stood, weathered but sturdy, across the dusty yard. She remembered Abby mentioning a riding horse and felt a pang of loneliness for her own. She and Gypsy had traveled the whole way from Georgia together. The hostler had laughed at her choice, but the mare was all she could afford, and she took a chance on the intelligence she thought she saw in the fine dark eyes. Some of the conversations held with the gentle brown horse were more enjoyable and wiser than any of the ones she’d had with Hank. What kind of horses would Miss Rose keep? It wasn’t so awfully far to the barn.
She stood and lurched to the edge of the porch, grasping the banister. It took a couple of false starts before she found a rhythm of dangling the broken leg before her, leaning toward the banister, then hopping down on her bare foot. She hadn’t planned on treading out into the yard, but to go back now would cost precious minutes of fresh air. Her feet would be tough enough to handle the rough ground for the distance.
Hopping several feet at a time before stopping to balance, she made her way to the barn and tugged the door, which caught a bit before sliding open enough to slip through. She leaned against a railing to ease her breathing and let her eyes adjust to the cool dimness inside. A soft whinny to the right drew her attention.
Two horses stood in the stalls, one a broad chestnut with a black mane and tail, the other a smaller paint. She hobbled over and stroked the white blaze across the paint’s forehead, holding the harness to steady herself. She blew softly on its nose.
“And what’s your name?” she whispered.
“Homer.”
She drew the revolver from her pocket, pivoting on her good leg. Reverend Thompson fell back against the open door frame, holding up both hands in defense.
“What do you mean by sneaking up on me?” Her voice came low, ragged. “Moves like that can get you shot.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed just above his shirt collar, but his voice showed no strain. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It seems to me you don’t mean to do a lot of things you end up doing.” She thought her heart would pound out of her throat.
He lowered his hands. “I saw the barn door open and knew Miss Rose had gone with Abby to the Ladies’ Mission Society meeting. I thought I ought to check things out. After all, you’re to be inside resting, with that leg up.”
“Why were you out here?” She didn’t know why she continued to question him. Did she really think he’d lie?
He moved farther into the barn with a calm confidence. “I made a call on the Hamlers. Listen, can you put that thing away?”
She looked at the gun palmed in her hand and lowered it into the folds of her skirt, hoping to hide the shake in her hand.
“You—you startled me. And…and, well, I’ve learned it never hurts to have a little help in backing up your words. I apologize, Reverend Thompson.”
“It’s still Zane.” He shifted and ran a finger along his collar before stepping closer. “You must be feeling a little better if you’re making your way outside.”
The matter of the gun seemed set aside but not forgotten. “I couldn’t resist the sunshine,” she said. “I’m afraid we won’t have too many more fine days like this one. Then I remembered Miss Rose said she kept horses and I wanted to take a peek at them.”
He walked over to the larger of the two horses, and scratched its nose. “This is Zeb, short for Zebulon, and that’s Homer.”
“Funny names.”
“Ah, but fine horses. Homer would make a great mount for you while you’re here.” He smiled and turned to face her. “That is, once your leg heals. You really should listen to Doc Ferris. It is what we pay him for around here.”
She didn’t need to be reminded about her debt to the kind, quiet man who had tended to the injury. “I could use a seat,” she conceded.
“Can I help you?”
She tensed, wondering if he meant more than the leg. “No. No, I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”
She stepped across the dirt, the thin layer of loose hay tickling her feet, then back toward the yard. Journey tensed when Zane reached toward her as she faltered. But he drew back and merely followed close behind.
Beads of sweat dribbled down her cheeks by the time she reached the porch steps. The thought hit her that going up wouldn’t be nearly as easy as the trip down. It wouldn’t do to have an audience.
She turned toward the preacher, grasping the banister in both hands. “Listen. About the gun…]I—You startled me and I reacted too quickly. It won’t happen again, I assure you. I’d appreciate it if we could forget about the whole thing.”
A shadow crossed his face, as though his mind were a hundred miles from where they stood. As if he could see beyond her secrets.
“Zane? Can’t we keep this between us? I’d hate to startle Miss Rose. Or worse yet, have her kick me out.”
His attention jerked back as he looked at her, turning his head to either side. “Right. But look, if you’re in some kind of trouble, she deserves to know. Let her make up her own mind. Besides, maybe we can help.”
“It’s no trouble I can’t handle, I assure you, Pastor.” She leveled her gaze to his.
He rested his hands at his waist and stared at her a moment, then out across the dust-colored bluffs to the east. His jaw twitched. She backed up onto the first step with her good foot.
“Trouble you can handle has a way of turning into trouble you can’t,” he said, still not looking at her. “If you let us know what’s going on, we’ll figure a way out.”
Her face grew warmer but this time not because of the temperature. “The only thing going on here is I’m trying to figure a way to pay my debts, buy a horse and be on my way. The only thing going on here is a pastor who thinks he can save every soul he meets, fix every problem. Well, there are some problems you can’t fix with a sermon.” She clamped her lips together as a shiver of fear shot through her. What possessed her to speak to him like that? Hank would have wailed on her before she spoke out. Mama would have been appalled. “We must always be nice to the gentlemen,” she would say, in that soft drawl.
Zane bent his head but his stance held no anger. “I’m only trying to help. You may need it more than you think.”
His sincerity softened her fear as well as her anger, more than she would have liked. But aggravating him would only increase his suspicions. “I appreciate the offer, but this is my trouble and I’ll handle it my way. Getting more folks involved will only make things worse. Believe me, it’s not worth it.”
He looked at her, his eyebrows quirked. “We’ll play this your way for now,” he said after a pause. “I won’t mention the gun to Miss Rose, but you watch yourself. You have to let us know when you need a hand.”
She pulled her shoulders back, determined not to skitter away from him, no matter how her thoughts pleaded with her to. She didn’t have to do anything as far as she was concerned. Why wouldn’t he just go away?
She gave him a short nod. “I’ll tell Miss Rose you stopped by.”
He strode to his horse and paused with his foot in the stirrup. “I’d appreciate it,” he said, easing his broad frame into the saddle. He grabbed his hat from the saddle horn and clamped it over his dark hair.
She thought he would leave with a tip of his hat, but instead he slid the brown leather