“Figures.” Jackson leaned back in his chair. “Well, if I had to lose her to somebody, I’m glad it’s you.”
“No hard feelings?”
The boy looked more resigned than pained, but Jackson was good at putting up fronts, so it was hard to tell.
Jackson sat a little straighter, his demeanor changing from boy to man as he eyed Crockett with surprising maturity. “If I didn’t think you’d be good for her, I’d fight you for her. But I trust you, Crock. I been around you enough to know that you don’t just spout nice words from the pulpit—you live ’em. She’ll be in good hands.”
For once, Crockett had no words at the ready. Humbled by the boy’s faith, all he could manage was a gravelly “Thanks.”
“’Course, you still gotta get through Silas.” The smile that twisted Jackson’s face made it clear he wouldn’t mind witnessing his friend endure a little fatherly torture.
And Crockett fully expected to suffer some. Silas might have opened up to him in a moment of weakness after Jackson’s injury, and he might have even worked through some of his issues with preachers, but the man was still an ornery cuss who wouldn’t give away his precious daughter without demanding his pound of flesh. Crockett hid a grin behind his hand. He actually looked forward to the challenge.
“Well, anything worth having is worth working for, right?” He winked at Jackson.
“Yep.” Jackson grabbed the towel that had guarded the cookies and wadded it in his good hand. “Don’t worry.” He launched the towel at Crockett’s head. “I’ll put in a good word for you. Silas promised to bring his checkerboard over tomorrow to entertain me while you and Jo are off at church.”
Crockett hid his disappointment. He’d hoped Silas would attend services. According to Joanna, he’d been reading her mother’s Bible the last few evenings and even asked a question or two. But Silas was a man used to making his own way—a leader, not a follower. Nagging him about attending church would only create friction. The man needed to come to his own conclusions and decide for himself whom he would serve. Like Joshua, all Crockett could do was offer the invitation and proclaim his own allegiance through his words and deeds. It was up to Silas to do the rest.
“You think you can manage to ring the bell without me?” Jackson interjected into the silence.
Crockett shook off his ponderings and smiled. He snagged the towel from where it had fallen across his shoulder and tossed it back at Jackson’s face. “Maybe. But just this once.” He crossed his arms over his chest and spoke with his best mock-lecture tone. “You don’t need two arms to pull the bell rope, you know. I fully expect you to be back at work next Sunday. No more lazing about, you hear?”
Jackson chuckled. “You got it.”
As it turned out, Crockett missed Jackson for more than his bell ringing skills the next day. With the boy at home, Crockett had no one to run interference for him when it came to dodging Holly Brewster. The gal seemed to be constantly circling like some kind of hungry buzzard, swooping in every chance she got to pick at his flesh. She arrived early and offered to ring the bell in Jackson’s place. Yet when he unhooked the rope for her, all she did was bat her eyelashes and plead with him to help her.
What if the rope slipped through her fingers? What if she did it wrong? Wouldn’t it be better for him to hold the rope, too? Preferably by holding her in the process.
She hadn’t said that last part aloud, but it projected through the sultry glances she kept aiming in his direction. He’d finally instructed her to yank on the rope however she liked, then left her to her own devices and strode away to the podium to review the sermon notes he’d finished reviewing not five minutes before.
Thankfully, Joanna arrived soon after, saving him from Holly’s more blatant machinations. But all through the service, Miss Brewster continued her subtle attack. She sang a touch too loudly from the pew behind his, ensuring he heard her voice above any other. He strained to hear Joanna’s gentle lilting from across the aisle, but Holly’s brassy tones drowned her out.
During the sermon, Holly stared at him with a far-too-enraptured expression. As much as he would’ve liked to believe that his message could hold her so in thrall, not even his pride could swallow that much rot. Then she started toying with the buttons on the bodice of her dress, and that’s when he gave up all pretense of acting as if he didn’t notice her. He locked his focus on the left side of the congregation from that moment on and never veered to the right again.
Her brazenness had gone too far. It was no longer just a matter of his being uncomfortable with her forward manner; it had progressed to the point where he worried about moral implications. He couldn’t simply strive to avoid her. He needed to confront her. Not only as a man who wished to discourage her interest but also as a minister who needed to caution her about the slippery path she was walking.
But he hated confrontation. Growing up, he’d been the keeper of the peace in the Archer household. If Travis got too uptight, Crockett would tease him into a better frame of mind. If Jim wanted to pound Neill into a pulp for ruining his stew, Crockett intervened with a funny anecdote to diffuse the tension. He was an expert at charming people back onto the honorable path. Unfortunately, charm wouldn’t work with Holly. It would only inflame the problem.
So he had no choice. He had to confront her directly. Which meant he’d have to hurt her, because the truth was not what she wanted to hear.
Is there any other way, Lord? Couldn’t you just change her heart? I have little experience in talking to women. I’m bound to muck this up.
No peace came with the prayer. Only a recollection of a verse from James. “He which converteth the sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins.”
Apparently, he couldn’t charm God, either.
As Crockett stood at the rear of the church, shaking the hands of departing members, he forced himself to smile and make polite conversation despite the sick mound of dread swelling in his stomach. A confrontation with Holly was sure to be awkward, possibly even volatile. But he’d been called to minister to all the members of his flock, not just the easy ones.
So when Holly and her mother made their way toward him, he steeled himself for what needed to be done.
“Another wonderful sermon, Brother Archer,” Sarah Brewster gushed. “As always.” She tittered like a young girl as she held her hand out to him. “Won’t you come for lunch? I’m frying chicken, and Holly baked a wild blackberry cobbler that will melt in your mouth.”
“It sounds wonderful, ma’am,” Crockett said as he clasped her hand, “but I’m afraid I’m already promised elsewhere today.”
“At the Lazy R?” Holly interjected, her lips puffed into a pretty pout. “Pish. You eat there all the time. I’m sure Joanna wouldn’t mind sharing you.”
Actually, he figured she’d probably mind quite a bit.
The possessive thought cheered him considerably. “I’m sorry, ladies. I’ve given my word. However . . .” He drew the word out to keep Holly from arguing further, then turned his attention to her mother. “I would like to ask your permission to call on Holly tomorrow evening. Perhaps around seven? There is a matter of some urgency I need to discuss with her.”
He’d tried to make it clear that his visit would not be a courting call by his last remark, but judging by the way Holly’s pout disappeared beneath the onslaught of a beaming smile, she hadn’t caught on.
Pressing the issue with so many parishioners within hearing distance didn’t seem wise, and he supposed she’d understand soon enough, so he held his tongue.
Mrs. Brewster squeezed his hand and nearly bounced in her delight. “Of course you can pay a call, Parson. We’ll be sure to hold back a serving of cobbler for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She finally released his hand and grabbed hold of her daughter. “Come along, Holly. Let the man get to his lunch. You’ll see him tomorrow.”
Holly captured his han
d despite the fact that he hadn’t extended it to her. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
He wished he could say the same.
34
The following afternoon, Joanna steered her wagon through the Lazy R gate after a visit with Jackson and spotted Crockett striding out of the barn to meet her. He halted by the edge of the building and rubbed a bandana over the back of his neck before stuffing the blue cloth back into his pocket. He stood so tall; his long legs braced apart, the fabric of his shirt outlining the breadth of his shoulders and arms. Her heart fluttered as she rambled closer.
This man loved her. This strong, handsome, godly man truly loved her. It didn’t seem possible.
She bit her lip, yet her mouth stretched into a wide grin anyway when he raised his hand in greeting. Joanna returned the gesture, keeping one hand on the reins as the team plodded toward the barn.
“How’s Jackson today?” Crockett’s eyes danced as he waited for her to set the brake.
Joanna wrapped the harness straps around the brake lever and bent to retrieve the food basket from the floorboards. “Oh, as ornery as ever,” she said as she gathered her skirts to one side. “He was outside trying to chop wood one-handed when I got there.”
Crockett’s warm hands circled her waist as he lifted her from the wagon, and they lingered even after her feet were solidly aground.
“I chopped a pile for him two days ago.” One of his brows arched, nearly disappearing beneath the rim of his hat. “Surely the kid hasn’t depleted it already. Especially with you doing all the cooking.”
“The woodpile was still stacked high in the shed. I think he was trying to prove something to himself,” Joanna said, finding it hard to concentrate on the conversation with Crockett’s fingers stroking her sleeves. “I don’t mind him testing his capabilities; I just wish he wouldn’t use such sharp implements until he’s sure of what those capabilities are.”
His fingertips had worked their way up to her shoulders and she abandoned all hope of coherent thought and leaned into the caress. His thumb brushed the edge of her jaw, and her eyes slid closed. The feel of his breath on her face was the only warning she received before his lips met hers.
Joanna reached up to stroke his cheek. Crockett tugged her closer and began to deepen the kiss, then suddenly drew back.
“Sorry.” His voice shook a little, then turned into a soft chuckle. “I hadn’t intended to do that when I came to help you down.”
Joanna lowered her lashes, not quite able to meet his gaze after the sweetness of the kiss. “I didn’t mind.”
He laughed outright. “Heavens, Jo. That’s not the thing to say to a man when he’s battling to hang onto his self-control and good intentions.” His words were lighthearted, but she didn’t miss the way he stepped back and released his hold on her.
Did she really tempt his self-control? Red hair, freckles, and all? If she’d ever needed proof that he really loved her, he’d just given it to her.
“You’re a good man, Crockett Archer. I trust you.”
“That’s good, because I need to tell you something you’re not going to like.”
She frowned at the change that came over his features. Gone was the teasing suitor. Like a storm cloud blowing in to cover the sun, Crockett’s eyes darkened with a seriousness that immediately set her on edge.
“The horses will be all right for a minute,” he said, relieving her of the basket and taking her arm. “Let’s go sit on the porch.”
She didn’t want to sit on the porch. She wanted him to spit out the bad news. He wasn’t leaving, was he? If he was, would he take her with him? And what about her father? They’d been making such progress. And Jackson. He would be devastated.
By the time Crockett led her up the porch steps and into one of the rockers, Joanna felt as brittle as a week-old cookie, ready to crumble at the slightest tap.
“What is it?” She scooted to the edge of the seat and braced her feet against the porch floor to keep the chair from rocking. Her neck craned up to gauge Crockett’s expression, and her gaze followed him as he took the seat next to hers. The chair creaked as it accepted his weight, and Joanna feared she might scream right along with it if the man didn’t hurry up and end her suspense.
Finally he turned. He ran his palms down his pant legs and took a breath before looking up to meet her eyes. “I’m paying a call on Holly Brewster tonight after supper.”
Joanna frowned and blinked several times. Did that mean he wasn’t leaving? Relief whooshed the air from her lungs until the rest of the message sank into her brain. “Why are you going to see Holly?”
She fought to control the alarm rising in her breast. Just because he was going to see Holly didn’t mean he had feelings for her. He couldn’t and still kiss her the way he had down by the wagon, right? “Are the two of you planning another church picnic?”
A picnic. That’s probably all it was. Holly always loved to be at the center of any event, and she had done a decent job with organizing the last one—even if she did stick Joanna with babysitting duty to keep her away from Crockett.
“No. We’re not planning another picnic.”
Not a picnic? Then what was he going there for? “Is she . . . uh . . . ill?”
She’d looked fine at church yesterday. Better than fine, actually. The lavender dress she’d worn had shown off every one of her feminine curves to perfection, and her pretty blond hair had practically shimmered beneath her stylish matching bonnet. She’d seemed in disgustingly good health.
“No, she’s not ill, either. I’m going to talk to her about a personal matter that I’m worried might soon have some serious spiritual implications.” The corners of his mouth pinched, and lines appeared on his forehead. This wasn’t a call he was looking forward to making.
Somehow that made everything better.
He ran a hand over his face but didn’t quite manage to erase his grimace. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any specifics since it’s a private matter. However, I didn’t want to keep my visit a secret from you. After Holly twisted events at the picnic to make you think something happened that actually didn’t, I worried that something similar might happen with this situation.” He bridged the space between them, covering her left hand with his right. “I love you, Joanna. I don’t want you to doubt that for a moment. No matter what anyone says.”
The fact that he knew her well enough to recognize her weaknesses and cared enough to help her fortify them spoke volumes. “Thank you for telling me. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Pray.” Crockett’s eyes bored into hers. “Pray for the Spirit to provide me with the right words. And for Miss Brewster’s heart to be receptive.”
“I will,” she vowed, and started that very moment.
Lord, I don’t know what has happened or what the ramifications are, but I ask that you guide Crockett tonight. Give him the words you wish him to say and the courage to say them. May they find fertile ground in Holly’s heart.
Crockett must have been praying, too, for though his eyes were open they lacked focus. Not wanting to disturb him, Joanna simply held his hand and silently repeated parts of her own prayer until the sound of an approaching horse brought her head around.
A single rider trotted down the drive. From a distance, Joanna recognized neither the mount nor the man, but as the rider neared the porch, an awful tightening wound about her chest. Surely not . . .
Crockett slipped his hand from hers and pushed to his feet, sending his rocker into a gentle creaking motion. “Marshal Coleson. What brings you out to the Lazy R?” He stepped to the edge of the porch and leaned against the support beam. Tipping his hat back, he grinned a welcome that set Joanna’s teeth to grinding.
“Came to see Mr. Robbins. He around?”
Joanna’s hands fisted in the fabric of her skirt. What did the lawman want with her father? Had he figured out who Silas Robbins used to be? Or had this visit been prompted by something else? She’d been uneasy about the m
arshal ever since that odd exchange between him and Crockett at Miss Bessie’s place, and now he was here. At the Lazy R.
Crockett glanced up at the sky, then back at Coleson. “Silas and Jasper are checking on one of the heifers out in the eastern pasture. She’s fixin’ to drop a calf.”
Saddle leather groaned as the marshal brought his mount to a halt and crossed his wrists over the horn. “Mind fetching him for me?”
“I’ll go.” Joanna sprang from her chair, her mind racing. She could warn him. Maybe even take him some food if he decided to run. There was cheese in the kitchen. And apples. She could pack the bread she’d baked this morning, too. She could have it together before the marshal even dismounted. All she had to do—
“If it’s all the same to you, miss, I’d prefer the parson fetch him.”
She swallowed nervously, looking from Coleson to the barn and back again. She couldn’t just stand by and let this man take her daddy away. He’d changed. He was a good man. A good father.
“Joanna.” Crockett’s voice echoed quietly in her ears. He was facing her now, his hands massaging her rigid shoulders. “It will be all right. Do you hear me? God is in control. It will be all right.”
She dragged her attention from the lawman and found Crockett’s face. He smiled. She latched onto that smile, desperate for a taste of the peace it offered.
“We don’t even know why the marshal’s here.” He brushed a stray curl off her forehead and back over her ear. “Just invite him in and give him some of that great coffee you make. Treat him like any other guest.”
But he wasn’t any other guest. He was a lawman. A lawman who wanted to talk with her father. She didn’t want to pour him coffee, she wanted to send him packing.
Yet a more rational part of her brain had her nodding agreement.
“That’s my girl.” Crockett started to pull away. Joanna grabbed his hand.
“Promise you won’t leave for Holly’s until we work whatever this is out. Please?” If he left, she’d shatter.