Marrying the Preacher's Daughter

“I’ll head over to Dr. Barnes’s to pray for the wounded hero,” her father said. Elisabeth had expected nothing less of her father, a man of compassion and faith.

Gil led the team up the hill toward their home at the top of the tree-lined street. When the shrubbery and mature trees that surrounded their vast yard came into view, Elisabeth sighed with appreciation. Josie had been a wealthy widow when Father had married her, and her inheritances had supplied this dwelling where, in the years since, love had abounded and faith flourished.

While the others bustled around her, Elisabeth studied the asymmetrical house with its bay windows, balconies, stained glass, turrets, porches, brackets and ornamental masonry. The structure was two-storied, except for a third floor at the top of one pointed turret. That was the room where she and her sisters had spent hours reading and dreaming. She still used the space to relax and find a peaceful spot away from the boys.

Elisabeth exhaled with relief at being safely home.

She found her bags just inside her doorway where Gil had set them. She needed to unpack. Father would have duties piled up for her.

Sweat trickled along his spine, but the bandanna he’d tied around his head beneath his black cowboy hat kept perspiration from his eyes. Vision was critical when a keen eye meant the difference between life and death.

Gabe studied the cabin baking beneath the blistering sun. The man he’d been hunting for the past six weeks was holed up in there with a bottle of whiskey and a slug in his thigh. If he hadn’t passed out from pain or bled to death, heat and starvation would drive him out eventually. Gabe rested his rifle against a bolder and reached for his canteen. Empty? He’d only just filled it. His throat was burning and dry; he needed water badly.

Heat more searing than the sun licked up his side. The dry grass around him was on fire! He jumped up to escape the flames and a shot rang out. His prey had exited the cabin and aimed another shot at Gabe, now standing and exposed.

Gabe reached for his rifle. It was gone, and in its place a coiled rattler lifted its head and shook its tail in warning.

Gabe jerked awake.

He lay drenched with sweat and his side throbbed. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. For a moment he didn’t recognize the room, but then the train robbery and his subsequent ride to the doctor’s home came back to him.

“He’s one stubborn fellow.” Vaguely, Gabe remembered the doctor removing the bullet from his side, but now instead of a blood-spattered apron, the man was wearing a clean white shirt and tie.

“Heavy, too.” The black-haired fellow beside him threaded his hair back from his forehead and stared down.

Grimacing, Gabe raised up on one elbow.

“No more getting out of this bed,” the doctor ordered and poured a glass of water from a nearby pitcher. He had silver hair at his temples, but was probably only ten years older than Gabe.

That’s right. He’d made a foolhardy attempt to use the outhouse on his own. Gabe gulped down four glasses of the cool liquid before he lay back. “How long was I out?”

“You blacked out when I removed the bullet yesterday. It cracked your rib, but traveled a ways. Now stay put or I’ll tie you to this bed. Good thing the reverend came along or I’d never have gotten you back in here.”

Reverend? “Am I dying?”

“You’re not dying,” Matthew Barnes assured him. “You’re just weak from losing so much blood. You need to rest and build up your strength.”

“Why’d you call the preacher?”

“He didn’t call me.” The man offered his hand. “I’m Samuel Hart. My daughter was on the train yesterday. She’s one of the passengers you saved from being robbed. She told me all about the incident.”

“Hart,” he said with a scowl. “The blonde?”

“That’s Elisabeth.”

Gabe groaned. “She had a strong aversion to parting with her neck chain.”

Samuel Hart nodded. “She’s worn the ring on that chain ever since my first wife died.”

Gabe glanced around the room, finally noting there was another man lying on a cot several feet away. He looked to be sleeping or unconscious. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Snake bite,” Dr. Barnes replied. “Just got here an hour or so ago.”

Gabe turned his attention back to the preacher. “If the doc didn’t call you, why are you here?”

“I came yesterday, too, though you never woke up. I prayed for you and came back to see how you’re doing.”

Gabe couldn’t recall anyone praying over him before. “I hurt like I’ve been dragged behind a team of horses.”

The man in the other bed moaned, and the doctor moved to attend to him.

“Well, thank God you’re alive,” the preacher said.

Gabe studied him again and attempted to sit up, but pain lanced through his side and took his breath away. He rested a hand over the bandages. “I’ve been shot before, but it never hurt like this.”

“Cracked ribs hurt more than a wound,” the doctor said. “But you can’t take a chance on opening that hole or letting it get infected.”

“I can’t stay here,” Gabe objected. For one thing, if any of the train robbers’ friends had heard of him being shot, the first place they’d search would be the doctor’s. “I have business to see to.”

“Where do you plan to go?” the doc asked him. “You need close supervision for at least a week or better.”

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full with the snake-bit fella,” Gabe replied.

“You can come home with me,” the preacher said.

Gabe gave him a sidelong look.

“I have a big house full of women who can help me look out for you.”

“I do have to head out this afternoon and make calls,” the doc advised. “Plus look after this fella. You’d likely get better care at the Harts’.”

Gabe hated to admit it, but the thought of moving more than his toes made him sweat. He’d pulled through a lot worse than this, though. “All right. The preacher’s house it is.”

Chapter Three

Elisabeth returned from the clothesline with a basket of her clean folded clothing in time to hear a commotion coming from the front hall.

“Not there!” a man shouted. “Don’t grab me there, for pity’s sake!”

She didn’t recognize the voice, but then her father’s more calming words reached her. “We’ll have you settled in just a minute, Mr. Taggart.”

Taggart? She entered the enormous sunlit foyer from the back hallway, stopped and stared.

Her father and Gil supported the tall man, one on each side, and Dr. Barnes followed, carrying his bag in one hand, a carton in the other.

“Just a little farther,” Sam coaxed.

“Any farther and you might as well just shoot me again,” the man growled. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his swarthy face had turned pasty white. A steep set of narrow stairs led from the street up to the house, and he’d just maneuvered them with a bullet wound.