The Parson's Christmas Gift

Abby shook her head. “I have a feeling she wasn’t planning to be here long, though.” Her shoulders rose with a forceful breath. “Does Sam have the wagon ready?”

“He’s ready and waiting.”

“Good. I’ll go out and get the blankets ready, and you can bring her out,” Abby said, pulling on her sweater from the back of the chair.

Zane started. He hadn’t thought of how they would get Journey to the wagon, but looking at her now, he knew she wouldn’t be managing it on her own.

“It’ll be good if she stays asleep. I know from experience that leg will pain her these first few days especially.” He didn’t add the fact that she hadn’t been too fond of him the last time he’d tried to help.

Abby grinned and patted his shoulder on the way out. “Don’t be nervous, Zane. It’s not like she’ll bite.”

“You didn’t see her last night when I brought her in here.”

Abby got a strange look in her eyes, the one that told him her thoughts were moving the conversation into a different direction entirely. “Maybe in time both of you will change your perceptions, then. You deserve to give some girl the chance to make you happy again.”

He laughed softly as she swept out the door with a wink. Abby, the eternal matchmaker. She’d been the one to introduce him to Sarah.

Striding over to Journey’s prone form, he adjusted his hat and bent down to pick her up. Instead of the tense fear that weighed her down last night, she felt no heavier than a new colt. He pulled her head against his shoulder before managing to get a grip under her knees to lift her up.

Her hair followed in a trail that swept past his elbow, a fiery wave of still-damp curls. She smelled of lavender soap, and he knew Abby had been adding any little thing she could to comfort their newest resident.

Standing upright, he felt her shift against him, burrowing her face into his shoulder with a soft murmur. Thick lashes brushed her tanned cheek, which blurred a fine spray of freckles that could be seen only from this close. Her wide mouth parted open slightly, and he felt her soft breath at his neck.

Zane tightened his hold and focused on moving her out the door without jarring her bound leg. But had she been awake and not fighting against him, he knew she would feel his pounding heart in the hand that brushed his chest.

Abby needed to stop putting ideas into a man’s head.

The rumble of pans being placed in a cupboard roused Journey. She ran her fingers over the heavy brocade of the couch where she lay. The fire crackled and cast a soft light over the room, which had grown darker since her arrival that afternoon.

Her throbbing head reminded her why she was there. A groan escaped before she could stifle it. She eased into the pillow as Miss Rose came into view, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a drying towel in her hand.

“Did you sleep well?”

Journey stretched her leg, the one that wasn’t broken. “I must’ve. I forgot where I was for a moment. What time is it?” Her whole body felt stiff.

“Nigh onto seven o’clock.”

“I guess I slept the day away.”

Miss Rose smiled. “It’s the best thing for you. You had enough excitement last night to wear a body out. And I’ll bet the ride here this morning didn’t help any. Are you hungry?”

Her stomach rumbled before she could deny it. “A little.” She mustered a small grin.

“Good. You dropped off before supper and we hated to wake you, so I saved you a plate. Let me warm it a bit and I’ll bring it in for you.”

Journey pulled herself up further with her arm. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. I can come out.” She paused as her vision swam.

Miss Rose had already moved back into the kitchen, but her crackling voice carried through. “You’ll do no such thing. Doc Ferris said you’re to keep that leg up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Doc Ferris’s word carried a lot of weight, Journey already knew. Pain medication was given every two hours, no matter how she tried to beg off. No weight on that leg meant being carted to the house by Zane Thompson in his arms, much to her embarrassment. She’d slept through the move from his house, at least. But now here she sat, being waited on by the woman she’d been hired to care for.

The steaming plate placed on her lap aroused her hunger even more. She smiled her thanks and leaned forward as Miss Rose propped more pillows behind her. The chicken leg and green beans smelled delicious, and a thick slice of bread with a generous spread of butter and a drizzle of honey made her mouth water. She calculated the cost of such a meal and made a mental note to keep a ledger. But for now there was nothing to do for it. She’d have to eat if she was going to stay strong and mend quickly. She poked a bean with her fork.

Miss Rose must have been satisfied, because she smiled and said, “I’ll leave you to your supper. I figure you’ll want some time to ponder your situation.” Then she moved back toward the kitchen.

Journey sat back into the cushions, grateful for the solitude. But ponder? There wasn’t much she could do. Miss Rose welcomed her with open arms and seemed pleased with the arrangement. Tears fought their way into her eyes as she thought about the kindness these people had shown. How could she tell them why she had run? Didn’t they deserve to know? What if they threw her out? What would she do then?

Her options had been cut off. She tried to think what had spooked the horse in the first place, but a fog surrounded all the particulars of the night before. Now here she sat. No horse. No money. No job. Broken leg. She tore a corner from the bread and chewed, trying to slow her jumbled thoughts.

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.