The Maverick Preacher

“Yes, please.”

“It’s in the kitchen.”

Holding the candle, she led the way down the hall. She set the brass holder on the table, indicated a chair and opened the icebox where she had two pitchers. The prettiest one, blue crystal etched with cornflowers, held the cow’s milk she served her boarders. The other was smaller and made of pewter. She set it on the counter, took a glass from the shelf and poured.

As the stranger lowered himself to the chair, she heard a stifled groan. She turned and saw him sitting straight, but he looked as pinched as Stephen with a bout of colic.

“Here,” she said, handing him the milk.

He took it, sipped, then drank more deeply. As he lowered the glass, he closed his eyes and exhaled.

The contented silence reminded Adie of her son after a late-night feeding. She glanced at the clock. Soon Stephen would wake up hungry and she still had to put the horse in the carriage house. If she hurried, she’d be back before her son stirred. If he woke up early, Rose or Pearl would check on him.

“I have to see to your horse,” Adie said to her guest. “Will you be all right?”

“I’m much better.”

His voice rang with authority, as if he were used to speaking and being heard. Adie could scarcely believe she’d taken him for a meager drifter. With the candle flickering, he filled the kitchen with the shadows of a giant. He frightened her, yet he’d just guzzled milk like a baby. Confused by her thoughts, she set the pitcher on the table. “Help yourself.”

He lifted it and poured. “Just so you know, Miss Clarke. I’m an honorable man. You have nothing to fear from me.”

As he raised the glass from the table, his eyes found hers and lingered. Adie felt as if he were looking for her soul. He wouldn’t find it. She’d left that part of her heart in Liddy’s Grove. Ever since, she’d drawn lines and expected people to stay behind them.

“I have a few rules,” she said.

“Whatever you say.”

“Under no circumstances may you go upstairs.”

“Of course.”

“Dinner’s at six o’clock. If you miss it, you can make yourself a sandwich.”

“That’s fair.” His eyes twinkled. “Anything else?”

If she made the list long enough, maybe he’d leave. Adie searched her mind for male habits she recalled from her days as an orphan. She’d lived with six families in four years. She’d also cleaned saloons and cheap hotels. She knew about bad habits.

“No cursing, drinking or smoking,” she said.

“That suits me fine.”

“No shouting,” she added. “I can’t abide by it.”

Joshua Blue looked amused. “I’ll try.”

“If you use a dish, wash it.”

“All right.”

“I don’t want you sitting on the front porch. If word gets out I rented to you, other men will knock on the door.”

“I’ll keep to my room or the stable. How’s that?”

“Fine.” Except his courtesy annoyed her.

The man’s eyes locked on to hers. “I know where I stand, Miss Clarke. You’ve opened your home and I won’t betray that trust. I have urgent business. Once I see to it, I’ll be on my way.”

What business? Adie wanted to ask but sealed her lips. If she didn’t ask questions, she wouldn’t have to answer them. “Then we’re agreed.”

“We are.” He lifted the glass of milk, sealing the deal with a mock toast, a gesture that looked strangely natural considering his appearance.

Adie headed for the front yard where he’d left his horse. In the moonlight she saw a gray mare waiting patiently. Glad to be dealing with another female, she led the horse to the carriage house. The hens twittered as she passed the chicken house. Several yards away she saw her milk cow at the fence marking a small pasture. The cow spent most of her time grazing on the sweet grass, but Adie kept the goat, a cranky thing named Buttons, inside the outbuilding. Her son depended on the nanny goat and she couldn’t risk it getting loose.

When she reached the carriage house, she lit the lantern inside the door, then turned back to the mare and inspected the things strapped to the saddle. Her gaze went first to a rifle jutting from a plain leather scabbard. A canteen hung from the saddle horn and a set of saddlebags draped the horse’s middle.

Adie felt ashamed of herself for what she was about to do, but a woman with a secret couldn’t be too careful. Only her friends knew Stephen wasn’t her natural born son. Somewhere he had a father, a man Maggie had loved and protected with her silence. Adie didn’t know the whole story, but she’d loved her friend and had admired her.

She felt otherwise about Maggie’s powerful family. Maggie had said little about them, but she’d once let it slip that her brother was a minister. Rather than shame him with an illegitimate child, she’d left home. Maggie never mentioned her family’s wealth, but Adie had seen her fine things—silk chemises and embroidered camisoles, stockings without a stitch of darning, shoes with silver buttons. Adie had been in awe, but it was Maggie’s education that made her envious. Her friend had spoken French, played the harp, knew mathematics and could recite dozens of poems.

Adie’s assumption of Maggie’s wealth had been confirmed the day she’d died. Bleeding and weak, she’d told Adie to remove a velvet bag from a drawer of her trunk and look inside. Adie had gasped at the glittering gems. Maggie’s dying wish still echoed in her ears. She had begged Adie to take Stephen and raise him as her own; then she’d squeezed Adie’s wrist with her bloodless fingers.

“Leave Topeka tonight. Break all ties with me.”

“But why?”

“Don’t let my brother near my son. He’ll send Stephen to an orphanage.”

Adie had stood alone as an undertaker buried Maggie in a run-down cemetery; then she’d taken the jewelry and backtracked to Kansas City where Maggie had sold a few pieces of jewelry before coming to Topeka. The sixty-mile train ride to the bustling city had given her two advantages. She’d gotten a better price for Maggie’s jewelry, and the railroad left Kansas City in four different directions. If Maggie’s family found the jewelry, they wouldn’t know where she’d gone. If by chance a detective, or Maggie’s brother, traced her to Topeka, the man would reach a dead end.

Adie had sold only what she needed for a fresh start, then bought a ticket to Denver because of its size. She wanted to open a boardinghouse, a place for women like herself and Maggie. For two days she’d held Stephen on the crowded train, struggling to keep him fed until they’d arrived in a city full of gambling halls and saloons. Pretending to have Maggie’s poise, she’d stayed at a hotel, visited the bank and explained her ambition to the elder Mr. Dean, who had shown her Swan’s Nest. The mansion had reminded her of Maggie and she’d bought it, using what cash she had from the jewelry sale and signing a two-year promissory note for the balance.

She could have sold more jewelry and paid for the house in full, but she feared leaving a trail for a Pinkerton’s detective. Nor did she want to squander Stephen’s inheritance. The remaining jewels—a sapphire ring, a pearl necklace, a bracelet and some glittering brooches—were his legacy from his mother, a gift from the woman who’d given him life but had never held him.

As Adie led the mare into a stall, she felt the sting of tears. Maggie had died three months ago, but she still missed her friend. She also feared strangers, especially men. If Stephen’s father tried to claim him, Adie would have to make a terrible choice. On the other hand, she had no qualms about hiding from Maggie’s brother. Considering how he’d shunned his sister, he didn’t deserve to know his nephew. In Adie’s book, he didn’t deserve to breathe.

She lifted the saddle off the mare, set it on the ground, then stripped off the scabbard, the canteen and the saddlebags. She set everything aside, filled a bucket with water and gave the horse a measure of hay. Satisfied, she closed the gate to the stall, stepped to the saddlebags and dropped to a crouch. She had no business going through Joshua Blue’s things, but she had to be sure he had no ties to Maggie Butler.

With shaking fingers, she worked the buckle on the bulging leather bag.

Chapter Two

As soon as Adie Clarke left the kitchen, Josh drained the glass of milk and poured himself another. He’d been aiming for her boardinghouse when he’d left Kansas City, but he hadn’t intended to faint on her doorstep. Before he’d left, he’d seen a doctor who’d told him what he already knew. He had a stomach ulcer, a bad one that could bleed and threaten his life. At the very least, it offered daily torture.

Josh didn’t care. He had to find his sister. Ten months ago, Emily Blue had left their Boston mansion with a satchel, her jewelry and Josh’s bitter words ringing in her ears. He’d never forgive himself for that night. He’d said unspeakable things, calling her a name that shouldn’t be uttered and accusing her of being a Jezebel. He’d made hateful accusations, all the time wearing the collar that marked him as a minister.

The memory sent fresh acid into Josh’s belly. He had to find Emily and her baby and make amends. Until he found them, he refused to rest.

Never mind the stomach ulcer. The Apostle Paul had written of a thorn in his flesh. It had kept him humble. The ulcer often humbled Josh, though not as profoundly as it had tonight. Fainting on Adie Clarke’s porch hadn’t been in the plan when he’d left Kansas City on the word of Wes Daniels, a gunslinger who’d frequented the saloon where Josh had been preaching on Sunday mornings. Wes had told him about a boardinghouse called Swan’s Nest.