Abbie's Outlaw Page 7

  John shook his head. “He’s a fool. Every minister in America knows that women are ten times smarter than men. If you want something done, ask a woman to do it.”

  “Not according to Hodge,” Abbie said. “He thinks we’re all incompetent—except when it comes to cooking, sewing and being pretty.”

  John was enjoying the game. “You left out childbearing. I’d like to see him give that a try.”

  The joke hung in silence until an owl hooted. The mournful cry changed the mood, though John didn’t understand why. Abbie took a deep breath. “It’s late. I’m going back inside.”

  She turned abruptly and walked to the door with her wrapper fluttering behind her. John didn’t want to leave the darkness, but he followed her into the kitchen where the lamplight made him squint.

  “Good night,” she said, heading to the stairs.

  But John wasn’t ready to let her go, so he pulled out a chair for her. “Tell me more about Hodge. Maybe I can help.”

  Abbie turned back to the kitchen, glanced at the chair and shrugged. “I doubt it, but there’s no reason to hide the truth. He gave me a choice. I can find a husband to ‘look after me’ or else he’ll turn everything over to my father. If he has a say, he’ll force us back to Kansas.”

  John weighed the options. It made sense for a widow to remarry, especially a young one like Abbie. “Marrying again isn’t a bad idea,” he said casually. “You just need to find the right man.”

  Abbie glared at him. “You better not be offering.”

  “Hell, no! I’m not fit for marriage.”

  “I feel the same way.” She lifted the dish towel off the counter and sat, twisting it into a whip that offered no protection at all.

  John didn’t understand her reaction. He’d never known a woman with a bigger heart or more courage. A man would be blessed to have Abbie for his wife, and he hated to think she was bitter about love. “Why not think about it?”

  “I married Robert because I needed a roof over my head. It’s a mistake I’ll never repeat.”

  “That’s not what I’m suggesting,” John insisted. “Why not be open to the possibility of something better?”

  “Are you?”

  The fever shot through him as he gave his standard reply. “There’s not a woman on earth who could put up with me.”

  “I don’t think the ladies of Midas agree.” With an impish gleam, Abbie walked to the pie chest and opened the door. “Let’s see. We have a cherry tart from Gussie Hayes, cupcakes from the schoolteacher, sugar cookies shaped like hearts—that’s a nice touch—blueberry muffins and a pound cake.”

  John was about to tell Abbie to mind her own business when she looked over shoulder. “Oops, I forgot the chocolate cake from Emma Dray.”

  Every instinct told John to lighten the moment with a joke, but he was aching inside. Somewhere deep and private, he wanted a wife and the babies that would come. But not with Emma Dray or Gussie Hayes. He wanted a woman who could put him in his place, a soul mate and partner. He wanted Abbie, but he couldn’t have her. He wouldn’t wish his bad blood and bad memories on anyone. Grumbling, he said, “You don’t know me at all.”

  “But I do. We’re cut from the same cloth.”

  “I doubt that.” She was softhearted and he was hardheaded. She had curves and he needed to stop noticing them. Getting back to business, he said, “Is your father that bad?”

  Grimacing, she sat in the chair. “He’ll spoil Robbie and ignore Susanna. I have to stay in Washington. It’s the only way I can raise them right.”

  Whether it was a she-bear protecting her cubs or a mama cat nursing a box of kittens, a mother’s passion always kicked John in the gut. “Your kids are fortunate, Abbie. You’re a wonderful mother.”

  She dismissed him with a shrug. “I do my best. My biggest worry is Susanna’s future. College is expensive.”

  Somehow they had come full circle—back to their daughter. John did some quick figuring. If he cleaned out his savings, he could send Abbie home with a decent chunk of change. “I’ll get a bank draft tomorrow.”

  When she looked down her nose, he felt like a cat presenting a dead mouse to the queen of England. “How very charitable of you.”

  “It’s not charity. I have—”

  “An obligation, I know. I appreciate the offer, but Susanna didn’t run away because she wanted your money.”

  “You don’t want to let me off the hook, do you?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said softly. “I want you to love your daughter.”

  John exhaled sharply. “I’m trying to protect her from things you don’t understand.”

  “And I’m trying to protect her from things you don’t understand. Do you know what it’s like to live with a tyrant? My father will stifle her…and me, too.”

  “I know exactly how you feel,” John said. “I spent three years behind bars. I’d never go back—not for anything.”

  He saw a change in her eyes, a softening that left him feeling cold and alone. “That’s where we’re different,” she said. “I’d do anything for my kids.”

  Lord Almighty, he admired her strength. She had the conviction of Joan of Arc and the courage of Daniel in the lion’s den. When her eyes locked on his face, a tremor ripped through his body, filling him with a lonely ache he’d avoided for years. The wrapper hid her breasts, but he remembered taking the weight of them in his hands.

  I want to look…do you mind?

  She had swallowed hard and shaken her head. Her eyes had been as wide as they were now, only then it had been from innocence. Flames licked through him, as strong as ever. Only it wasn’t just sex he wanted. For Abbie, he’d move mountains and chase away the wolves. He’d throw himself in a lake of fire for her. For Adam, God had created Eve. John wanted Abbie.

  But he couldn’t have her—not without passing his bad blood to their children. He prayed Susanna would be spared. Calling himself a wistful fool, he pushed to his feet. “I’m going to bed.”

  After trudging down the hall, he closed his bedroom door and locked it with a soft click.

  Chapter Six

  Abbie heard the click of the door and sighed. John was naive if he thought brass and wood could protect him from the demands of the night. She had tried it with Robert and ended up with splinters and a bill from the carpenter. Locks offered no protection at all. She didn’t have the strength to kick down a door, but she could pick at the lock on John’s heart until he opened up to his daughter.

  Pushing to her feet, Abbie tried to ignore the scent of baked goods wafting through the room. Whether the Reverend knew it or not, he also needed a wife. Abbie could sense the loneliness in him, and she remembered the nights in Kansas where they had talked like old friends. She could almost root for Emma Dray, but she doubted the woman would understand the scars John kept hidden under his black coat.

  How well did Emma know him even now? Had she seen him put pepper on all his food, even a slice of bread? Did she know he muttered in his sleep? And her baking—Abbie’s apple pie was ten times better than Emma’s chocolate cake.

  Heat flushed up Abbie’s neck as she recalled John’s words. I’m not fit to marry anyone.

  God help her, she wanted to change his mind. But men expected their wives to bear children and to warm their beds, and Abbie couldn’t do either. Sighing, she walked across the kitchen to the stairwell. Her silhouette followed her on the wall, reminding her of other shadows in Kansas and a door they hadn’t closed. Her brother had gotten an eyeful that night.

  Put on your pants, you son of a bitch! That’s my sister you’re poking at!

  Even as John snatched up his gun, she had felt his seed thick inside her. Lying in bed with the sheet pulled up to her chin, she had smelled his scent on her skin. In that moment of awe and terror, their child had been conceived.

  As she climbed upstairs, Abbie wondered if that turmoil had given Susanna her restless nature. A superstitious woman might have said yes, but Abbie didn’t think so.
Surely love was stronger than fear. She’d seen the evidence in her own life. Her children had kept her strong even when her marriage was at its worst. She had survived Robert’s abuse, but the fight wasn’t over. Susanna needed her real father.

  Please God… Bring her to Midas…

  Tears welled in Abbie’s eyes as she stepped into her bedroom and closed the door. If something happened to Susanna, she couldn’t bear it. Her gaze drifted to the nightstand where she had set the photograph album she’d brought from home. She picked it up, climbed into her narrow bed and laid her palm on the cover. She had always planned to tell Susanna the truth, but not until she had fallen in love herself…when she was old enough to understand passion, need, the search for completion. But now she knew waiting had been a mistake.

  Hugging the album to her chest, Abbie closed her eyes and imagined making snickerdoodles for her daughter. They would sit at John’s table and Abbie would tell her everything…that sex with a man could be nice but that it wasn’t special without love. That she had no regrets, because God had turned a naive girl’s mistake into a miracle named Susanna. With the album clutched in her arms, Abbie dozed…and dreamed of Johnny Leaf.

  The next morning Abbie was rolling a pie crust when she heard a knock on the screen door.

  “Reverend?” The voice belonged to Justin Norris, the boy who delivered telegrams.

  Abbie’s pulse sped to a gallop. Maybe Silas had sent word about Susanna or, God forbid, maybe her daughter was in trouble and Maggie had sent bad news. Whipping off her apron, she hurried to the door, pausing only to take a few coins out of a candy dish for a tip. She flung the screen door open and stepped onto the porch.

  “I’ll take it,” she said, reaching for the yellow paper in the boy’s hand.

  He pulled it back. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Windsor. My father told me to hand it to the Reverend myself.”

  Abbie didn’t want to wait even thirty more seconds for word of her daughter. She pinched the coins together and held them out to the boy. “The Reverend’s still asleep. I’ll be sure he gets it.”

  Justin eyed the money but didn’t take it. “I can’t. My pa’s real particular about keeping things private.”

  Abbie wished her own son had as much integrity. “In that case, come inside. I’ll wake him.”

  She hadn’t been near John’s door since the first night when he’d told them all it was off-limits, but she didn’t hesitate now. After pacing down the hall, she rapped hard with her flour-dusted knuckles. “John?”

  No answer.

  She knocked harder and called him again. Still she heard no reply. Had he slipped out the back door? He’d skipped breakfast this morning. Maybe he’d limped to the café to avoid seeing her after last night’s talk. Or maybe the fever had worsened and he was lying unconscious behind the door. Abbie gripped the knob. It turned a quarter inch and stopped. She knocked with more force and called his name again.

  As a groan slid from beneath the door, panic welled in her belly. She didn’t care for Doc Randall’s methods, but he’d been checking John’s wound since the fight. Ill-informed or not, he had medicines she didn’t possess. Abbie hurried back to Justin. “I can’t wake him,” she said. “Would you get Doc Randall?”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “The Reverend has to be okay.”

  “I’m sure he will be,” Abbie said, trying to sound reassuring.

  The boy held the telegram out to her. “I guess it’s okay to leave this with you. I’ll hurry.”

  As soon as she took the yellow paper, Justin left. Abbie stepped out to the porch, unfolding the telegram and reading it as she hurried to the back door to John’s room. The words blurred in front of her eyes.

  Am bringing your daughter home. S.J.

  Weak with relief, she whispered a prayer for Silas Jones and Susanna. As she put the wire in her pocket, the words rang in her mind. Your daughter.

  No wonder Justin’s father had been careful with the message. Abbie was grateful for that respect. The town would be asking questions soon enough, but right now John had other needs and privacy wasn’t one of them. She passed his closed windows, turned another corner and pounded on the door. “John, I’m coming in.”

  Silence.

  She jiggled the knob hard, but it didn’t budge. Instead she heard a deep-throated groan followed by something heavy thudding to the floor. Abbie knew delirium when she heard it. She had to get inside. The windows were her best hope. After racing around the corner, she tensed her fingers on the frame and lifted. The wood barely budged, but that half inch let her grip the sash.

  She pulled with all her might, but layers of paint made the window stick. When was the last time the fool man had aired out his room? She was about to give up and break the glass when the wood screeched upward, giving her just enough room to squeeze inside. Gripping the sill, she swung her leg through the opening and planted her foot on the floor. As she pulled herself into the room, she stood straight and looked toward the double bed where John lay sprawled on his back—as naked as the day he’d been born.

  Abbie caught her breath. She’d expected him to be wearing a nightshirt as Robert had. Instead she had a plain view of a broad chest and long legs lightly covered with dark hair. His face was tilted upward and his left arm was dangling off the mattress, palm up as if he’d surrendered to the fever.

  Abbie refused to notice the narrowness of his hips and the taut skin on the sides of his belly. Apart from the wound, his body held no interest for her, not even the part of him she’d sworn to cut off with rusty scissors, though she couldn’t help but notice the thickness of him.

  Averting her eyes, she walked to the foot of the bed, lifted the sheet off the floor and covered his legs and hips, leaving the wound exposed. How long had it been red and oozing? She didn’t need to touch his forehead to know he was burning up. Heat rippled from every inch of him.

  She was about to go to the kitchen for water and bandages when he took a shuddering breath and looked at her with fever-glazed eyes. “Oh, God,” he cried. “Don’t—don’t—”

  “Don’t what?” she said, lifting his hand in hers. “Don’t come in? It’s too late for that. I’m already here.”

  He pulled out of her grasp. “Jesus, I hurt. God, cover me up.”

  “I did,” she said. “But I need to clean the wound.”

  “Just get the doc.”

  Her heart squeezed for him. She knew how it felt to lie naked and helpless. One of Robert’s cruelest habits had been to strip off her nightgown and make her sit on the bed while he smoked a cigarette. Nakedness had made her as jittery as an infant in need of swaddling.

  A baby needed to feel safe and be cared for with tenderness, and that’s what Abbie would do for John. He’d hate every minute of it, but someone had to help him fight the fever. The infection could spread to his blood and pneumonia could fill his lungs. Abbie refused to let those things happen. Susanna needed a father far more than heaven needed another preacher.

  As she stroked his fingers, his eyes flicked open and stayed wide. To soothe him, she touched his cheek and felt day-old bristles. In Kansas, he’d shaved every day and bathed in the creek. She’d never seen him haggard, but now even his lips were cracked. She’d ask Beth to buy some glycerin so she could coat them.

  He swallowed hard. “I need water.”

  “I’ll get some.”

  Crouching, Abbie reached for the water pitcher that had skittered under his bed. Along with dust wads the size of cannon balls, she spotted a shotgun, stacks of sermon notes and a dog-eared copy of Huckleberry Finn. Blinking, Abbie saw Susanna under the dogwood in their backyard, reading the book for the third time.

  After grasping the pitcher, she hurried to the kitchen where she checked the reservoir for hot water. It was empty, so she lit the stove and filled a kettle. She was covering the pie crust with a towel when Robbie came through the back door. She needed to get back to John, but her son needed attention, too.

  So far, she’d been pleased w
ith the change in his behavior. He’d finished his dish-washing assignment without too much complaining, and he had made friends with Tim Hawk. Abbie hoped her son had learned his lesson. “How was your morning?”

  Robbie grinned. “Pretty good. Mrs. Brewster offered me a real job doing dishes. Can I take it?”

  “Sure.” Abbie loved the idea.

  “So can I spend the money on anything I want?”

  She wanted to teach Robbie to plan for the future, but she also wanted to reward his efforts. “How about if you save half and spend half?”

  “All right,” he said. “I’m going with Tim to buy licorice. Is that okay?”

  “Just be back for supper,” she said. As quick as a flash, her son raced out the door.

  Where had all this cooperation come from? The kettle let out a whistle, matching the suspicion in Abbie’s heart. She wanted to believe Robbie had learned a lesson about stealing, but she refused to be fooled. Robert had thought nothing of fibbing about small things. Unfortunately he’d taught Robbie to do the same.

  Breathing a sigh, she took a washbowl out of the hutch and filled it. If John had been well, she would have asked him to speak to Robbie. The two of them had become friends, with John talking about locomotives and Robbie bragging about having a telephone.

  As the water steamed in the bowl, Abbie thought about the ways of men. They spent hours talking about their work and telling the same jokes. They were all alike in that way. But in other ways they were as different as sand and granite. A sniffle had turned Robert into a baby, while John was burning with fever and too prideful to ask for help.

  Abbie draped a towel over her arm and lifted the bowl. Men were just plain strange and that was a fact.

  Susanna looked at the passengers waiting to board the stagecoach out of Bitterroot and wondered which one would complain first. Probably the old lady who smelled like garlic, though the man with the case of patent medicines had a sour look on his face. Susanna hated the thought of sitting with them all the way to Cheyenne. She knew from her first stagecoach ride that the rocking would be unbearable and people got sick.