Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe Page 4

  George and Mabel Eberly, Grace’s parents, arrived along with their youngest daughter, Georgia. Grace soon joined them in the second row. She sat sideways on the pew, probably so she could keep an eye on who came into the sanctuary. That protectiveness always impressed Micah. She made a good deputy. A good friend.

  Would she still be his friend if she found out his next book was about her? He’d better keep that a secret, just as he’d decided not to let anyone know about his writing. Folks might be offended if they knew he’d created some characters based on them. Worse still, they might no longer trust him as their pastor. Not that he’d ever think of using situations shared with him confidentially. No success was worth betraying a friend.

  Rand led the congregation in an opening hymn, and then Micah took his place behind the lectern. As he surveyed his flock, he noticed that every man wore a gun and every woman carried a reticule that drooped as though containing a heavy object. At the same time, every congregant’s expression bespoke peaceful determination. Micah chuckled to himself. He needn’t be concerned about these good folks. They’d look out for one another. In fact, after the prayer meeting, he’d go home tonight and clean his own guns. The men with whom he’d attended seminary in Massachusetts would be shocked, but out here in the American West, Micah wouldn’t be the only preacher who carried a sidearm.

  * * *

  After the final prayer, Grace’s parents, Georgia and the rest of the congregation filed out of the pews to the stirring tones of “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” a song well suited to the battle that threatened Esperanza. Grace stayed in her seat in the second row because she never tired of hearing Mrs. Foster play the church organ. The kindly old lady’s face always took on a sweet glow while she played, as though the words to the songs came straight from her heart.

  Tonight it wasn’t the music that kept Grace seated, but a bittersweet pang. Due to Mrs. Foster’s fine teaching, Laurie had thrived as a piano student well enough to be accepted at the Denver Music Conservatory. After she completed her studies, she might find a teaching position—or a husband, either of which would probably take her away from home forever.

  Grace already felt bereft. With Beryl gone for good and Laurie’s return not certain, nothing would be the same around here. Of course Grace wouldn’t want Laurie to pass up an opportunity to teach music someplace else, but she hoped her sister would come home in a year or so and take dear old Mrs. Foster’s place as the town’s music teacher. In spite of her enthusiastic playing, the older lady was growing feeble and often needed help to get her chores done. Just yesterday, Grace had moved into her boardinghouse to be closer to work. Even though she needed to do that, it took her away from her family. Her days seemed to be getting lonelier and lonelier with everyone she cared about moving away or occupied with their own lives.

  “You’re deep in thought.” The Rev walked over and sat beside Grace, resting one arm on the back of the pew. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Nope.” Grace emphasized the word with a shake of her head. Here was another person she cared about who would likely be leaving her. Not going away, but leaving the closeness of their friendship as soon as he found some young lady to court. “Just listening.” She nodded toward Mrs. Foster.

  “She certainly has a gift, doesn’t she?” The Rev smiled as the last chord died away.

  Mrs. Foster gathered her music, stepped down from the organ platform and followed Grace’s family up the aisle. These days she was still trying to persuade Georgia to work harder at her piano playing, but Georgia never seemed to remember to practice.

  Grace stood and settled her gun belt on her hips. “Time to go.”

  The Rev stood, too, even though he’d had a long day of ministering to folks in the area before conducting the prayer meeting. Always the gentleman, even around Grace. She appreciated his courtesy since he was the only man in town who treated her that way. Well, except the Northam menfolk, but they didn’t count because they were like brothers to her and her sisters.

  “It’s mighty good of you to move in with Mrs. Foster.” The Rev followed Grace up the aisle toward the double front doors. “I’m sure she appreciates the company.”

  “You know it’s not just for company. When Hardison tried to court Marybeth, Mrs. Foster did all she could to stop him. The sheriff and I want to be sure she stays safe.”

  “As I said—” The Rev gave her that look of his, the one she liked and disliked at the same time, chiding her for not receiving compliments well. “It’s mighty good of you.”

  “Uh-huh.” She didn’t know why she hated to be praised. She just did.

  They’d reached the front doors and stepped outside into the cool evening. The Rev’s house was closer to the church’s back door, so he hadn’t needed to escort her out.

  “There you go following me again.” She pulled her hat up on its strings and plopped it on her head.

  He chuckled, a warm, comforting sound that always made her feel good.

  “Actually, I’ve been trying to think of a way to ask you something.”

  Her heart stumbled oddly, so she posted her hands at her waist and cocked her head. “Yeah?”

  “You know I’m a fair shot with a rifle, but I’ve never learned to fast draw my revolver. Would you teach me?”

  She gave him a sidelong look. “You funning me, Rev?”

  He laughed out loud. “I’m entirely serious. You never know when it will come in handy, especially with notorious outlaws making threats against our community.”

  Grace faced him and crossed her arms. “I’m a little confused. You’re a man of peace. A minister of the Gospel. But you want to learn how to outdraw an outlaw.”

  “Outdraw an outlaw. That has a poetic ring to it, however disconcerting the idea behind it may be.” His jolly expression faded. “To tell the truth, I’ve wrestled with the notion and prayed about it for some time. The Lord reminded me that He sent David to defeat Goliath and Joshua to bring down the walls of Jericho, to name only two biblical warriors. I wouldn’t like to take a man’s life, but I do believe it’s no sin to protect good people from danger.”

  A sense of wonderment filled Grace’s mind and heart. There was no end to the depth of this man. “Rev, I’d be pleased and proud to teach you all I know about how to draw fast. If it doesn’t snow, let’s start tomorrow morning before the winds get bad.”

  “Would Friday work as well for you? I have some folks to visit tomorrow.”

  “Friday it is.”

  A pleasant sensation warmed her heart at the thought of spending more time with the Rev before he found his bride. As she strode up the dark street toward the boardinghouse, hurrying to catch up with Mrs. Foster, she decided to help the older lady prepare his supper for tomorrow evening. The married ladies in town took turns sending meals to the minister, but they’d deemed it unseemly for the single ladies to participate lest it become a contest to win him through their cooking. Of course, the Rev didn’t know anything about that. Nor did anyone need to know if Grace put some of her own cooking into Mrs. Foster’s basket. She’d have to think real hard to decide which of her special recipes to prepare.

  * * *

  On Friday, after Grace completed her morning rounds of Esperanza and the surrounding area, she rode out to the vacated ranch northwest of town. A thin layer of powdery snow covered the house, which was little more than a ramshackle cabin, and the grounds, which included the barn and two or three other outbuildings. In a nearby field, straggly cornstalks and a rusted plow bespoke broken dreams of a pioneer family who’d come out here about the time Grace’s father and Colonel Northam had staked their claims and succeeded in building vast cattle ranches.

  The Rev waited for her by the corral, so she rode that way. From time to time, she wondered what people thought about her spending time alone with him. Young women of good character always
took along a chaperone when they were in the company of a man, even when a couple began to court. Yet no one had ever mentioned such a thing to Grace, as if they weren’t concerned about her reputation. Or didn’t consider her a lady. While it made her deputy job easier, something always nagged at the back of her mind about it, not to mention causing a dull, foolish ache in her chest. But since the Rev had reminded her that the Bible said all things worked together for good for God’s people, He must have planned for her to be tall, plain and gawky so she’d make a good deputy.

  Before leaving home this morning, Grace had made up her mind to enjoy his company for as long as she could before he found himself a wife. So as she rode into the barnyard, she summoned up a happy disposition more like her sister Maisie’s than her own.

  “Mornin’, Rev.” She pasted on a big smile as she dismounted from Mack, her black gelding, and ambled over to him. The Rev wore his black Stetson, looking more appropriate for today’s task than he would in that ridiculous bowler.

  “Good morning, Grace. It’s a great day for shooting.” The Rev held a small burlap sack that clattered like it was full of tin cans. “Let’s see how many of these we can knock off the fence.” He nodded toward the corral.

  “Good idea.” Grace helped him line up the cans on the top rail. “You know, Rev, these cans won’t be shooting back. Are you sure you can face a man who’s trying to gun you down?”

  He grunted. “Not at all sure. As you well know, it would be a real test of mettle.” His eyes lit up with a look she took for admiration, just not the kind she’d begun to wish for. “A test you passed quite admirably three years ago, young lady.”

  A silly streak of gladness jolted through her at his calling her a lady, especially considering her earlier thoughts. She stared down at her boots and kicked at a rock. “Didn’t exactly have a choice back then, did I? It was them or us.” And they’d nearly killed Beryl, a tragedy Grace had never been able to shake off, even after Beryl recovered and went on with her life.

  “Yes, it was. And we all need to be ready to protect one another just as you did the first time Hardison and Smith came to town, especially since they might be bringing their gang with them.”

  “Then let’s get to it. The wind will be kicking up pretty soon.” Grace had a feeling these lessons weren’t really necessary, but at least it gave her more time with the Rev. She would take all she could of that.

  * * *

  Micah wished he could convince Grace that nobody faulted her for the shoot-out at the bank. She’d saved lives that day, not to mention every depositor’s bank account. But like Rand, when the memories came back, she let them get to her. As her pastor and friend, he would continue to seek the Lord’s guidance in encouraging her. So often she shrugged off his compliments.

  What would it take to give her more confidence? Was there any way he could help, or should he leave that up to their female friends? Once he was married, he wouldn’t have to worry about such things; all the more reason to marry soon. If Joel’s sister turned out to be the Lord’s choice for him, Micah would soon be able to set aside such concerns when counseling young ladies. His wife would always be nearby to ensure propriety.

  “First of all,” Grace interrupted his thoughts, “you need to lower your gun belt.” She demonstrated by adjusting her own to a comfortable drawing level.

  Micah did as she said and then tucked his frock coat behind his holster. “Like that?”

  “Yep. Now show me how you draw.”

  Suddenly self-conscious, Micah had an unexpected memory flash before his eyes. His older brother had always dared him to do this or that and then taunted him for not performing perfectly the first time. He dismissed the memory. Grace might tease him, but she wouldn’t criticize. He gripped the handle of his gun and quickly slid it from the holster, then fanned the hammer with his left hand, firing off three rapid shots. Each time his hand hit the weapon, it threw off his aim, and not one shot struck an empty tin.

  “Uh-huh.” Grace’s tone held no condemnation. “Mind if I ask where you learned that?”

  He cleared his throat, and his face warmed. “Last July Fourth at the fastest draw contest.”

  “Uh-huh,” she repeated. “Sometimes cowboys like to show off with that style because they think it looks fancy. But if you ask ’em, they’ll admit it’s a little hard on the gun’s action. Plus their six-shooters need fixin’ real often. Anyway, it’s not even the fastest draw.”

  “Ah.” Micah returned his Colt Peacemaker to its holster. “And I fell for it. All right, you show me the right way.”

  She gave him a brief nod and stepped away several paces from him. “Thumbing is the best way. You grip the handle and at the same time place the tip of your thumb on the hammer.” She demonstrated as she spoke. “As you begin to draw, let your thumb roll off the inside of the hammer. At the same time you’re drawing, get a full grip on the handle, aim and squeeze the trigger.” Her Colt .45 fired three times before Micah could blink, and three tin cans flew off of the fence.

  He whistled in admiration. “I see what you mean.” He slowly went through the smooth motions, returned his gun to his holster and then drew quickly but without firing. The roll of his thumb seemed the key because it had to bring the hammer back and yet not hold it there. The pull of his trigger finger felt instinctive. On his third draw, he fired, knocking a can from its perch.

  “Good job, Rev.” Grace seemed about to slap his shoulder, but turned the gesture into a strange little wave. “Most folks can get the hang of it with one lesson. You have the advantage of being real good with your rifle. I didn’t have to remind you to keep your eye on the target.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Warmth spread through his chest. Her approval meant a great deal to him. Maybe she wouldn’t mind if he confided in her about his plans for courting. After a few more fast draws, a reload and a few more cans scattered across the corral, he holstered his gun. “I think we’re done here, but I’ll keep practicing. May I buy you some ice cream as a thank-you?”

  An odd, almost vulnerable look crossed her pretty face. “I’d rather have some of Miss Pam’s pie.”

  “If we’re going there, we’ll just have dinner. What do you say?”

  She shrugged in her endearing “aw-shucks” way. “Sounds good.”

  While Micah retrieved the battered cans from the corral, he spotted fresh hoofprints in the smattering of snow. “Say, Grace, I didn’t think anyone was living here.”

  She strode over to him and eyed the ground and then knelt down to trace the wider-than-normal horseshoe print with a slight indention on one side. “Hmm. Could be our man Hardison. Could be a drifter taking shelter last night.”

  She stood and walked toward the half-open barn door. Micah followed her inside, and they both looked around. The unusual hoofprint wasn’t repeated, and nothing caught their attention as being disturbed.

  Outside again, Grace tilted her head toward the run-down cabin and spoke a little louder than necessary. “Well, let’s get back to town.” She drew her gun and walked toward the wood frame abode.

  “Good idea.” Micah also spoke loudly, while the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Had they been watched the whole time they were shooting?

  Grace again tilted her head, this time toward the side of the cabin. Micah nodded and ambled around the corner to peer in through a shattered window. The room held broken-down furniture, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  From the other side of the room came the screech of a rusty-hinged door opening, and soon Grace appeared in the room. She caught his gaze and shook her head. “The snow on the porch didn’t have any prints, and the dust hasn’t been disturbed in any of the rooms, so I reckon nobody’s been in here.”

  Micah nodded his agreement. Every afternoon, the wind blew a new coat of dust over the entire San Luis Valley, so those fresh hoofprin
ts could only be a few hours old.

  He met Grace by their horses. “Why would anyone want to ride into a corral like that if they weren’t going to take shelter in the barn or the cabin?”

  “Maybe some drifter stopped to see if there was any hay in the barn.”

  “Could be.” Micah heaved out a quiet sigh of relief. The idea that they might have been watched had unnerved him, and yet Grace had remained as cool as an autumn day. Most girls he’d ever known were skittish as colts about such things. What a woman Grace was! He felt privileged to be her pastor and her friend.

  * * *

  The Rev didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get back to town, so Grace kept Mack’s pace to a moderate walk. After a few hundred yards, the Rev seemed inclined to talk, so she gave him an inviting smile.

  “Something on your mind?”

  He chuckled in that way of his that always put her at ease. “I could use your advice.” He tilted his Stetson back on his head a ways. Once again, she felt pleased that he hadn’t worn his dandified bowler hat. That thing sure did annoy her, though she couldn’t say why she concerned herself so much with his appearance.

  “About shooting?”

  “No. I think we covered that this morning.” He gazed east across the San Luis Valley toward Mount Blanca, which was nearly snow-covered despite it only being October. “I have guests coming to visit from Virginia around the first of December. Joel Sutton’s a childhood friend. After the war, he and his folks were the only people who remained friendly. The rest treated my family badly because my uncle fought for the North.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Some in the South continue to fight the war even though it’s been over for almost twenty years. Even my decision to attend seminary in Massachusetts angered many people, and they didn’t want any part of me after I graduated. Couldn’t get hired in a church, no matter how many I applied to.”