16

I feel like a kid on Christmas morning!

Dressed in blue dungarees, a light blue shirt, and his most comfortable pair of boots, Michael walked to the hotel stable. Buddy greeted him with friendly snuffles and nickers, butting his head into Michael’s chest. After weeks on the trail, Michael knew Buddy’s moods. This horse did not like the confines of a stall.

Michael hummed “Amazing Grace” as he groomed the horse. Buddy stamped and shook his head, eager to be out.

“Whoa. It’s a good thing I’m not singing, hey, boy? With my voice, I’d spook you to the next county.”

He gave another swipe with the currycomb, nervousness and excitement coursing through him at the thought of spending time alone with Rachel. His grown-up experience with women—mostly less-than-reputable types or, more recently, church ladies—had not prepared him for someone like Rachel. She was so elegant, so refined . . .

“Sure hope I don’t make a fool of myself,” he muttered.

Buddy whinnied and tossed his head.

A few minutes later, Buddy butted him in the chest again. Michael woke from a daydream of Rachel in his arms, her lips on his. “Sorry, pal. Didn’t mean to ignore you.” He gave Buddy’s flanks a final stroke. The bridle came next, then the blanket and saddle.

Buddy stamped impatiently. Michael laughed and stroked the horse’s nose. “All right, you’re ready.” He took the reins and led the way out of the barn.

Am I?

Michael was sitting with Luke on the parsonage porch when Rachel walked her sleek chestnut mare around the side of the house. Rachel wore riding boots, a dark blue denim riding skirt, and a red-and-white-checked shirt. A red bandanna fit snugly around her throat. Her long, light brown hair flowed over her shoulders, and a low-crowned tan Stetson hung down her back by its rawhide chin strap.

“Good afternoon, Michael. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.” She smiled as she looped her horse’s reins around the post, then stepped onto the porch.

His knees went weak as he stood to greet her. “No, ma’am—I mean, Rachel. I just got here a couple of minutes ago.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Let me get the food from the kitchen, and then we can go.”

He watched her enter the house, speechless at the subtle grace of her movement. She didn’t walk. She glided.

Michael turned to find Luke grinning from ear to ear, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“What?” Michael felt his face flush.

“Oh, nothing,” Luke smirked. “It’s just the last time I knew someone to look at a woman like that was when I first met Martha. I walked around with that same silly expression on my face. Off in my own world, blind to everything else around me.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s it. She is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever—”

The door opened, and Rachel came out with a wicker basket on her arm. “Well, I’m ready.”

Luke still had that grin on his face as they secured the basket, then mounted and rode off.

They kept their mounts at a steady walk as they rode to the edge of town. Michael’s tongue felt tied in knots. Rachel seemed content to ride in silence. Say something, you fool. “That sure is a good-looking mare. Have you had her long?”

“About three months. She was a gift from Isaac Walters.”

Michael’s stomach lurched. A gift from a man? She has someone else she’s interested in and who’s interested in her? Of course she does! She’s a beautiful woman. She’s probably beating off suitors with a stick!

A slight smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Isaac has a big ranch west of town. He’s got the best horses around here. Martha and I and his wife were helping a family that got burned out. We were talking, and I mentioned how much I’d been wanting my own horse. The next day, Isaac brought Sunshine to the parsonage.” She leaned forward and stroked the horse’s neck. “Said his wife had been after him about it, and he didn’t dare cross his wife.”

“So it was really from his wife.” The relief felt like a bale of hay sliding off Michael’s shoulder.

Rachel laughed, and he blushed.

“Do you enjoy riding her?” Michael asked to cover his embarrassment.

“Oh, I love to.” Her eyes danced. “She’s so much fun, and she can go like the wind. When I’m on her, I feel free, almost like I’m flying.”

“Really?” Michael teased.

“Come on. I’ll show you. See if you can catch me.”

Rachel urged Sunshine forward. The horse responded, sprinting into a full gallop in a few strides. Michael spurred Buddy to follow.

Rachel’s hat flew off her head and hung by the cord around her neck. The wind whipped her hair. She leaned forward and settled into the rhythm of Sunshine’s pace. The wicker basket bounced wildly behind her saddle.

Michael eased Buddy into a canter about twenty yards behind Rachel. She looked back and pulled on Sunshine’s reins. The mare seemed to resist at first but quickly yielded to her owner’s command.

“That’s some horse!” Michael said as he drew up next to her. “I don’t know if I could’ve caught you, and I thought Buddy was fast.”

Rachel laughed, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “I just love riding full-out like that.” She tilted her head toward the trees that surrounded the river. “Come on. The place for the picnic is just ahead.”

They left the road and entered a path not much wider than a deer track that meandered through the forest. It emptied into a small clearing at the riverside. Tall, soft grass rippled in the gentle breeze. The afternoon sun dappled through the trees and glinted off the river, and cloud shadows drifted across the clearing. The lilting river music, the birds singing high up in the trees, the rustle of branches moving against each other in the breeze, the scurrying of a rabbit through the underbrush—all sound seemed softened by the peaceful aura of the clearing.

“It’s beautiful,” Michael whispered.

Rachel nodded, her hair glinting in the sunlight. Her hands rested gently on the pommel of her sidesaddle.

You’re beautiful was what he wanted to say.

She studied him. His hazel eyes showed flecks of green and brown. His straight nose and firm mouth gave him an appearance of composure and strength. He seemed like the kind of man she could depend on. Could she let him into her heart?

Help me be wise, Lord. It was a prayer she had prayed almost continually since arriving in Riverbend, but now it seemed to have new meaning. Help me be strong. I’m not even sure I know how to be with a good man.

Michael hobbled the horses to one side of the clearing and loosened the cinches on both saddles. Rachel opened the basket and spread the blue-and-white-checked cloth on the ground next to a fallen log. Then she reached in for the lunch she had packed—cold chicken, cucumbers, tomatoes, sourdough biscuits, and apples.

“I’m afraid the tomatoes are a little worse for the wear,” she told him. “I must learn not to gallop with a picnic basket.”

Michael smiled. “I’m not all that fond of tomatoes anyway. But that chicken looks wonderful.” He lowered himself onto the log while Rachel sat on the cloth, her legs folded underneath her. He blessed the food and accepted the plate she prepared for him.

He took a bite of the chicken. “It’s really good.”

“Thank you.”

They ate in companionable silence. Rachel enjoyed the peaceful beauty of the clearing, happy that Michael liked it. Hopefulness rose in her. This was a gentle man, not a hard-shelled bully who wanted to use her. A strong man like Pastor Luke, the strength hidden beneath a serene exterior. Was it even possible that—?

“What made you move to Riverbend?”

Her stomach dropped, and her throat tightened. She forced a breath down. Oh, Lord, what should I tell him? She took another deep breath, faced him, and saw concern on his face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“It’s all right,” she said. God, what should I do? Do I dare tell him?

She couldn’t look him in the eye. She gazed over his shoulder at Buddy and Sunshine grazing, their tails snapping to chase flies away. The right words were difficult to find. Well, if he’s going to hate me for who I was, might as well find out now.

“About six months ago, Martha and Luke rescued me from a . . . bad place in Denver.” She risked a glance at his face, saw his confusion, tried again. “I mean, a . . . house of prostitution. I was fighting with the madam and her enforcer on the street. Martha and Luke saw it and stepped in. They took me to their hotel and took care of me. They brought me here to begin a new life. And they helped me know . . . Jesus.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand but didn’t dare look at him. She just kept blurting the story out.

“My parents died when I was three. My aunt and uncle took me in, but when I turned thirteen, my uncle decided it was time for me to start meeting his, uh, needs. My aunt chose not to notice. Then he shared me with his friends and took money from them.” She traced the pattern of the cloth with her finger, eyes downcast. “When I was seventeen, he sold me to a madam in San Francisco, who’d beat me if there were any complaints from the customers. A couple of years later, she passed me along to the madam in Denver. I was there for three years. Then I found out she was cheating all us girls by giving us less money than she promised us. So I took what I thought was mine from her safe and she caught me. That’s when Martha and Luke found us, and if they hadn’t come, the enforcer would’ve—why aren’t you saying anything?”

She glanced up, steeling herself for the judgment she feared, the contempt she’d seen so many times. But he simply nodded solemnly, compassion on his face. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.

“I’m just grateful God brought Martha and Luke across your path at the right moment. And I’m grateful you came to Riverbend with them.”

She felt something in her relax. “I am too,” she said. “I love it here, love being saved, being forgiven. And sometimes I think I really can have a new life,” she said. She tugged at blades of grass next to the blanket. “Until I get one of those looks at church or something like last night with Mark Carstairs happens to remind me that my past will always follow me.”

“It may follow you, but it’s not you anymore. It seems like the past will always try to come back on us and drag us down.” His eyes fastened onto hers. “We can’t let it.”

She was curious and confused. “But you’re a man of God. You don’t seem like the kind of man to have a past that drags you down.”

“I don’t?” He chuckled and brushed a stray crumb from his pants. “Well, then, I guess it’s my turn.” He reached for her hand and gazed at her for a long moment before continuing. “When I received Jesus, I was sitting in a jailhouse, and I knew I was going to go right back to my old life as soon as I got out. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t bother me to hear you say you were a prostitute. In my old life, I was around them a lot—as a, um, customer, I mean. And I can’t say I was any better than they were . . . than you were.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I know what it’s like to come out of a life on that side of the street. I know how turning to Jesus can change a person. I can see that in you.”

Too close—don’t let him draw you in. You’re not ready for this. “Thank you.” She slipped her hand out of his. “Go on. I want to hear the rest of your story.”

His eyes took on a faraway focus. “I could already taste that first drink and was really looking forward to a fight. My life up to then had been gambling and stealing and anything else that came easy. Honest work was too hard. My pa taught me that. . . .” His voice trailed off and he sat silent. He seemed to be a million miles away.

Rachel placed her palms together almost in an attitude of prayer and held her fingers against her lips, thumbs under her chin. Lord, what do I do? What would be wise?

“One day, I . . . One day, we . . . One day, my pa and I had a huge fight, and I . . .” Michael looked down suddenly, eyes shut tight. He shuddered and squared his shoulders. “I started running then, never in one place too long. I’d wear out my welcome drinking and fighting and stealing. Went from saloon to saloon, town to town, staying one step ahead of the law and all those people I’d cheated. And then I got caught, and I couldn’t run anymore.”

A sad smile flickered on his face, then disappeared. “So there I am, sitting in jail, mad at everybody, and this preacher walks in. Kind of a heavy fellow, says his name was Zechariah Taylor. And he fixes me with these sharp, dark eyes and starts talking about Jesus. I wanted to punch him but couldn’t get near him, so I cussed him and threw my slop bucket at him. Hit him pretty good, too.”

His voice caught. He stopped and swallowed.

“Go on,” Rachel said.

He gazed out over the river. The late afternoon sun sparkled on the water. A bird swooped at insects dancing on the surface. When he spoke again, his voice was husky, quiet, on the edge of tears.

“Zechariah kept coming back—every day for six months. He kept telling me Jesus loved me. After a while, I stopped cussing him and started arguing with him. I couldn’t see how Jesus could love someone like me, someone that, uh, beat up my pa and stole from just about everybody else. Then I stopped arguing and started listening and reading the Bible he gave me.”

A tear rolled down his cheek. “He led me to Jesus, prayed for me, even hugged me—can you believe that? And after that, while I finished serving my sentence, he taught me. When I got out, he and his wife took me in, and I began working with him in the county jail and state prison. That was three years ago.”

“And that’s how you met Ben Carstairs?”

He nodded. “More than anything, Ben wanted to patch things up with his pa. So—” he shrugged—“here I am. But I have to admit my stomach acts like a sack of rattlesnakes when I think of meeting his father. From what Ben and Pastor Luke said, Sam Carstairs sounds like one hard man to talk to.”

“He’s tough,” Rachel said. “I went to him for a loan to open up my dress shop. He wasn’t interested at first—I think it was because I was living with Martha and Luke. He sure has no use for preachers. But Mrs. Phelps and Mrs. Walters showed him some of my work, and he showed it to some of the wealthier women in town. They told him they would buy my dresses, so he helped to set me up by becoming a partner with me. He owns 40 percent of the business, and he made it clear he expects me to make a profit from the beginning.” She smiled. “He’s not that unreasonable. Just don’t talk about God with him. He’ll drive you away with a shotgun.”

Michael laughed. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. I’ve been praying about the best way to talk to him, to let him know how sorry Ben was for disappointing him.”

“Well, I’ll pray about that too. What will you do after you see Mr. Carstairs?”

“I don’t know. Back to work with Reverend Zechariah and my regular job clerking in the general store, I guess.” He turned to her. His gaze seemed to ask questions she didn’t want to know the answers to. “Unless the Lord has something else for me to do.”

No! Rachel suddenly fought the urge to run. This is too close, too soon. I can’t . . .

She pushed to her feet and walked to the riverbank. Michael followed and stood beside her. Downstream, on the opposite bank, a deer approached and drank, cautious, ever alert. That’s me, she thought. Ever alert. Always waiting for something else bad to happen.

The breeze had lightened. The river’s surface shimmered. Even the animals and insects were quiet. Gradually her agitation settled, and she enjoyed Michael’s nearness—close, but not touching. Unlike most men, he seemed to respect her. Could that be true? Or was his politeness a ploy to weaken her?

They walked along the bank. He took her hand to help her over a fallen tree. She let him keep holding it, the grip loose, as they walked. This is all right. I can handle this.

The tree leaves stood in sharp contrast against the bright blue sky, their different shapes and shades of green dancing in the breeze. The river water was clear as glass, individual stones easily recognizable, the water gurgling and rippling as it washed over them. The fish swam by with lazy flicks of their tails.

“Look how beautiful God makes things.” Michael’s voice was soft, almost hushed.

She nodded. “At times like this, I think He made it just for me.”

He bent down, his lips seeking hers. She turned her head so that he brushed her cheek.

“We’d better head back,” she said, “or we’ll be late for the prayer service.”