Deborah moistened her lips and nodded solemnly.
“We’ll head toward the house, but we’ll have company before we get there.” He kneed his horse and they started off.
“Hey!” One of the Testament men shouted as they drew abreast to Deborah ten minutes later. Micah rode so close to her other side, their legs bumped. “We come runnin’. What’s awrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Micah glowered at King—whether he was the elder or younger King Testament, only his family could tell.
“Shots came from over this way—a bunch, all in a row.”
“Three, evenly spaced, is the come running signal. Those shots weren’t evenly spaced, and there were more than three.” Micah kept heading toward the homestead. “As you can see, everything’s fine.”
“You are lookin’ mighty fine, Miss Preston.” Micah figured that greeting might have come across as a bit more charming if Chronicles didn’t precede it by spitting out a wad of tobacco.
“She’s been out in the sun long enough. I need to get her home.”
Deborah took her cue wonderfully. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her forehead.
“Hot as the hinges of Hades out here today,” King said in a conversational tone.
Micah heard Deborah’s gasp. “That’s no way to talk around a lady. You men best go on back home.”
The Testaments grumbled but did turn their horses and head back toward their own spread. Micah felt a spurt of relief, but it didn’t last long.
The ride back to the house was quiet—but not in a good way. Deborah listened to whatever he said, nodded, or gave abbreviated answers in a muted voice. By the time they reached the stable, Micah was irked at her attitude. He dismounted, closed the distance to her mount, and swept her out of the saddle without so much as a word of warning. He didn’t put her down, either. Instead, he pivoted and plunked her down onto an upended bale of hay.
She looked at him in open-mouthed surprise.
He knocked his hat against his thigh. “Suppose you tell me why your back’s up?”
“I’m not angry; you are.”
“Oh, don’t try twisting this around. All of a sudden, you’ve clammed up and have your lips shut tighter than a widow’s purse.”
“You said I talk too much.”
His brow furrowed. “When did I say that?”
“You said I could talk someone to death and that I’m not talking any more than usual. Clearly, I owe you an apology. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable in your own home.”
“Aw, come on now, Deb. You’re blowing this out of proportion—”
“Please excuse me.” The hay rustled as she wiggled and scooted to get down. The minute her feet hit the floor, she dashed toward the stable door.
He effortlessly caught and held her. “Just where do you think you’re off to?”
“I promised your grandmother a new basket to use for gardening.”
“Do you ever just sit still? You’re busy as a bee.”
Her laughter didn’t ring true. “That’s what my name means. Deborah, the bee.”
“Seems like a mighty nice name to me. Honeybees are industrious. It’s a Bible name, too.”
Hurt flashed across her pretty face. “That’s what my mother said. My father named me, though. He said it was because it stung that I wasn’t a son.”
“Pardon me if I insult him, but your father was a nitwit.”
Deborah shook her head. “No, he wasn’t. He said God put me where He wanted me. Father just made sure I earned my keep and reminded me I was to be seen, not heard.”
“Your mother—”
“Became an invalid when I was thirteen. She passed on when I was sixteen. She loved me in her own way, but I know she regretted that she hadn’t given Father the son he craved.”
“So they pined for what they didn’t have instead of cherishing the blessing they did have?”
She gave him a winsome smile. “I’ve never been called a blessing before.”
Their sheepdog streaked by, something in his mouth. Lou dashed in after him. “Why didn’t you stop him? Grandma’s going to have a conniption when she finds out Shane just swiped one of the chickens she planned to roast.” Lou tried to corner the dog in a pen. “He could have at least taken the one I hadn’t plucked yet!”
Micah looked back to see Deborah’s reaction, but she was gone.
His boots were caked, so he used the bootjack and shucked them. Micah had rolled his sleeves up earlier in the afternoon heat, so his muscular, tanned forearms looked strong and masculine. Deborah turned back toward the bowl of peas she was shelling at the table. She noticed everything about him—his leonine walk, the perceptive gleam in his eyes, the way he listened….
Oh, the way he listened. She felt a heated wave of embarrassment wash over her as she recalled the dreadfully personal things she’d revealed to him yesterday. Dodging him last night took every scrap of her imagination. To keep from sitting by him at breakfast this morning, she stood at the stove and kept making flapjacks. Now, though, with supper started, she needed to stay put—and from the look in Micah’s eyes, he knew it.
His loose-hipped, long stride carried him across the floor. He poured two cups of coffee, set them on the table, and took the place directly opposite her. Without asking, he added sugar to one cup, then nudged it along the smooth surface of the table toward her.
Unnerved, Deborah fumbled and sent a pea arcing through the air.
Micah’s arm shot out, and he caught it. He held the pea up between his thumb and forefinger. “Sweet little thing.”
Deborah drew in a sharp breath. He wasn’t looking at the pea when he said that—he was looking at me!
“Micah’s partial to peas—especially if I drizzle a scant bit of honey on them once they’re drained,” Grandma said. “Micah, weather’s plenty hot enough. Can you get out the screens so we can dry some peas?”
“I’ll do it on Monday.” He popped the raw pea into his mouth and chased it with a gulp of coffee. “Seems to me that new parson’s due to be here for tomorrow’s service. I suppose you’ve got something in mind for Sunday supper. What’re you going to want me to get out of the smokehouse?”
“I’ll think on it.”
Deborah concentrated on the peas as she said, “I didn’t see a church in town.”
“Petunia has nothing more than a saloon and Foster’s Food and Feed. We hold church here.”
“Oh, my.” Deborah looked about herself.
“We fold up the screen that partitions off the parlor and move the dining table into the kitchen,” Grandma explained. “By pulling in a bunch of benches Sam built, we turn the dining room and parlor into a regular church.”
Micah rapped his knuckles on the table. “We’ll keep you away from the Testaments. Don’t you dare cook anything. They get a taste of anything you make, and it’s all over.”
“What’s over?” Lou asked from the doorway. She absently scratched the back of her hand.
Micah’s eyes narrowed. “Louisa Abigail, turn around and get right back outside.”
“Now what did I do?” She gave him a disgruntled look.
“Unless I miss my guess, that’s poison ivy clinging to your skirt.”
Micah was right; Lou ended up covered in a miserable rash.
With Lou hiding out upstairs, speckled and itching to beat the band, and Grandma complaining her fingers were too stiff, Deborah ended up playing the piano for church the next morning. Josh accompanied her on his guitar, and the parson started them off on the last of the morning’s hymns. Once the music ended, Deborah turned around on the piano bench, and Micah sat beside her. For once, he didn’t mind that the bench seemed on the dinky side. It meant he could catch a whiff of Deborah’s perfume.
She wore a black dress today—at his request. He didn’t want her in one of those frilly white blouses she wore with her fashion-plate skirts. They looked delicate and fancy as a wedding gown, and the last thing Micah wanted was for some local yokel to crave her as his very own bride. At Micah’s urging, she’d also scraped her sunshiny hair back into a tight knot at her nape, but instead of it making her look pinched and sour, the style only served to make the fineness of her features more apparent. It was too late for him to order her to change it, so Micah stuck by her side to keep all of the ranch hands and bachelor boys away from her. Most of all, he made a point of herding the Testaments to the far side of the dining room so they sat as far away from her as possible.
The new parson preached a fine sermon. Young, tall, earnest, he’d started the circuit almost two months ago. This was his second service, and folks all flocked in to listen to the Word of the Lord.
“Withersoever you go, I will go.…”
Micah listened to the Bible reading and looked about the congregation. Exodus elbowed Ruth, and they both sat up straighter, clearly happy the new parson was preaching about her biblical namesake. Deborah subtly slipped off the piano bench, took a wiggly toddler from Opal Piven, and brought him back to sit on her lap. Opal gave her a shy, thankful smile. Opal did just what Ruth—the Ruth in the Bible—had done: left kith and kin, came to a strange place, and was working hard at her husband’s side.
Grandma had come for the sake of family. Now that he thought on it, Micah recalled her quoting that verse the day they set out to come here.
Deborah shifted the little tyke on her lap, and he snuggled close. Micah winced. She’d been obedient, too. She came but not because love would sustain her. She’d come because she’d been boxed in and didn’t have a choice. It was wrong. No woman ought to be dragged to the outer reaches of civilization unless she stood a fair chance of being content there.
She looks pretty happy at the moment. No. No, she’s not. She’s learned to settle for what life throws at her. For once, she deserves to choose for herself. A fine woman like her—a lady—ought to be cared for, cosseted, cherished. She’s suited to live in a city where a gentleman can squire her to a symphony or she can take tea or visit a library.
Micah scanned the room and realized every last unmarried man managed to either sneak a peek or openly gawk at her. Not one of them would provide for her. If pink-and-pretty Deborah stayed here long, she’d end up like poor Opal—living hardscrabble in a soddy with a passel of hungry young’uns.
“Boaz. Now there’s an interesting man,” the parson mused. “He made sure Ruth and Naomi had plenty to eat. Oversaw their safety. Was a good, decent man. But when it came to the possibility of marrying Ruth, he balked. He was sure someone else ought to be the happy groom. Figured he’d step aside. But you see, God had a plan. When God’s got a plan, you can be sure He’s going to work it out.…”
Seeing the Pivens’ children barefooted at church made Deborah’s heart ache. That evening, while Grandma was upstairs dabbing witch hazel on Lou’s rash, Deborah decided to find Micah and talk with him about the Pivens. She found him hunched over a calf in the stable. The acrid smell of singed hide told her what was going on. He was tampering with the brand.
“Need some help?” she asked from a few feet away.
“Get back into the house, Deborah.” He didn’t even look over his shoulder at her, but she could tell he issued the order through gritted teeth.
The calf let out one last bawl as Micah rose and expertly released the rope he’d used to bind him. Sam came in through the opposite door of the stable and called softly, “Josh found another one. You—”
The minute he spied Deborah, he came to a grinding halt. “Uh …”
The calf scrambled past Deborah and headed out toward his mama. Micah heaved a deep sigh as he took a stance beside her. He rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. “It’s not what you think.”