Authors: Renee Ryan
T
he mood in Marc’s study was one of somber acceptance, as though the people gathered around Jane’s daughter were used to hearing the devastating news of death. Head bent low, Megan sat in a mahogany armchair with her hands clasped tightly together in her lap.
Beau grimaced. The girl looked terribly young, terribly small. At least she didn’t have to bear this burden alone. Marc and Laney stood in front of her chair, their faces drawn in identical expressions of concern. Miss Southerland held vigil next to them while Logan Mitchell leaned over Megan’s lowered head.
The young deputy murmured soothing, unintelligible words to her. Beau wasn’t sure she was fully listening to him, but every once in a while she would nod her head at something he said.
Logan had surprised Beau by refusing to leave Megan’s side when Marc had asked her to join them in his study.
It was as if Logan had known.
Perhaps Megan had, as well, which explained why she’d all but begged the young deputy to accompany her.
Eventually, Logan’s words trailed off. He rose and exchanged a resigned glance with Beau.
“I’m sorry, Megan,” Beau said. “Dr. Shane did all he could.”
She lifted her chin to look at him. Her large, round eyes were drowning in sorrow, but they were bone-dry. “I’m sure he did.”
Her shoulders stooped forward and down went her head again.
Making a sound of distress in her throat, Laney pressed forward. “Oh, Megan, don’t worry. Your mother is at peace with the Lord now.”
Megan sighed. “Do you really think so?” she asked the room in general, her voice a study in doubt.
Biting her bottom lip, Laney shot Beau a silent appeal. He had trained for situations such these, and yet he never felt adequate when the time came to ease another’s suffering. Death was always worse for the ones left behind. Beau stared at Megan’s pale profile and prayed.
Lord, Lord, give me the words to ease her pain.
Beau slid a glance to Hannah. She nodded in encouragement, as though she understood how hard this was for him. In that moment a verse from the gospel of John came to mind and Beau moved into the young girl’s line of vision.
“Megan,” he began, “Jesus warned that we will have troubles in this world. But He also told us to take heart. Christ has overcome death. Death is not the end. It is only the beginning. Your mother has a new body and a pain-free existence now.”
Beau stepped closer, but Logan moved more quickly, barring further approach with his entire body. Nar
rowed, wolflike eyes warned Beau to keep his distance. Beau tensed. If the lawman’s concern wasn’t so palpable
and
genuine, Beau would have answered the challenge. The kid was obviously confused in the face of Megan’s grief, making him forget Beau was a minister here to
help.
So, instead of joining in Logan’s ridiculous contest of wills, Beau nodded in acquiescence and took a step back.
“In spite of your mother’s…profession,” Beau continued from where he stood, “she knew who her Lord was and what He did for her on the Cross.”
As Megan held his stare, confusion flitted across her gaze. Her shoulders jerked, but still she searched Beau’s face.
He waited for her to look her fill.
At last, she caught her lip between her teeth and lowered her head to stare at her clasped hands again.
Before he could reach to her, Miss Southerland rushed ahead of him, nearly sideswiping Logan as she knelt in front of the girl.
“Megan, listen to me.” She took the girl’s hands in hers and pulled them close to her heart. “Your mother was a brilliant actress in her day. I will remember her fondly, as will many others.”
“You knew my mother?” Megan’s voice squeaked with the dry, raspy sound of grief not yet released.
Lowering their hands, Miss Southerland offered Megan a kind smile. “The first time I saw her perform was when I was about your age. I’d never seen such talent, such
presence,
on or off the stage. The audience adored her.
I
adored her.”
“Was she very beautiful?” The eagerness and raw
vulnerability in the young woman’s expression pierced Beau’s heart. Clearly, Megan wanted to hear that her mother had once been more than the broken wretch she’d become in her last days of life.
Brushing a wisp of hair off the girl’s forehead, Miss Southerland’s smile brightened. “She was stunning, nearly as beautiful as you.”
Megan’s cheeks turned bright red. “Tell me more.”
“I’m not ashamed to say your mother is the reason I’m an actress now. I had the privilege of meeting her backstage that night. She was very kind. She told me I could do anything I set my mind to. Years later, when I had to make a life for myself out of nothing—”
She broke off, looked past Megan with a glazed expression in her eyes, but then she shook her head and continued. “That is…when I had to make a change in my life, I remembered how glorious Jane Goodwin had been, and I wanted to be just like her. I was proud to have known her.”
Miss Southerland rose then and opened her arms to Megan. Sucking in a huge gulp of air, Megan leaped into the offered embrace and collapsed into choking, heart-wrenching sobs.
Logan shuddered at the unbearable sound of Megan’s grief, his face a study in masculine panic. Yet he found the courage to place his hand on the young girl’s back and rub gently.
Megan sobbed louder. Logan’s face crumbled.
Sighing, Laney gently pushed the poor man aside, gave all the men in the room a meaningful look and then cocked her head toward the door.
Beau took the hint.
“Megan, we’ll leave you alone with Laney and Miss Southerland for now,” he said. “Come on, boys. Let’s give the women a chance to speak privately.”
To Beau’s surprise, especially after Logan had been so uncomfortable in the face of Megan’s grief, the young deputy moved his chin in a sharp gesture of denial. “I’m staying.”
“You can come back later,” Marc said in an unrelenting tone. “For now, come with us.”
Catching Beau’s eye, Marc made a motion with his hand toward Logan. Beau moved to the other side of the deputy. In unison, they gripped Logan’s arms and tugged.
Logan shrugged them off with ease.
Clearly at the end of his patience, Marc lurched forward, eyes gleaming, and caught Logan by the arm again. Beau moved in, as well. Together, they calmly escorted Logan out of the room. Sensing more distance was needed than a closed door, Beau silently directed Marc to keep pulling.
Once in the hallway, Logan complained and threatened and generally spoke ill of both men along the way.
They passed through the kitchen and down the porch steps without incident. However, the moment they hit the backyard, the deputy broke free. Swinging wildly, he attacked.
Beau ducked to his left.
Marc swiveled to his right.
The deputy stumbled forward, righted himself and shot forward again. “How dare you take me away from her like that? She needs me.”
Anger made the young man’s movements awkward.
Of one accord, Beau and Marc shifted again. This
time, when Logan struck, each man gripped a shoulder. With momentum on their side, they swiftly pinned the young deputy against the side of the house.
Spitting and muttering under his breath, Logan’s muscles bunched, relaxed, bunched again.
Neither Marc nor Beau loosened their grip.
Logan fought harder.
“Calm yourself,” Marc said. “You can’t do anything to help her right now. And if you try to touch her again, even in the guise of helping her mourn, I’ll do more than dodge your punches. I’ll throw a few of my own.”
“It’s not like that.” Logan fairly spit out the words.
Beau and Marc shared a knowing look.
“It’s
always
like that,” Beau said for them both.
Struggling under their grip, Logan’s lip curled into a snarl. “I was just…She and I were…That is, she looked so…
lost.
”
“She’s too young for you,” Marc snapped.
Logan looked shocked, then seriously offended. “She’s seventeen.”
“And you’re twenty-two.” To drive home his point, Marc shoved Logan harder against the house, lifting him several inches higher on his side. “In my book, that’s too many years separating you.”
Breathing hard, Logan’s expression turned mutinous. “You’re eight years older than Laney.”
Beau tried not to smile. The deputy made a valid point.
“Granted,” Marc said in a surprisingly reasonable tone. “But at seventeen Megan is still too young for you. Or any man, for that matter. And if I see you sniffing around her again I’ll make sure you know exactly what I mean.”
“I get it.” Logan scowled. “But, just so
you
understand. There’ll come a day when you will no longer have a say. And I’ll be there. You can’t keep us apart forever.”
“Can’t I?”
Logan struggled in response. Working together, Beau and Marc tightened their hold and slammed him back against the house.
“This isn’t over,” Logan snarled.
Marc grinned. “It is from where I’m standing.”
“Yeah, well, you’re standing too close.”
As the verbal warfare heated up, Beau’s patience drained out of him. “That’s enough. Both of you.” Beau dragged Marc off the deputy and placed a hand on each man’s chest to keep them a good distance apart. “Now is not the time for this argument.”
Completely ignoring him, both men glared at one another.
“Think of Megan,” Beau said.
Both men slid a quick glance at him, but then resumed glaring and snarling at each other.
“Marc.”
“What?”
“Go tell Mrs. Smythe to make Megan some tea.” When Marc just stood there, Beau turned to the other man. “Logan, come with me back to the courthouse. We have to make arrangements for our journey to Cheyenne.”
“Our journey?” Logan turned his head to Beau. Lines of confusion encircled his mouth. “
What
journey?”
Beau tamped down another wave of impatience and spoke as calmly as possible. “Miss Southerland and I will need help with the law in Cheyenne. Since Marshal Scott is in the middle of a trial, you’re our man.”
Logan continued to gape at him. “You can’t decide that on your own.”
“I just did.”
“But—”
“It’s settled. You know our case, the players and the various details. But most of all, you know the law in Cheyenne.”
Grinning now, Marc nodded his head enthusiastically. “Certainly makes sense to me. And, while you’re at it, feel free to stay as long as you like. You—”
“Marc.” Beau cut off the other man before he said—or did—something they would all regret. “Miss Southerland cannot travel alone with two men. Do you have any suggestions of a suitable chaperone to accompany her?”
“Let’s see.” Marc rubbed his jaw between his thumb and forefinger. After a thoughtful pause, his expression turned downright gleeful and he smiled. Or rather, bared his teeth. “Mavis.”
“Mavis Tierney?”
Logan gasped the name, his eyes round with shock and horror. “That old woman hates me.”
Marc folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t say.”
“You have a mean streak, Dupree,” Logan ground out. “Bordering on cruel.”
“That I do.” Marc looked entirely too pleased with himself as he shoved his nose an inch short of Logan’s. “You’d be wise not to forget it.”
“How could I? You won’t let me.”
And so the verbal sparring began anew.
This time, Beau just shook his head at the pair. At least they weren’t throwing punches. Yet. And with the way his day was going so far, Beau considered that quite a victory.
Quite a victory indeed.
T
he mournful sound of the train’s whistle rent the air, while the burning scent of coal wafted on a steady stream of smoke. Wrinkling her nose against the unpleasant odor, Hannah made her way to the steps leading into her designated compartment. She left the rest of her party arguing over the appropriate number of bags needed for a three-day journey.
Well, Logan Mitchell and Mavis argued. The reverend mediated.
Shaking her head at them all, Hannah switched her
one
very small satchel to her left hand and boarded the train. After taking a short inventory of available seats, she chose one at the back of the railway car.
As she worked her way through the crowd, she breathed in the rich aroma of pipe tobacco, women’s perfume and lemon-seed oil. The interior of the compartment had an expensive, stylish feel to it. Red velvet upholstery covered rich, dark mahogany seats. Large, rectangular windows were framed with intricate crown molding. The carpeted flooring and brass fixtures completed the pretty picture.
But as beautiful as the compartment was, Hannah’s heart wasn’t in admiring the decor. For many reasons, she hadn’t wanted to leave Charity House this morning. She’d found a kindred spirit in Laney Dupree. And thanks to her time with the orphans, her dream of serving abandoned women and children had morphed into something far more tangible than “someday.”
Although she’d promised to return and produce the play about Rahab, the entire group of children had been unusually quiet at her departure.
Sighing, Hannah smoothed out a wrinkle on her skirt and thought of one girl in particular. Megan.
Poor, dejected Megan.
Hannah had felt an especially strong bond with Jane Goodwin’s daughter. It was yet another glaring reminder of how lacking the relationship with her own sister had grown through the years. Well, this time, when Hannah stood face-to-face with Rachel, she would not let the same old patterns of behavior control their encounter.
Oh, Lord
. Her eyes fluttered shut.
I pray for the courage to face my sister in truth. Give me the courage to end the lies between us.
Sighing again, Hannah opened her eyes in time to catch sight of her chaperone waddling down the aisle. Or, rather, she suspected the moving bundle was her chaperone. The wild white hair peeking over three large carpet bags certainly indicated her assumption was correct.
Hannah immediately rose to help her new friend. “Let me take those for you.”
“Don’t touch.” Mavis teetered to her left, then quickly righted herself. “I’m perfectly balanced.”
Hannah raised her palms in the air and stepped back.
With a loud plunk, all three bags hit the floor. Drowning in satchels up to her knees, Mavis shot her a triumphant look. “There. You see.”
Hannah made a noncommittal sound in her throat.
Kicking and muttering and kicking some more, Mavis broke free from the luggage carnage and dropped into the seat next to Hannah.
Mavis’s outrageous outfit brought a smile to Hannah’s lips. The older woman had chosen a purple tunic to wear over her men’s denim pants today. She’d topped off the shocking ensemble with clashing red gloves and a floppy hat that had real flowers pressed along the edges. Real. Dead. Flowers. The pungent odor was astonishing. Astonishingly
awful.
Hannah covered her nose and coughed delicately. Although there should have been generous room for both women on the two-passenger seat, Mavis squirmed and burrowed like a prairie dog fighting to get out of a windstorm. She huffed and kicked and hoisted until she eventually situated two of the bags on her left and the largest on her right—which happened to be the side where Hannah sat.
Hannah’s left shoulder was pressed so tightly against the window that her breath fogged up the glass. If she could, she’d move to the empty seats facing them. But those were reserved for Logan Mitchell and Pastor Beau.
Grimacing, Hannah wiped away the condensation on the window and turned her head to study the loot Mavis had deemed appropriate for the short journey. No wonder the deputy had given her such a hard time.
“What do you have in there?” Hannah asked, more amused than miffed.
“Only the necessities, dearie.” Mavis patted the bag she’d positioned on her lap. “Only the necessities.”
Hannah didn’t know any one person with that many necessities. “Such as?”
“Oh, this and that.” She puckered her lips and started whistling a cheerful tune.
Mavis was certainly happy. A little too happy, especially after her heated argument with Logan Mitchell on the platform.
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “This and that wouldn’t include tobacco, now, would it? Because I promised Laney and Katherine you wouldn’t smoke while in my care.”
“
Your
care?” Mavis snorted at her. “I’m the chaperone of you, missy, not the other way around.”
Hannah had her doubts. In fact, she knew exactly how sneaky Mavis could be when in need of a smoke. Hannah and Katherine had caught her three separate times with a homemade cigarette in her hand. Hannah made a mental note to keep a close watch on Miss Mavis Tierney. Age indeterminate. Sneakiness a definite.
As people began filing into the compartment, Hannah lifted her gaze in time to catch the rest of their party entering the railcar. Moving with masculine grace, the reverend came into view first. His shoulders were set. His jaw tight. His expression unreadable. Something, or someone, had obviously upset him.
Hannah suspected that certain someone was Deputy Mitchell, especially since the young man lagged a good three feet behind the reverend, dragging his feet and looking like one of the orphans after a good scolding.
The moment the reverend stopped beside Mavis, he
lifted an ironic eyebrow at the booty jacketing every available piece of space on their seat and laps.
Hannah shrugged her shoulders in a helpless gesture.
Shaking his head, the reverend tossed a book on the seat across from her and moved to allow a passenger to pass him on the other side of the aisle. “I need to speak to the conductor.”
But before he left, Hannah thought she heard him whisper to Logan, “Behave.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Frowning, Logan plopped into the seat across from Mavis. He glared at the older woman, looking as though he was daring her to say something that would require a nasty response from him.
“Good morning, Deputy Mitchell,” Mavis said in a singsong voice that brought to mind pure sugar. Dripping molasses.
Logan’s gaze settled on the duffel bags, and his lips curled into a sneer. “What did you pack in there, old woman, your entire wardrobe?”
Leave it to Mavis to notice the offensive name and nothing else.
“Hey! You call me old woman again—” she shook her finger at him “—and I’ll tan your hide.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Mavis started to rise. Hannah stopped her with an arm across the bag cradled in her lap.
“What is it with you two?” she asked. “You’ve been at each other since we left Charity House. One might start to think you both just turned four years old.”
As if to prove her right, Mavis snorted. Logan responded in kind. And then both crossed their arms over their chests and began to pout. Well, Mavis pouted.
Logan sulked. If Hannah didn’t know how worried both were about Megan, she’d say more. Instead, she left them to their silence.
But when Logan stretched his legs in front of him, and Mavis kicked his foot in response, Hannah rose. “Oh, honestly, switch seats with me, Mavis.”
“I think that’s a grand idea,” Beau said, returning to their happy little group just as Mavis started to argue over the suggestion.
Clamping her mouth shut, the older woman glowered.
Beau regarded her with a patient, albeit unbending, expression.
“Fine,” Mavis huffed. “I’ll move.”
After a round of dodging bags and Mavis rearranging positions—four times—and Logan’s refusal to move his feet—all four times—they eventually exchanged seats.
Just to be contrary, the moment Hannah sat across from Logan he gave Mavis an innocent smile and then made a grand show of moving his feet back to his side of the compartment.
Hannah had no idea what had caused such animosity between the two, but she was losing her patience with them both.
“This certainly promises to be an interesting trip,” she said with a perfect mixture of sarcasm and distress.
“It does at that.” To punctuate his remark, Beau performed an exaggerated wink in her direction.
The gesture had O’Toole written all over it, but there was a special flair in Beau’s delivery that set him apart from the rest of his siblings—one in particular came to mind.
“We won’t arrive in Cheyenne until tomorrow morning,” Beau said to the group in general, but his eyes never left Hannah’s.
Her heart did a soft flip in her chest then meandered into a rhythmic tap, tap against her ribs. Slow. Steady. Agonizing.
“The dining car isn’t due to open for several more hours,” he continued. “I suggest we try to get some sleep before then.”
“Right.” Logan shot a pointed glare at each of Mavis’s three satchels. “I’m confident that’ll happen with all this room at our feet.”
Normally, Hannah would have been amused by the deputy’s sarcastic quip, but her mind chose that moment to focus on the life-altering nature of this journey. Soon, her business with Rachel would be complete.
And then what?
Pain, hope, dread, fury—all four slammed into her, blinding her, making her dizzy and warning her that once she faced Rachel,
none
of them would go on as before. Not Hannah. Not Rachel. Not Tyler. Not even Beau.
The thought left her trembling.
As dusk settled over the land, Beau looked out the window and smiled in satisfaction. God’s handiwork was evident everywhere—in the steep incline of crumbling rock and the glorious pine trees that peppered the mighty slopes.
Beau wasn’t surprised he was moved by the obvious manifestation of God’s majesty. He was surprised by the depth of his reaction.
He’d been ministering in Colorado for years now, and
he never grew tired of the rugged territory. He felt at home here, as he’d never felt in London, Paris or New York. He wanted to spend the rest of his life serving the people bold enough to settle this harsh part of the world. He wanted—
A loud snort followed by an equally loud moan jolted him out of his thoughts. He turned toward the noise. Smiled.
Mavis Tierney, bless her ornery soul, had set into snoring with remarkable gusto. The woman was well past her prime but she had a passion for living—and, apparently, sleeping—that most people half her age would never achieve.
Logan had long since left for the dining car, leaving Beau alone on his side of their tiny area. He stretched his arms overhead, careful not to disturb either woman across from him.
While Mavis slept, Hannah sat quietly reading her Bible. With her head bent over the book, she was oblivious to his scrutiny. He took his time watching her, trying to pinpoint precisely when he’d stopped considering her an adversary and more a partner in this fiasco he liked to call “Not My Brother’s Keeper.”
Today, she wore a soft pink dress with darker rose adornments. In the dull light of dusk, she looked feminine, fragile. She made a man want to protect her.
Beau felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to grind his teeth together. He could not allow himself to fall for Hannah Southerland. He ignored the whisper in his mind that said,
Too late.
He gave his head a brief shake and swallowed, suddenly feeling as though he was choking. The woman represented everything he didn’t—
couldn’t
—want in a
wife. Not that she’d applied for the position. But Beau couldn’t get the notion out of his mind that she was the one he’d been waiting for God to bring to him.
Which was absurd.
Surely, God had led Hannah Southerland into his life merely to help prevent a tragedy in their respective families and for no other reason. Especially when Beau needed a less conspicuous woman to help minimize his own penchant for the outrageous. His preaching spoke of a radical acceptance of sinners. Not radical by Jesus’ standards, but certainly radical by the Association’s standards.
The West was still untamed. He’d learned the hard way that the people settling in the frontier towns wanted safety. They wanted comfort in rules. He would win their trust first. Only then would he challenge them to look beyond the law—to the compassion Jesus required in all His followers. He would never win the necessary respect with a flamboyant woman like Hannah Southerland by his side.
Look past the exterior, Beau. Look to her heart. She accepts the unacceptable.
The thought brought him up short. Was he once again judging her unfairly? Hadn’t she stepped into Charity House and won over the adults and children alike?
And who said she even wanted to consider becoming his wife?
Confusion made his head spin. Frustration pulled sweat onto his brow. Regardless of how he felt about her, at first or now, he should have told her about his association with her father long before now.
As though she sensed his eyes on her, Miss Southerland looked up from her Bible.
“Miss Southerland, may I call you Hannah?”
She leaned back, cocked her head and then smiled. “I suppose it makes sense at this point in our acquaintance.”
“I have something to tell you,” he said, pushing slightly forward in his seat. Now that he’d made up his mind to confess the truth, he wanted this business done.
She simply stared at him, unblinking.
He stared back for only a split second. “Your father holds my future in his hands.”
She stared at him some more.
He continued to hold her gaze, his pulse raging loudly in his ears and his shoulders tightening in a spot just below his neck. “Well, not completely,” he corrected. “But he could.”
“Go on.” She eyed him with the same wary look in her eyes she’d had at their first meeting.