The Accidental Lawman (26 page)

No one knows what God has in store for us.

Had God led Hank to Glory, to her, because they were two lost souls in need of each other?

The silence in the empty room magnified the sound of her confusion. She quickly collected a couple of neatly folded shirts and a pair of trousers and turned to head downstairs. Back at his desk, she noticed a new Bible near a stack of correspondence. It should have been the first thing she’d seen when she walked into the office, but somehow she’d missed it entirely.

She paused, ran her fingertip across the new leather cover, traced the embossed letters, then opened and read the words inscribed inside.

To Hank Larson

From your friend and pastor,

Reverend Brand McCormick, Glory, Texas, 1874

After a moment’s hesitation, she lay the Bible atop the things she’d collected.

By the time she returned home, she’d filled a small fruit crate with Hank’s things.

Back at the house, she found him awake, sitting up against the stack of pillows Hattie had planted behind him.

She set the box beside him on the bed, taking care not to bump his bad leg. “Here are the things you asked for.”

He stared at the box a moment, recognized his clothes.

“How did you get in?”

She opened the reticule dangling at her wrist, found his key and handed it over.

“This was in your coat pocket the night the men carried you in. That coat, by the way, did not survive the gunfight.” She looked away as she added, “Nor did your trousers.”

When she met his gaze again, she tried to ignore the jolt initiated by his smile.

“I brought you some street clothes.”

“I doubt I have the strength to dress myself.” He let the words linger between them.

“I’ll send for Harrison as soon as you feel you’re up to it. It’s about time you tried walking, too.”

“You’re the doc.”

He smiled directly up into her eyes and her heart tripped over itself. She watched as he reached reverently for his Bible, drew it out of the box and rested it on his lap. “Brand gave me this the day I was baptized.”

She didn’t tell him she had read the inscription.

“I thought you might want it.” She’d surprised herself by choosing to bring it to him when she’d taken no
comfort in the holy words for so long. She watched him thumb the pages, let the book open of its own accord.

Hank scanned the page and then began to read, “‘If you seek him—’”

“‘He will be found by you,’” Amelia finished for him.

He looked amazed. She shrugged. “I know the Bible inside and out,” she told him, wishing that in itself made faith that much easier.

“When I was struggling, Brand told me not to make understanding so hard. He told me to simply open my heart and let God in. Why don’t you give it a try, Amelia?”

She looked around the small room. The white cotton curtains were fresh and clean, teased by a warm breeze blowing in from the west. Though Hank’s presence filled the room, as would the memories of his stay here, she still thought of it as Evan’s room and always would.

“When Evan died, my heart crumbled,” she whispered.

“When Tricia died, I was convinced mine had turned to stone. Then I came here, met you. Fell in love again. When I lost you, I surrendered my heart to God.”

She sighed. “It’s not that easy.”

“Don’t you think I know that better than anyone, Amelia?”

He raised his hand and she thought for a moment he was going to reach for hers. Her breath caught, her pulse quickened.

“Hattie’s out back hanging the laundry,” she blurted. “I’ll send her to fetch Harrison when you feel like getting dressed.”

“I don’t think I’m up to a visit from Harrison today.” He paused, thoughtful for a moment. “Are you—have you been seeing other patients again?”

She shrugged. “No, but I suppose it’s time.”

It was past time, she realized. She’d distanced herself so completely that folks had stopped asking for help. It was time she thought about doctoring again, that or decide how she intended to put food on the table from now on.

“I hate to be a burden. Now you have two of us underfoot,” he said.

“I enjoy having Hattie here.” She stopped short when she realized that truth be told, she enjoyed having him here, too. “I know she misses Joe and Rebekah and the babies.” She stopped, unable to trust what she might say anymore.

He tried to straighten, taking care not to dislodge the box and send his things toppling to the floor.

“Why don’t you send for Harrison tomorrow? No reason he and some of the others couldn’t move me back to my place.”

The image of him lying abed in that stark, lonely room above the newspaper office bothered her more than it should have.

“You need a bit more care before you’re on your own.”

He was smiling that smile again. The one that warmed her to the toes. The one that almost made her believe in love and loving, that God had brought them together for a reason. Hank was smiling the smile that just might mend her broken heart.

“Then I guess I’ll just have stay here as long as I’m under doctor’s orders.”

“I just don’t want you undoing all my hard work.” She smoothed the front of her skirt as she stood. “I’ll leave you to your writing until the noon meal is ready.”

“Thank you for collecting my things for me.” He began to take pen and ink out of the box.

“I gathered up a pile of letters that were on your desk,
too. Just in case there was anything that you need to attend to.”

He looked mighty pleased as she excused herself and went to find Hattie.

As she stood on the back porch and stared at the white linens flapping on the line, she thought about what she’d done. Hank wasn’t on his feet yet, but he certainly didn’t required full-time nursing. Had she ordered him to stay because he needed time to heal, or because she wasn’t ready to let him go?

T
wo days later, Amelia was in the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

She pulled a plate out of the soapy water and just then a chill ran down her spine. She felt as if someone was watching her. Her hands immediately stilled in the dishwater. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder and there, leaning against the doorjamb, was Hank. He had donned one of his clean white shirts, suspenders and trousers, but he was barefooted. Apparently, he hadn’t been able to manage shoes and socks.

He smiled a lopsided smile at her when she looked up from his bare toes.

“Couldn’t quite get the socks on by myself.” He took a step toward the kitchen table and immediately began to weave on his feet.

She flew to his side, slipped her arm around his waist and helped him limp to the table.

“I guess dressing and walking are too much for one day,” he decided.

She could tell he was fighting to keep his tone light, but his breathing was shallow.

“What hurts?” she wanted to know.

“What doesn’t?”

She relaxed a bit once she had him on a chair. “Sit a minute and catch your breath.”

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I don’t even know if I can hobble back to bed.”

She went to dry her hands.

“That coffee sure smells good,” he commented.

She hadn’t yet given him anything stronger than chamomile tea.

“I guess one cup won’t hurt you.” She filled a mug.

He took a sip and sighed with pleasure.

“Thank you for this.” He took another sip. “And thanks for catching me a minute ago. I’d never get over the embarrassment of ending up on your kitchen floor in a heap.”

She found herself smiling again, remembering the way they’d collided on the day they met. Her smile faded when she remembered the robbery.

“I guess we all need someone to catch us when we fall,” she said softly, thinking aloud.

“Who catches you, Amelia? Who do you lean on?”

She met his gaze. His never wavered.

“I’d like it to be me,” he said. “When I have the strength that is. I’d like it to be me you lean on.”

“Hank…I—”

“I still love you, Amelia.”

“Don’t—”

“Don’t love you? Or don’t say it?”

“Both. Please.”

“It’s too late for me to stop loving you. I’ve tried, believe me. I tried when you sent me away. Not seeing you, not being near you, only made me want you more.”

“Hank, I—”

He cut her off. “I know you haven’t forgiven me. I couldn’t forgive myself for what happened, not until I turned my life over to God. If He can forgive us, then why can’t we forgive ourselves? Why can’t we forgive each other?”

Shaken to the quick, she leaned against the dry sink, still watching him. He set his coffee cup down and stared back intently.

“I tried to save Evan, Amelia,” he began.

“I know that now,” she said.

“You do?”

She nodded. “You spoke of it when you were delirious. And I know you well enough to know you did all you could, given the circumstances. When it happened, my grief was so bottomless that I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I could think of was Evan. He was my responsibility and I failed him.”

“
Can
you forgive me?”

She took a deep breath. Let it go.

“Yes,” she whispered. Relief washed over her when she realized she wasn’t just saying what he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear. She’d said it because it was true. “Yes, I think so.”

Somehow over the past few weeks she’d come to accept the fact that Hank did what he had to do in order to save Sophronia. He’d been forced to make a split-second decision and her brother had ended up dead.

Evan was in the wrong that day. Wrong in his actions, wrong when he chose to put Fanny and her sister-in-law in harm’s way.

“You were just doing your job. You had to make a choice and you did the right thing.” She dropped her focus to where she’d knotted her hands at her waist. “I forgive you,” she whispered.

She heard the chair legs scrape against the floor and looked up. Hank was on his feet, bracing himself with both hands against the table.

“Sit down, Hank.” She was afraid he was going to fall before she could get to him but when she made it to his side, he shook his head and held her at arm’s length.

“I want to stand on my own feet for this.”

“Hank—” She was more concerned that he was going to black out than intent on what he was saying.

“Marry me, Amelia.”

“Please, sit
down
.” Her mouth went dry when she realized what he had said.

“Marry me. Please.” He took both of her hands in his, wavered and hung on so tight she winced.

“Sorry.” He loosened his hold a bit. “Will you be my wife?”

“No.” She was shaking like a leaf. She’d put him through misery. She didn’t deserve him.

“I’m going to keep asking until you say yes.”

“You’re delirious.”

“Not anymore. I’m in love with you. I want you to be my wife.”

“I want you to let go of my hands and sit down before you fall down.”

Hank sat just as Hattie came in the back door. She set down an empty bucket and planted her hands on her hips.

“Hank Larson, ’cept for the pallor of your skin, you look a far sight better than you did yesterday. Just look at you, all dressed and sittin’ at the table.”

All Amelia could do was stare at Hank.

Dear Lord, don’t let him say anything about proposing.

Dear Lord.

Thankfully, Hank merely smiled and said, “Thank you
kindly, Hattie. I’m feeling much better, even if I’m not too steady on my feet just yet. It won’t be long.”

Amelia turned and dipped her hands into the now tepid dishwater.

Who knew it would be a proposal of marriage that would inspire a spontaneous prayer?

Nearly another week passed during which Hank had a setback after trying to walk too soon. Frustrated at his own weakness, he was learning the hard way that each time he pushed himself to write late into the night or he dragged himself out of bed and tried walking alone, he would suffer for his efforts.

Today, as he sat on the front porch, safely tucked into an upholstered chair Amelia and Hattie had wrestled outside for him, he reminded himself that even though he was anxious to be restored to good health, he wasn’t looking forward to leaving Amelia’s.

Just about every day lately, Brand McCormick had stopped by for a visit, but today, Hank’s thoughts kept drifting to Amelia. If only she’d accept his proposal—

He’d given up asking.

“Are you all right, Hank?” Brand’s voice drew him out of his reverie.

Hank smiled. “Better every day. How could I not feel better with two women fussing over me all the time?” He stared down the street at the houses scattered here and there on either side. “Despite the bullet holes in me, I think I’m more content than I have been in years and I have you to thank for it, Reverend.”

“I think Amelia is the one you should thank,” Brand said.

“Of course. She saved my life, but it was you who
helped me find my way.” Hank shrugged. “I guess I didn’t know I was so lost until I was found, eh?”

“We never do. It’s God who guides us home.”

They sat in amiable silence for a few minutes. A dragonfly flitted around the geraniums bordering the front porch. Amelia’s garden was no longer thriving as it had in the spring, but it was no longer as neglected as after Evan’s death.

With Hattie’s help, the herb garden had nearly recovered and a healthy morning glory trailed the trellis beside the porch.

Hank suddenly remembered the letter he’d tucked in the chair beside him. He pulled it out and handed it to Brand.

“Would you mind posting this for me?”

“Of course not.” Brand tucked the letter inside the jacket he’d slipped off and hung over the porch railing.

“Before the shooting, I received a letter from an applicant for sheriff. I’d forgotten all about it until I found it inside a box of things Amelia brought from my place. I’ve written back asking him to come to Glory. I’m assuming that, with the town’s approval, he can take over right away.”

“Is he qualified?”

“He says he’s from a family of lawmen and is supposedly a crack shot.” Hank couldn’t resist a laugh. “Of course, nothing ever happens around here.”

McCormick laughed with him. “I hope it works out. Soon enough you’ll be on your feet and able to publish the
Gazette
again. Everyone sure misses getting a paper.”

“I’ll be doing
something,
that’s for certain, but I’m not so sure I’ll be putting out the news.”

Brand frowned and hooked his elbow over his knee. “You intend on staying in Glory?”

“You said once that God led me here. He might have, but unless He leads me to a way to make a living I’m going to have to move on.”

“Aside from the fact that you were forced to become sheriff, shot at and nearly killed—you enjoy it here, don’t you?”

“I do, believe me.”

“Surely once you’re on your feet you’ll be able to make of go of things.”

Hank paused, lowered his voice. “It’s not just the
Gazette
. I don’t know if I can live in the same town with Amelia and not…” He didn’t know how to go on. “I’ve asked her to marry me.”

“You have? That’s wonderful.”

“But she won’t have me.” Hank thought about it for a second and added, “I don’t much blame her.”

“She can’t forgive you. Is that it?”

Hank shook his head no. “She says she can, and has. That in itself is a miracle as far as I’m concerned. But I don’t have much to offer anymore. Not only am I barely limping around, but I’ve got so many stitches and scars on me, I look like a rag doll.

“And I’m about out of all my savings. I don’t have a way to get out another edition of the
Gazette
anytime soon and without advertisement money, I’m going to be forced to sell the printing press and give the building back to the bank.”

He thought of the day he had made the decision to buy the printing press and leave Saint Joseph. It had been exhilarating and terrifying at a time when he thought he’d never feel anything but sorrow again. And what a thrill it had been to see the first issue of the
Gazette
come off the press.

The dream of owning his own newspaper had faded in
the light of harsh reality. The only dreams he’d dreamed lately included Amelia, but a week of her adamant refusals to his proposals had finally convinced him to give up.

“Amelia isn’t the kind of woman who judges a man by the size of his bankroll,” Brand said.

Hank had a feeling that was true, but Amelia deserved a man who could bring something to a marriage. “That may be true, but there’s too much muddy water under the bridge. Besides, a man can only ask so many times.”