The Healer's Touch (19 page)

The men eyed one another. One shook his head, conveying a silent warning.
Ain't goin' in that place.

“You just bring him out here,” the sheriff said.

“Who?”

“The Younger.”

“Do I have a Younger?”

Climbing off his horse, the sheriff approached her. “Step aside.”

“Yes, sir.” She obediently complied.

Trailing the sheriff through the house, she chatted. “That was some storm. One of the biggest I can remember.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He cautiously opened a closed door, peeked inside, and shut it. Moving from room to room, he checked cubbyholes and drawn curtains.

“You'd know if he'd died, wouldn't you?”

“I think I'd have noticed.” When they reached her mother's room she quickly stepped in front of him. “My mother's in here. She's been feeling poorly, and I'd prefer that you didn't disturb her.”

His face drained of color. He gulped and gave a short nod. “I'll…uh…I'll just check the other bedrooms.”

“Go right ahead,” said Lyric. Joseph's room was neat and there would be no evidence of his presence. She made certain of that every morning.

While he made a quick pilgrimage she drew the window curtain aside and noted the two other men had gotten off their horses and were walking around the property, scouring the few small outbuildings. She heard her heartbeat in her ear when she noted they had started to circle the house, peering up at the roof lines. If Joseph pressed flat enough he might be overlooked since skiffs of ice still clung to the shingles. But if a man looked close enough—

She heard a door close softly and the sounds of boots thumping down the stairway. “Was he up there?”

“For the life of me I can't figure out why you'd be hiding him, but I have a gut feeling that you are.”

The sheriff stalked toward the front door and slammed it closed behind him.

Hurrying back to the window she watched the three men retrace their earlier steps, peeking in holes and culverts.

God, please, please don't let them find him.
She wasn't convinced the Almighty would grant her selfish request, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

That evening Lyric set a plate of stew and cornbread in front of Joseph. They were alone for supper tonight; Lark and Boots were extremely busy these days and she'd been meaning to ask her sister what preoccupied their time. Lark hadn't read a whole book in at least a week. “Did they walk around your side of the roof?”

Joseph nodded and reached for the butter. “They didn't spot me.” He paused and then with head bowed said softly. “I'm much obliged. I would be hanged in the morning if You hadn't intervened.”

She sighed. “I can't say if I made the right or wrong decision.”

“I was speaking to the Lord, but I'm grateful to you as well.” He poured cream in his coffee. “They'll be back. Then what?”

“I'll have to study on it.” She had no idea where this would go or for how long. What was she to do with a man with no memory? Just pray that in time it would return and her instincts had been correct? If they were wrong then she hoped he would simply walk away and never be seen in these parts again. Yet that thought didn't set well with her either.

She dished up her plate and poured a glass of milk. He shook his head. “What you're doing is chancy. You have no idea who I am or what I'm capable of doing, and you have your mother and sister to think about.”

“And yet if I was wrong about this—if I helped an innocent man to hang—I'd never forgive myself.”

They ate in companionable silence. When he reached for a second helping she smiled. He was getting much better, his color
greatly improved, his wounds healing nicely. His eyes met hers. “I've been meaning to mention that your mother paid me another visit.”

Lyric almost dropped her fork. “When?”

“A few days ago. I was in the parlor and looked up and she was sitting across from me. She comes and goes like a mouse.”

“Did she say anything?”

“She wanted me to read to her.”

“Read to her? Read what?”

“The Bible. She asked that I read Isaiah 53. She said it was one of your favorite chapters.”

“That's right. Isaiah is one of my favorite books in the Bible.” They ate for a moment longer before Lyric spoke again. “That was very thoughtful of you. Reading, I mean. It's important for Mother to hear the Word before she passes.”

“I didn't mind. In fact, I rather enjoyed it. I know I've read that passage before, but when I couldn't say.”

“Perhaps your memory is returning?”

He shook his head. “No, but the words meant something to me.”

“How could anyone read that Scripture and not reap meaning?”

He glanced up and smiled. Such a normal act, but the smile cut right through her heart. She fairly burst when she looked at him. Was he taken? Did a woman with his children wait for him, peering out the window, praying for his return? The thought was almost as troubling as wondering if he were a wanted outlaw. If he was a Younger and her instinct proved faulty, she had only briefly saved him from a premature death. Outlaws didn't live long around here. She picked up the butter dish. “More?”

“Sure.” He cut another slab. “Have I mentioned that you're a good cook?”

“I don't believe you have.” A prickle started at the bottom of her stomach and worked its way up.

His crooked grin touched her heart even more. He looked like a small boy, a boy she wanted to hug.

“You know what I'm thinking?”

She knew what
she
was thinking, and she shouldn't. “No. What?”

“I'm thinking it's a perfect night for fishing. Creek's up a little from all the melted ice.”

“Fishing?”

“Creek runs right beside the house. The other morning I took a walk downstream and there's a fairly decent catfish hole down there. Want to come with me?”

“You mean—now?” She had never been asked to accompany a man anywhere and she wasn't sure how to answer. Nothing prevented her from accepting.

“I'll help with the dishes and then we'll get started. You have fishing poles, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“I can seine a few crawfish and we'll see if we can catch a mess of sun perch. I'll even fry them up for you tomorrow. You got plenty of cornmeal?”

She nodded. He
was
asking her to accompany him. Where didn't matter.

“Sure, I'd love to go fishing.”

She couldn't get another morsel of food past her lips after the invitation. She sat, pretending to eat while he polished off another plate of stew. Lark came in and took her supper to her room with a book.

After a bit, Joseph pushed back from the table and Lyric quickly gathered plates and stacked them in the dishpan. “We can do these later,” she said.

Right now, she was dying to go fishing.

Moonlight lit the path as the two made their way down the creek
bank. The stream was heavy from melting snow and ice, but it hadn't yet breached its banks. Lyric carried a bucket to put the bait in.

She held the light when they stopped and Joseph unwound the heavy piece of netting. Flying bugs darted to the light as she bent and watched him cast out the net into a shallow pool. He glanced over his shoulder. “Ever seined for bait?”

She nodded. “Sometimes, but I use worms. Mother doesn't like fish so I don't fix it often.”

He tugged, slowly drawing the net toward him.

“I'm reminded of the apostles when I see you do this. Most of them fished for a living.”

“That a fact?”

She nodded. “Oh, look!” The net drew closer and she spotted a handful of crayfish in the mesh. “You have some!”

He drew the seine closer, removed the crawling pincers, and handed them to her. Squealing, she let go and the bait fell back into the water.

“What happened?”

“One pinched me!”

“Sissy.”

“Well,
you
handle the next ones.”

“Well, I
will
.” He flashed another winsome grin that rocked her stomach. “We'll be here all night if I haul them in and you release them.”

The thought of spending long hours with him didn't worry her, but those slimy pinching creatures were another story.

The net sailed through the air and within a half an hour the bucket contained enough bait to last for a while.

Trailing further down the creek, he led her to a spot she'd visited often. Moonlight shimmered on the water and a soft breeze ruffled her hair. She visited here often when she had serious thinking to do.

“There are a couple of big rocks…”

“Over here,” she finished, and laughed. “I come here all the time—it's one of my favorite places.”

“It's real nice,” he agreed. “I've spent a few hours here.”

“Really? This is where you come when I can't find you?”

“Most of the time. Can't tell you all of my secrets.”

“I didn't suspect you were fishing.”

“I haven't fished. Just sat down here and thought.”

He didn't need to say where his thoughts led. His mind had to be so confused.

She located her rock and staked a claim. Setting the lantern on the gravel, she went to work putting a new line on her pole. She hadn't fished in ages and the old tackle was worn.

“Looks like you're a born fisherwoman,” he observed when he came to perch on the rock beside her.

“I used to fish a lot when I was young. Lark and I would come here and she'd read and I would catch sun perch. We had fun.” She drew her line through the eyehooks.

He studied her as he bent over the bucket. Absently he peeled the shells off the crayfish and put the meat on his hook. “Did you have a good childhood?”

Laughing softly, she glanced over. “No.”

He nodded. “Your mother.”

“My mother.” She stood throwing the line and the bobber into the water to test it. The tackle merrily danced on the still water and then steadied. She drew the line back in. “Would you peel one of those for me?”

“You're a fisherwoman and you can't bait your hook?”

“With a worm,” she noted.

“You have no trouble threading a needle through a worm's belly but you're squeamish when a crawdad gives you a little love pinch.”

“Love pinch?” Her brow lifted. “He nearly took the hide off.”

Reaching for the bucket, he readied the bait. “Maybe he fell in love with you real quick and that's his way of showing it.”

“If a person loves me I'd prefer a gentle squeeze.”

“I'll have to remember that.” He stood and baited her hook. “There. I get whatever you catch for the effort.”

“You're welcome to it.” She threw the line out and then walked back up to the rock and sat down. Seconds later the bobber went under.