The Outrider (Redbourne Series #5 - Will's Story) (32 page)

“A little town up north called Thistleberry.”

“Montana?”

“Yep. And, yes. I knew your grandfather.” He turned
around, arms folded, and leaned on the post next to Will. “You come from good
stock, Redbourne. Liam was a good man.”

“How…?”

Will narrowed his eyes at the pastor. How could
he possibly know that Liam Deardon was his granddad?

“I know your family very well. Liam took me in
when I was young, gave me a home. Seth, Daniel, and I used to get into all
sorts of trouble together.”

At the mention of his cousins, Will was a little
nostalgic. It had been way too long since he’d been out to Whisper Ridge for a
visit. They hadn’t been able to make it when Granddad died. No wonder he liked
the preacher—despite his best intentions. He’d already been given the stamp of
approval by family.

“You’re making it difficult not to like you,
Pastor.”

The man laughed.

“Were you looking for a reason not to like me?”

An older woman with white hair pulled up into a
bun on top of her head, and an apron to match, held out a small wicker basket
with cloth napkins protruding from the sides. “I thought you two gentlemen
might like some hot fried chicken and hearty potato salad.” The aroma of
chicken mixed with cornbread made Will salivate.

“Mrs. Jensen, you are an angel sent down from heaven.
You read my mind.” The preacher stood up straight and relieved the woman of the
basket. “Are there some of your berry tartlets inside?” He lifted the cloth on
top to peer inside and then looked up at her with an appreciative grin.

“I know you like them.” The woman’s pleased
expression took years off her otherwise wrinkled face.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Mac said with a wink. He
moved over to the mercantile steps and sat down, placing the hamper at his
feet. “Will?” He held up a chicken leg.

He didn’t have to be asked twice.

“That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am.” He tipped his
hat at Mrs. Jensen, then joined Mac on the stairs.

By the looks of things, everyone in town was
pitching in to do their part. Some of the materials for the church had been
donated by local merchants. Others contributed their time, food, and baking
talents to provide meals for those who had been willing to help with the
building.

He caught sight of young Alaric sitting on the
edge of the boardwalk, laughing at something a young girl with reddish blond
pigtails had said, and a sprig of jealousy pricked at his gut.

Smart kid.

Normally, with a big fight pending, Will would
forgo the meal right before the bout. His stomach would knot up, his palms
would sweat, and he undoubtedly acted more aggressively toward the people
around him. However, for some inexplicable reason, he wasn’t experiencing any
of those symptoms. He felt calm, hungry even.

He reached in and pulled a nice big breast from
the basket and leaned down onto one elbow before indulging with a bite into
batter covered meat. He closed his eyes, reveling in the juicy food.

“Mrs. Jensen is a good cook, is she not?” The
woman’s question surprised him and he opened his eyes to find Elizabeth
standing at the base of the mercantile steps, her head blocking a good portion
of the sun. The light shone brightly through the unruly red tendrils that
framed her face.

He sat up straight.

“Almost as good—”

“As Lottie’s,” she finished for him. “I know. We
had her fried chicken the first night I met your family.” She handed Will a
plate with several small confections on it. Then, she handed one to Mac. “We
thought you both might enjoy something sweet to finish up your meals.”

“I just took the first bite,” Will said, holding
up his chicken as proof.

“Mrs. Jensen’s tartlets will do just fine for me,”
the pastor said, raising one into the air.

The three-point clang of a triangle sounded and a
man’s voice, amplified by a conical ship-hailer, shouted a call-to-action for
the resting crowd. “Just one more wall to go, folks. Let’s get this frame
finished up before we head on over for the rest of today’s festivities.”

Will looked over at the preacher. “Do they want
us to inhale our food?”

“You’ve got brothers. You should be used to
that.”

“Not with my mama around. No, sir. If we acted
like wolves, we ate like them too. Out in the coop. On the ground.”

Mac laughed. “Poor chickens.”

Elizabeth’s brows knit together. “Did you decide
not to fight?” she asked.

“No. I’m still planning on it.” He looked at Mac.
“It’s for a good cause, remember?”

“Of course,” she said, replacing her confused
expression with a reluctant smile. “It’s just that I thought you didn’t like to
eat before a big fight.”

Will narrowed his eyes at her. “How could you
possibly know that?” he asked.

“Sterling Archer’s daughter,
remember
?”
she said, pointing at herself.

“How could I forget?” he mumbled under his breath
before thinking better of it.

By the stricken look that crossed Elizabeth’s
face, she’d heard.

Damn.

“Elizabeth,” Will called after her, but she had
no intention of talking to him right now. The reality of his words stung. She
was Sterling Archer’s daughter and no matter how far away she ran or what name
she used, the fact remained and there was nothing she could do to change what
had happened. Will had every right to resent her father. The man had tried to
have him killed for winning the heavyweight championship instead of throwing
the match like he’d been instructed to do.

Elizabeth set the plate of pastries down on the
refreshment table and briskly excused herself. She needed to be alone for a
moment to reevaluate what it was that she wanted. Who she wanted. It was time
to make a decision and stick with it. She slipped behind the mercantile and
started down the same small path she’d travelled with Mac when she’d first
arrived in town.

“I don’t know what happened back there…”

The sound of Mac’s voice brought her some
semblance of comfort.

“…but, I do know that it won’t be resolved by
running away.”

That is exactly what she’d done. She’d run away
from home. She’d lacked the courage to stand up to her father, and now, she
felt like a fraud.

“You heard him, Mac. I was a fool to think there could
be anything lasting between us with so much history.” She wasn’t angry or hurt
as much as she was sad. “I thought…”

“Shhh.” Mac reached out and placed a comforting
hand on her shoulder, but she spun to face him, delving her face into his
shoulder and he welcomed her into his arms, holding her.

She fought back the tears that threatened.

“Seems to me that Will Redbourne is a good man
who loves you.” He pulled away from her enough that he could look into her
face.

She met his eyes, blinking to rid hers of their
wetness.

“He loves you.” He squeezed her shoulders, then
dropped his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe love isn’t enough to bridge the gap
between us.”

“Have a little faith, Elizabeth. He has a plan
for you.” Mac glanced upward. “He has one for me. He has one for all of us.
Trust in Him and He will guide your path.”

“Pastor, come quick.” The young man who’d been
with Will at the restaurant last night darted up the path. “Eddie fell and he’s
hurt real bad.”

“Excuse me, Elizabeth,” he said apologetically as
he turned back with the boy.

“Go,” she urged. “I’ll catch up.” She picked up
the hem of her skirt and hurried back to the building site.

A burley man with a thick beard and moustache lay
on the ground, his head in Miss Verla’s lap, his arm twisted at an odd angle.
Several men and women had gathered around him and a man in a black frock coat
and a string tie knelt over him, a brown leather doctor’s bag at his side.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” the doc said, “but you’ll
have to withdraw from the match.”

The man dropped his head, then looked back up at
the doctor. “Can’t you just move it back into place like last time? I can still
fight.”

“No, Eddie, you can’t.”

“Withdraw?” A rotund man in a brown canvas vest
and cotton notch collar pulled a pipe from his mouth and fixed his gaze on the
injured man. “Mr. Sanders, who did you name as your second?”

Silence.

“Every boxer was required to—”

“Me.” Mac stepped forward and a hushed awe fell
over the crowd.

No!
Elizabeth’s hand shot to her mouth.

“Pastor?” Mr. Sanders looked up at Mac, his brows
furrowed, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right, Eddie,” Mac said, rolling up the
sleeves on his shirt. “It’s for a good cause.”

Elizabeth had heard that phrase one too many
times over the last couple of days.

Mac looked over at her and winked.

Men
.

Will glanced across the ring at his final opponent.
He should have known the moment he’d rolled out of bed that morning that it
would come down to him or the preacher. He would have never believed he could
hit a man of God, but after seeing Elizabeth in his arms that morning out by
the river, all bets were off.

Elizabeth glanced down at the ticket in her hand,
refusing to regret what she’d done. The realization that there was no future
for her and Will Redbourne had come at a hefty price, but she was determined to
stand by her decision, no matter the cost.

Ding.

Her gaze shot up to the ring and she watched with
baited breath as the two men approached each other, neither taking his eyes off
the other. How had she gotten herself into this mess?

Jab.

“Ohhhhh,” the crowd hummed all around her.

The preacher was the first to make a move,
striking Will directly in the nose.

Bold.

Images from the championship fight in England
flashed through Elizabeth’s mind, and although Mac had held his own and had
made it successfully to the final round, she couldn’t help but worry. Will was
a talented pugilist and had learned the art of patience in the ring. He would
allow his opponent to get comfortable, lead him into a false sense of security,
then pounce.

She wasn’t sure she could watch.

Jab.

The preacher struck again.

“Come on, Redbourne,” someone called out from the
crowd. “Show us the champion.”

Elizabeth shook her head. She should have been
thrilled to have two men fighting over her, but it meant little when she
realized that either of them would be content to live without her. She
scrunched the ticket in her hand and held it against her chest.

Faith.
That is what Mac had suggested.

She’d wagered her future on the outcome of this fight.
All of the money remaining from the sale of her ruby necklace had been placed
on Will. He was the safe bet. If he won, she’d have enough money to get her
back to Stone Creek. Somewhere familiar, with people who cared about her. After
today, Will would be heading back to England, to teach at the University of
London and, except for the rare occasion of a holiday visit, she would not have
cause to see him again.

If Mac won, Elizabeth was prepared to stay in
Silver Falls and convince him to marry her. He was a good man and it didn’t
require much imagination to believe that she could feel for him what she now
felt for Will. Besides, she reasoned stubbornly, it was all for a good cause. Any
money lost would be used to help rebuild the church and schoolhouse.

It was in God’s hands now.

The winner of the final match would decide her fate.

Will’s eyes watered. His nose throbbed.

Visions of Mac holding Elizabeth, laughing with
her, marrying her, fueled his jealousy and he struggled to remember his
training, to keep his emotions in check. He breathed in slowly, narrowing his
eyes at his target, but all he could see was the collar that was no longer
there.

They’d both lost their shirts after the first
round with other opponents and it irked Will that the preacher was as fit as
any man he’d battled in the ring, but what upset him the most was the way
Elizabeth had openly admired the man’s physique.

“You’re not afraid to hit a preacher, are you,
Redbourne?” Mac taunted him good-humoredly. “It’s just the two of us here,
Will. You and me.”

They danced in circles, eyes trained on one
another.

“I thought you were a champion, Will. A fighter.
Show me.” He tested with a feint to the right.

Will jerked his head backward.

“I’ve won a bout or two,” he said, feeling
collected, more in control of his emotions.

“She came here to marry me, you know.”

“I know.”

“That has to make you angry.”

“Why would it? I got paid to do a job.”

Mac threw another punch, but Will ducked out of
the way and countered with a jab to the preacher’s face.

He wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of
his mouth and raised his hands again. “You love her.”

Lead Right.

This time, the blow caught Will off guard and he
stumbled backward a few steps.

Mac was no amateur.

“You…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He
was keenly aware of the red-headed woman seated in the second seat over,
ringside.

Focus, Redbourne.

“I know that your job as an outrider was finished
in Kansas City when you delivered the bankroll, but you chose to accompany her
the rest of the way to Silver Falls on your own dime. I know that you paid for
horses, saddles, and a wagon to get her here safely.”

Will’s jaw clenched. They’d known Mac for all of
two days. How dare she share so much with him.

“Stop trying to get into my head, preacher.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it. You love her.
Admit it.”

“No.”

“Well, then, I guess you wouldn’t mind if we
named our first son after you?” Mac led with a jab, but Will countered with a
shoulder roll and a hard counter cross to the preacher’s jaw. He continued his combination
attack.

Jab.

Jab.

Hook.

Cross.

Mac grabbed ahold of him and held him in a
Clinch.

“She loves you too,” he whispered in Will’s face.

Stunned, Will stopped fighting the hold, his eyes
nothing more than scrutinizing slits as he searched Mac’s face for some hint of
humor.

Mac’s face remained stoic.

“What did you say?” He had to have heard the man
incorrectly.

“I
can’t
marry her, Will. Because she
loves
you
.” Mac released him with a shove backward.

Will’s breathing now came in ragged heaves. He
didn’t dare believe. Didn’t dare hope it was true.

Elizabeth loves me?

Distraction. He wouldn’t have thought the
preacher capable of such tactics, but…

“Why would you say that? How would you even know?
You only just met a couple of days ago.” Will circled his fists.

“Because she bet her last dime on you.” Mac
raised both of his brows and nodded as he countered the circle, matching Will’s
movements. “Mrs. Patterson couldn’t wait to tell me that my bride bet on
another man.”

Suddenly, the imaginary cleric’s collar returned
to Mac’s throat and Will no longer wished to fight the man. His pent up frustrations
and resentment seemed to melt away.

“It’s really hard not to like you,” he repeated
his earlier observation.

“Maybe this will help.” Mac jabbed at his face,
but Will raised his hands in a cover-up, blocking the hit.

“It’ll take a lot more than that to get to me,
Preacher. I am a heavyweight champion, you know.”

“Thou shalt fear the Lord, thy God. He giveth and
he taketh away.”

“You talk too much.”

“Will!” Elizabeth called out his name in a
terrified plea.

He took his eyes from Mac’s face to search for
Elizabeth ringside, but her seat was empty. He scanned the crowd. There, at the
edge of the building, Mr. Henchley had his large hand clenched tightly around
Elizabeth’s arm, dragging her toward the door.

Before he could tell Mac what was happening, the
pastor surprised him with a haymaker punch to his face. The wild swing sent
Will crashing to the floor of the ring. Pain sliced through his head like a hot
knife through butter. He struggled to get up, but the relentless ringing in his
ears and the throbbing in his jaw and face made it difficult to gain control
over his ability to balance.

He shook his head slowly and collapsed again to
the ground.

“I’m glad to see that the good Lord has finally
knocked some sense into you,” Mac said with a laugh.

“Henchley.” The name was all he could force out
of his mouth and he pointed toward the exit. “He’s taking Elizabeth.”

“Unhand me right now, Asa Henchley.” Elizabeth
had had enough, though she sounded braver than she felt. “You tell my father
that I will come home when I am good and ready and not a moment beforehand.”
She yanked on her arm, but his grip was too tight. “You’re hurting me.”

The crowded building rang in a rousing chorus of
excitement and disappointment as the man dragged her down the aisles of chairs
toward the back of the livery. He stopped, just short of the door, and pulled
her around to face him.

“The reward was for your return, Miss Archer. It
did not specify what condition you had to be in when you got there.” The
warning in his voice made her shudder. Cold. Calculating. “Your little
adventure is over.”

Elizabeth still held the ticket in her hand with
Will Redbourne written amongst several dark scribbles.

“Will!” she called out again, her voice
dissipating in the cheers and jeers of the opposing spectators.

Ding.

The match was over.

Mac had won. It took a moment for the
significance of his victory to sink in.

A preacher’s wife.

Henchley shoved open the large barn doors and
wrenched her alongside him out into the cool afternoon air. He looked down the
street in both directions, sputtering under his breath, waiting.

“Where the hell did they go?” The irritation in
his voice was evident with the menacing growl that rumbled in his chest.

Several women and young girls lined the large
bowery, arranging their confections of pies, cakes, and other desserts on
covered tables for display. All of them unaware of the danger that loomed in
their midst.

The smell of freshly popped corn wafted beneath
her nose and she turned to see several metal tubs filled with water and topped
with bobbing apples. She scanned the area for anything she might be able to use
as a weapon, and spotted a large knife sitting next to the beautifully golden
rhubarb pie.

“Why, Miss Archer,” Mrs. Patterson called to her
as she approached, her arms full of sticks, material, and two fishing poles. “I
thought you would be inside. I hear you have quite a vested interest in this
particular fight.”

“You are right. I did place a rather large bet. It’s
over. My betrothed won.” She let the revelation sit for a moment.