Cowgirl Under The Mistletoe. Louise M. Gouge
look at it this way, brother.” Nate poked an elbow into Rand’s ribs. “Mother can’t ever get enough of her grandchildren, so this is her opportunity to spoil them.” He chuckled. “Poor Dad. He won’t have a moment of peace with the three of them climbing all over him.”
“Soon to be four, come December.” Rand’s remorseful expression cleared, and paternal pride took its place. “I’m glad for an excuse to make Marybeth stay with Mother. She always tries to manage things on her own, but Randy’s getting to be a handful, and in her condition...” He stopped and offered a self-conscious grin, as if embarrassed for discussing such a private matter with them. “She needs Mother’s help.”
At the reminder of Rand’s impending expansion of his family, Micah had an odd moment of longing, a yearning even, he’d never felt in all his twenty-nine years. How rewarding it must be to have a wife and children to care for. He’d love to have a sweet little daughter or an energetic little son to rear. Maybe when Miss Sutton arrived, he’d be well on his way to having that family. Only two months until he found out if it was even a possibility.
Forcing such thoughts to the back of his mind, he recalled his discussion with Grace about all things working together for good. Here was another positive thing about Hardison’s escape from prison. Marybeth had to let go of her independent streak and depend upon her kindhearted in-laws for protection.
Micah probably wouldn’t be able to convince Grace that anything good could come from the outlaws’ escape. He hadn’t seen her since Monday, but he did know she hadn’t liked the new bowler hat he’d bought to improve his wardrobe before Miss Sutton’s arrival. Somehow the thought bothered him. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought it, but Mr. Cappello didn’t carry wide-brimmed hats such as cowboys wore, and he needed the business. Micah couldn’t please everyone. Besides, he liked his new look, including the suits he’d ordered from the tailor. Maybe he’d make a few more changes before Miss Sutton arrived. If Grace didn’t like them, he’d have to tease her out of her disapproval.
Other folks began to fill the small church, all moving forward to the front pews to keep the prayer meeting cozy. While the Northam brothers handed out hymnbooks, Micah greeted each person with pastoral affection. These were his children, even the old ones. If he never had a wife or offspring of his own, he would always thank the Lord for giving him this responsibility and joy.
George and Mabel Eberly, Grace’s parents, arrived along with their youngest daughter, Georgia. Grace soon joined them in the second row. She sat sideways on the pew, probably so she could keep an eye on who came into the sanctuary. That protectiveness always impressed Micah. She made a good deputy. A good friend.
Would she still be his friend if she found out his next book was about her? He’d better keep that a secret, just as he’d decided not to let anyone know about his writing. Folks might be offended if they knew he’d created some characters based on them. Worse still, they might no longer trust him as their pastor. Not that he’d ever think of using situations shared with him confidentially. No success was worth betraying a friend.
Rand led the congregation in an opening hymn, and then Micah took his place behind the lectern. As he surveyed his flock, he noticed that every man wore a gun and every woman carried a reticule that drooped as though containing a heavy object. At the same time, every congregant’s expression bespoke peaceful determination. Micah chuckled to himself. He needn’t be concerned about these good folks. They’d look out for one another. In fact, after the prayer meeting, he’d go home tonight and clean his own guns. The men with whom he’d attended seminary in Massachusetts would be shocked, but out here in the American West, Micah wouldn’t be the only preacher who carried a sidearm.
* * *
After the final prayer, Grace’s parents, Georgia and the rest of the congregation filed out of the pews to the stirring tones of “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” a song well suited to the battle that threatened Esperanza. Grace stayed in her seat in the second row because she never tired of hearing Mrs. Foster play the church organ. The kindly old lady’s face always took on a sweet glow while she played, as though the words to the songs came straight from her heart.
Tonight it wasn’t the music that kept Grace seated, but a bittersweet pang. Due to Mrs. Foster’s fine teaching, Laurie had thrived as a piano student well enough to be accepted at the Denver Music Conservatory. After she completed her studies, she might find a teaching position—or a husband, either of which would probably take her away from home forever.
Grace already felt bereft. With Beryl gone for good and Laurie’s return not certain, nothing would be the same around here. Of course Grace wouldn’t want Laurie to pass up an opportunity to teach music someplace else, but she hoped her sister would come home in a year or so and take dear old Mrs. Foster’s place as the town’s music teacher. In spite of her enthusiastic playing, the older lady was growing feeble and often needed help to get her chores done. Just yesterday, Grace had moved into her boardinghouse to be closer to work. Even though she needed to do that, it took her away from her family. Her days seemed to be getting lonelier and lonelier with everyone she cared about moving away or occupied with their own lives.
“You’re deep in thought.” The Rev walked over and sat beside Grace, resting one arm on the back of the pew. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“Nope.” Grace emphasized the word with a shake of her head. Here was another person she cared about who would likely be leaving her. Not going away, but leaving the closeness of their friendship as soon as he found some young lady to court. “Just listening.” She nodded toward Mrs. Foster.
“She certainly has a gift, doesn’t she?” The Rev smiled as the last chord died away.
Mrs. Foster gathered her music, stepped down from the organ platform and followed Grace’s family up the aisle. These days she was still trying to persuade Georgia to work harder at her piano playing, but Georgia never seemed to remember to practice.
Grace stood and settled her gun belt on her hips. “Time to go.”
The Rev stood, too, even though he’d had a long day of ministering to folks in the area before conducting the prayer meeting. Always the gentleman, even around Grace. She appreciated his courtesy since he was the only man in town who treated her that way. Well, except the Northam menfolk, but they didn’t count because they were like brothers to her and her sisters.
“It’s mighty good of you to move in with Mrs. Foster.” The Rev followed Grace up the aisle toward the double front doors. “I’m sure she appreciates the company.”
“You know it’s not just for company. When Hardison tried to court Marybeth, Mrs. Foster did all she could to stop him. The sheriff and I want to be sure she stays safe.”
“As I said—” The Rev gave her that look of his, the one she liked and disliked at the same time, chiding her for not receiving compliments well. “It’s mighty good of you.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t know why she hated to be praised. She just did.
They’d reached the front doors and stepped outside into the cool evening. The Rev’s house was closer to the church’s back door, so he hadn’t needed to escort her out.
“There you go following me again.” She pulled her hat up on its strings and plopped it on her head.
He chuckled, a warm, comforting sound that always made her feel good.
“Actually, I’ve been trying to think of a way to ask you something.”
Her heart stumbled oddly, so she posted her hands at her waist and cocked her head. “Yeah?”
“You know I’m a fair shot with a rifle, but I’ve never learned to fast draw my revolver. Would you teach me?”
She gave him a sidelong look. “You funning me, Rev?”
He laughed out loud. “I’m entirely serious. You never know when it will come in handy, especially with notorious outlaws making threats against our community.”
Grace