Marrying the Preacher's Daughter. Cheryl St.John
He turned and walked away.
Her heart picked up speed and, as though the pressure would calm her pulse, she flattened her palm against her waist. She took a deep breath and released it. Slowly, she turned back to the room and entered, lowering the hand to her side. The Taggart fellow leveled that piercing green gaze on her, but his demeanor was blessedly less imposing minus his hat and shirt.
“Alone at last,” he said.
Normally she prided herself on her calm demeanor, but this man managed to fluster her with every breath.
“Where did they put my gun?”
“You’re not going to need your gun here,” she assured him.
Grimacing, he attempted to lean forward, but grabbed his side through the sheet and bandage. “It’s on that bureau.” He pointed. “Bring it here.”
Rather than argue with him, she stepped to the chest of drawers and picked up the surprisingly heavy tooled leather holster that sheathed the deadly looking weapon. He’d shot half a dozen bandits in the blink of an eye with this very gun. Holding it on both upturned palms, she carried it to him.
Meeting her eyes first, and making her even more uncomfortable with his stare, he took the belt from her. Yanking the gun from the its sheath, he swiftly opened the cylinder and fed bullets plucked from the belt into the chambers. After flipping the cylinder closed and sliding the gun under the pillow behind his head, he let the holster fall to the floor.
“I’ll go fetch a spoon and a water glass.” She couldn’t get out of that room fast enough. Elisabeth stood in the kitchen longer than necessary, finding reasons to delay. What kind of man loaded a gun and stashed it under his pillow? What—or who—did he expect to shoot here? He hadn’t been wearing a badge or a star, but just carrying a gun didn’t make him a criminal. Her own father had worn a gun during their travels west and for months after arriving in Jackson Springs.
Finally, she returned and measured a dose from the liquid in the brown bottle. “Would you like a drink?”
“I’d love a drink, lady, but I’ll settle for that water.” Grimacing, he rose on one elbow to take the glass and finish the water. “Thanks.”
Noticing the sun arrowing through the shutters, she closed them and pulled the curtains closed over both windows, leaving the room dim.
“I never asked where you were headed.” She wrung out the cloth and hung it on the towel bar attached to the washstand.
“Here.”
“Oh.” She came to stand beside the bed. “Do you have family in Jackson Springs?”
“I own some land,” he replied. “I’m going to buy horses and build a house. Might buy a business or two.”
“What type of business?”
“Depends on what’s for sale.”
She had to wonder if he had any skills or definite plans or if he’d just set off willy-nilly. “I see.” She left and returned with a small brass bell. “Ring if you need anything.”
Her father’s suggestion burned. She reached to place a hand over the ring that lay under her bodice and, even though the room was only semi-lit, Gabe’s astute perusal followed.
He had protected her from harm, saved her ring and had become injured in the process. Why did she have so much difficulty forming the words?
“Thank you, Mr. Taggart.”
He curled his lip. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Irritating man. She spun and fled.
“He’s wike Wyatt Eawp.”
“Where’s his six-shooter?” another child asked. “Jimmy Fuller said he shot the robbers with a six-shooter.”
Gabe rolled his woozy head toward the open door and caught sight of three little boys. They scattered like chicks in the wake of a bantam rooster, and Elisabeth Hart entered with a laden tray.
In disbelief, he blinked sleep from his eyes. “You have kids?”
Elisabeth frowned. “I’m barely twenty years old, Mr. Taggart.” She set the tray on the bureau and opened the curtains, the thick blond braid hanging down her back swaying with her movements. She slid the window open wider. “Those are my young brothers.”
He blinked at the glare of the late-afternoon light, but the breeze gusting in was most welcome. The sheet stuck to his skin and he plucked it loose. “Your father only mentioned daughters.”
Gabe hadn’t thought she looked old enough to have all those kids, but looks were often deceiving. She stepped close to arrange the pillows behind him. He sat forward with her scent, a combination of freshly ironed linen and meadow grass, enveloping him. He hadn’t expected the alarming effect she had on his senses. He scratched his chin. “He said there was a house full of females.”
“My sisters have come home from school, but they have lessons to complete. My stepmother needs her rest, so…” She snapped open a napkin and draped it over his chest. “You’re stuck with me.” She uncovered the plate of food and carried the bed tray to him. “I prepared a roast while you slept, along with potatoes and carrots. Beef will build up your strength.”
Spotting the plate of food and the savory aroma of meat and gravy made his belly rumble. At least she could cook. He picked up the fork in anticipation. “I haven’t eaten anything that looked half this appetizin’ in a long while.”
“I’m not the cook my stepmother is, but I’m not half-bad. My skills lie in accounting and organization, but I can do most anything I set my mind to.”
He took a bite and savored the taste of the tender roast. She could cook well. “You’re used to getting your way.”
She studied him and shrugged. “I see that things get done.”
He ate several bites, then pointed at the nearby wooden chair with his fork. “Where were you returnin’ from when we met?”
Stiffly, she seated herself. “Morning Creek. I’m the notary public for this county.”
“Unusual job for a female.” He couldn’t say he was surprised. She seemed anything but usual, and her persnickety ways probably made her good with details.
“The position fell into my lap after an elderly parishioner passed away a year ago. The post required someone willing to travel to nearby towns once a month or so.” She raised one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “The job sounded like a good way to do a bit of traveling. And it has been. Until yesterday.” A frown formed between her pale eyebrows. “Nothing like the incident on the train has happened before.”
Her perfect speech amused him. “So the body count’s been low until now.”
She averted her attention to the window, and he was almost sorry for the jibe. Almost. “Ruffle your tail feathers, don’t I?”
She swung her attention back. “You’re the first person I ever met who is deliberately antagonistic. Why do you do that?”
Her directness did surprise him. The females he’d known invariably played coy and solicitous. “I’m not the one who provoked a robber holding a loaded .45.”
She lifted her chin to say, “I was going to give him the ring. I was ready to take it off and hand it over.”
“So you say now.”
Her blue eyes flashed with aggravation. “I’m not a liar, Mr. Taggart.”
Amused, he set down his fork and reached for the cup of coffee. It was strong and black, the best he’d tasted in a long time.
She delved into the pocket of her apron, withdrew a timepiece and glanced at it. She stood. “It’s time for your medicine.”
And