sure.”
Sam moved back toward the storage room. “I’ll hitch up the team. Oh, and, Miss Smith—”
“Please, call me Journey.”
A dimple joined the grin on Sam’s face. “Journey, if things don’t work out with Miss Rose, come back here. We can’t offer much more than a cot, but we might be able to find some work for you.”
She nodded once, turning her head in time to catch the knowing smile Abby directed his way. Journey wrinkled her brow, wondering what these people expected from her.
“Thanks. I’ll just go and tie my horse around back.”
“Wait! Take your cloth—on the house.” Abby thrust the neat package her way.
“I don’t need charity.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true.
But she heard the insistence in Abby’s voice. “Not charity. I guess Sam owes you for the mess he swept over you. We can’t be treating our customers that way or we won’t have them long.”
She studied Abby. She seemed sincere enough, and she had made a point of not noticing the tattered seams in her dress. “I appreciate your kindness,” Journey said, looking away as she slid the wrapped cloth into her satchel.
“I’ll meet you around back,” Abby said.
Journey nodded. Their kindness overwhelmed her a little. Maybe Hank’s training had become more ingrained than she thought. They were just the type of people he had always sought—helpful and unsuspecting. Fortunately for them, she’d rid the world of at least one of his kind.
Journey slid farther into the corner of the narrow wagon seat. Abby had peppered her with a dozen questions before they’d even left sight of town. The sparse grass crackled under the wagon wheel, and she considered her odds of surviving a leap of escape.
“How far to the ranch?”
Abby paused. “Oh, probably three or four miles. Did you live—”
“It’s easy to get caught up in the scenery here,” Journey said.
“It is beautiful. Some folks complain about it being drab, with all the browns. They don’t pay attention to the shades of the mountains in the light, or the pockets of sage tucked in everywhere. I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else. But listen to me jabber about myself. Where’d you hail from?”
“Back East.”
“Yes, of course. I suppose most folks around here do, what with all the families settling in the area. What part?” Abby turned a smile her way.
Most folks took the hint when she answered in such an obviously vague way. “Well, I…I traveled quite a bit before coming here.”
“I’ve never been out of Montana,” Abby said. “But my pa’s family came once to visit…”
Journey’s attention wavered as she tried to ease her pounding heart. She considered making up something but hesitated. Lies had cost her plenty in the past. Weren’t lies part of the reason she found herself here now? Hopefully the woman would lose interest.
“I’ll bet you have a lot of stories about your trip west,” Abby said.
“I suppose I’m one of those who’d rather hear the stories of other folks,” Journey countered. She eased her lips into a smile, but it didn’t come so easily to her eyes.
“Then Montana’s the place for you. Plenty of storytellers around, waiting for a willing ear.”
Journey nodded. She’d met grandmothers who adored their grandbabies less than this woman adored her home.
Tension quivered down her limbs. How could she end this line of conversation? “You—y’all do seem real friendly. I do appreciate your kindness.”
Abby’s thin fingers tapped her knee. “Oh, let me guess—you’re from the South, right? Maybe somewhere in Georgia? My aunt Beth lives there. I remember when I was little and she came to visit us. She had the most delightful accent. I just recognized a little of it there in your voice. Am I right?”
“I, ah, I am from the…from the South, but—”
“You’ll have to describe it all for me sometime. I always hoped to go back and visit my pa’s family, see where he grew up. He and my ma moved back last fall, so to hear about it would make them feel a little closer.”
The wagon lurched to the right and climbed steeply, bringing a large two-story ranch house into view. Journey breathed in the dry air, glad for the break in Abby’s too-friendly curiosity. She had to stay alert. If something so minute as a tint in her voice could connect her back to Georgia, she wouldn’t be safe even through Christmas.
She examined the ranch. A sturdy barn with an empty corral faced the broad porch of the home, with about thirty yards of grass-pocked dust between. The bluff they’d crossed boxed around one edge of the property, but the view beyond scooped across the wide valley. Sage and scrub brush were the only thriving plants she could see across the landscape. The property was secluded from the casual traveler but not closed off.
A pounding hammer echoed and drew her attention to a broad-shouldered figure on the roof.
“That’s Zane—Reverend Thompson. He’d said he was going to see about patching some leaks for Miss Rose,” Abby said. “The last time Zane visited, it rained, and he said he had to move three times when water started dripping down his back. Each time Miss Rose just pulled out another pot to catch it.”
Journey knew what it was like to have to make do with what you had. She watched the man kneeling along the roof, sleeves rolled back over deeply tanned arms, shirt clinging between his shoulder blades despite the cool day. His dark brown hair glistened in the midmorning sun.
“You know him well?” She licked her dry lips.
“Oh, Zane and Sam grew up together. Their families came west together. I knew Zane long before he became our pastor. They say a prophet isn’t honored in his hometown, but somehow Zane has made it work. He’s a wonderful pastor, a true man of God. And of course those gray eyes of his don’t hurt him, either.” Abby patted her knee with a light laugh. “You’ll get to hear him tomorrow.” Journey forced another smile.
Tomorrow? She’d be long gone by then. She didn’t need any pastor to make her see her guilt. She knew it well enough already.
“Journey? Is everything all right?”
She nodded, swallowing hard. Everything would be perfect—just as soon as Walten and all of its fine and overly welcoming citizens were miles of trail dust behind her.
Chapter Two
Everything moved so fast—too fast. Abby’s chattering wearied her. She couldn’t keep up. Journey rubbed her aching temples.
The wagon rolled to a stop beside the porch. “Hello, the house!” Abby called, climbing down over the wheel. Journey did the same and stood close to it.
“Thought I
