“And you’re in need of a place to stay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, then it seems like we’re in a position to help each other. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that you’d wander into town, into Abby and Sam’s store, when here I am looking for someone like you.”
“Like me, ma’am?”
Miss Rose looked her over, and Journey sensed the woman knew there was something more than met the eye. “Yes,” she said. “Someone just like you.”
“What about the preacher? He seems handy enough.” Why argue the matter? She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t.
“Pastor Zane’s been helpful to a lot of folks around here. He considers it part of his ministry. But he has plenty ministry beyond playing ranch hand. I found myself expecting it of him, and that’s wrong. So I told God He’d have to send someone else along, so I could let Zane focus on more important things.”
“You don’t even know me.” The steadiness of her voice surprised her. “I could only be looking for a handout from you.”
A dignified sniff from the woman punctuated the air. “You might find you’ve gotten the harder end of the bargain. I’m set in my ways and terrible stubborn about some things. My Lord’s had many a year to help me improve, and I still struggle with it—” she interrupted with a grin “—so that tells you what I was like at your age. I’ll be after you to do some things both here in the house and around the property, but something tells me you’re heartier than you look. Pay’s not much—maybe a dollar a month, plus room and board, and of course, Sundays off. I’m figuring we could both win on this gamble, if you’re willing.”
Journey nodded. There was no way this could work. Who was she to involve this woman—this community—in her mess? The pounding on the roof matched the pounding in her head.
“So what do you say?” Abby’s voice rose over the din.
Journey’s muscles grew stiff. She needed to think. What would it matter if she darted for the door and never looked back? She waited for the hammering to stop.
“I appreciate your kind offer, Miss Rose, but I can’t—”
The ring of the hammer interrupted again. It stopped, breaking the rhythm they’d grown accustomed to with a rough scrape. A heavy thud punctuated the instant of silence. For a moment, all three of them sat stock-still. Journey’s heart leaped and she grasped the edge of the table, ready to push herself up and away.
“Zane…” Abby voiced Journey’s own thought. They jumped from their seats as one.
“Go!” Miss Rose said, her voice calm and firm. “Make sure he’s not hurt.”
Journey thought that her very tone insisted that he was fine. Somehow that tone was comforting in itself. But that thought didn’t keep her from flying out of the house, close at Abby’s heels, wondering why it should matter to her.
Chapter Three
Journey turned the far corner of the house to see Zane struggle to his elbows. His gray eyes searched the skies above, unfocused. She watched as Abby knelt at his side, and followed her glance to the old woman. Miss Rose stood with a white-knuckled grip on the corner porch post, peering over the edge.
“Zane? Zane, are you all right?” Abby grasped his shoulders in both hands, holding him steady.
“What happened?” Journey asked. Zane’s head jerked back, focusing his gaze on her. She fumbled for a handkerchief from her pocket and tapped it against Abby’s shoulder but couldn’t draw her gaze away from his. The woman took it to dab at the wide scrape on his right cheek with the limp cloth.
He blinked several times in his daze, thick lashes fluttering, but a small grin appeared. “Wasn’t being careful enough, I suppose. I must have stood too heavy on a loose shingle board.”
“If the pupils of his eyes aren’t even, he could have hit his head,” Journey said. Someone had told her about that once, after a rough bout with Hank.
She looked across the landscape. Even in the months and miles since his death, she couldn’t shake the sense that he waited out there. She shivered in the cool mountain air.
A soft groan drew her attention back to the man on the ground as he tucked his feet and stood, taking the handkerchief from Abby. A wince crossed his face when his full weight rested on his ankle. He wobbled a little, but laughed. “Shows how great the wisdom of the Lord is, calling me to preach instead of to become a carpenter.”
“Take it easy, there, Zane. Are you sure nothing’s broken?” Abby inspected his elbow.
Journey wondered what the congregation might think of their pastor showing up with a nice shiner for Sunday service. He’d no doubt have one.
He pulled the thin cloth from his eye and examined it. “I’m fine, ladies. Really, I rolled right off, nice and gentle-like onto my hammer. Won’t look too pretty for a while, but then, I don’t reckon any of my parishioners come to see a pretty face.”
Journey imagined his handsome face and strong build drew more than his share of coy glances. How could he not know it?
A rattled wheeze sounded behind her. Miss Rose had been forgotten in the excitement. “Well, he’s standing and his tongue’s working along with his brain same as usual. My goodness, Zane, you might have considered the rest of us. I declare, you took a good six months off my life. Now come inside a bit and rest yourself.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, waving the offending hammer toward the roof. “There’s only a little more to do before I’m finished. This time I’ll pound an extra nail or two in this one.” He tapped the fallen shingle with his boot and moved back to the ladder.
“Be careful this time!” Abby smiled at his retreating back.
Journey studied his broad form until he turned, catching her off guard. He shook out the mangled handkerchief to find a clean spot before touching it again to the cut.
“I’ll wash this up and return it to you Sunday, ma’am.”
“You needn’t go to any bother, really.”
“I appreciate it all the same, Miss Smith.”
She thought to remind him to call her Journey, but then she realized it didn’t matter. It would be just as well if he forgot her name altogether. He wouldn’t be preaching to her on Sunday. She turned to follow Abby.
“Pardon me, ma’am. You prefer Journey, right? A name that pretty, I don’t blame you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He made her name sound like a complete sentence. But he seemed to look past her, over her. The wind blew his dark hair from his forehead, exposing the length of the hammer’s cut.
The faint rustle across the porch drew her attention, reminding her that the others had already returned to the house. She nodded her leave. He smiled again and began pounding.
A job, a place to stay, and nothing more.
