Marrying the Preacher's Daughter. Cheryl St.John

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “He was sleeping the last time I checked on him,” Elisabeth told Josie. “I imagine he’s awake and hungry.”

      “I made him a plate,” Josie answered. “It’s in the warmer.”

      In the kitchen, Elisabeth readied a tray and carried it up the back stairs.

      “I could’ve come down,” Gabe said when he saw her. He had managed a sitting position with the pillows behind his shoulders.

      “That didn’t go so well last time.” She set the tray on his lap. He was still fully dressed, boots and all.

      “You knocked me out.” Frowning, he picked up the fork and tasted the potatoes.

      She stood at the foot of the bed. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

      “You’re amusing, but it’s not safe for me to be unconscious.”

      “And why is that?”

      “Train robbers have friends. And relatives. If word got out that the man who shot their friends was staying here, they might come looking for me.”

      “Nothing will happen to you while you’re in this home.”

      He raised a brow. “Didn’t see any armed guards when I got here.”

      “Our shield and fortress isn’t visible to the eye. Psalm ninety-one assures us that God has given His angels charge over us to protect us in all our ways.”

      He looked at her as though she’d just told him she could fly. “In my experience the only sure thing is something I can see and feel.”

      He stabbed a bite of meat and chewed it.

      “Your limited experience doesn’t change the truth,” she answered.

      Gabe looked at the woman. Really studied her. She was as prickly as they came, opinionated and unafraid of speaking her mind—even if her head was full of foolishness. But she was something to look at, that was for sure.

      He’d thought so ever since she’d walked down the aisle of that railcar, looking for an empty seat and finding only the one beside him. Her hair was the palest shade he’d ever set eyes upon outside a field of summer wheat. Tonight she didn’t have it braided, but gathered away from her temples and trailing down her back like a schoolgirl’s.

      Her delicate features belied her bold statements and cutting barbs, a juxtaposition he rather enjoyed for its uniqueness.

      She was slender, but not skinny, with curves in all the right places. She wore a burgundy-colored skirt with a flounce of some sort in the back. Her fitted ivory blouse was printed with flowers the same color as her skirt and the rounded neck opening revealed the chain that held her gold ring.

      She caught him looking at it and brought her hand up to touch the piece of jewelry.

      “Medicine wore off, and it was awfully quiet,” he said.

      “We were having dinner.”

      He imagined the whole family around a table. “You can go on back.”

      “Are you certain you don’t mind? We do have guests.”

      “Any pretty young ladies?”

      “No, Mr. Taggart. A widow and her son.”

      “A pretty widow woman?” he asked.

      She frowned. “‘Beauty is vain, but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.’”

      “From the Bible?”

      She nodded.

      “What about you? You’re pretty.”

      Pink tinged her cheeks, the only indication that his question had affected her. “I prefer to be appreciated for my abilities.”

      “So, you know you’re pretty?”

      “You’re impertinent, Mr. Taggart.”

      “No disrespect intended. Most ladies enjoy a compliment.” He dug back into his meal. “Your father said he had a houseful of women, and seems they’re all good cooks.”

      “Leave your tray on the end of the bed when you’re finished.” She turned and left the room.

      He stared at the spot she’d vacated for a long moment. Her idealism stood firm in the safe cocoon of her protected world, but one of these days when faced with a reality she couldn’t pray her way out of, Elisabeth Hart was in for a big disappointment.

      For some reason he couldn’t explain, he hoped he wasn’t around to see it.

      Chapter Five

      The following morning, Gabe found a pitcher of water outside his door, carried and poured it into the bowl on the washstand. It irritated him that the wound in his side was so debilitating, even to the point of making it painful to raise his arm.

      After washing and shaving, he dressed and opened the door. Minutes later, Elisabeth appeared. “My father has excused me from my duties for a few days in order to look after you.” Her tone relayed her displeasure in the fact. She extended a piece of paper. “I got to the land office early. This is how much you owe.”

      She’d obviously seen the amount, since the paper wasn’t folded or in an envelope. He glanced up, noting her almost pleased expression.

      He cocked an eyebrow. “Guess that will take care of my share of the reward money.” Did she think that was all he had to his name? He went to the bureau, took out his packet of money and counted it. He extended all but a few bills. “That’ll cover the taxes.”

      She took the money.

      “One more thing.”

      She met his gaze, and her eyes reminded him of a clear mountain lake.

      “I’m going to need a place to live until I can build.” It was probably going to be a few weeks before he could work much himself, but he could hire someone to get the house started.

      “I’ll see what I can do.” She turned back toward the hall. “I’ll bring your breakfast and then run your errands.”

      While he ate, a dark-haired woman tapped on the open door. “Mr. Taggart? I thought it was about time I came to introduce myself. I’m Josie Hart.”

      “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. You’re a fine cook, and I thank you for lettin’ me stay here.”

      “You’re most welcome.” She was a pretty woman with a friendly smile and the girth of an expected new life under her white apron. “I climb the stairs as few times as possible during the day, so I wanted to stop by now.”

      “Pleased you did.”

      “How is your injury?”

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