Marrying the Preacher's Daughter. Cheryl St.John

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      “Shouldn’t need anything, ma’am.”

      Elisabeth had mentioned her stepmother. That was why Elisabeth looked nothing like this woman…and why she set such store by that ring around her neck. Her own mother had died.

      He knew what it was like to lose a parent. He’d lost both of his when he’d been sixteen and Irene barely ten. He’d tried working two jobs, but it had been no life for a little girl, so he’d hired on with a cattle drive and left his sister in the best place he could find.

      It hadn’t taken long for him to learn there was more money to be earned hunting bounties than punching cows. Before long Irene was in one of the best boarding schools in Pennsylvania and he was earning a name for himself.

      Now nineteen, his sister had been after him to bring her to live with him. In order to do that, he needed to make a new start, make a home for her and leave his past behind.

      Irene didn’t know what he’d done all those years. He’d led her to believe he’d made enough herding cows to invest and create a tidy nest egg. She would never know the truth as long as he had his way. And he always had his way. He’d be the most respectable man she could ask for in a brother, and he’d see to it she found a husband worthy of her.

      If it wasn’t for this bullet hole in his side, he’d be buying lumber and roofing nails right this minute. The frustration of this setback ate at him. He wasn’t used to relying on other people.

      Especially not persnickety women.

      He checked his revolver and tucked it into its holster against his side.

      “My ma sent me for the tray.”

      Gabe turned at Phillip’s voice.

      Eyeing him, the boy picked up the meal tray. “I gotta go to school.”

      Gabe nodded and gave him a silent salute.

      He shouldn’t have been so blasted tired just from getting up and shaving, but winded, he lay back down. He’d been sleeping a short time when footsteps woke him.

      Elisabeth was turning away to leave.

      “I’m awake.”

      She stopped and turned back. She held a sheaf of papers. “This is your deed and your proof of taxes paid.”

      After handing it to him, she opened the curtains and the shutters so he could look over the papers. After a cursory glance, he set them down. “Appreciate it.”

      She looked away and then back. “There are homes for sale here and there. The boardinghouse has an opening. There’s a room over the tailor’s for rent.”

      “I need a little more room than that. A small house would do.”

      “Well, there is one small house. It’s at the bottom of the hill, just down from here, and it’s vacant.”

      “I’ll take that then.”

      “Don’t you want to see it first?”

      “I can hire someone to clean it.”

      “That won’t be necessary. The church owns it and takes care of the upkeep. I’ll let my father know you’ll be renting it.”

      “As soon as the doctor says I can be on my own, I’ll move in. Maybe in a day or so.”

      The time couldn’t pass quickly enough for Elisabeth. She wanted to send this man on his way and get back to her normal routine.

      Two days later, Gabe stood at the open window, staring out at the mountainside behind the Hart home. The day was bright and the scent of pine lay heavily on the air. He squinted at the forested foothills that rose above the grouping of houses. From half a dozen clotheslines, laundry flapped under the sun.

      “You must be restless by now.”

      He turned at the male voice to see Sam Hart just inside the doorway. “You could say that, yes, sir,” he replied.

      “Did Elisabeth mention we’re having guests for dinner this evening?”

      He shook his head. Elisabeth didn’t speak to him any more than was necessary.

      “Think you’re up to joining us? I’m sure you need a different perspective.”

      “Don’t want to horn in on your company.”

      “Nonsense. You’re a new citizen to Jackson Springs. It’s time you meet a few townsfolk and let them get to know you. My wife and I enjoy having additional guests at our table.”

      Gabe nodded. “All right, then.”

      That evening Phillip showed up to assist him in dressing, though Gabe was able to prepare on his own. The lad talked nonstop, telling Gabe about a litter of kittens born under their back porch and how he’d been taking scraps to the mother cat.

      Gabe handled the stairs more easily than the last time he’d attempted the descent, and Phillip directed him to the sitting room.

      Sam stood from where he’d been sitting on a sofa beside a matronly woman and greeted them. He thanked Phillip and made the introductions.

      The stout woman offered her hand in greeting and he touched her fingers briefly, ruefully remembering how he’d asked Elisabeth if their guest was a pretty widow woman. “Mrs. Jackson.”

      Getting to his feet, her son gave Gabe the once-over. His brown hair had been cut short and oiled into order with a precise part just shy of the center of his head. The lines from the teeth of his comb were visible. He wore shiny brown boots with a pinstriped brown suit. Not a bad-looking fellow. He extended a hand.

      It came as no surprise to Gabe that Rhys Jackson didn’t have any calluses on his palms. “Any connection to the town of Jackson Springs?” he asked.

      “My father’s father founded this town thirty-six years ago,” Rhys answered.

      He wasn’t overly tall, but he was built sturdily, with wide shoulders and a broad chest. “Where are you from?” Rhys asked.

      “Born in Illinois but traveled of late.”

      “What’s your trade?” he asked.

      “Worked in a machine shop for a spell,” he replied. “I’ve made shingles and built bridges. Even mined salt for a time.”

      “Couldn’t make up your mind?” Rhys asked.

      Gabe picked up on the barb. “Like to keep my options open.”

      One of Elisabeth’s sisters was seated on a bench near a window, and she studied Gabe curiously.

      Sam glanced at her. “Have you met Anna?”

      “I haven’t.”

      “Anna is my youngest daughter—at least for the time being. Anna, meet Mr. Taggart.”

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