The Angel and the Outlaw. Kathryn Albright

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СКАЧАТЬ you, Mr. Morley.”

      “It was Terrance a moment ago.”

      “Yes, well. It was a bit presumptuous of me.”

      “But you’ve been coming in here for over two months now. I’d like you to use my given name.”

      “Oh,” she said, not particularly thrilled with what others might read into the familiarity. “I’m a little uncomfortable with that.” Her position as the new schoolteacher in this small town hinged on the degree of respectability she could maintain. At her interview with the school board she had downplayed the last few years she’d spent at the mining camp where coarseness and crudeness frequently overpowered a gentler nature. Instead, she had reframed the questions to answer them from her earlier life when she’d helped at the one-room schoolhouse in Wisconsin.

      She picked up the yarn and turned to go, but stopped when she saw the broken doll. The head was shattered. No amount of gluing could repair it. Fingering the mint-green satin dress and miniature crinoline, she thought of the girl’s sad face. The wrinkled, too-small dress, the small hole in one stocking below the knee, all spoke of a girl with no mother to do for her. Rachel knew what it was like to live without a mother. At least she’d been lucky to have known hers for the first fourteen years of her life. How lonely the girl must be on the peninsula with no one but her father.

      Since she’d moved to town two months ago, she’d heard stories of him. How he kept to himself and was unfriendly toward the townspeople. She didn’t know what to believe and most likely shouldn’t listen to half of it.

      Still, she’d expected someone much older to be the town’s enigma—someone grizzled, with bushy brows and an irascible nature. At most, Taylor must be all of thirty years—or perhaps thirty-five—for he had the solid, filled-out look of a man. His clothes were simple, serviceable—a faded blue chambray shirt, slightly snug across the stretch of his shoulders, tucked into canvas pants, and scruffy boots that passed for comfortable on his feet. A thick wisp of dark-brown hair fell across his temple and had obscured his scar until he purposely exposed it for her.

      It was a hideous scar—puckered and red. She wondered how he’d really gotten it. Amanda said he’d been struck with a red-hot fire poker when he escaped from prison. That was ridiculous, of course. The lighthouse board would never have hired a convict. Since coming to town two months ago, Rachel had heard other stories about him as well, enough to know that no one knew anything definite about him at all.

      Besides, it wasn’t the scar that drew her, but the intensity of his blue gaze. When he’d stopped no more than a foot from her in the doorway she’d scarcely been able to breathe.

      No, he wasn’t her idea of a light keeper at all.

      Chapter Two

      Rachel jerked open the oven door and pulled out the roast.

      Finished. Except for the gravy. Lamb wasn’t her favorite dish, but she couldn’t very well serve rabbit or fish tonight—not with company coming.

      Reverend and Emma Crouse rented two rooms to Rachel and her brother, Caleb, on the condition that they would help with odd jobs around the place. That usually meant cooking for Rachel, and tending the horse and small carriage house for Caleb. Of course, four dollars a month from Rachel’s teaching salary also helped cover their rent. Reverend and Emma Crouse were in their late sixties and ready to slow down a little. Staying with such an upstanding couple had helped with her acceptance into the community. One couldn’t be too careful that way, especially after the years she’d lived in the mining camp. The roughness of the camp had rubbed off on her and try as she might to put it all behind her, unfortunate things would spring out of her mouth—or show up in her actions.

      She pushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead, then leaned across the small table to open the window. A cool evening breeze swirled in heavy with the scent of brine from the ocean. Looking out into the early evening, she wondered what the light keeper and his daughter would be eating tonight. The two had been in her thoughts throughout the day, popping in unexpectedly.

      She hadn’t liked Amanda’s attitude or Terrance Morley’s for that matter. Maybe what they said about the light keeper was true. Perhaps he was a criminal. But even so, the girl—Hannah, he’d called her—should not be condemned along with the father. The man obviously cared for his daughter or he wouldn’t have protected her from Terrance’s tirade. There must be something good in him.

      The kitchen door opened and Reverend Crouse entered. It seemed the room warmed as much from the heat that emanated from him as it did from the stove. “Supper ready?”

      “Nearly.” Then, knowing his next question, she answered, “Mrs. Crouse is in the parlor with the guests.”

      “Ah. Then I’d best get out there and greet them, too. Are you doing all right in here without Emma’s help?” She nearly smiled at the relief on his face at her quick nod. Then he headed to the front of the parsonage.

      Suddenly the back door crashed open and her brother barreled into the kitchen along with his dog. At fifteen, Caleb was neither a boy any longer, nor yet a man. Clumsy was what he was. He was growing so fast—already four inches taller than she. He reached for a dinner roll, and she caught the bony knob of his wrist just in time.

      “Not before supper. Now take Settie right back outside.”

      He ignored her. “She’s getting close, don’t you think?”

      Rachel studied the large black animal. The dog’s bulging abdomen swayed as she walked around the small kitchen sniffing the different aromas. “Any day now, I suspect. She is so big I don’t know how she manages to move.”

      “Enrique said he’ll take a male. He thinks it might make a good hunter.”

      She frowned. Caleb could use a good friend, but someone other than Enrique. Together, the two of them got into too much mischief. She turned back to her preparations. “Well, for now Settie goes outside. Wash up. The food is ready.”

      Behind her, she heard Caleb maneuver the dog out the back door. When he didn’t come right back in, she glanced through the window. He stood in the yard talking with Enrique and another boy. The way they leaned toward each other, whispering, unsettled her. She watched a moment longer and then tried to shake off her misgivings. Time to get supper on.

      She carried a platter with the roast lamb surrounded by new potatoes to the dining table. When they were all seated, Rachel sat down across from Terrance Morley and his sister, Elizabeth. The bouquet of roses he’d brought graced the center of the table, their delicate fragrance completely overwhelmed by the odor of mutton.

      “Where’s Caleb?” Emma Crouse asked.

      “He’s just outside with a friend. He’ll be in shortly,” Rachel said. “Perhaps we should go ahead before the food cools.”

      The reverend frowned, but bowed his head to say the blessing. Then the dishes were passed around and the talk turned to local business and how New San Diego was quickly becoming a ghost town. Rachel tried, but she just couldn’t follow the conversation.

      “If you’ll excuse me a moment,” She said, standing. “I’ll just see what is keeping Caleb.” Rachel walked into the kitchen and peered out the window into the empty yard. A feeling of foreboding enveloped her. She’d have to have a talk with her brother about manners—a СКАЧАТЬ