The Angel and the Outlaw. Kathryn Albright

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СКАЧАТЬ this, we find them at home.”

      “I don’t know where else they would be. Light keepers as a rule must not leave their lamps unattended.”

      “Well, that gives us a place to start, then,” she said, thinking of her brother and how easily he slipped out of sight whenever he wanted to. “Trying to tie Caleb down and keep track of him is not easy.”

      Reverend Crouse chuckled. “It may seem that way now, but you’re doing the right thing. Caleb will be the better for it in the long run. He’s not a bad boy, he just needs direction.”

      “I suppose.” Rachel sighed, thinking her brother more and more showed signs of being like his father. “I’m glad you had chores for him to do today.”

      “Terrance Morley stopped by earlier. He has things Caleb can help with at the mercantile.”

      She shook her head. “Caleb needs something physical. He’s never been one for being cooped up inside. Often he talks about joining up with the whalers. And I’m afraid he might. That would suit him.”

      The reverend skirted another deep rut where rainwater had gouged out the quickest path to the sea several hundred feet below. To Rachel’s left glistened the deep-blue waters of the harbor, and to her right the ocean stretched out unbroken to the horizon. Stunted light-green sagebrush and chaparral lined both sides of the road, struggling to keep a foothold in the dry ground. No homesteads broke the monotony of the single dirt road they traveled, a road that striped the ridge of the peninsula like the line down a lizard’s back.

      Jericho pulled the carriage up one last rise and the lighthouse came into view. The sandstone house and tower stood sharply defined against the brilliant blue of the Pacific sky. Two short chimneys straddled the peak at each end of the two-story roof, the far one emitting small burps of black smoke. The light tower rose straight up through the center of the roof’s peak. She searched the black iron catwalk that circled the lamp for any sign of the inhabitants.

      The reverend stopped Jericho at the picket fence that surrounded the lighthouse and enclosed a small, barren yard and the shriveled remains of a garden. “He’s home, all right,” he murmured, his eyes focused on the opening door.

      Mr. Taylor stepped outside, his shoulders dwarfing the size of the doorway, his mouth set in a tight scowl as he slipped his shoulder suspenders into place. He wore a cream-colored muslin shirt, open at the collar on this warm and windy day, and dark brown pants that, as his clothes yesterday, appeared serviceable.

      A small thrill went through her. What was it about this man that his very presence commanded attention? Would he lump her with all the other people from town? Most likely. She sat straighter in her seat, the urge to prove him wrong infusing her with courage. She wasn’t here for him, but she did need his support regarding his daughter.

      “Hello. Mr. Taylor, is it?” Reverend Crouse climbed from the carriage. “I’m Reverend Crouse and this is Rachel Houston, the schoolteacher in town. We’ve come to invite you and your child to Sunday services.”

      If it were possible, the light keeper’s scowl deepened further. His gaze flicked to Rachel, still seated in the carriage, and then settled back on the reverend. “Then you’ve wasted your trip, Pastor. I’m not on speaking terms with God.”

      The blunt reply surprised Rachel, but the reverend seemed unruffled. “If not for yourself,” the reverend continued, “surely you want your daughter growing in the faith.”

      Sarcasm twisted Mr. Taylor’s mouth. “I’m certain the good people of La Playa want nothing to do with her or me. You must have heard about what happened at the mercantile.” This time his stormy gaze settled on Rachel.

      She swallowed hard, unable to look away, and felt her heartbeat quicken.

      “An unfortunate incident, to be sure,” said the reverend as he swept off his black-brimmed hat. “You’ll find Hannah is treated better in church.”

      Taylor turned back to Reverend Crouse, and Rachel took the moment to descend from the carriage and approach the two men. “That has not been my past experience.”

      Reverend Crouse’s silver brows knitted together. “We are not a group of perfect people. Everyone is welcome in God’s house.”

      Mr. Taylor didn’t answer, but his eyes hardened to blue slate. He folded his arms across his chest. “Look, Pastor, I mean no offense, but it’s best if you just leave. It’s too bad you had to ride all the way out here just to hear me say no, but no it is.”

      The reverend shrugged his shoulders and gave a brief smile. “There is always that chance in my line of work. However, my job is to sow the seeds. Only God can make them grow.”

      He seemed on the verge of continuing in the same vein, but then pulled back. “Very well. I won’t press you further. Remember, though, the invitation stands in the event you change your mind.”

      “Good day, Pastor.”

      “One more thing,” the reverend continued, smoothly filling in the awkward quiet. “We are planning to hold the annual community picnic here in a few weeks. You weren’t here last year, so I wanted to forewarn you.”

      Taylor pressed his lips together. “Thanks for the warning.”

      Concern softened Reverend Crouse’s eyes. “You’re welcome to attend, of course.”

      Mr. Taylor nodded his acknowledgment.

      “Come, Rachel.” The reverend started back to the carriage along the hard dirt path.

      When she didn’t move, Mr. Taylor’s steely gaze fastened on her. She swallowed hard. He made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. It seemed he really hated their intrusion into his life. “I…I brought something for Hannah.”

      Conscious of being watched, she walked to the carriage boot, and withdrew her present. She’d wrapped it in a large scrap of brown cloth to protect it from the dust on the trip. Perhaps Mr. Taylor would be angry about the gift. Perhaps it would remind him about the incident in the mercantile and he’d refuse it. She hadn’t thought of that when wrapping it, and now that made her nervous. But when she turned back to him, she caught a glimpse of his daughter peeking around the door frame. Curiosity and shyness warred on the young girl’s face, and Rachel’s confidence grew. This wasn’t about Mr. Taylor. It was about the girl.

      Returning to stand in front of him, she unwrapped the cloth to reveal a papier-mâché doll. Pupilless glass eyes stared up at the light keeper from under painted brown hair. The doll was not new—spidery, hairline cracks ran along the chest and shoulders—but Rachel hoped Mr. Taylor would let Hannah have it. She drew back the cloth further to reveal the green satin gown that had dressed the doll at the mercantile. “The dress fit perfectly. I thought Hannah might give my doll a good home.”

      Mr. Taylor’s brows drew together. “We don’t want your charity.”

      “That’s good, because I’m the least charitable person I know,” she said, her anger surfacing. “You’ve already paid for the dress. Sarah sits in a box under my bed day in and day out. She needs a little girl to play with again.”

      “I’m sure there are plenty of girls at your school. What about them?”

      Frustration knotted within her. “I want Hannah СКАЧАТЬ