The Angel and the Outlaw. Kathryn Albright

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      “Do you bribe all children this way?”

      He would think such a thing! She struggled to keep her voice low so that Hannah would not hear her anger. “You, sir, are being ridiculously suspicious of a simple kindness. This is not a bribe. And I do not appreciate your rudeness over a simple gift!”

      “Perhaps I’ve had a little experience with Greeks bearing gifts,” he said. But he turned to stare at his daughter in the open doorway. Hannah’s heart-shaped face was filled with anxious hope. Tangles of blond hair fell over her thin shoulders and onto the same brown dress she’d worn at the mercantile. Timidly, Hannah inched down the stone walk to stand behind her father.

      Rachel glanced up at Mr. Taylor but his closed expression told her nothing. A shiver stole through her as she watched him. He was a formidable man, standing a full head taller than her, and she was not a small woman. Yet, he hadn’t actually refused the gift. She squatted to the child’s level and then held out the doll. “This is Sarah. She was my doll when I was little. I brought her for you.”

      Hannah glanced up at her father and then slowly reached for the doll, her eyes filled with wonder. She pressed Sarah against her in a hug.

      Rachel smiled and let out the breath she’d been holding.

      She rose and met his gaze, determined to ignore his surliness. “I know you said church is out of the question. Would you consider school? Hannah is old enough to be in the first or second grade by now.”

      His look of incredulity gave her his answer even before he spoke. “Absolutely not.”

      “Mr. Taylor, you can’t keep her isolated out here. She’ll never learn that there are decent people in this world. She’ll always expect the worst.”

      Anger flashed in his eyes. “Hannah. Go back inside.” He held up a hand, forbidding Rachel to speak again until Hannah had done as she was told. When his daughter was at a distance that she could not hear him, he turned to Rachel. “You were there. You saw how they treated her! They talked as though she couldn’t hear.”

      Rachel remembered all too well the lack of empathy in the mercantile. She was still upset at her friend, Amanda. “It bothered me, too,” she admitted. “They just need to get to know her. If you were to bring her to school, I would take extra care with her. You must know that this constant isolation is not good for her.”

      Her words hung suspended in the air between them.

      His eyes narrowed, but he seemed to consider her suggestion for the space of an instant. “Prove it. You tutor her.”

      Startled, she met his gaze. “Tutor her? But that’s not what I meant!”

      He waited, watching her closely.

      The thought took hold. Could she do it? She had so little teaching experience, and Hannah was not an ordinary student. Did she have what it would take to help her? She swallowed hard, intrigued with the idea.

      She met his gaze. Was that hope in his eyes beneath the hardness? Perhaps he was reaching out. In his own way, he was asking for help and she suspected he was a man who seldom asked for anything. He confused her—and he fascinated her.

      But how could she agree to his offer? If the school board got wind of any arrangement, she’d lose her job for sure. They wouldn’t see it as her teaching Hannah. They’d see it as an unmarried woman visiting an unmarried man—without an escort. It could jeopardize her employment at the school.

      “I…I’m sorry, but I haven’t the time,” she said, her excuse sounding weak, even to her ears. “As I said, bring her to school. I’ll see she’s looked after and not hurt by the others.”

      He shook his head. “Why should I trust you any more than the others?”

      “I guess you have no reason to. It’s just tha—”

      “Just forget I asked. I’ll teach Hannah what she needs to know.”

      “You must understand, Mr. Taylor—”

      He shut her out. “The reverend is waiting. You better leave now.”

      She felt her chance slipping away. “Mr. Taylor. I really do want what’s best for Hannah.”

      “You’ve made your point, Miss Houston. Apparently, we’re at a standoff. I won’t change my mind.” He walked past her and then headed to the carriage where Reverend Crouse waited.

      Well that didn’t go as planned, she thought. Disheartened, she followed him and let him help her up onto the burgundy-cushioned seat. Her fingers tingled where he steadied her with his callused hand. Unsettled, she busied herself adjusting her skirt about her knees even as she felt him continuing to study her. Then her curiosity got the better of her. “The other day at the mercantile…”

      He nodded curtly, listening though she sensed he was impatient for her to leave.

      “What did you mean when you said I should believe everything I hear?”

      “Why don’t you ask that friend of yours? She seemed to know it all.”

      “I prefer to know the truth.”

      He just stared at her.

      She refused to be baited—handsome or not—and plunged on. “Amanda said you killed your wife.”

      Beside her, Reverend Crouse inhaled sharply and grabbed the reins. “Rachel! That’s quite enough. I believe we have just overstayed our welcome.”

      Stubbornly she notched up her chin. “If one can call this a welcome at all.” She wasn’t about to back down. Mr. Taylor had dared her. “She said you escaped from prison.”

      The light keeper leveled his gaze at her and she felt a twinge of remorse.

      “Isn’t there something in the Bible about gossip, Reverend?” he asked. Suddenly, with the flat of his hand, he struck Jericho’s rump. The horse bolted.

      “Oh!” Rachel grabbed her hat with one hand and the edge of her seat with the other, holding on tight as the carriage careened away from the yard.

      Reverend Crouse struggled with the reins for control and finally maneuvered Jericho into a jerky canter down the dirt road. They neared the rise and Rachel glanced back, fervently hoping Mr. Taylor’s palm stung like the bite of a ruler against bare skin. To her keen disappointment, he snapped an obviously fine-feeling hand to his brow in a mocking salute.

      Chapter Four

      Stuart descended the circular stairway after checking the lamp. It should be good until dawn when he would extinguish it. He sat at the parlor table. Through the window in front of him, he could see the beam from the light above sweep across the peninsula and then out across the moon-dappled water. The strong smell of ocean and sage permeated the room. Opening his logbook, he wrote:

      September 16, 1873

      11:45 p.m. Mild wind from the northwest. Clear night.

      Visitors—Reverend Crouse. Rachel Houston.

      He СКАЧАТЬ