Revealed (10 page)

Reading his brother’s name carved across the top of the simple wooden cross, Matthew removed his hat and stood for several moments in the quiet, the rush of the creek the only sound filtering through the silence. He figured Carlson had spoken at the burial, and he wished he’d been around to hear. Matthew hoped he had said fine things about his brother, personal things. A man shouldn’t be laid to rest without words particular to him being spoken, words about his life, about how he’d lived and what contributions he’d—

‘‘Taylor?’’

Surprised, Matthew looked up. Seeing who it was, his eyes narrowed. He knew the man standing in front of him, or had at one time. But it still felt as though he were staring at a stranger.

‘‘I figured you might stop by here before leaving town again, and I wanted to see you.’’ Furrows of scarred flesh lined Larson Jennings’ face and neck, and the skin on the right side of his face had healed at an awkward angle, sloping his eye. He took a step toward Matthew, then stopped. Jennings looked like he’d aged twenty years in two. ‘‘I’d like to talk to you about what happened between you . . . and my wife.’’

Matthew detected accusation in Jennings’ tone, and his defenses rose. He already had a good idea of what Jennings would like to say to him and wasn’t eager to hear it. ‘‘I’ve got some things I’ve been wanting to say to you too.’’

Jennings nodded. ‘‘I’m sure you do.’’ Then he said nothing, as if giving Matthew the opportunity to go first.

‘‘You were wrong not to reveal who you were from the start, Jennings. To let us go on thinking you were gone. How could you do that to her? Letting her think you were dead all that time?’’

His former employer looked as though he might offer a reply, then apparently thought better of it. At least he knew when he was wrong.

One particular night stood out in Matthew’s memory, when he’d waited for Kathryn outside of Myrtle’s Cookery and had walked her home. He’d tried to kiss her that evening. Heat poured through him wondering if Jennings might’ve been there in the shadows, watching that too. ‘‘Do you know what Kathryn went through all those months? Waiting for you, wondering if you were dead or alive? Trying to hold on to the ranch? Then the afternoon they found that body . . .’’

Matthew shook his head, recalling the day he’d escorted Kathryn to the coroner’s office to view the remains of what they thought was her husband. Part of him had been thankful Jennings’ body had finally been found. He hated seeing Kathryn in so much pain, and yet he also hated not being able to be with her, to take care of her like he had wanted to do at the time.

‘‘You should’ve seen what she went through, Jennings. How could you do that to her? And her carrying your child.’’

Jennings took in a slow breath. ‘‘That’s just it, Matthew. I didn’t know she was carrying my child. I thought . . .’’ He glanced away as though ashamed to look at Matthew. ‘‘I thought the child belonged to someone else.’’ His raspy voice grew even softer. ‘‘For a while I . . . I thought the child was yours.’’

Matthew knew some folks had assumed that, but for Jennings to have actually believed it? ‘‘How could you think that of Kathryn? Don’t you even know your own wife?’’

His pained expression eased. ‘‘I do now,’’ he answered slowly. ‘‘Thank God, I do now.’’

The fire had altered Jennings’ appearance, but the look in his eyes seemed to have changed too—in a way Matthew couldn’t quite describe or account for. Jennings closed the distance between them, and though Matthew outweighed him, Matthew braced himself.

Jennings held up a hand. ‘‘I’m not here to fight you, Taylor. Though God knows I wanted to at one time.’’ A crooked smile turned the edges of his mouth. ‘‘You must admit, it could tend to rile a man to discover he’s not hardly cold in the grave yet and a friend he’s trusted for years is setting sights on his wife.’’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘‘But that’s not what I’m here for, Taylor. That’s all behind us now.

‘‘What I’m trying to do is apologize to you. What I did was wrong. I had my reasons at the time, but they still don’t make it right. I’m sorry my actions caused you pain, and I’m here to ask for your forgiveness.’’ Jennings shifted his weight, glancing away, then back again. ‘‘Kathryn told me about your kindness to her, how you helped her after I didn’t return, what you did to try and save our ranch, our land.’’ His gaze grew intent. ‘‘I thank you for that. I was wrong not to reveal myself after I returned but . . . well, let’s just say I had some learning to do. About myself and about my wife. And a lot about my Lord.’’

Matthew stood numb in the face of Jennings’ admission.

Over the years of working for Jennings, he’d grown to admire the man. Jennings could be hard at times and had a trigger temper, but he’d always been fair with him. Jennings possessed a natural business sense that Matthew respected, even envied. Yet Matthew would never have described the man standing before him as benevolent and could never recall Larson Jennings ever having admitted he was wrong, much less sorry.

That was something he would’ve remembered.

Unsure of what to say or how to act, and not wanting to lessen Jennings’ responsibility in the matter, he simply accepted the confession. ‘‘I appreciate your apology, Jennings. Kathryn is a fine woman. You’re lucky to have her.’’

‘‘That I am, friend.’’ Jennings stared at him for a moment longer, then looked past him to the grave. ‘‘I’m sorry about your brother. I only met Jonathan a couple of times, so I didn’t know him well, but Pastor Carlson sure spoke highly of him. Said he was a good man.’’

The compassion in Jennings’ voice, in his manner, caused Matthew’s chest to tighten. ‘‘Yes, he was.’’ Then it hit them that he’d never told Jennings he had a brother. Neither had he told Carlson. That left only one explanation—Annabelle Grayson. Of course she’d told them, and no telling what else she’d said about him. Turning them against him, making up all sorts of lies, as she did to trap his brother.

‘‘I was by the pastor’s house earlier, and he asked me some questions about you having worked for me.’’ Jennings’ expression grew somber. ‘‘I want you to know I answered his questions honestly.’’

The back of Matthew’s neck heated as he imagined how that conversation must have gone and what Pastor and Mrs. Carlson must think of him now. Eager to end this conversation, he silently acknowledged Jennings’ candor with a tilt of his head and turned to go.

‘‘I told Carlson you were one of the finest ranch hands I’ve worked with and the best foreman I’ve ever had.’’

Matthew slowly turned back, not sure he’d heard right. But Jennings’ expression confirmed that he had. ‘‘You told him that. About me?’’ It didn’t make sense. Why would he do such a thing? Especially when he could have had his revenge and paid Matthew back tenfold. ‘‘Why?’’

‘‘Because it’s the truth. You’re a good man, Taylor. Not perfect, mind you,’’ he added, wit underlying his tone, ‘‘but good.’’

In view of Jennings’ unexpected charity, Matthew’s jaw went rigid with emotion. It still didn’t make sense to him. ‘‘But the other stuff with Kathryn, that was true too.’’

Jennings held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. ‘‘Fair enough. But the way I figure it, a man sometimes gets to choose what path he takes and sometimes he doesn’t. Then other times, God sends someone along who gets to help him make that choice. He’s done that through certain people in my life, and I’m a better man for it.’’ Again, that wry smile. ‘‘Once I choked down enough pride to be able to accept their help, that is. Which has never been an easy thing for me.’’

Jennings looked away briefly, then slowly extended his hand.

Taking a deep breath, Matthew considered the man before him, wondering why he would give him this second chance, especially when Matthew knew it was unlikely he would have done the same had the roles been reversed.

Still not understanding, but wishing he somehow could, Matthew accepted Jennings’ outstretched hand.

When they parted ways, Matthew headed back to town and toward the livery. Best to get his horse and move on. But to where? And with what? With pockets empty and a stomach to match, he didn’t even have money for a meal, much less the few coins he needed to pay Jake Sampson at the livery. A sense of loss and the longing for justice wrestled inside him, vying for control. If granted one wish in that moment, hands down it would be to have Johnny back. Over all else.

But if granted a second, it would be to make Annabelle Grayson pay.

CHAPTER | SEVEN

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
Annabelle stared at the sheaf of bills stuffing the envelope that Patrick handed her. It wasn’t that she’d never seen that much money before—she had. It had simply never belonged to her. After the madam at the brothel took her cut, in addition to room and board, clothes, cosmetics, and perfume, it left scarce little for the girls in the end—the madam’s intent, no doubt.

Annabelle counted the bills again as Patrick climbed into the wagon beside her. ‘‘Jonathan never said anything to me about money while he was alive, and I never questioned him. But I never dreamed he’d put this much aside. So is everything settled? Does this close his account at the bank in Idaho?’’

Patrick remained quiet for a moment, then gave her a sideways glance. ‘‘Everything’s settled. That’s the amount Jonathan wrote in his letter to withdraw for you, remember?’’ He gave a little smile, flicked the reins, and worked his way around the wagons parked at the mercantile and feed store. ‘‘Money enough to get you safely to Idaho, along with plenty to pay an experienced trail guide.’’

‘‘Yes, I know, but . . .’’ Annabelle barely noticed the crowded boardwalk bustling with people, feeling in her gut that there was something Patrick wasn’t telling her. She allowed the silence to swell between them, giving him opportunity, while watching him from the corner of her eye.

His attention remained on the road.

Perhaps he was trying to think of a way to bring up the subject of Matthew Taylor again. She’d known last night that all of Patrick’s and Hannah’s questions about her relationship with Matthew—if one could call it that—hadn’t been answered. Certainly Matthew had already left Willow Springs, or soon would, if his reaction to seeing her the previous afternoon was any indication. She couldn’t deny the fact that part of her, after the initial shock of seeing him standing there yesterday, had welcomed the sight of him. After all, to her knowledge, he was Jonathan’s only living kin, and Matthew had probably known her husband better than anyone. Matthew represented a last tie to Jonathan, however threadbare.

It seemed odd to her now when she thought back on the times Jonathan had spoken of his ‘‘little brother,’’ recalling tales of their childhood days. The picture her imagination had formed of that ‘‘little boy grown up’’ bore little resemblance to the man she knew as Matthew Taylor.

With a last glance at Patrick, she decided to let whatever was on his mind simmer for the time being. ‘‘I just think it’s odd that Jonathan never mentioned the money before is all.’’

‘‘Your Jonathan was a humble man, Annabelle.’’

Her
Jonathan. Now that was a phrase she hadn’t heard anyone use before. How did a woman like her merit that distinction with a man like Jonathan McCutchens? She missed him, and already their conversations were becoming fuzzy in her memory. So much of him was slipping away from her, and so soon. Being the last day of May, seventeen days had passed since Jonathan had died. Yet it seemed like much longer.

‘‘I went ahead and signed all the necessary papers since Jonathan named me executor in his letter. All the documents have been finalized here and will be mailed to the Bank of Idaho. You’ll need to visit there once you arrive and they’ll help you with the rest.’’ He pulled a stack of papers from his pocket and handed them to her, along with Jonathan’s letter, which he’d taken with him as proof of Jonathan’s last testament. ‘‘Keep this somewhere safe, and then show it all to the bank there. They know to expect you either sometime this fall or next, depending on how things work out.’’

Annabelle skimmed the document pages, not comprehending all the legal jargon but vowing to read through it later. She put it, along with Jonathan’s letter, into her reticule. ‘‘I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Patrick. So would Jonathan.’’

He shrugged off her thanks. ‘‘I’m glad to do it. I handle details like this all the time for people. Have I mentioned my fee yet?’’

His teasing smirk coaxed one from her. ‘‘No, but if your fee involves enough to build a new church, I’m going to get suspicious.’’ She huffed a laugh as the mental image took shape in her mind. ‘‘Can you imagine, a church building paid for by a lady of the evening?’’ The irony struck her as funny.

‘‘
Former
lady of the evening. Now a lady in the truest sense,’’ Patrick corrected, lightness in his tone. He squinted. ‘‘Hmm . . . a church building paid for by a sinner who was offered a second chance and decided to take it. I think it’d work.’’ He tossed her a smile.

‘‘And I don’t think many of the good people of Willow Springs would darken its doors if they knew.’’

‘‘The good people . . .’’ He shook his head, sighing. ‘‘Sadly, Annabelle, I’m afraid you might be right on that count. There are an awful lot of
good
people walking around this town who need healing. But, unfortunately, they don’t even know they’re sick. A person can’t come to grips with God’s forgiveness until they realize they’re not worthy of it in the first place.’’

Warmth spread through her at hearing those words—and remembering back to that last night in the wagon. ‘‘Jonathan said very much the same thing to me the night he died. He said that he and I had an advantage over Ma—’’ She caught herself before saying Matthew’s name. No need to give Patrick an open door to bring up the subject of him again. ‘‘Over . . . many people because we’d seen who we really are without Jesus. And until someone does that, they can’t be near as grateful as they should be. Or as kind to others.’’ Her laugh came out clipped. ‘‘I guess that should make me one of the most grateful people around, huh? And one of the kindest, to boot?’’

‘‘And that’s exactly what you are,’’ he said gently.