Revealed (36 page)

Not wanting to, Matthew slowly drew his hand away.

He took a steadying breath, and surprisingly, another thought surfaced through his tension. One he hoped would help them both. ‘‘I grew up thinking that God was waiting to punish me, Annabelle, for all I’d done wrong—that He was just trying to find a reason to send me straight to hell. But I don’t believe that anymore, and I don’t think that’s what the Bible teaches either.’’

He chanced another look at her but saw only the softness in her eyes and the curve of her mouth, and he turned away again in order to continue his thought. ‘‘I think that as a person grows closer to God, maybe it’s not so much the consequences of our wrongdoing that are most painful . . . Even though those are hard enough to face sometimes.’’ He paused, thinking of San Antonio, of Johnny. ‘‘Maybe the most painful part is when we finally realize that—in spite of all Christ has done, all He’s given—we end up hurting Him, and ourselves in the long run by wanting what
we
want . . . more than what
He
wants.’’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘If that makes a lick of sense.’’

For the longest moment, she didn’t answer. ‘‘More than you know,’’ she finally whispered.

Matthew walked to his bedroll and lay back down. He scrubbed a hand over his face and rolled onto his side, away from her—as if that would help any. He’d never get to sleep now. Not with his heart pounding like he’d just run a five-mile race.

Minutes passed.

He listened for the evenness of her breathing that would confirm she’d fallen asleep. And didn’t hear it. Stopping himself with her just now had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. But thinking of the men who had used Annabelle, taking what did not belong to them, selfishly meeting their own needs without a thought of what was right or wrong or of what was best for her had helped him restrain his own desire.

He wouldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t be another one of them. Not now. Not ever.

CHAPTER | TWENTY - NINE

A
NNABELLE SQUINTED UP AT
him in the morning light.

Matthew was already dressed and . . . was that coffee she smelled? Or maybe his attempt at it. She pushed to sitting and stretched to loosen the soreness in her back, then raked a hand through her hair. ‘‘I overslept. I’m sorry.’’ But little wonder with what he’d done to her last night.

She had lain there for no telling how long before finally managing to find sleep. And she knew from his shifting and the occasional sigh that he’d done the same. Regardless of her past experiences with men, she found herself in uncharted territory with this one.

‘‘You didn’t oversleep. I’m just up early.’’

‘‘And already have the coffee made?’’ She stood and smoothed her skirt.

‘‘Not as good as yours, but I tried.’’ He handed her a tin cup.

‘‘Careful, it’s hot,’’ he warned.

She detected the telltale gleam in his eyes. Raising a brow, she took the cup by the handle and tried to imitate his voice. ‘‘Every morning you tell me that. Like I haven’t just seen you take the pot directly from the coals.’’

His mouth slowly curved as he stared at her, arms crossed.

Emotions brewed behind those brown eyes of his, and she would have baked biscuits by the dozens to know his thoughts at the moment. Then again, remembering last night, probably best she didn’t. She brought the cup closer and blew across the top. Certainly didn’t smell like coffee. Or look like it. She took a cautious sip.

The second the warmth touched her tongue, she knew.

She peered up at him over the cup, not sure which was sweeter—the smooth chocolate filling her mouth or the adorable expression on his handsome face. She swished the warm cocoa over her tongue, savoring its sweetness before swallowing.

‘‘Delicious,’’ she whispered. On impulse, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his smooth cheek, balancing the cocoa in her left hand, then quickly stepped back before he had time to consider anything further. ‘‘Thank you . . . for this.’’ She raised the cup. ‘‘But even more, for remembering.’’

She’d seen desire in men’s eyes before. The desire in Jonathan’s eyes, softened with devotion, had been unlike that of any other man before him. And Matthew’s eyes had held a similar passion last night. But the way Matthew looked at her now sent a wave of emotion through her like nothing Annabelle could remember. If the chocolate in her mouth hadn’t already been melted, it would’ve done so on the spot.

He held her focus, not turning away after a moment as he normally did. She hadn’t moved an inch but would’ve sworn they were closer to each other. She needed to defuse the moment and knew a thousand different ways to do that—but right now couldn’t recall a single one of them.

As though aware of her need for rescue, he feigned touching the rim of a hat he wasn’t wearing. ‘‘Pleasure’s all mine.’’

Relieved, Annabelle looked away, only then noticing. ‘‘You’re wearing fresh clothes.’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am. And I cleaned up too.’’

‘‘I can see that.’’ He’d shaved, and damp curls clung to his collar at the base of his neck. A piece of hair—not a curl exactly, more a wayward strand—fell across his forehead. And though she liked it right where it was, she still had to resist the urge to reach up and brush it from his face. ‘‘What’s the special occasion?’’

‘‘It’s Sunday.’’

She shrugged and took more sips of the cocoa. It had cooled some and was no longer hot—just right. ‘‘You said yesterday that we had plenty of time to catch up with Brennan’s group. What’s the rush?’’

‘‘There’s a town about a mile or two up the road, and I’m betting they have a church.’’

As she swallowed his meaning became clear. ‘‘Really?’’

‘‘If Idaho churches are anything like the ones back in Colorado, I’m figuring we can still make it there in time for the singing, if a certain young woman will stop dallyin’ around, drinking cocoa, and get ready.’’

Annabelle finished the cocoa in three gulps and shoved the empty cup into his hands. ‘‘I could kiss you again, Matthew Taylor.’’

‘‘Best not do that, ma’am. I’m gonna have trouble enough listening to the sermon as it is.’’

She laughed and hurried to get ready, catching his soft chuckle behind her.

Annabelle could hear the singing as soon as Matthew brought the wagon to a halt beside the others in the field. Even after he climbed down, she sat absolutely still, listening to the blended voices and wanting to memorize the moment.

The simple white building, adorned with a matching white steeple, sat atop a small rise of land on a side road jutting off the town’s main street. Bursts of pink and yellow flowers blossomed by the stairs leading up to the open doors, and Annabelle wondered if the woman who had planted them was part of the chorus of voices floating toward her.

In that moment, something Jonathan had said to her on the banks of Fountain Creek over a year ago took on new meaning. She truly did feel like a new person now, changed inside. While she might be able to pinpoint a moment in time when salvation had come to her, Annabelle had the feeling that growing to understand that gift of grace, and surrendering to it like she wanted to, would take her a lifetime.

‘‘I actually meant for us to go inside, Annabelle. Not just sit in the wagon and listen.’’

She glanced down to see Matthew standing by the wagon, smiling. ‘‘It’s called
savoring the moment,
Mr. Taylor. Have you heard of it?’’ She grinned at the way he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, fair warning to her that sarcasm was to follow.

‘‘That’s all good and fine, but any chance of doin’ some savoring as we walk?’’

Hand tucked in his arm, she carried the Bible Kathryn had given her in the crook of her arm and accompanied Matthew to the door. He stood aside and waved her to precede him. Suddenly nervous, she shook her head and nodded for him to go first. He gently took her arm and led her alongside him.

He gestured toward a pew in the back. She scooted between the rows and sat down on the hard wooden bench. It instantly reminded her of the wagon seat, but she didn’t mind. She moved back until her spine was flush against the pew, then surveyed the gathering of forty or so people. The tune of the song they were singing was familiar to her, but the words, thankfully, had been changed. As she took in her surroundings and considered where she was, a smile tickled her mouth. She couldn’t help but feel as if she’d managed to get by with something sneaky.

She watched Matthew lean forward and pull a book from beneath his seat. Cheating a glance at the man’s book in front of him, he flipped to the page and held it so Annabelle could see.

He didn’t sing loudly, but the voice she heard coming from him caused her throat to tighten. She leaned back slightly to sneak a glimpse at him. Not only did Matthew know the words without having to look at the page, he also knew the tune. She riffled through her memory for what Jonathan had told her about their church-going days as boys, but he’d always spoken about the Lord in a more present tense. The only good things she remembered Jonathan sharing about his childhood had been about his mother— and the man sitting beside her now.

They remained seated for the prayer that followed as well as the next two songs. Then an older gentleman walked to the front and took a place behind the pulpit. ‘‘Our reading today will be from the fourth chapter of the book of Second Corinthians.’’

Without being told, everyone stood, Matthew included, and she felt his hand drawing her up with him as he rose.

The gentleman at the front read the verses, unhurried, pausing, giving the words time to sink in. Somewhere deep inside her, Annabelle remembered having experienced this as a girl. Open windows on either side of the building ushered in a breeze, spreading the scent of lilacs and sunshine. And newness.

Jonathan had said that a person couldn’t love someone else until they’d first learned to love themselves, and he’d been right. She knew that now. For the first time in her life, she could look inside herself, at who she was, and not cringe at what she saw.

Standing there among all these fine people, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman she might have been if her life had taken a different turn. But then excitement swept through her at imagining what God was going to make of her life now. Now that He had set her on a new course.

Matthew kept his attention on the menu. ‘‘Order anything you like. My boss pays me well.’’

Annabelle responded with a telling tilt of her head and that droll look of hers that only egged him on. ‘‘In that case . . .’’ She turned to the young woman waiting beside them. ‘‘I’ll have the roast beef with potatoes and green beans, please. And a piece of apple pie for dessert.’’

Matthew handed back his menu. ‘‘I’ll have the same.’’

After their waitress left, Annabelle leaned forward. ‘‘She was looking at you, you know.’’

He shook his head at her smirk. If he said he hadn’t noticed the woman’s attention, that would be a lie. But to say his interests were wholly engaged elsewhere was far too revealing. ‘‘You look very nice this morning, Annabelle. I was proud to be with you at church.’’

Her smirk faded as she gently eased back against her seat, apparently at a loss for words. He enjoyed the rare moment and the attentiveness in her expression as she studied him.

The young woman returned shortly with their meals. She placed Annabelle’s before her first, and then set Matthew’s in front of him. ‘‘I checked on what you asked me about earlier, sir. That wagon train passed by here day before last.’’

Matthew voiced his thanks as the woman left, then tossed Annabelle a wink. ‘‘We’ll be with them tomorrow for sure—I promise. Well in time for that celebration.’’

Conversation came easily between them as they ate lunch, and an hour later they headed back toward the wagon. The businesses they passed on the boardwalk were closed, but a fair amount of traffic still busied the streets.

He had a hard time imagining finally reaching Johnny’s land, only to have to leave Annabelle there. But several things had become clear to him in recent days. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life running, checking over his shoulder, afraid of who might be there. He also wanted to honor his brother’s last wish, in the truest sense. Johnny had set out to give Annabelle a new life. He had started this journey, and Matthew would see it to completion. Johnny had been right that night in the shack. Matthew had spent the better half of his life running, and it was high time he saw something through to the end. First, in seeing Annabelle settled. Then, in facing what he’d done in San Antonio.

Though the second reckoning would prove far more difficult, and costly, than the first.

‘‘Matthew . . .’’

He felt her grip on his arm and turned.

Annabelle’s face had gone pale. She couldn’t seem to gain her breath.

He put an arm around her waist, his first thought going to the child inside her. ‘‘Is it the baby?’’

She shook her head in quick, short movements, her focus glued to some faraway point.

‘‘Tell me what to do, Annabelle!’’

She shook her head again and took hold of his hand, squeezing it tight. ‘‘Very slowly, turn and look across the street.’’

He stared at her for a moment, not understanding, then finally did as she asked. He searched the boulevard, scanned wagons and buggies and their occupants, passersby strolling the boardwalk, and people crossing the street.

He shrugged, still not seeing anything.

She squeezed his hand tighter. ‘‘There! Passing in front of the livery.’’

He finally spotted her.

A small dark-haired woman walking close beside a man. Too close. The man had a grip on her arm. She stumbled. The man held her fast, but there was no concern, no tenderness, in the act. She was so small, but she carried herself with a quiet dignity, her black hair falling smooth and straight past her waist.

Matthew’s pulse jumped. He stepped forward. Annabelle stopped him with a hand to his arm, and he heard her shuddered sigh. Together they watched the man and woman disappear into a single-story gray clapboard building at the far end of the street.

CHAPTER | THIRTY