Caleb’s patience was worn about as thin as a demon’s promise.“I’m waiting.”
“First, once you travel out through the pass here, the land is wild and uncharted.I don’t think I could give you good directions to find them.”
“Ten years, Preacher.I reckon you can.”
The minister hesitated, looking away evasively.But when he spoke again, he held Caleb’s gaze.
“Second, I’m a man of God.These fellows—and a few other outfits that have taken up residence out beyond the Devil’s Claw—they trust me.If I betray that trust, my mission out there is finished.So you can beat me or kill me, pilgrim, but I’llnevergive that up.”
ChapterNineteen
Sheila openedher eyes with a start, listening intently for the sound that had awakened her.The distant creak of a floorboard.
She waited, gripping the arms of the reading chair, holding her breath, waiting to see if it repeated itself.There was nothing.
It was only a dream.
She’d been having a nightmare.In it, outlaws had broken in and were rummaging through the house downstairs.Desperate men, here to rob and murder.And worse.
Suspended on that frightening edge of the dreamworld, Sheila was too paralyzed to move, afraid even to breathe.She strained to hear the sound again.The silence was broken only by the scratch of a branch against the window.
The oil lamp at her elbow flickered, and monstrous shadows loomed on the wall.She couldn’t look away from the wavering, threatening figures.She couldn’t even blink for fear that they could actuallybesome horrible intruder who had invaded this house, this room.
From the windows, the moon spilled its cold, blue light, illuminating carpet and bed.The figures were just shadows.She stole a glance at the corner next to her chair.Her father’s shotgun sat at the ready where she’d left it.Even though this was not New York City, she was still a woman alone in an unfamiliar place.
Heartened by the sight of the weapon, Sheila plucked up her courage.She reached for the watch she wore pinned to her shirt and realized it was covered by the woolen charcoal-colored waistcoat she’d borrowed from her father’s wardrobe.Her excuse was that the evening temperature cooled last night.But the truth was that she wanted a part of him near her, a sense of him with her, as she waited and fretted over his delayed return.
Worries about his well-being had been dogging her ever since she arrived on Wednesday.What if he’d been thrown from a horse and hurt in the fall?He could be lying out there, injured and alone in the wilderness, fighting off wolves.Or brigands.Or natives.
Her father could be sick, battling fever.On the endless train ride from New York to Denver, she’d read in the newspapers that the President’s Quarantine Act had not stemmed the yellow fever epidemic that was sweeping outward like a wave beyond New Orleans.What if the contagion had already spread this far?What if her father had gone to some nearby mining camp where the fever had struck everyone down?What if he contracted it and had no one to care for him?
And in the back of her mind, another thought had nagged at her.A thought that annoyed her for its selfishness, but she couldn’t shake it.If the worst had happened, if her father was dead or had simply gone off, what would become of her?
It had been a very long time since she’d seen him, but he was still her father.Distance and years had divided them, but she loved him.And she hoped he would want her to be part of his life now that she was grown and mature and independent.She desperately wished that he wouldn’t send her back to New York.
She had crossed half a continent with more courage than sense, perhaps, but not because she wanted adventure.She wanted a father.And a place to belong.Some proof that the loneliness of those polished New York parlors had not been the whole of her life.
Sheila looked around the room, orienting herself.As she did, the hot panic in which she’d awakened, along with her pounding heartbeat, gradually subsided.Her hands rested on a book that lay open on her lap, and she pushed it to the side.
Since arriving here, she’d learned a few things.Ithadbeen a terrible idea to go to Marlowe’s ranch after dark, alone and unarmed.Even now, she cringed at the thought of how poorly he must think of her.She’d showed bad judgment and a lack of understanding of the danger she’d put herself in.
New York City had its hazards, of course.And it wasn’t always safe for a woman to move around the different neighborhoods by herself.Even for men, some areas were positively unsafe.Perhaps her impetuous behavior had been the result of her sudden freedom.Her grandparents had seen to it that she always had a chaperone or a manservant on hand to follow her and watch over her.In the city, she was never alone.Never exposed to danger.
Elkhorn was not New York, but in this town, she had already experienced the difficulty of walking the few blocks to the general store and the butcher shop and the hardware store to speak with Mrs.Lewis.Harassment at every turn.Drunkards slouched against walls and sat on steps to the street.Dust-covered cowboys called out comments as they drifted by on their horses.Miners and ne’er-do-wells stumbled from the saloons, unable to focus eyes bloodshot from liquor and lack of sleep.Even the large, slovenly man wearing the sheriff’s badge had paused to leer at her as she walked past.
She thought then of Caleb Marlowe shifting without a word between her and the street when those riders thundered past.At the time, she had been too proud to appreciate the gesture.Now, alone in the night, she understood it differently.
The bright spot in her day had been when Mrs.Lewis stopped by to visit this afternoon.The kindly woman had brought her supper and offered to stay the night.Sheila had refused.With a gun at her side and a good book on her lap, she was fine.
She peered at the tiny hands of the watch.It was almost four in the morning.
Four in the morning.Since Sheila arrived here, she’d found herself completely unconcerned with routine.Her days and nights were so different from the world she left behind.No one dictated when she slept or if she slept.Her days were spent as she pleased, and the hours had largely been filled with poking around her father’s house.
At first, she’d excused it with the thought that she was looking for some clue as to where he’d gone.She soon realized, however, that she was searching for something else.She was looking for hints as to who her father was in the hope of finding answers to a thousand questions she had about why he’d abandoned her.
Answers like that, unfortunately, didn’t sit in medicine cabinets.
Sheila stretched.She thought perhaps there was yet enough night left that she should get up and put on her nightgown.
