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Nora smiled back. Preacher, like most folks in town, had some sort of past that he was running from. She didn’t know what it was, nor would she pry. But if he had been a stranger on the street somewhere, without his starched white collar, she never would’ve guessed the man was a preacher.
He was a considerate man but tended to be a bit gruff. Quiet. Always seemed somewhat on the rough side, his hair just a fraction too long, his face not quite clean-shaven. She’d always sensed a dangerous air about him. Not one that she feared, though. Preacher was a good man. He’d never been anything but kind to her and everybody else in town that she knew of. One day, whatever that was, whatever had happened in the past to drive him to a town like Desolation, would erupt. And she wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of it when it happened.
But right now, she looked up into his kind, warm eyes and was grateful that she had him as a friend.
“I’ll be fine,” she said again. “Once we get everything squared away.”
Preacher nodded, but the concerned frown stayed stamped on his face. “I can probably drag this out a little while longer. Mr. Brady hasn’t outright asked me why I can’t just dissolve the marriage. Since there was no intent and no consummation, there trulyisn’ta marriage, I suppose. I’ve never come across this situation before…usually people who say ‘I do’ in front of me mean to do it,” he said, his lips pulling into a half grin. “But first time for everything. I probably don’t need to do much more than strike it from the church record, since the church is the only entity recognizing the marriage. But I can delay doing that a bit longer. I’ve written to a colleague in Boston asking for his guidance. I will do nothing until I get his reply.”
“Thank you, Preacher. I truly do appreciate the help.”
He patted her hand where it rested on her thigh. “I’m glad to do what I can. I know your circumstances haven’t always been the easiest. If we can make this work for you so you can put your mind to rest, well, what are friends for?”
She gritted her teeth against the anxious twisting in her gut. Asking for help was not something that came easily to her. Accepting it, especially when shehadn’tasked, was even more difficult. She appreciated what her friends were doing for her, more than she could express. But it still made her feel…unsettled. The whole situation seemed to be getting further and further out of her control, and for the thousandth time, she wished there was a solution that would allow her to just take care of everything on her own so she didn’t have to be a bother to anyone else.
Despite her inner turmoil, she gave Preacher a grateful smile and then took a deep breath before standing. “Thanks for letting me borrow your church for a moment,” she said. “I better get back to work.”
“The door’s always open if you need it.”
She nodded and walked back out, squinting into the sun. If that husband of hers kept resisting her offers, she might need to avail herself of Preacher’s offer in the not-too-distant future and find herself another man who would marry her and then skedaddle.
But the image of Adam stretching out in the hot water assailed her mind again, and for the first time, it occurred to her that they might have a few new problems if he ever did take her up on her offer. They didn’t need to consummate the marriage to make it legal, so she could still get what she needed and send him on his way if they behaved themselves. If they didn’t, getting rid of him after he signed the license would be much more difficult. Because Preacher wouldn’t annul a marriage that had been consummated.
And the more she saw of Mr. Brady, the more consummating seemed like a mighty fine idea.
Chapter Thirteen
Adam shuffled out the door of the boardinghouse, letting loose a yawn so wide, it cracked his jaw. He rubbed a hand over his face and groaned. He’d gotten little to no sleep the night before. And the night before that. It was almost as though someone was paying the men surrounding him to be as loud and obnoxious as possible. And that yowling cat kept coming back around. All. Night. Long.
Between the snoring, farting, drunken laughing, and fighting of his bunkmates; the construction on the boardinghouse starting the second the sun rose; the squalling cat; and the disturbingly erotic dreams of a certain statuesque woman that plagued him every time he did manage to fall asleep, Adam was ready to marry the first woman who crossed his path, as long as she came with a quiet bed. Well, almost. He would do a few other unspeakable acts to get a few hours of sleep, though.
But instead of finding a quiet corner of town to nap in, he had to go find employment. Again.
The town wasn’t large, but he was too tired to wander around on foot. He’d let Barnaby earn all that grain he was eating in the stables and haul him around for a few hours. Only when he got to the stables, Barnaby wasn’t inside. Nor was he out back. And definitely not tied out front.
“Hey,” Adam said, grabbing one of the stable boys who ran by. “Where is my horse?”
The boy pulled out of his grasp. “Which horse is yours?”
“Barnaby. The old pain in the ass who has his face shoved in a feed bag all day.”
“Oh, him,” the boy said, a grin breaking out on his freckly face. “Dunno.”
He tried to run off again, but Adam snagged the back of his shirt.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s your job to know.”
“It’s my job to take care of the horses who are in the stables,” he said, pulling out of Adam’s grasp again. “Your horse isn’t in the stables.”
“Well, that’s where I left him,” Adam said, trying to keep a rein on his irritation. But the kid was making that extremely difficult.
The boy huffed like he’d never heard anything so unreasonable. “Oy, Willy,” he said, hailing another boy who ambled by with a shovel. “You seen that old stallion we were feeding last night?”
“Sure,” Willy said. And then kept on walking.
Adam gritted his teeth. “Where is he?” he asked, though at this point it seemed easier to just let the matter go, say his silent goodbyes, and move on with his life.
“He wandered off this morning,” Willy said.
