struck by surprise.
That’s not all she knew. He liked two lumps of sugar in his coffee—and on some days even more—and salted his food as freely as a farmer scattered seed. He had trouble sleeping and often paced the floor between one and three in the morning. In little less than a week, his habits were almost second nature to her.
What she didn’t know was how to reconcile this loving parent and talented craftsman with the outlaw written up in the Pinkerton report.
As if sensing her gaze on him, he looked up and frowned. “I guess you’re wondering about this morning.”
That was putting it mildly. “You can’t drop a cannonball like that and expect me not to wonder.”
“I apologize.” He stabbed another piece of meat. “I don’t know why Katherine left the house that night.”
She studied his profile. “You said it was your fault.”
A look of resignation crossed his face. “Earlier that day we’d argued. Katherine never liked Arizona. That night she told me she was going back to Philadelphia with or without me and taking the children with her. That would have meant giving up my business and starting over. It also meant leaving Aunt Hetty here without family to watch over her. I didn’t want to do that, and I told Katherine as much. We argued, and she slept in the parlor.”
His voice grew hoarse. “Had she been in our bed that night, things might have turned out different.”
“You mean she might not have gone outside?”
His face was fraught with pain. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“But why did she? Your aunt said there was a storm.” Supposedly it wasn’t a night for man or beast. It didn’t seem likely that she’d leave the house in such weather to meet someone, even a lover.
“I don’t know why. I’ve gone over that night a million times, and I still can’t come up with an answer that makes sense.”
He sounded sincere, and she believed him. He might be a thief and murderer, but he was also a grieving husband, and that’s the man she reached out to comfort. She laid her hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to bring it all back.”
“You have a right to know what happened that night.” He squeezed her hand. “I wish I knew myself.” His gaze traveled to the distant horizon as if looking back in time.
“There was another reason I didn’t want to leave Arizona. A selfish reason. I spent a brutally cold winter in Andersonville, and hundreds of men froze to death.” His jaw tightened, and she heard his intake of breath. “I never wanted to see another winter like that. Never again wanted to know that kind of cold.” He gave her a sheepish look. “Like I said. Selfish.”
“I don’t think it’s selfish at all.” She shuddered at the thought of men freezing to death. No war could justify such inhumanity. “Did Katherine know how you felt about the cold?”
He shook his head. “She never liked me to talk about the war.”
The silence that followed was broken by Elise’s excited voice. “Miss Taylor. Over here!”
Maggie drew her hand away from his arm and waved. “I’ll be right there,” she called back. She turned to Garrett. “Anything else I should know?” she asked.
Like what you did with all that money?
“Only that you better watch your step.” Just like that the darkness left his face, and he grinned like a schoolboy. “Toby and Elise are about to get you wet.”
Chapter 14
A lready it was hot that Sunday morning as she pulled the buckboard behind the long row of wagons parked near the Furnace Creek Community Church.
Despite his negative opinion of organized religion, Garrett didn’t object to her taking the children to Sunday worship, but neither did he offer to join them.
Elise, as usual, was full of questions. “If God is everywhere, why do we have to come to church?”
“It’s easier for God to keep track of us if we’re all together,” Toby said.
Maggie
That’s not all she knew. He liked two lumps of sugar in his coffee—and on some days even more—and salted his food as freely as a farmer scattered seed. He had trouble sleeping and often paced the floor between one and three in the morning. In little less than a week, his habits were almost second nature to her.
What she didn’t know was how to reconcile this loving parent and talented craftsman with the outlaw written up in the Pinkerton report.
As if sensing her gaze on him, he looked up and frowned. “I guess you’re wondering about this morning.”
That was putting it mildly. “You can’t drop a cannonball like that and expect me not to wonder.”
“I apologize.” He stabbed another piece of meat. “I don’t know why Katherine left the house that night.”
She studied his profile. “You said it was your fault.”
A look of resignation crossed his face. “Earlier that day we’d argued. Katherine never liked Arizona. That night she told me she was going back to Philadelphia with or without me and taking the children with her. That would have meant giving up my business and starting over. It also meant leaving Aunt Hetty here without family to watch over her. I didn’t want to do that, and I told Katherine as much. We argued, and she slept in the parlor.”
His voice grew hoarse. “Had she been in our bed that night, things might have turned out different.”
“You mean she might not have gone outside?”
His face was fraught with pain. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“But why did she? Your aunt said there was a storm.” Supposedly it wasn’t a night for man or beast. It didn’t seem likely that she’d leave the house in such weather to meet someone, even a lover.
“I don’t know why. I’ve gone over that night a million times, and I still can’t come up with an answer that makes sense.”
He sounded sincere, and she believed him. He might be a thief and murderer, but he was also a grieving husband, and that’s the man she reached out to comfort. She laid her hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to bring it all back.”
“You have a right to know what happened that night.” He squeezed her hand. “I wish I knew myself.” His gaze traveled to the distant horizon as if looking back in time.
“There was another reason I didn’t want to leave Arizona. A selfish reason. I spent a brutally cold winter in Andersonville, and hundreds of men froze to death.” His jaw tightened, and she heard his intake of breath. “I never wanted to see another winter like that. Never again wanted to know that kind of cold.” He gave her a sheepish look. “Like I said. Selfish.”
“I don’t think it’s selfish at all.” She shuddered at the thought of men freezing to death. No war could justify such inhumanity. “Did Katherine know how you felt about the cold?”
He shook his head. “She never liked me to talk about the war.”
The silence that followed was broken by Elise’s excited voice. “Miss Taylor. Over here!”
Maggie drew her hand away from his arm and waved. “I’ll be right there,” she called back. She turned to Garrett. “Anything else I should know?” she asked.
Like what you did with all that money?
“Only that you better watch your step.” Just like that the darkness left his face, and he grinned like a schoolboy. “Toby and Elise are about to get you wet.”
Chapter 14
A lready it was hot that Sunday morning as she pulled the buckboard behind the long row of wagons parked near the Furnace Creek Community Church.
Despite his negative opinion of organized religion, Garrett didn’t object to her taking the children to Sunday worship, but neither did he offer to join them.
Elise, as usual, was full of questions. “If God is everywhere, why do we have to come to church?”
“It’s easier for God to keep track of us if we’re all together,” Toby said.
Maggie
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