Yellowstone Memories by Jennifer Rogers Spinola Page B

the barn.

    “Did you really shoot that guy?” Wyatt leaned against the barn door with Jewel from the inside, panting hard. The whole structure had suffered years of neglect; wind whistled through open windows, and creaking shutters flapped open in the wind. “You’re a very good shot. I’m … well, impressed.”
    “Of course I shot him.” Jewel loaded her rifle again and pointed it through an empty knothole in the slats of the barn wall. “And I assure you, if I’d wanted to kill my husband this way, I could have at any moment.”
    Wyatt took a step back. “I believe you.”
    “But I didn’t.”
    “I believe you again.” Wyatt’s own words surprised him. But he felt they were true, the same way hot coffee warmed his insides, shaking off the chill of winter.
    “Let’s barricade this place.” Jewel set down her rifle and pulled an old plow against the door. “My only hope is that they’ll run out of ammunition, if we can hold them off long enough.”
    “They’ll try to bust inside by sheer force.” Wyatt helped her push, sneezing as dust rose up in a fine cloud. “There are five of them, you know. Maybe more.”
    Jewel picked up a pitchfork and shoved it sideways across the door frame, into the latch. “Then we’ll conserve our ammunition and pick them off one at a time. We can do this.” Jewel met his gaze. “Do you believe me in that, too?”
    “I want to.” Wyatt’s nose dripped with cold as he knelt down beside her, pushing the plow flush against the door with his shoulder.
    “No. That’s not good enough. Do you believe me?”
    Wyatt shoved the plow harder in place and felt a surge of strength flow from his heart. “You know something? I do believe you, Miss Moreau. I do. I will. I choose to.” He felt light suddenly, relieved—as if something heavy had fallen away.
    “That’s it.” Jewel turned to him, her face strangely lit from the inside. Eyes sparkling like deep water. “You just said it.”
    “Said what?”
    “What I’ve been trying to understand about the Bible. I don’t know if I believe yet, but I’m willing to.” She fingered the beaded necklace around her throat. “Therefore I say ‘I do’—just like a wedding.”
    “A wedding, you say?” Wyatt’s face was so close to hers that he felt her breath on his cheek, tickling his hair. Felt his knees melting, buckling.
    “Neither the bride nor the groom know the full extent of their promise when they stand at the altar,” she said softly. “But they say ‘I do’ anyway—without knowing all the answers. Because they know it’s
right
.”
    Wyatt’s heart pounded. Madmen were shooting at him outside, and flakes were coming down so hard that if he survived, he’d be snowed in in the barn without heat and frozen into a block of ice before morning.
    And yet she’d hit on something—something big.
    “It’s even more than that. I’m willing to believe you because I
know
you,” he whispered, his breath misting. “Because I know your character. Even if I don’t understand all your reasons.” He tipped his face down toward hers, so close their noses almost touched. “That’s what faith is, isn’t it?”
    Jewel lifted her eyes to his in a deep, velvet expression that unnerved him, made his heart jump. She nodded wordlessly. The world seemed to hush, silent, and Wyatt couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe. How to move his mouth.
    Why was she looking at him that way?
That
way?
    Almost as if she …
    No. Wyatt forced himself to think over the loud hammering of his heart. A woman like Jewel wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of him, would she?
    Shots rang out over the snow—and Wyatt jumped, reaching for his holster.
    His empty holster. He stuck his hand in his pocket, incredulous, and shook it out. Then the other pocket.
    Wyatt Kelly, you turkey!
He slapped his forehead, recalling the man who’d grabbed him by the collar and knocked the revolver out of his hand.
You’ve done it again! You