The sheriff’s brows drew together, a sign Kris knew promised ill for someone. “Ma’am, can you tell me where he is?”
The girl joined Kris on the steps. “In our wagon. It’s on the outside edge of our train. Commander Harvey is in charge.”
Cutting her off with a nod, Matthew turned sharply and barked at the departing group. “You, there. And you.” He singled out four men, including their leader. Jones, the girl had called him. The smile the sheriff gave them bordered on nasty. “You’re going to help me with a wagon.”
Kris resisted the urge to laugh as the men were led, sputtering and arguing, toward the far end of River’s Bend, where a growing city of wagons had gathered, waiting for a break in the weather to cross the river and continue on their westward journey. The spring floods came early and stranded hundreds of settlers on the wrong side of the river, eating supplies that would become precious in the weeks ahead.
“I should go, too, to look after Papa.”
He glanced down at the tiny female. Being this close, seeing her gentle curves, the mass of hair secured at the base of her head, the slight lines that life had left around her intriguing lips, he wondered how he could have mistaken her for a girl. A child, she most definitely was not.
“That wouldn’t be wise. Let their zeal cool a while longer or all we’ve done here will be wasted effort. Sheriff Tate will see your father safely into the care of Doctor Bittner.”
If possible, she paled even more. “No, please. I can’t pay for a doctor.”
“We can discuss that tomorrow. For now, let’s just get you out of the cold. I have a kettle warming. You are chilled through.” He took her arm. “That is, if you don’t mind entering my home without a chaperone?”
The young woman held her ground staring after the sheriff. “How did they know—”
“How did Sheriff Tate and Marshal Hawken know that they were needed?” He smiled slightly at her nod. “The sheriff’s wife was here helping me prepare the sanctuary for the beginning of our Lenten observation. After seeing your difficulty—”
“That’s a word for it.” Though her tone was crisp, he could see the exhaustion that followed great anxiety was stealing her ability to even stay on her feet.
“It is, indeed. Now, will you come into my home, please? It’s only around the side of the church. You need to sit. We will take a few minutes to warm up by the fire, drink tea and just be still.”
When she finally slipped her delicate fingers around his arm, he felt as if a battle had been won. This was obviously a young woman used to doing for herself and being the one to care for others. Accepting help was as foreign to her as he was.
“I’m Kristoph Oltmann.”
“The preacher,” she nodded. “I heard.” Her smile was small, but he felt a pressure in his chest from even that slight curving of her full lips.
Covering her icy fingers with one hand, he led her around the side of his little church to the clapboard house built a dozen or so steps from the side door. It was small, but more than adequate. The garden planted between the two buildings provided him with labor and a measure of peace.
Though he sometimes yearned for the life he’d led before coming here five years ago, a man of twenty-four, riding an old mule, bringing the saving words to those who’d never heard them, here was where God had planted him—and here he would stay.
Hanging the young woman’s heavy wool cloak on a peg, he seated her in a deep leather chair near a blazing fire. The firelight brought out all the colors of autumn in her dark brown hair. What would it look like if she loosed it from… Closing his eyes, Kris gave himself a mental shake. “Give me a moment, miss, and we’ll have some tea.”
“Margaret,” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon?” He leaned a little closer to hear, and was treated to the scents of vanilla and clove lingering on her smooth, pale skin.
“My name.” She smiled again, this one a bit more complete, and that odd pressure in his chest increased. “Margaret Marie Flanaghan. Papa calls me Maggie.”
“Welcome to my home, Maggie Flanaghan.” He sketched a slight bow. “My mother calls me Kris.”
He turned away toward the kitchen before she saw the effect that lovely curving of lips had on his composure. He was acquainted with beautiful women, even had several in his immediate family, but never before had a smile made his heart literally ache.
A knock on his front door made him change direction. “Deputy Owens, what a surprise.”
“Sheriff said to tell you her father will be at the doctor’s place right quick, and I’m to show her the way.”
“I will escort her.” His offer surprised him almost as much as it did Dwight Owens.