“Well, if you’re sure. I ought ta git back to making my rounds. Folks are all restless. Probably the full moon. Gonna be a long night for those of us upholding the law.”
As the deputy strode off into the darkness, Kris turned to Maggie. “I’m afraid our tea will have to wait, Miss Flanaghan. As much as I’d rather you remain here for a while and warm up, Matthew wasted no time in locating your wagon. Come, I’ll take you to your father.”
Once they were again wrapped up against the cold, he led her through town, pointing out businesses and his parishioner’s homes. With each step, he felt her tension returning. “It isn’t much farther now.”
Kris spotted Martha Tate framed in the front window, watching for them. She opened the door as they gained the porch.
“Come in, come in. Let me hang up your cloak. The parlor is warm. We will go in there.” Martha’s gentleness radiated out to envelope them.
While she was no taller than Maggie, her curves were more pronounced. And she wore a deep blue dress that flattered those curves nicely. Her dark hair was pulled back in the style she always wore when helping the doctor, but it seemed softer, somehow. And her eyes seemed to sparkle with an inner joy. Obviously, marriage agreed with her.
“Martha, this is Margaret Flanaghan.”
“Thank you for your kindness.” Maggie glanced around as she slipped out of the heavy garment. “Is my father here?”
“Not yet, my dear, but soon—according to Deputy Owens. I am Martha Tate. The doctor is my brother.”
“Tate? Like the sheriff?”
“Ja, Matthew is my husband.”
“Then you’re the one who sent the sheriff to help me. Thank you so very much. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“You’re welcome. Come, now.” Martha ushered them into the parlor where a fire crackled and danced. Maggie practically collapsed into a high-backed chair facing the hearth.
“Reverend Oltmann, Rebekah said there is coffee on the stove. Franz will want a cup, but there is plenty for you, too.”
“Thank you, Martha. Is there tea?”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Ja, but I thought you preferred coffee. Rebekah is probably still in there. Miss Flanaghan, you will help me prepare for your father?”
“Of course.” Maggie started to her feet.
“The tea is for Maggie. She needs to rest a little first. It’s been a trying night.” Kris spoke over Maggie’s immediate agreement, reluctant to let her go so soon. “She should sit by the fire and drink a cup of tea. I can help prepare the room.”
“Thank you, Reverend, but I can’t relax, not until Papa is safe.” Maggie rose gracefully, focused on her task, though her hands trembled with lingering shock and exhaustion, if he was not mistaken.
Martha studied Maggie’s pretty face. “He has been ill for some time, little one?”
“Since Christmas,” she admitted. “I wanted to wait to travel, let him regain his strength, but he insisted he was ready to make the trip. He seemed to be a little better when we left home, but it’s been so cold. We’ve been traveling for weeks and he doesn’t rest well, and—”
Martha nodded. “I think tea is gut after all, Reverend. Would you mind asking Rebekah to help you? Miss Flanaghan can answer my questions while we wait.”
It took him a long moment to process Martha’s words. He was too busy staring at Maggie. The firelight brought out her weariness, true, but it also spun gold and flame in her hair and made her green eyes glow. He was put in mind of a cat—which abruptly brought back the men’s accusations. Ridiculous. “I’ll make tea for you both. If you’ll excuse me?”
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Kris strode into the kitchen to find it empty. No matter. He had enjoyed many wonderful meals around the Bittner’s table, and he searched around until he found what he needed.
He chose a teapot that reminded him of Maggie—delicate, yet strong. “Oh, heaven above!” He had to stop thinking of her that way. She was only a young woman needing help.
Kris filled a cooking pot with warm water from the holding tank on the stove and stirred up the coals to bring it to a boil. The scent of strong coffee had him filling a sturdy mug. He stirred in two heaping spoons of sugar, then leaned against the counter to sip it while he waited.
CHAPTER TWO
Kris had just put the tea and cups on a small tray when he heard a wagon approaching. Pulling out his grandfather’s gold pocket watch, he checked the time. The tea needed to steep for a few minutes, so he headed to the front porch to see if he was needed. Jericho Hawken hunched on the seat of a tiny covered wagon, holding the reins of two black-maned gray mules. Leather traces and wooden joints creaked as someone moved around inside.