Regina Jennings

  © 2013 by Regina Jennings

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6106-9

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.

  Cover design by Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design

  Author is represented by Books and Such Literary Agency

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  About the Author

  Books by Regina Jennings

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  To my sisters,

  who loved me enough

  to spend their vacation touring libraries.

  Trina, Becky, Meena, and Cara—

  I owe you a shopping trip.

  1

  PRAIRIE LEA, TEXAS

  OCTOBER 1879

  The pew creaked as another sinner rose to unburden her troubled soul. Molly Lovelace twisted around on the slick wooden bench, bunching her tiered silk skirt against her mother’s, and watched as Louise Bradford stood. Bother. As if she had anything interesting to confess.

  “After all God has done for me, I still can’t live in holiness. This week I harbored thoughts of impatience toward my husband.”

  Molly cringed. Surely Mrs. Bradford’s worst thoughts would bleach Molly’s laundry clean.

  Molly’s transgressions, on the other hand . . .

  Leaning forward to see around her father, Molly caught Bailey watching her intently. Her pulse quickened. With all the people trying to make decisions for her, she couldn’t afford a misstep, but she hadn’t expected to lose her heart so completely. What did Bailey Garner have to offer? Nothing, by her father’s reckoning. If only his pockets were filled out as nicely as his homespun shirt.

  Molly’s sigh earned a stern glare from her mother. She bowed her head, hoping to appear sorrowed over Mrs. Bradford’s tedious list of near sins. How long would the woman ramble on? Bailey was waiting.

  Every Sunday for the past year Bailey had escorted Molly to Lockhart, where she boarded for her job at the courthouse, but somehow on the twelve lonely miles between the Texas towns of Prairie Lea and Lockhart, Bailey’s skills as a surrey driver diminished. For a cowboy, he let the horse wander off the road with surprising frequency, often failing to get the beast under control until it reached a sheltered grove out of view from the road.

  That spot held a special place in Molly’s heart. The bittersweet kisses shared between the thwarted lovers fueled her imagination, but until Bailey could keep dumplings on her table and silk stockings over her toes, she had to refuse his proposal. Her parents expected more.

  But no one had ever delivered so reluctant a rejection. She braved a smile in his direction, noting his clean-shaven jaw and anticipating the smell of his shaving soap. Her father thought she was weak because she’d allowed an earnest young dreamer to disrupt his ambitions for her, when actually she’d never done anything braver than championing Bailey. Bailey was a good man who’d never had an opportunity to thrive, and Molly understood a thing or two about limited opportunities.

  Mrs. Bradford’s recital concluded.

  From the raised platform, Reverend Stoker closed his Bible. “Thank you, Mrs. Bradford. We’ll faithfully pray for you this week, won’t we, church?”

  Grunts and a few drowsy amens echoed over the heads of women itching to get their food on the tables before it cooled in the mild October weather.

  “Then if there are no further—”

  “I have something to say.”

  Molly’s teeth rattled, she shut her mouth so hard. She turned quickly, her blond curls swinging straight out.

  Not Bailey, Lord. Please, not Bailey.

  He pulled himself up by the back of the pew and studied the floor. “Y’all need to pray for me. I’ve got a burden that’s wearing me slick.”

  His silhouette blocked the sunlight streaming through the open window and stretched his shadow across rows of shocked parishioners. His eyes wandered in Molly’s direction, held her gaze for an agonizing moment, and then turned toward the stained-glass cross in the window behind the pulpit. “God’s convicting me, but I keep falling into the same pit. I’m still snared.”

  Molly’s bonnet quivered. This wasn’t part of their plan. She opened her mouth to protest, but her mother elbowed her sharply in the ribs. Holding her side, she looked again to Bailey. He’d never done this before. Only the elders spoke, and when they did, their stories were as bland as buttermilk. Terrified, Molly realized that Bailey’s confession could be quite salty indeed.

  He straightened his shoulders and shuffled his feet. “Anyway, guess y’all need to hold me accountable. God has something planned for me, but until I’m free of this . . . temptation . . . I can’t move on to see what that is.”

  Freed from her? How could he say such a thing in front of all these people? In front of her parents? Molly’s face went hot and her hands went cold. He couldn’t mean it.

  “I ain’t blaming no one but myself, but if I’m serious about following God, I need to get my priorities straight, so pray for me. I can’t do it on my own.”

  He plopped down next to his mother. Mary Garner’s face shone scarlet. His father reached around to pat him on the back before turning forward. Everyone turned forward, but they didn’t look at Reverend Stoker. They glared at Molly.

  Had her parents been right? Was her relationship with Bailey a mistake? Well, she’d had enough. She wouldn’t be tossed aside like last season’s gowns. Her broken heart could wait as long as there was a comeuppance to be delivered. Tearing free of her mother’s grasp, Molly popped to her feet.

  “Reverend Stoker, I have a confession to make, as well.” Her voice sounded as clear as a fork tapped against a crystal goblet. She shook her skirts out the best she could within the narrow row.

  “Like all of us since Eve, I’ve made some mistakes.” She wouldn’t look in Bailey’s
direction. She would not. Instead, she looked at the parson and wished she hadn’t. The horror on his face almost stopped her. Almost. “And like Eve, I was tempted, but I thought the fruit the serpent offered was healthy and wholesome. I didn’t realize the snake offered me diseased fruit that wasn’t nourishing. Rotten fruit from a tree that was unproductive and fallow. A tree that couldn’t provide for a family or make a decent income—”

  Bailey leapt to his feet, hands held out in appeal. “I told you I’m looking for a job. I’m moving to town next month.”

  Mr. Lovelace shot up. “Sit down,” he bellowed at his daughter, but Molly could still see Bailey over her father’s shoulders, if she hopped.

  “Your employment, or lack of, is no longer my concern. How dare you impugn my character. You’re upset because I won’t—” Her father finally wrestled her to her seat.

  “I didn’t say anything about your character. No one would know I was talking about you if you’d kept your trap shut.”

  Reverend Stoker’s throat clearing trumpeted with an authority that words couldn’t merit. “That will be enough.” His chest heaved in indignation. “This congregation would do well to remember that anyone may come to me for guidance anytime. Some issues are best discussed privately!” He ran his finger under his string tie. “However, we certainly will not forget to pray for you.”

  A strident amen rang out from the rear of the building, followed by snickers. Molly stared straight ahead, the stained-glass window blurring through her unshed tears. Her heart pounded, causing the lace ruff at her neckline to tremble. Did he mean to hurt her? She bit her lip. Bailey? The one person she thought she could trust?

  Her parents stood with the rest of the congregation, and she had no choice but to follow as they pulled her up with them. She submitted, joined their hands, and followed the prescribed procedure to reach the end of the service.

  How could she go outside for the potluck and pretend everything was fine? Impossible. She’d hoped against hope she could stall her father’s plans long enough for Bailey to make his fortune. Never had she considered the possibility that Bailey might give up before she did.

  Without him, her struggle was over. She’d fought for the freedom to make her own decisions, but without Bailey would she have the courage to continue?

  The benediction ended and Molly dropped onto the wooden bench.

  “Mr. Lovelace?” Russell James gripped the end of the pew in both hands as if it were a shield. He’d been her father’s bookkeeper her whole life and was still naïve enough to believe it was his good fortune. “If I may be of assistance . . . Please don’t worry about what people say. Their opinions are fickle at best.”

  Molly’s father glared at him. “You should look after your own family, Russell, before you attempt to guide mine.”

  “Yes, sir,” he stammered. “Please don’t take offense. I was trying to help. I didn’t mean to compare your daughter to Michael.”

  “I’m getting the surrey,” her father said. “If you’ll excuse me—”

  “We aren’t staying for dinner?” her mother asked. “I had Lola make extra. . . .” His look of annoyance silenced her. “Well, I’m not staying in here.” She rose to follow her husband out the door, Russell James trailing with a caboose of apologies.

  Molly’s thoughts whirled. What must everyone think of her? The picnic tables would hum with the story all afternoon. She winced at the laughter floating through the open window and wondered if it was at her expense.

  The room grew quieter and quieter until Molly knew everyone had gone, everyone except the man sitting in the section to her left, fourth row from the front.

  “And you think I’m going to let you escort me to Lockhart after that?” She kept her eyes on the pulpit.

  “No, I don’t. That’s the point.”

  She heard Bailey take a deep breath.

  “And even if you would, your father wouldn’t. At least that’s what I’m counting on.”

  She turned weary eyes to him, surprised to see concern etched on his face. If he wasn’t mad at her, why’d he go and do that? She’d fought for him, defended him, and now he was abandoning her. Her arms still twitched with the longing to knock his head off of his broad shoulders. Without that baby face he wouldn’t get far.

  Bailey picked up a paper fan from the back of the pew and slapped it against his hand as he made his way to her. “I know you’re mad, but this is best. I want to make you and your family proud, and it’s gonna take some work before I’m good enough for you.”

  “That’s what I don’t understand. Why jilt me now that you’re free to leave the ranch and make a name for yourself?”

  “Because I want to do this right,” he said. “I’m starting something new, and I don’t want to mess it up. God can’t bless my efforts when we’re carrying on like we do.”

  Molly stood. “Then move to Lockhart. Get a job. You could’ve done that without calling me down in church.”

  “I didn’t mention you, but it’s just as well that you jumped in. I need some accountability, because no private decision is strong enough to keep us apart. We act like we’re fixing to get hitched, and we both know it’s going to be a spell before that’s possible.” His eyelashes, so thick Molly coveted them, lowered as he rotated the paper fan in his hands. “I think of you in ways a man shouldn’t think of a woman unless she’s his wife. You’ve got to give me some room.”

  Her toes curled. How could he want her so badly, yet be willing to give her up? Inhaling all that trail dust had addled his brain.

  “The scales have never been in your favor, Bailey. I thought Father might relent if the business at the sawmill picks up, but how can I plead your case now? You’ve thrown the balance completely askew.”

  “Wait for me, Molly. I finally have my pa’s blessing. He’s even helping me find a position in Lockhart. As soon as I’m settled, I’ll come calling, but I can’t court you now. I can’t keep stepping out with you until we’re ready to wed. Will you wait?”

  With an explanation to her parents looming, Molly wasn’t in the mood to make promises to the man who’d humiliated her, no matter how regretful he might sound. “After this disgrace my parents will marry me off to the first gassy old man who wanders into our parlor. And maybe it’s for the best. Maybe I’d be happier with someone steady.” Molly tugged at the bottom of her bodice firmly enough that the stitches popped. Here she was, lying in church. Well, she might as well make it a whopper.

  “Why would I want to marry a cowboy anyway? Stinking boots, barn manners, and rough . . .” She looked at his hands and couldn’t bring herself to disparage them in any fashion. Not when she wanted nothing more than to feel them holding her close. “By year’s end, my father will be marching me down an aisle, and it won’t matter who’s waiting at the altar as long as the arrangement benefits him.”

  “Then every kiss I take is stolen from another man’s wife.” He dropped the fan into the slot in the back of the pew before gracing her with a sly smile. “But you won’t be bullied into marrying some old goat. Remember when you stood down those townies pestering my puppy? You were quite the little spitfire.”

  She remembered. Every childhood memory of hers included Bailey. He was like the comfortable old wing chair in her room—always there when she wanted him but not essential. Then last year her clumsy attempts to win his cousin Weston had changed their relationship and revealed that Bailey was who she really needed. In the year they’d been courting, he’d gone from a diversion to her mainstay, her future. She couldn’t imagine going on without him, even if it was temporary.

  Molly hadn’t realized how close he was leaning until he straightened suddenly. She turned and caught Reverend Stoker peering in the window. He jerked his chin toward the door, and they both understood.

  “More time, Molly. That’s all I’m asking. I want to do right by you.” His dark eyes traveled to her lips. “It’ll be worth the wait. I promise.” And he left her alone before the empty altar.


  Molly twisted a blond curl to her mouth and chewed as his footsteps echoed against whitewashed walls. If her parents would allow it, she would walk outside and say yes, and Reverend Stoker would see them wed before the pecan pies were broken out. The vision lingered a second longer than she’d expected, but her wistfulness was replaced once again by frustration.

  She lifted her chin and straightened her bonnet. Even if it meant locking herself in her wardrobe, she wouldn’t moon after him. How could she? He’d humiliated her in front of half the town. Prairie Lea gossip would be Lockhart news by Monday. No. He’d have to come to her—and not with empty pockets this time.

  She’d been willing to accept a poor man despite her parents’ dire warnings. She’d begun to imagine a life without the luxuries necessary for a lady. She’d grown less concerned with the latest fashions and coiffures. She’d even ventured out once on a promenade in mismatched gloves.

  Molly shuddered. After waiting a year for him to be released from his familial duties, she’d known that she’d have to wait a little longer for him to get established—but not that she’d be waiting alone.

  Waiting and bracing for a bombardment of parentally approved suitors.

  Reckless man! Even if she did manage to resist her parents, how did Bailey expect her to carry on without him? How long before she stopped looking for him over every crowd in town, wondering if he’d managed to sneak away from the ranch to visit?

  Only Molly’s insistence and her parents’ long-standing friendship with the Garners had prevented them from banishing Bailey outright, but now she’d be gussied up and sold to the highest bidder.