Abbie's Outlaw. Victoria Bylin

baby smile and the fact that Robert had never held her. No wonder her daughter had gone searching for her real father.

      “What about older children?” Abbie asked.

      “The boys follow him around town like ducks. One minute he’s laughing at their silly jokes, and the next he’s telling them to shape up—and they do.”

      Abbie had seen that rapport with Robbie, but what about Susanna? Some men treated their daughters like brainless fools. If John was one of them, she had to know. “What about the girls? I hope he’s not old-fashioned.”

      “Not at all,” Beth said. “He tells the girls the same thing he tells the boys—stay in school and dream big.”

      Abbie yearned for that kind of affection for Susanna. As the lamp flickered, she wondered again why John had chosen to live alone in a big house with a well-stocked kitchen. “If he likes children so much, you’d think he’d get married.”

      Beth’s eyes lit up. “It’s not for a lack of female interest. Emma Dray’s been chasing him for a year. She’ll probably show up tomorrow with a chocolate cake.”

      Abbie recalled the pretty brunette at the train station. “I’m sure the Reverend will enjoy it.”

      “I doubt it,” Beth said dryly. “Everyone knows he likes apple pie the best.”

      From now on, I’m going to call you Sweet Abbie. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

      It’s just an apple pie.

      But it had been so much more. He’d picked a hundred apples from her grandmother’s trees, and she had baked a pie to thank him. It had been the only gift she’d had, an offering of love and an invitation to taste more than fruit, though she hadn’t realized it at the time. Holding in the trembling in her middle, Abbie glanced at Beth who was hugging her ribs and frowning. “I’m going to need a job. I wish I knew how to bake.”

      Abbie welcomed a problem she could solve. “I’ll teach you. If the Reverend doesn’t mind, we can bake all day. Mary might buy pies for the café.”

      Beth’s face lit up. “I’d like that.”

      “We’ll start tomorrow.”

      When Beth yawned, Abbie carried their cups to the counter and set the teakettle on the stove. “You look relaxed enough to sleep. Why don’t you go upstairs?”

      “I think I will.” Beth pushed carefully to her feet, holding her middle to protect her ribs as she turned to Abbie. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did tonight. If there’s anything I can do for you—”

      “Don’t worry about me,” Abbie said. “Just grab the future and hang on tight.”

      “I will. I promise.”

      After the two women shared a gentle hug, Beth padded up the stairs. Still tense, Abbie poured more tea while she weighed the knowledge that John loved kids. No, she corrected herself, the Reverend loved kids. John Leaf would consider a daughter of his own an obligation. Nothing more.

      With the steam curling above her cup, she stared out the window, seeing nothing but black glass and the glare of the lamp. Lord, she missed her friends, especially Maggie. She also missed the birds in her backyard and the chipmunks that lived in the woodpile. After one of Robert’s tirades, she had often stayed up all night, listening for the first twitters of dawn.

      The habit had started during the first year of her marriage when she had believed Robert would come to love her. She had even hoped he’d accept the baby as his own. After all, he’d married her knowing she was with child, in part because a bad case of the mumps had convinced him he’d never have sons of his own.

      Abbie’s stomach curdled as the memory of her wedding night slithered through her. Robert had gotten drunk, taken his pleasure and called her an unspeakable name. The next morning he’d given her flowers and apologized like a little boy. She had tried her best to please him, but just when her pregnancy started to show, he had given her a black eye.

      Abbie had endured the shame because she had nowhere to go, but not a day had passed that she didn’t think about leaving him…and searching for Johnny Leaf. As she sipped the hot tea, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from running amok. What would have happened if her brother hadn’t found them? What if she had followed John to Oregon?

      Lowering her gaze, she took another sip. No matter what Beth thought, Abbie was long past such thoughts. She had children to raise and a boardinghouse to run. Dreaming about if-onlys and what-ifs was a waste of time.

      Annoyed with herself, she set her cup on the counter and stepped outside to wait for sunrise. She loved the sensations of dawn—chirping birds, cool air on her cheeks, a hush that calmed her soul even after a night of brutality. Already she could see a gray light in the eastern sky. Soon it would turn to lavender and brighten to gold. The poppies in the window box would open their faces, and Abbie would feel good.

      Behold, I make all things new…

      It was her favorite Bible verse, because she saw the truth of it in the past six months. Since Robert’s death, she had put the ugliness behind her. She had a good life now, and she intended to fight for it. That meant finding Susanna and returning to Washington with her father’s blessing.

      It also meant finding out why John didn’t want children. Her daughter needed a father, not a man who considered her an obligation. She wanted Johnny to love their daughter as much as she did, and that meant introducing them before Susanna arrived. Abbie had stories to tell, and John needed to hear every one. His daughter was the smartest girl in her class, but he had never seen her homework. He’d never heard her laugh or make a joke, nor had he wiped her tears and seen her climb trees.

      Hugging herself against the chill, Abbie thought about the man in the guest room. While she wanted John to care for Susanna, she didn’t want him to notice her. Nothing good could come of him reawakening feelings in her that belonged in the past. Still, for the most part, she felt safe with him. He’d saved her life and he was a minister now. But the preacher Beth had described was nothing like Pastor Deets in Washington. That old windbag talked more about sin than he did about love. He blamed Eve for everything, calling her weak and easily tempted. Abbie thought he was full of rubbish.

      A smile curled on her lips. Maybe she’d ask John for his opinion. With a little luck, she’d annoy the daylights out of him and he’d keep away from her. The notion of a debate gave Abbie a rush of wicked pleasure. On behalf of women everywhere, she rather liked the idea of making the good Reverend mad.