The Maverick Preacher. Victoria Bylin

demolished house, he found the change in subject odd, even suspicious, but he followed her lead.

      “Summer here is dry,” he said. “It’s quite a change from Boston.”

      “I’d imagine so.”

      Was it his imagination, or did she look frightened? As they passed a third mansion, a stone monstrosity with turrets and a flat roof, she changed the subject again. She told him about the vegetables she’d planted and why she preferred beans to squash. In other words, she told him nothing. Women usually bragged on their children. Adie didn’t mention her son once. Neither did she breathe a hint of how she’d come to Denver.

      Josh knew about secrets. He’d kept his own. He’d also ridden with men who said nothing and others who told lies. Adie was intent on building a wall of words. Josh didn’t mind. After months of gruff male talk, he was enjoying the singsong quality of her voice and the simple pleasure of walking by gardens filled with flowers.

      As they neared the heart of Denver, her chatter faded to stray comments about the shops. She stopped talking altogether when they reached a church. Made of rusticated stone, the building had a tall bronze steeple and massive stained glass windows. He’d never seen such beautiful work, not even in Europe. He looked at the pitch of the roof and imagined a vaulted ceiling and the echo of a choir. He blinked and saw mahogany pews filled with people. He pictured a podium carved with an eagle. He’d used such a podium in Boston. He’d never use one again, but he could appreciate the beauty of the church simply as a man.

      He glanced at the double doors, then at Adie. “Let’s go inside.”

      “No, thank you.” She clipped the words.

      Josh would respect her wishes, but he needed to open the door for himself. He turned up the steps. “I’ll just be a minute.”

      She kept walking.

      The church could wait. Adie couldn’t. He caught up to her in three strides and saw a glint in her eyes.

      “What’s wrong?” he asked.

      “It’s none of your business.”

      Josh had used the same tone when a church elder questioned him about the laudanum. “I don’t mean to pry—”

      “Then don’t.”

      “You seem upset.”

      “Upset?” Her expression turned murderous. “Franklin Dean goes to that church. Pearl’s father is the pastor.”

      He knew that Dean had harmed Pearl. Even if a woman welcomed a man’s advances, he had an obligation to protect her, to say no for both of them until the benefit of marriage. As for Pearl’s father, had he shunned his daughter the way Josh had rejected Emily? He needed to know. If he could spare Pearl a minute of suffering, he’d tell his story to her father.

      “Tell me more,” he said to Adie.

      She stopped in midstride. When she looked into Josh’s eyes, he knew he’d hear the truth and it would hurt.

      “He raped her,” she said in a dry whisper. “They were engaged. He took her on a buggy ride and he forced her.”

      Emily’s face, tearstained and afraid, flashed in front of his eyes.

      “Go on,” he said.

      Adie’s voice quavered. “The next day, Dean went to Pearl’s father. He ‘confessed’ that they’d gone too far and asked for permission to marry her immediately. Reverend Oliver ordered her into the parlor. He made her stand there and listen to that snake apologize. Her own father acted as if she’d been as sinful as Dean.”

      A year ago Josh hadn’t listened to a word Emily said. He still didn’t know who’d fathered her child, if she’d been raped or seduced by a scoundrel. Maybe she’d been in love. Josh had stayed beyond such feelings until the disastrous river crossing. Cold and shivering, he’d watched husbands and wives cling to each other, sharing tears and kisses. That night, he’d known the deepest loneliness of his life.

      Looking at Adie Clarke, he felt that loneliness again. She had a way of standing up to people, including men like himself. He liked her spirit and wondered how it would feel to have her fighting at his side. He blocked the thought in an instant. He had no interest in marriage, no plans to settle down. He had to find Emily.

      Adie’s cheeks had faded back to ivory. “Pearl left home that night. I found her the next morning, throwing up in my garden.”

      “Did she ever tell her father?”

      “She tried, but he wouldn’t listen.”

      Poor fool, Josh thought. “He needs to know.”

      Adie huffed. “He said what happened was private and he didn’t want the whole church gossiping about his daughter. He told her to get married and keep quiet.”

      Josh grimaced. “Dean committed a crime. What about the law?”

      Adie glared at him. “Who’d believe her? They were engaged. She went with him willingly. Alone.”

      “But—”

      “But nothing.” Her cheeks flamed again. “Franklin Dean owns half of Denver. That’s why he’s still on the elder board. People are afraid to confront him, even the other elders. I don’t know if Reverend Oliver tried to get him thrown off or not, but I doubt it. From what I can see, he cares more about his reputation than his daughter.”

      The same shoe fit Josh. “I see.”

      “Do you, Reverend Blue?”

      He bristled. “I know about sin, Miss Clarke. I’ve seen arrogance, greed and male pride. None of it’s pretty.”

      Her expression hardened. “You don’t know what it’s like to be Pearl. I do.”

      Her eyes turned shiny and she blinked. Josh had seen women cry. He’d visited sick beds and spoken at funerals, but he’d never been alone with a woman’s tears except for the night he shunned Emily. He’d pushed his own sister away, but the urge to hold Adie flashed like lightning. It startled him. The lingering thunder unnerved him even more. A reaction, he told himself…A man’s instinct to protect a woman and nothing more. He settled for offering his handkerchief.

      “No, thank you.” Adie frowned at the monogrammed linen. “I shouldn’t have told you about Pearl.”

      “I’m not naive,” he said gently. “My sister got in trouble, too.”

      Adie paced down the street, almost running to put distance between them. Josh didn’t understand her reaction. She’d already revealed the truth of her son’s birth, and he hadn’t judged her for it.

      He wanted to ask her about Emily, but he knew she wouldn’t answer. Instead he caught up to her and walked in silence, recalling the times he’d asked strangers if they’d seen his sister. Most said no without thinking. He’d learned to ask less obvious questions. That’s how he’d traced Emily to Kansas City. He’d shown her picture to a clerk in a St. Louis pawnbrokerage. The man had shaken his head. Later he’d recalled a woman asking for directions to the train station.

      The bank loomed on their right.

      “We’re here,” Adie said.

      He stepped ahead of her and held the door. As he followed her inside, he saw a teller cage, a cherrywood counter and a clerk in a white shirt. To the right, a waist-high railing surrounded a massive desk. A leather chair resembled an empty throne, and a low shelf boasted artwork. Josh found himself staring at marble sculptures depicting Greek gods, cherubs and women. The mix made him uneasy. Franklin Dean was nowhere in sight, so he stood back as Adie made the payment.

      As she tucked the receipt in her bag, he guided her to the door. The instant it closed behind them, she looked jubilant.

      “Thank you, Reverend.”

      “For what?”