Abbie's Outlaw. Victoria Bylin

Where would they be today if he had charmed her into marriage instead of his bed? He could have been a lawman if they’d moved far enough west. He could have started over. He wished that he had, but what was the point? It had taken six years of hell, prison and Silas Jones to bring him to his knees.

      John shifted his gaze to Abbie and saw that her eyes were shiny and tense. If she had been a member of his congregation, he would have told stories and shared a few secrets, indirectly telling her that even the worst problems could be solved. But with Abbie, talk had once led to touching, and touching had led to Susanna. Now that troubled girl was in Bitterroot, where Ben Gantry wanted to skin John alive.

      If he could have climbed into a cannon and shot himself back in time to the day he’d killed Gantry’s sons, John would have done it. He still wished he’d died that day. If he had, Susanna would be safe and Abbie wouldn’t be sitting in his kitchen, making him want things he couldn’t have. He wanted to go to the stream behind the parsonage where the rushing water would calm his thoughts, but he couldn’t leave Abbie. Taking a breath, he peered into her eyes. “I have regrets, too, and I don’t want any more. I’ll help you find your daughter, but that’s it. As soon as she gets here, the three of you are getting on a train for Washington. It’s best for everyone.”

      The glimmer in her eye told him he’d just started a fight he didn’t want to have. “What gives you the right to order me around? You said yourself you have an obligation. I expect you to meet it.”

      “And I will. I want to pay for her schooling, her shoes, whatever she needs.”

      Abbie pushed to her feet, turned her back on him and gazed out the window. The pane acted like a mirror, reflecting her sage-green eyes and determined chin as she weighed his offer. He suspected she found it sadly lacking, which it was. Needing a distraction, John took a cigarette out of his pocket and struck a match on the stove. Cupping the flame with his hand, he focused on puffing life into the tobacco. When it caught, he tipped back his head and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling.

      “Do you have to smoke that thing now?” Abbie said, fanning the air.

      It was his house, and he wasn’t in the mood to appease her. Almost hoping the smoke would chase her away, John watched a puff float in her direction. As soon as it reached her nose, Abbie hurried out the back door. John thought her reaction was overdramatic, but he supposed he owed her an apology for being rude. In spite of the pull of the stitches, he pushed to his feet, doused the cigarette butt in the sink and followed her to the porch. After sitting so close to the lamp, he couldn’t see. “Abbie?”

      “I’m over here.”

      He followed her voice to the side of the porch that faced Broken Heart Ridge. The crest had been aptly named for two mountains separated by a slash of a gully. Sometimes the full moon rose over that spot like a silver locket, but tonight the sky was black.

      As he strode toward her, his vision cleared in layers, revealing first her wrapper, then her ivory skin and finally a halo of starlight in her hair. Leaving a foot between them, he rested his forearms on the railing. Bending to ease the pain in his side, he stared with her into the night. The silhouette of pines turned the forest into a fence, trapping him in a patch of shadows and loss, a dark place that offered no easy answers.

      Keeping his voice low, he said, “I’m sorry about the smoking. I guess I’m used to living alone.”

      “Your bad habits are your own business,” she said. “The only issue between us is Susanna.”

      John’s gaze drifted past the trees to the sky. The same stars were glimmering over Wyoming where Susanna was searching for something he didn’t have to give. “I’ll get a bank draft tomorrow. After that, I’ll send you money every month.”

      Abbie shook her head. “Money isn’t enough.”

      “It has to be. I’m not cut out to be a father.”

      The last thing he expected to hear from Abbie was gentle laughter. Tipping her head to his, she said, “This may surprise you, but I know how you feel. When my monthly didn’t start, I was terrified.”

      Abbie had faced the fear and shame with courage, and here he stood whimpering like a kicked dog. John felt like a fool. “What happened after you were sure?”

      “I knew I couldn’t stay at home. My father wasn’t a judge yet, but he still cared about his reputation. I made plans to run away as soon as I saved a little money, but my mother saw me tossing up my breakfast. My father was in Chicago while you and I were together, but she knew I’d been alone on the farm. She put two and two together.”

      “I’m surprised the judge didn’t get his shotgun.”

      “My brother told him you were a drifter, maybe even a wanted man. He didn’t know your name, and my father forbade me to talk about what had happened. He gave me a choice. Marry Robert, or have the baby in Chicago and come home without her. I took my chances on Robert.”

      John stared into the black night. He hated to ask the next question, but he had to know. “Did Robert have feelings for you?”

      She tightened her mouth with disgust, as if she’d gotten another whiff of smoke. “He married me because he wanted my father’s political endorsement. We hadn’t even met when I took a train to Washington. We got married that afternoon in a courthouse and that was it.”

      John felt the stars plumbing the depths of his guilt. To give his daughter a home, Abbie had forsaken her own chance for love. He owed her something for that sacrifice, so he made his voice gentle. “What can I do for Susanna?”

      Abbie put her hand on his forearm and squeezed. He felt all sorts of things in her touch—courage, longing and hope that made him ache. “Just be kind to her.”

      How could John say no? “I won’t hurt her. You have my word.” Needing to make the promise real, he cupped his fingers over Abbie’s, offering recognition of the past and a truce for the future.

      She pulled back as if she’d touched cold metal. “We can’t stay long anyway. I have to get to Kansas.”

      “A family visit?”

      “I suppose. I have to talk to my father about Robert’s estate.”

      If Abbie needed money, John wanted to know. The trick was asking without revealing he’d noticed her worn-out clothes. He made his voice casual. “When a man dies unexpectedly, it can leave a family in a bind. I’ve been wondering if Robert left you with a decent income.”