Read Online Sterling's Way (Lawmen & Outlaws) by Sarita Leone - Free Book Online
Authors: Sarita Leone
Tags: Western, small town
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wondered if he was dead, and if so, why the conflagration erupted. Surely, there had to be a better way to solve a difference. Nothing seemed important enough to lose a life over. Nothing.
“Let’s just say I’m not as sure as Grandfather is that Brown’s Point is the right place for us.” Patrick smiled down at her, put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. From him, and with her heart still racing, the familiar gesture did not seem bold. “But now that you and I have met, I’m not so sure that God and Grandfather aren’t on the right track.”
There seemed to be no response to the statement so she mustered a small smile.
Patrick went on speaking. “Before this uproar began, I had a mind to ask if you would like to accompany me on a spur-of-the-moment picnic. I know it seems impolite, and perhaps a bit forward, to just foist the idea on you but I have to make the most of what I’ve been given. Namely, the church buckboard.”
She followed his head nod and noticed a pretty Appaloosa horse tethered to the hitching post at the edge of the walk. Behind it a nondescript buckboard, with a towel-covered basket on the seat.
“Grandfather has no need of it this afternoon, so I thought you and I might take a ride down to the creek. I have yet to see it, but I hear there’s actually grass and greenery down that way. I don’t know about you, but I’m awful tired of all this red dust. Some green would do my soul a world of good. What about yours?”
“The same.” What harm could it do? Patrick was, after all, a preacher’s grandson. He had to know—and adhere to—the rules of gentility. Going anywhere with him was probably the safest thing to do in this town. Besides, she had heard that the creek was not far. Within walking distance, actually. “I’d love to see some green, and have lunch with you.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
Kristen took his arm but she needed no help climbing into the seat. It was considerably closer to the ground than a fancy carriage or coach and she practically leapt into the seat. Patrick raised an eyebrow at her display of agility but kept any comment to himself as he grabbed the horse’s lead. He went around to the driver’s side, climbed onto the seat and, with a word to the horse, they were off.
The ride was very short but provided a drastic change in scenery. Just beyond town’s dirty main street, rutted track gave way to meandering lane. Brushy scrub turned into low, green bushes and eventually into a sparse canopy of older trees. Cottonwoods, their limbs heavy with leaves, leaned over the track and blocked out the sun’s hot rays.
Until the cool shade quieted her galloping pulse, Kristen had not recognized how frayed her nerves had been. The toll of her journey, coupled with her financial fears, had done their work on her without her even knowing it. As the tension ebbed, Kristen leaned closer to Patrick and smiled.
“This is lovely. Thank you for suggesting the ride.” A bird trilled above them, its song like music against the rustling tree leaves and the steady beat of the horse’s hoofs. “I wonder what that is?”
Patrick shot a glance to the branches, and then turned his attention back to Kristen.
“A lark. To be more precise, a horned lark. Did you know they actually prefer barren spots to nest? As soon as foliage, grass or, heaven forbid, people encroach on their nesting area, they look for somewhere more isolated to live. Not a very social bird, but it sure does have a pretty song. We should count ourselves fortunate to hear it. Not many people do.”
It took a special sort of man to turn so quickly from being a human barricade to expert on birdcalls. Kristen wondered idly just what other kind of surprises this soft-spoken, obviously intelligent man kept.
“How is it that you know so much about birds?”
He shrugged. “Just something I picked up somewhere. Grandfather gets around a fair bit, you know. Preaching in different
“Let’s just say I’m not as sure as Grandfather is that Brown’s Point is the right place for us.” Patrick smiled down at her, put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. From him, and with her heart still racing, the familiar gesture did not seem bold. “But now that you and I have met, I’m not so sure that God and Grandfather aren’t on the right track.”
There seemed to be no response to the statement so she mustered a small smile.
Patrick went on speaking. “Before this uproar began, I had a mind to ask if you would like to accompany me on a spur-of-the-moment picnic. I know it seems impolite, and perhaps a bit forward, to just foist the idea on you but I have to make the most of what I’ve been given. Namely, the church buckboard.”
She followed his head nod and noticed a pretty Appaloosa horse tethered to the hitching post at the edge of the walk. Behind it a nondescript buckboard, with a towel-covered basket on the seat.
“Grandfather has no need of it this afternoon, so I thought you and I might take a ride down to the creek. I have yet to see it, but I hear there’s actually grass and greenery down that way. I don’t know about you, but I’m awful tired of all this red dust. Some green would do my soul a world of good. What about yours?”
“The same.” What harm could it do? Patrick was, after all, a preacher’s grandson. He had to know—and adhere to—the rules of gentility. Going anywhere with him was probably the safest thing to do in this town. Besides, she had heard that the creek was not far. Within walking distance, actually. “I’d love to see some green, and have lunch with you.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
Kristen took his arm but she needed no help climbing into the seat. It was considerably closer to the ground than a fancy carriage or coach and she practically leapt into the seat. Patrick raised an eyebrow at her display of agility but kept any comment to himself as he grabbed the horse’s lead. He went around to the driver’s side, climbed onto the seat and, with a word to the horse, they were off.
The ride was very short but provided a drastic change in scenery. Just beyond town’s dirty main street, rutted track gave way to meandering lane. Brushy scrub turned into low, green bushes and eventually into a sparse canopy of older trees. Cottonwoods, their limbs heavy with leaves, leaned over the track and blocked out the sun’s hot rays.
Until the cool shade quieted her galloping pulse, Kristen had not recognized how frayed her nerves had been. The toll of her journey, coupled with her financial fears, had done their work on her without her even knowing it. As the tension ebbed, Kristen leaned closer to Patrick and smiled.
“This is lovely. Thank you for suggesting the ride.” A bird trilled above them, its song like music against the rustling tree leaves and the steady beat of the horse’s hoofs. “I wonder what that is?”
Patrick shot a glance to the branches, and then turned his attention back to Kristen.
“A lark. To be more precise, a horned lark. Did you know they actually prefer barren spots to nest? As soon as foliage, grass or, heaven forbid, people encroach on their nesting area, they look for somewhere more isolated to live. Not a very social bird, but it sure does have a pretty song. We should count ourselves fortunate to hear it. Not many people do.”
It took a special sort of man to turn so quickly from being a human barricade to expert on birdcalls. Kristen wondered idly just what other kind of surprises this soft-spoken, obviously intelligent man kept.
“How is it that you know so much about birds?”
He shrugged. “Just something I picked up somewhere. Grandfather gets around a fair bit, you know. Preaching in different
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