10

Two days later, Eva’s words still lingered in Logan’s mind as he sat atop Shamgar and stared at the white clapboard church at the edge of town. A score of wagons stood in the yard, along with drowsy horses at the hitching rails beneath the trees. An occasional tail flicked, shooing away a fly. Singing drifted through the open windows, and he swore he could pick out Eva’s soprano. He grinned as he shifted in the saddle. Purely a fanciful notion. From this distance, all the sound blended together. Yet every once in a while, someone hit a high note that rang above the rest, and he imagined it was her. No doubt she sang with the same vigor at church that she did while working her chores at home.

Eva was so open with her opinions, with her faith. She exuded confidence. That was why her declaration to pray for his mother, for him, had struck such a deep chord. Some well-intentioned folks might make a similar pledge, then get busy with their own lives and forget. Not Eva. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he felt certain she actually prayed for him and his mother on a regular basis. Her genuine, compassionate nature wouldn’t allow anything less.

Logan shook his head. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had promised to pray for him. Or the last time he had promised to pray for another. Truth be told, he hadn’t prayed much at all since his father’s death. Oh, he asked God to grant him justice on a fairly regular basis, but after his conversation with Eva, he’d actually prayed for the well-being of his mother for the first time in . . . well, he couldn’t remember how long.

Shame had hit him hard when Eva made that promise. Shame and guilt. He wired money to his aunt every month to pay for his mother’s expenses, even though Mama refused to touch his ill-gotten gains, as she referred to money won at the card tables. It didn’t matter that most of what he sent came from his logging pay. Because he gambled, she judged all his money as tainted. Aunt Bess had a much more practical bent, thankfully, but that didn’t absolve him of his other failings. He hadn’t prayed for his mother. Hadn’t asked God to relieve her grief or help her find forgiveness for the husband who had left her and the son who had done much the same. Evangeline had hit too close to the truth with that observation.

It was as if she could see directly into his soul. Unnerving, yet he craved more of that connection. He’d spent so many years hiding his true self from others that no one knew him. Not even his mother. It made a man solitary. Lonely. Hard. But Eva saw past the mask to the man beneath. Even the bits of darkness he’d allowed her to glimpse hadn’t scared her off. It made the prospect of pursuing her for more than information mighty tempting.

That was why he was here. Staring at the church. Longing to join in the worship, to join her, to become the better version of himself her words had challenged him to be.

Yet he worried about what would happen when Eva’s brother saw him. Would Hamilton realize who he was? Logan couldn’t afford to jeopardize his plan. He hadn’t intended to meet his nemesis face-to-face until Hamilton agreed to meet him at the poker table.

A prospect that was turning out to be more of a challenge than Logan had anticipated. Arnold Dunn’s impression seemed to be correct: Hamilton had hung up his cards. Logan had ridden over to Ben Franklin after Eva’s visit, determined to find out where Zacharias Hamilton plied his swindling trade, yet no one at the Seven Ponies Saloon recalled ever playing him. The one fellow he’d found who even recognized Hamilton’s name only knew him from the sorghum syrup he bought from them every fall.

Then yesterday Logan had made the longer trek down to Cooper, only to encounter the same results. No one at any of the saloons in town recalled playing poker with a man named Zacharias Hamilton. So either he played under a false name, or he really had given up the game. A turn of events that made luring him into a high-stakes revenge match more difficult than Logan had initially projected.

Which was why he’d decided to continue improving the property to sweeten the incentive when he finally challenged Hamilton, and why he’d continue meeting with Eva to learn all he could about the man who refused to conform to expected patterns. Meeting Hamilton face-to-face would help in that endeavor as well, and Eva provided Logan’s way in. It would be risky to get so close to his target, but every gambler knew the potential reward a skillful bluff could produce.

Logan nudged Shamgar into motion and steered his mount toward the churchyard. After finding a place to tether his gelding, he slowly climbed the four steps leading to the entrance. He tugged off his hat, ran a hand over his hair to make sure it wasn’t sticking up like some wet-behind-the-ears kid’s, then inhaled a deep breath. Squaring his shoulders, he pulled the door open.

The singing instantly increased in volume. Individual voices became more distinguishable, especially those of the less melodious variety. Careful to keep his footfalls quiet, Logan crept through the vestibule toward the doorway to the main sanctuary. Once there, he stopped, his gaze glued on the three people sitting in the last pew on the left by themselves. An empty row stood between them and the next family.

Flanked protectively on both sides by her brothers, a subdued young woman with auburn hair sat with her head bowed, mouth barely moving as she sang. Logan strained to hear her voice—the bold, unrestrained notes that carried across fields and echoed in barn rafters—but he couldn’t make it out. He stood less than five feet away and couldn’t hear a sound from her lips.

His vibrant, effervescent Eva had been muted into someone he barely recognized. What was going on?

Logan slid into the back pew on the right side. The blond brother—Seth—turned and offered a friendly nod of welcome. Eva, however, kept her head bowed and her eyes fixed firmly on the hymnal in her lap.

But it was the man to Eva’s left that hardened Logan’s gut. Rigid posture. Arms crossed. Lips closed in a tight line. A sinner in a room of saints. Uncomfortable. Almost belligerent. No singing at all fell from his lips. Zacharias Hamilton might have made an outward show of giving up his old ways—avoiding saloons, packing up his cards, attending church—but Logan read the disconnect in his posture. He hadn’t changed. Not really. Given the proper incentive, he’d pick up those cards again. Logan just had to find the right button to push.

Distracted by his scheming, Logan simply went through the motions of the service, bowing his head during prayers, singing softly with the hymns he remembered from childhood, and listening with half an ear to the preacher recount the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. He tossed a subtle glance across the aisle, but instead of landing on the Hamilton who’d been dominating his thoughts, Logan’s gaze snagged on Eva. She still hadn’t looked up. Just traded her hymnal for her Bible, her lowered head never lifting.

Logan frowned. What was wrong with her?

The preacher kept on, his deep voice booming through the sanctuary, emphasizing Jesus’s power, the disciples’ duty to deliver even in the face of their doubt, and the amazement of the crowd as the miraculous feast unfolded. Logan had heard it all before. He’d grown up on the stories of Jesus. Yet when the preacher started talking about things from the boy’s perspective, something changed. It seemed new somehow, and Logan found himself drawn in.

“If we want the Lord to accomplish mighty deeds in our own lives, the first step is to put what we have in his hands,” the man declared. “This boy had a lunch, enough food to get him through the day. He’d planned ahead. Had everything under control. He’d not go hungry. He had every right to hold on to those loaves and fishes. They were his. But then he looked around at the suffering of his neighbors, heard hungry little ones crying out to their mamas, and he made a decision. He found one of the disciples, showed him his provisions, and offered to give them to Jesus.”

The parson left the pulpit to pace across the stage, and when his eyes scanned the crowd, they found Logan in the back row, hovered for a brief moment, then moved off to another section of parishioners.

Had that been a flash of recognition? The Clems had arrived in Pecan Gap two years before the Fowlers had left. John Clem and Logan’s father had been acquainted—not well, since Pop hadn’t been much of a churchgoing man, but enough that a family resemblance might be noted. Clem hadn’t been preaching in those years, so it had been a surprise to see a familiar face in the pulpit. Thankfully, Logan’s beard kept most people from recognizing him as the smooth-cheeked boy who used to romp about the countryside, but he’d need to take care that Parson Clem didn’t make the connection.

“Most of us like to solve our own problems,” the preacher intoned, “to control the direction our lives take.”

Logan shifted in the pew, the wooden bench suddenly rubbing roughly against his spine.

“But think what would have happened if this boy had chosen that path.” The parson paced back to the middle and raised a single finger. “One would have been fed instead of five thousand. Only God can miraculously multiply our loaves and fishes. Yet just as he asked the disciples to handle the problem, he asks us the same. Unfortunately, we tend to scramble around like the Twelve did, trying to solve the problem on our own, when what he really desires is for us to surrender our plans, our control, and place our loaves and fishes into his hands so he can accomplish the impossible.”

Logan frowned. He didn’t need the impossible. He didn’t seek restitution from a multitude, just from one man.

He pulled his pocket Bible out of his coat and used the ribbon marker to open the pages to the verse that had given him purpose and direction during the past seven years. Proverbs 21:3. To do justice and judgment is more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice. The Lord approved of justice, of righteous judgment. Validation rose to soothe the prodded places of Logan’s conscience until his eyes drifted upward and read the verse immediately preceding the one he had underlined.

Every way of a man is right in his own eyes: but the Lord pondereth the hearts.

The sore spots on his conscience started aching again.

This was ridiculous. Of course his plan seemed right to him—it was right. The Lord could ponder Logan’s heart all he wanted. His motives were pure: To see justice done. To restore what had been stolen.

His finger scraped down the page to the next set of verses he’d underlined, verses six and seven: The getting of treasures by a lying tongue is a vanity tossed to and fro of them that seek death. The robbery of the wicked shall destroy them; because they refuse to do judgment.

Zacharias Hamilton had gained his treasure through deceit. He’d refused to deal justly with Logan’s father, so the way to destroy him, to see justice done, was to rob the wicked, to steal back what had been wrongfully taken from Logan’s family.

The final underlined verse called to him from the next column, verse 15: It is joy to the just to do judgment: but destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity.

Joy would come with justice. To him. To his mother. His cause was righteous, and nothing was going to keep him from that path.

The parson offered an invitation to sinners wishing to repent and saints desiring prayers as the congregation stood to sing a hymn. Logan fell into neither category, so instead of moving forward down the aisle, he retreated straight out of the sanctuary and into the churchyard. He knew how preachers were—always positioning themselves at the back so no one could escape without facing them after service. Well, Logan didn’t plan to give John Clem a chance to inspect him more closely. Yet neither was he ready to leave.

He didn’t mind being a mystery to others, but he was less fond of people being a mystery to him. Something was off with Eva. Her meek demeanor inside the church didn’t sit well. Not for a bold woman who tied bright red bows around her pet hog’s neck, faced down trespassing strangers with nothing more than gumption and a contagious smile, and charmed fractious neighbors with homemade goodies and thought-provoking conversation.

Logan slapped his hat back on his head and strode to the rail where Shamgar stood hitched. Patting the horse’s neck and giving the tack a cursory inspection as camouflage, he waited for the service to let out. He didn’t have to wait long—just the length of a hymn and a prayer—before the parson swung the doors wide and took his place, shaking hands with the congregants as they exited.

The Hamilton siblings emerged first—not surprising, given their preference for the back row. What was surprising was the way Eva skittered past the minister while Seth shook Clem’s hand. She kept her chin down until she’d navigated the steps, then lifted her face and looked around. As soon as she found him, she lit up, becoming the vibrant woman he remembered so well, and dashed straight toward him.

“You came! Oh, I’m so glad.” She skirted the wagon and team in front of the hitching rail and came around to face him.

Logan grinned, exercising cheek muscles that had been woefully out of shape before Eva tumbled into his life. “Didn’t think you’d seen me.” He didn’t think she’d seen anything with her neck bent like a shepherd’s crook.

She slapped his arm lightly. “Of course I did. Well, to be honest, I didn’t know it was you at first. Not until you got up after the sermon and I caught a glimpse of your face. But all through the service, I was hoping it was you.”

Logan smirked. “Missed me that much, did you?”

Pink stained her cheeks, but mischief danced in her eyes. “You? No. But I’d been getting awful lonesome for Shamgar.” She sidled around the edge of the rail and took the chestnut’s cheeks in her hands, reaching up on tiptoes to place her forehead against his white blaze. “You missed me too, didn’t you, sweetheart? All alone with that grouchy ol’ man. It must have been terrible.”

Shamgar snuffled, then bounced his head up and down as if in agreement. Eva laughed, the sound so delightful, Logan couldn’t help but grin. Though he quickly squelched the expression into a parody of an offended frown.

He swatted Shamgar’s flank with the flat of his hand. “Traitor. No oats for you tonight.”

“There you are, Evangeline.”

Logan flinched at the unexpected feminine voice. He’d grown accustomed to having Eva all to himself. For a moment, he had forgotten where they were.

Mrs. Clem, the parson’s wife, scuttled over to them, her smile wide in welcome and her eyes alight with curiosity. “I see our newcomer is not as much a stranger as I supposed.”

Logan’s heart seized for a moment until she held out her hand and began an introduction.

“Charlotte Clem.”

Logan took her fingers and bent politely over her hand.

“I’m the minister’s wife.” She glanced behind her to indicate the preacher still standing guard at the church door. “We’re so glad to have you visiting this morning. Will you be staying in Pecan Gap long? If so, you must meet my John. He’s not just the preacher, though that is his true spiritual calling.” She paused just long enough to draw in a breath and turn a pious glance toward heaven before turning back to Logan. “He also runs the sawmill.”

“I imagine he’s quite a busy man, then.” Logan made a mental note to go to Ben Franklin to purchase the lumber for framing his cabin.

“Oh my, yes.” Mrs. Clem fanned herself with a hand. “He used to be the postmaster as well until Mr. Wood took over. Fine man, Mr. Wood. Owns the newest general store in town. If you need supplies, I would highly recommend his establishment.”

She was something of a whirlwind, jumping from one subject to the next with the speed and adroitness of a thoroughbred leaping fences in a steeplechase. Fortunately, that quality made it easier to avoid answering her questions. He’d just hang on and wait for the next fence.

“Do you have a family, sir?” Mrs. Clem’s sharp gaze darted from Logan to Eva and back again, and suddenly Logan wanted to back the horse up to take another run at the Mr. Wood-and-his-new-store fence. “Pecan Gap might be small, but we have a fine school. We even have a music teacher, Mrs. Miller. She gives piano lessons to many of the town’s children.”

Logan fought the urge to run a finger under his collar. Mrs. Clem might be a jolly sort, but he knew a matchmaker when he saw one, and all his bachelor instincts were screaming at him to run.

“I’m sure she does a fine job, ma’am.” He shot a pleading look at Eva, who seemed unsportingly delighted over his predicament.

“Oh, indeed she does. As do all our teachers here in Pecan Gap, Mr. . . . What did you say your name was?”

Eva finally took pity on him and interrupted, drawing Mrs. Clem’s attention. “Is that Mabel Edwards?” She pointed to a pinched-faced woman in a dark blue dress who seemed to have planted herself in front of the parson, causing a bottleneck at the church exit. “She seems quite upset about something.”

“Oh dear.” Charlotte Clem’s face fell slightly, and she let out a sigh. “Poor John. I best rescue him. Mabel can be a bit . . . opinionated when it comes to biblical interpretation. She must not have cared for the sermon.” Mrs. Clem dashed away, only pausing long enough to throw a cheerful, “Hope to see you next Sunday,” at Logan before turning her full attention to the harried preacher in need of a little wifely salvation.

“Thank you.” Logan let out a breath and smiled at his own rescuing angel.

Eva shrugged. “Charlotte means well. She’s a bit . . . fluttery but as kindhearted as they come. Always chases me down after services to make sure I don’t get away without someone speaking to me.”

That was a comment begging for exploration. “Do you often—?”

“Ready to go, Evie?” A husky voice growled directly behind Logan, startling him into silence.

He stepped sideways and pivoted to face the man who’d successfully snuck up on him, though he already knew who he’d find. Mentally bracing himself, he ignored the clenching of his gut and the harsh thumping of his heart and relaxed his features into a bland façade.

Zacharias Hamilton glared at Logan with all the ferociousness of a coyote protecting its young. “Who . . .” His eyes narrowed as he took in Logan’s face. “ . . . are you?”