The Blacksmith’s Bravery (43 page)

Vashti wasn't ready to give up the fight, but Griffin had already turned away and was walking off with his hand on Justin's shoulder.

Slowly she unclenched her fists and let out a long breath.

“Come on,” Trudy said again.

“He can't do this.”

“Well, yes, he can,” Bitsy said. “I'm not so sure it's a bad thing, either. Honey, lots of people care about you. And unless I'm greatly mistaken, that man is one of them.”

Impossible. If he cared, he'd know how he'd hurt her. If he cared, he'd show everyone he believed in her and let her keep driving.

CHAPTER 29

O
n Sunday morning after a long, difficult ride in the dawn, the posse trotted grimly into Fergus. Griffin and Justin led the procession, and the Chapmans brought up the rear.

Vashti and the Moores left their borrowed mounts at the livery and walked down the street to the Spur & Saddle. They'd have time to get cleaned up for church and, with Goldie's help, prepare the chickens for the dozens of patrons they expected for dinner. A lot of people who hadn't ridden with the posse would come, hoping for news.

Vashti hadn't slept well on the cold mountainside, and she was sure Augie and Bitsy hadn't either, but they all arrived at church on time. As Vashti followed Goldie into the pew, Hiram and Libby came in the door.

“What are you doing here this morning?” Oscar Runnels's loud voice carried throughout the sanctuary, and the newlyweds blushed scarlet.

“Good morning to you, too, Oscar.” Hiram shook his hand and guided Libby into the nearest vacant pew.

Justin came in with the other boys from his Sunday school class. Griffin may not be the ideal parent, but he was doing something right with that boy.

Vashti swung around to face forward, but she heard his voice when he entered the church. Someone greeted him near the door, and Griffin's hearty “Good morning” rang off the rafters. She didn't
turn around, but she could tell by the bustle and cheerful comments that accompanied him up the aisle that he was close by.

His large form moved between her and the window across the aisle. His dark shadow lingered on her, and all grew still around them. She looked up.

Griffin stood with his hat in his hands and his Bible tucked under his arm.

“Mr. Bane,” she said.

“Morning. I'd like to speak to you after church.”

“I'll be helping with the chicken dinner.”

“Then I'll come eat some. Can I talk to you after that?”

She hesitated. He'd only hammer home his declaration that she was done driving. She wouldn't make that easy for him. “I'll likely be washing dishes until three o'clock.”

“Then I'll help you.”

That surprised her. She'd expected him to say he'd wait, or he'd come around later. She squinted up at him. The sunlight from the window made his hair glow around his head. He was clean shaven—the first time she'd ever seen him without a beard. She wished he wasn't standing with his back to the light that way, so she could see his face better.

Everyone in the neighboring pews waited to hear what she would say, making no pretense of disinterest.

“Fine,” she said. “Augie might have an apron that will fit you.”

Several people chuckled, and Griffin cracked a smile.

“All right. We'll talk then.”

Griffin paid for his dinner and Justin's and turned to his nephew. “You go on home and change now. Go over and check the livery—make sure everything's quiet there. I'll be along after I wash a few dishes and settle Miss Vashti's hash.”

“Can't I do dishes, too?”

Justin's brown eyes were only a couple of inches lower than his own now, Griffin realized with a start. The boy was filling out and would likely end up as big as Griffin. He grinned. “I doubt they've
got two aprons in the jumbo size.”

“Can I work with Champ?”

“Sure, but don't get on him until I'm there.” They'd begun saddle training a couple of weeks ago, and both colt and boy seemed to enjoy it.

“All right,” Justin said. “See you later.”

Anyone who saw him from the back would think he was a grown man. Griffin shook his head and turned toward the kitchen door.

Bitsy came out carrying two slices of pie on small plates. Her bright red lips curved in a grin. “I hear you're helping out with the dishes today.”

“That's the plan.”

“Your boss is yonder.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen and passed him.

“Very funny,” Griffin muttered. He reached the doorway in three steps and stood there looking in. Augie bustled about between the stove and a worktable with platters and dishes spread over it. In one corner, Vashti scraped used plates, putting the leavings in a bucket. She wore her blue satin under a big white apron, and her hair was up in a bun. When it wasn't covered by her cowboy hat, her hair looked shimmery and feminine.

“Howdy, Griff.” Augie lifted a chicken leg out of a big frying pan and laid it on a platter with other crisp pieces of meat.

Griffin nodded to him and strode over to Vashti.

“Well, hello. Where's Justin?”

“I sent him home. Where's my apron?”

She smiled then, just a little smile. “You don't have to do dishes.”

“I don't mind.”

“All right then.” She took a couple of steps and opened a drawer full of folded linens. “Let's see…” She pulled one out and shook it to unfold it. “This one's pretty big.”

It was the kind of apron that hung around the neck with a bib to cover the wearer's shirt.

“Maybe you should take your jacket off first. Hang it over there.” She indicated a row of hooks near the back door.

Griffin sauntered over and shed his coat, then went back to her
and reached for the apron. She held it up, holding the neck strap away from the apron. He hesitated a second then stooped a little. She popped it over his head and smoothed the strap behind his collar.

“Turn around.”

He felt silly with her tying the apron strings behind his back. Silly and a little on edge. Her light touch against the back of his shirt made his skin tingle. He pulled in a quick breath.

“There you go. What did you want to talk about?”

She seemed softer than she had this morning, more ready to listen. He turned around. She had already lifted a stack of plates and plunged them into a pan of soapy water.

“About your work for the stage line.”

“What about it?”

A clean towel lay on the counter beside the dry sink, and he picked it up.

“Rinse first,” she said. “You have to get the soap off. There's a kettle of hot water over there.”

He went to the stove and lifted the steaming teakettle.

“She putting you right to work?” Augie asked with a wink.

“Regular slave driver,” Griffin said.

Vashti put the clean dishes into another pan, and he poured the boiling water over them. She was watching out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't say anything, so he guessed he'd done it right. He grabbed the towel and began drying the first plate.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, you've been doing a good job driving.”

She was quiet for a moment, then squeaked out, “Thank you,” as she placed another plate in his rinsing pan.

“I mean that. You're good with the horses, and you're getting better all the time with the reins. And the passengers love you. More than one has told me you gave them a mighty smooth ride.”

Her hands stilled, and she sniffed. “Do you recall what Pastor Benton spoke on this morning?”

Griffin had to think for a minute. “You mean about how we shouldn't do rash things?”

“Rash—oh yes, he did mention that.” She chuckled. “Paul had a
whole list of things we aren't supposed to do over in Timothy, didn't he? Funny how we each picked out different ones.”

“Well, yeah, I suppose so. I'd been feeling kind of guilty—like I'd acted hastily and got mad over things I shouldn't be mad about.” He eyed her cautiously. “So what one did you mean? Not loving money too much?”

“No, not that, either. It was ‘boastful and proud' that hit me. Right smack in the face.”

He frowned. “That doesn't sound like you.”

“Doesn't it, though?” She put the last plate in his pan and reached for a pile of dirty forks. “I've been strutting around like I was the finest stagecoach driver who ever cracked a whip, when we both know I'm not.” She looked up at him with earnest green eyes. “Griffin, if I were to drive every day for the rest of my life, I'd never be as good a driver as Bill Stout. Never.”

“Bill was born to it.” Her words made him uneasy. “That doesn't mean you can't be a fine driver one day.”

“That's right. One day. Not now. I'm as green as the grass along the riverbank. I'd like to think I'm an old hand at driving, but I'm not.”

“You learned a lot from Bill in a short time.”

“Yes, I expect I did. But I still have a long way to go. And so…” She pressed her lips together for a moment, then looked up at him again. “So I'm telling you I'm sorry. I don't have a right to drive for you, like I was making out I had last night. It's a privilege, and you have the final say because you're in charge. That's fittin'.”

Griffin turned around and leaned against the counter and studied the planks of the floor while he considered that. She had actually come to the place where she could stand back and let him decide what was best for the stage line. And for his drivers.

Bitsy strode in from the dining room with a tray of dirty dishes and set them down beside him.

“How's the dish crew doing?”

“Fine, ma'am.”

She went over to the stove to speak to Augie.

Griffin looked over at Vashti. “I came to apologize for acting
rashly and telling you that you couldn't drive anymore.”

She washed another fork and plinked it into his pan. “You mean you would let me?”

“Do you still want to?”

“Yes. Very much.”

He nodded, noting how pretty she looked with the steam feathering the little wisps of hair that had come loose from her bun. He could see that tiny brown mole on the back of her neck, too. He inhaled sharply and picked up the teakettle. “Let me make a suggestion. The robbers have never hit the run between here and Reynolds Creek. What if you drive that far and back every day?”

“And not go on to Nampa? What's the sense in that? You'll need another driver if I just do a short run.”

He poured hot water over the soapy forks and put the kettle down. “I don't want to lose you, Vashti. I don't want to lose Georgie the driver, either, but it's not just because you're a driver. Mostly…” He cleared his throat. “I don't think I could live with myself if you got hit like Bill did.”

She was staring at him, her pink lips parted. “Thank you. But I don't think giving me a shorter route will solve your problems.”