"Jess." He reached for her, needing to feel her, to comfort her.
She came into his arms willingly, burying her face against him as she had earlier. He stroked her hair, murmuring against her temple. "It's all right. I've got you. He won't hurt you, and he won’t hurt me. I promise."
She nodded against him, but tension vibrated through her.
He eased his upper body away so he could see her face. He cupped her cheek, brushing away an escaped tear with his thumb. "Listen to me, Jess. God has control of this situation. Nomatter what happens, no matter what your father says or does, God can overcome it. With His help, I’ll take you somewhere safe. My family’s ranch if you’ll go there, or anywhere you want. I promise, I’ll make sure you don’t ever have to live in fear again."
Though apprehension still lurked in her eyes, trust crept in now too. Trust in God hopefully. And in him.
He had to live up to that trust and keep this most important promise.
CHAPTER 15
Jess worked the dough, kneading and forming each roll until she had a full pan ready for baking. She’d already filled the oven with as many pans of bread loaves as it would hold, so these rolls would have time to rise before their turn in the oven. Bread seemed the best staple to hold them as they traveled. And she’d have a wedge of cheese and slices of ham for sandwiches.
The methodical work helped settle her mind, but her spirit still swirled with too many emotions to count.
Gil sat at his usual place at the table, writing something in his notebook. Or maybe drawing. Working on his sketch of the mountain with all its caves? He kept glancing up at her, as if he wanted to help or something.
She needed this time. Time to gather her nerves. Even when he’d offered to take over stirring the soup, she’d refused.
She caught him watching her again. “What?”
He blinked. “Nothing.”
“You keep looking at me like you want to say something.”
One side of his mouth tipped up. “Not really. I just…” He shrugged. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You seem to beenjoying whatever that is you’re baking. And it smells like heaven.”
She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. "It's just bread and rolls. Nothing fancy, but it should keep us fed on the journey."
His presence lingered in her awareness as she worked the dough like a comforting embrace. Having him near made everything feel more bearable somehow.
A few minutes later, footsteps sounded as the door curtain swished to the side.
Father returning for the evening meal.
She glanced up as he entered, and thick tension came in with him. His expression was impossible to read.
Gil closed his notebook and tucked it in his pocket, then rose, maybe in respect. Maybe to be ready for another onslaught of Father’s anger.
"Smells good in here." His voice came out gruff as he hung his coat on its peg. He took his usual seat at the table.
"Bean stew and sourdough rolls." She ladled the soup, then placed the rolls still warm from the oven on plates in front of each man before gathering her own food.
They ate in strained silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clinking of spoons against bowls.
Father spoke casually, as if commenting on the weather. "That old miner you're so fond of...they say he’s dying."
She froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “What? Who do you mean?” She lowered her spoon, her mind racing to make sense of the words. “Not Ezekiel?”
It couldn't be.
He'd been fine when she stopped by to rub liniment on his back at noon. Well, not fine exactly. In pain, but not…dying.
Father shrugged. “I was told he’s breathing his last.”
Panic spurted through her, and she sprang from the table. “I have to go to him." She spun and started for the door.
