“You’ve escaped death twice now, Ingram.” Abraham angled so he better shielded her. “Don’t waste your gift of life. God obviously has something in mind for you, and I don’t think it is to earn yourself another trial.”
Maybe she could appease Mr. Ingram with an apology. She owed him that much and probably a lot more. In a way, thiswaspartially her fault. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ingram. I should never have written any of the Billy Poe stories. If God has deigned to give you a second chance at life, it is not my place to execute judgment. May we both take this undeserved opportunity and learn to use our lives for God’s glory instead of our own.”
Mr. Ingram snorted. “I should have known you’d be a religious loon. Just don’t ever cross my path again.” Then he stalked out the door.
She sagged against the wall as Abraham directed the officer to obtain Mr. Ingram’s statement.
The man who’d been instructed to procure supplies passed Abraham what appeared to be a cheesecloth. “It was the best I could find.”
“Thank you, Nichols. I’ll take care of Miss Pelton. See if Yount needs any assistance with Lawson.”
The man exited, leaving the room blessedly empty and quiet.
“How are you feeling?” Abraham lowered himself to the floor and gingerly began wrapping her arm.
He would ask that right now. She clenched her jaw and waited until the stabbing pain eased to throbbing.
“Like I’ve been shot. Does it always hurt this bad?”
“I can’t say. You’ve beaten me to the experience.” His half grin did little to ease the strained lines of concern on his face.
“I don’t recommend it.”
He finished securing the makeshift bandage. “Is there anything I can do until your father arrives?”
“You can either tell me what you don’t want to wait any longer for … or distract me with a kiss.”
He chuckled and cupped her cheek. “How about both?”
“Both is good.”
He leaned in, careful not to bump against her body, then stopped a hair’s breadth away. “I don’t want to wait any longer to court you, which means I can also do this.”
His lips pressed against hers and lingered there, inviting her to keep it sweet or dive deeper. She leaned in, determined to fully experience the moment despite the pain trying to intrude. Twenty-two years of saving this kiss, her first real kiss, for the man she intended to wed was worth it. Because, God willing, she would marry Abraham.
Tender. Passionate. Full of promises, hopes, and dreams of a long future lived together. If a person’s character could be discerned through a kiss, this moment revealed Abraham’s as steadfast, though perhaps impatient at times, certain of what he wanted, gentle, considerate of her needs, and blessedly forgiving of her inadequacies. But she didn’t mind his guiding instruction in this. He could teach her all day long.
Until a particularly sharp pain sliced through her consciousness, interrupting the absolute euphoria. She whimpered.
Abraham leaned back abruptly. “I’m hurting you.”
“No, the holes in my arm are hurting me, and even that knock-me-off-my-feet kiss cannot distract me from the pain.”
He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Since you aren’t on your feet, I’m going to say that doesn’t count as knocking you off them, so we’ll just have to try again later. And if that one doesn’t suffice, we’ll try again.”
“I fear you’ll never actually succeed.”
“You never know. Once we get you through this, I have a whole future to prove you wrong.”
Now there was a line that belonged in a romance novel.
CHAPTER39
WHIRLWIND ROMANCES WERE NOT JUSTthings of fiction. Four months into courting Abraham, Lydia had already planned their wedding details with the Guardians, chosen her wedding dress’s design, and hired someone to begin making it. Now all she needed was for the man to actually propose. Given the not-so-sneaky behavior of Theresa, Nora, and Flossie, Lydia suspected Abraham had a plan for that, either for Christmas or the new year.
She bounced her knees in excitement as she finished wrapping Abraham’s Christmas present—a bottle of French eau de cologne. It was a perfect blend of lemon, bergamot, and rosemary, with no association of rotting corpse. She’d rather not have the moment of his proposal tainted by flickering memories of the murders guided by her pen.
It was a bit early to exchange gifts, but they’d decided to do so today in an attempt to brighten what was sure to be a difficult afternoon. The trial for Talbot Lawson had concluded, and a swift guilty ruling was expected. Of course, with Lawson’s connections to people in high places and his past as a respected detective, there was no telling what would actually occur. Whatever the jury’s decision, Abraham would take it hard.
