Stealing the Preacher by Karen Witemeyer

Besides, he couldn’t be sure he’d be returning. Despite the knots tightening in his gut, there was a chance he’d be taking the train to Brenham with Mr. Hoffmann after their meeting.
    He needed to pack his things and get on the road.
    “Thanks for your help, Mr. . . .” Crockett held out his hand as he searched his mind for a name to fit the little man with the big mustache.
    “Stallings. Ed Stallings.” The operator shook his hand and stepped back. “You better be on your way, Mr. Archer.”
    “Can’t argue with that.” Crockett smiled, feeling slightly more charitable toward the interfering fellow. He waved farewell to Mr. Stallings and made for the boardinghouse with long, purposeful strides.
    Miss Bessie must have seen him coming, for her bedroom door was firmly shut with her behind it by the time he arrived in the kitchen.
    Shaking his head, Crockett crossed the kitchen and raised his voice so that it might pass through the wooden barrier. “I’m checking out, Miss Bessie. Thank you for the room.”
    He turned to go, but the creak of a hinge stopped him.
    “Will ya be comin’ back?” His cloistered hostess emergedthrough the small opening, an unreadable expression on her face.
    “I suspect not, but one never knows for sure.” The way he figured it, from Caldwell he’d be catching a train headed in one of two directions—either on to Brenham or home to Palestine.
    “Well.” Miss Bessie fiddled with her apron, not quite meeting his gaze. “Should ya ever wander back this way, you’ll have a room waiting for ya.” A touch of color stained her cheeks, and she immediately surged out of the doorway to start bustling about the kitchen. She collected pots and pans from where they’d been drying on the counter and piled them into her arms like homemade armor. “Unless I’m full-up, o’ course.”
    “Of course.” Crockett grinned and wondered what Miss Bessie would do if he plunked a thank-you kiss smack-dab in the middle of her cheek. The poor woman would probably suffer a heart seizure. He opted to tip his hat to her instead. “Thank you for the invite, ma’am. I’ll be sure to stop by if I find myself in Deanville again.”
    She nodded, then turned her back, signaling she’d said her piece and didn’t aim to expand upon it.
    Oddly reluctant to say good-bye, Crockett held his tongue as he exited the kitchen. It took only a couple minutes to gather his things from his room and buckle the straps on his satchel. He glanced back into the kitchen on his way out but didn’t see any sign of his hostess. Once outside on the road, however, he glanced over his shoulder at the small house and caught the motion of a curtain in the parlor window falling back into place.
    “Bye, Miss Bessie,” Crockett whispered, a smile tugging his lips upward.
    He certainly wouldn’t have chosen to be pulled from a train by a gang of retired outlaws, but at least he’d touched a life ortwo during his little side trip. It just went to show how the Lord could bring good out of any situation. And a reminder that his God was more than capable of working things out with the Brenham elders, as well.

    Crockett sent a prayer heavenward as he stepped into the hotel dining room and spotted Brother Hoffmann at a table near the window.
    See me through, Lord. See me through.
    The Brenham elder caught his eye and stood to greet him as Crockett approached. “Brother Archer. Good to see you again.”
    Crockett nodded and accepted the man’s hand. “Mr. Hoffmann. It was good of you to travel all this way to speak with me, though I would have been happy to meet you in Brenham.”
    “I know you would’ve, but I was headed this way on business, anyway, so it was no trouble.” The older man waved him toward a chair, and the two seated themselves at the table.
    After a waiter took Crockett’s order, Lukas Hoffmann kept up a steady stream of friendly banter. He asked about the abduction and oohed and aahed in all the right