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folks in Texas tended to congregate wherever the water was, and Lookout had the river on two sides.
    Feminine squeals burst into his thoughts, and he glanced down, his gaze landing on the porch roof. Jack’s room was directly below his. He could hear high-pitched laughter emanating from her open window and wondered what she and her friends found so amusing. He didn’t like the thought of her hobbled to a bed. She was like a butterfly that needed to be free—free to flit from flower to flower, brightening the world with her beauty.
    “Mercy!” He sounded like a poet or something. He’d best stay focused and remember that Jack had done her fair share to get him in trouble more than once. He’d tried to be her friend, but as a young girl, she’d lied, connived, and partnered with those two male friends of hers to pull tricks on him. He ran his hand through his hair and paced into the parlor. Hadn’t he given all those bad memories to God? Hadn’t he forgiven Jack?
    If just the briefest glance had him warring with his thoughts again, what would happen if he ever talked to her? How could he minister to the townsfolk when half his thoughts centered on Jack?
    He’d never been clear about what he felt when she was near. He’d longed to be her friend more than once, but he’d hated her, too. Her lies had gotten him in trouble, both with the marshal and with his own pa.
    But maybe she’d changed.
    He certainly hoped so. Back in the bedroom, he knelt down and rested his head against the quilt. It smelled clean and fresh—of sunshine. Had Jack made the bed with her own hands?
    “Ugh! Help me, Father. My job is to minister to this town. To make up for my past offenses here by making retribution for what I did before I knew You. Help me, Lord, to stay focused and to treat Jacqueline Hamil—uh—Davis like any other woman I encounter.”
    But she wasn’t like any other he’d ever known—and that was the problem.
    She intrigued him. Riled him. Made him want to throttle her—kiss her.
    He bolted to his feet and ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t do this.”
    Bending, he yanked his satchel out from under the bed and opened it. He hurried to the dresser and snatched up his undergarments and tossed them at the bag. Then he caught his reflection in the mirror above the chest of drawers.
    He stared at himself. No longer was he the beaten-down son of a cruel drunkard. He was the son of a King. The King.
    What kind of man was he if he couldn’t handle one feisty redhead?
    Heaving a sigh from deep within, he gathered his things and shoved them back in the drawer. Pete was counting on him. So was Pastor Taylor and the town of Lookout. Maybe even Jack needed him.
    No—he couldn’t think that. He’d focus on the town. Not everyone here knew God. Folks needed to hear the Bible—needed to hear about God’s love. He closed his eyes, determination overcoming his doubts. He’d studied years for this moment, and Pete thought he was ready. He was ready.
    He tucked in his shirt, then combed his hair and headed downstairs. He wouldn’t let his eyes stray as he passed her room. Hadn’t Mrs. Davis said Jack would be in bed a week? At least he’d have several days more than he’d first expected to get used to seeing her regularly. By the end of the week, he’d be ready to face her.
    He had to be.

Chapter 4
Dallas

     
    C arly Payton dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, then blew her nose and shoved the fabric square back into her pocket. She washed her hands and returned to her task. Her heart ached today as much as it had that first day she’d been locked up in the Lookout jail for bank robbery. She missed Tillie. She thought back to the funeral Reverend Barker had spoken at only an hour ago. Shaking her head, she placed cookies one by one onto Tillie’s favorite platter. A man shouldn’t have to preach his wife’s funeral, especially a man who’d been married to that woman for fifty-two years.
    Now it would be her