Kisses With KC (Cowboys and Angels Book 11)(17)
KC reached into his shirt and pulled out the letter Eliza had written. “I received this letter and came to see what might be happening. I’ve kept that I’m a Pinkerton agent to myself.”
Eliza looked at the paper in his hand. That’s why he had come to their house. Her stomach sank—that’s why he’d stayed. It was probably why he had taken an interest in her safety as well. She’d been a fool—practically asking him to join their family. She crossed her arms and felt a blush beginning to heat her neck. She turned her eyes away to hide the hurt. He wasn’t interested in her as much as she was part of his assignment. But she’d asked for help, and she wouldn’t turn it away now.
“The latest was Bad Egg Baldwin,” she said. “He lived west of here. He’s gone now, and his farm was sold. I went by there last week. Mr. Anders was there with two other men. I found a letter in the fireplace that contained a death threat.”
KC opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.
“No, you don’t. Out with it. What do you know?” she demanded.
“The other two men are Holmans—crooked as a snake’s hind leg. They’re killers, Eliza. I saw you there across the way. You need to stay away from them.”
His arms reached for her, but she stepped back. She wouldn’t let him get close again. He’d be leaving as soon as this was solved, and she didn’t want to send her broken heart off with him. She kept herself from taking the deep breath she needed. She knew it would sound ragged with her emotions so near the surface.
He nodded. “I need to go into Salida’s land office to see what’s happening with the other homesteads. Do you know which ones are suspicious?”
“I’ll make you a list.”
He stepped closer. “Eliza, I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t.” She turned away and fled the barn. She didn’t know how he would have finished that sentence, but tonight, she couldn’t hear it—“I didn’t mean to pretend to like you. I didn’t mean to mislead you. I didn’t mean for you to fall in love.”
When she stopped, she was in the ice house, sitting on a bale of straw. Since Kailin and Rayna were already in her room, Eliza couldn’t go there yet. She swiped her eyes, but it didn’t help. She folded herself in half and cried into her skirt.
KC hadn’t ever looked at her as broken. She’d seen that look many times—men who noticed her as she sat or stood only to curl their lip when she moved. Now she knew that KC didn’t seem to notice her limp, not because he didn’t care about that but because it wasn’t of any concern to him. For a few weeks, she’d allowed herself to dream once again of her own home and family. That dream was good and truly gone.
The room began to brighten, and a man in working dungarees and a floppy leather hat stood in front of her. His whiskers were white as was his hair. He glowed with light but also soothing compassion. Her heart jumped. Who was he? How did he get in here? The light continued to grow and fill her with warmth, relaxing the worry that had begun to grow.
“I’m not here for you exactly, but I couldn’t see this go on and not say something. I’m KC’s guardian angel, but this here’s a free sample for you.”
Eliza felt the comfort of love diluting the disappointment from moments ago in the barn.
“Maybe you could take a page out of the Good Lord’s words to Samuel. ‘For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’”
The words were filled with acceptance and comfort. She hated that people treated her differently. They talked about her being a captive, and some wouldn’t talk with her because she was beneath them. Whenever she limped, people got nervous and silent.
“You’re right. I need to stop worrying what other people think of me and—”
“That’s not exactly what that meant. You are the one who’s all fretting about how you walk. You are the one who’s judging yourself to be broken and unworthy. You need to stop looking on your outward appearance.”
Eliza nearly stopped breathing. She had never considered that she was her own judge, and she’d been harsh and without mercy. Her body was no longer perfect—
“Hold it right there, too.”
Could he know her thoughts?
“Yeah, that’s how this works.” The old prospector stepped closer. “Is the Lord perfect?”
Eliza couldn’t deny that He was and nodded.
“Yet, you would call Him broken.”
Immediately, she shook her head. She never would, but before she could say so, the angel continued. “He had scars in the palms of His hands and on His feet and a large one in His side. Some might think that isn’t perfect, but He is. Your scars are perfect for you too. Rejoice in your infirmities. Rejoice in the Lord always. Hardships are the Lord’s way of revealing things to us about ourselves.”
The brightness began to fade, and with it, the man. In the lingering darkness as her eyes adjusted, she felt words within her heart. Christ kept the tokens in His hands—scars—and He’s perfect. You are His, and you’re perfect, too.
Stunned at her own realization, she sat for some time on that bale of straw. She had blamed everyone else for judging her unworthy when she had been the author of that.