Stealing the Preacher Read Online Free PDF

spool, its coils springing every which way no matter how many pins she scraped against her scalp.

    Some of the starch went out of her. What did she expect? That this stranger whom her father had held at gunpoint and dragged all over creation would be moved by her impassioned plea? The man was only walking with her as a means to an end. He wanted his freedom, and she was the price he was being forced to pay. Man of God he might be, but he was still a man—one who had every right to resent her and her family.
    Joanna turned from him and set off through the trees. Thankfully, he followed. She could hear his boots crunching the dry grass and dead twigs behind her. The usual route between her house and the church took about twenty minutes, and while she lived closer to the building than any of her neighbors, today the distance stretched too far. Cutting across the open field would save them about five minutes. With her father no doubt counting down each tick of the clock until he could storm out to fetch her, five minutes might prove crucial.
    Soon the back of the old church came into view. A door at the rear led to the previous parson’s personal quarters, which he’d built onto the building so as not to be a burden to the area families who felt obligated to take him into their already overcrowded homes.
    Hackberry trees lined the sides of the weathered clapboard structure, their small, dark purple fruit littering the ground. Joanna tromped past them and rounded the corner to the steepled front entrance.
    Whether Mr. Crockett Archer was a direct answer to her prayers or just some unfortunate fellow her father happened to kidnap, he was here, and she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity she’d been given.
    She waited until her companion emerged from around the corner, then gestured to the decaying building. “Do you see this church, Mr. Archer?”
    The long-legged stranger propped a boot on one of the frontsteps and pressed his forearm into his thigh. He made a great show of examining the old structure, tilting his head back to take in the very tip of the spire. “Yes, ma’am. I do.”
    Joanna inhaled a fortifying breath, braced her hand against the balustrade, and set her chin. “I want to bring it back to life.”

5
    B ring it back to life?” Crockett echoed, pretty sure his strolling partner was talking about more than slapping on a new coat of paint but wanting to hear the details from her. He’d stopped making assumptions when it came to the Robbins clan.
    “Yes.” Joanna stared him down as if expecting him to laugh, but Crockett felt no such compulsion. What he felt was a burgeoning curiosity.
    Unless he’d missed his guess, Miss Joanna Robbins possessed the soul of a missionary. How that had come to be when she’d been raised by an outlaw and his gang, Crockett couldn’t fathom. Yet he sensed her passion. Respected it. He’d not belittle her dream.
    Crockett straightened his stance and angled his head toward her. “I’m listening.”
    The defiance in her eyes softened, as did her posture. She loosened her grip on the balustrade and used it as a pivot to swing herself toward the chapel steps. After climbing three, she smoothed her navy blue skirt beneath her and took a seat on one of the slightly warped boards that had once been a proper stair.

    Joanna nibbled the edge of her bottom lip and turned her attention to the sky, as if searching for a place to start. While he waited for her to find the words she sought, Crockett claimed the bottom step, braced his back against the rails, and stretched his legs across the width of the stairs.
    “My mother was a godly woman who believed her life’s foremost duty lay in leading the members of her family to Christ.” His companion’s quiet voice drew Crockett’s head around. Joanna’s gaze no longer peered into the heavens but rested firmly upon her lap, where her palms lay open like a book that held a story only her eyes could see.
    “When she died last