“You know what a gossip that old man is, Jacob,” Scully said. “Worse for flapping his jaws than any female I’ve ever known.” This remark earned him another glare from Evangeline, but he just waded in deeper. “I didn’t want him telling people Eve—Evangeline and I were living out here in—in sin. So I said we were married.”

“I see,” Jacob said, and pondered what Scully had told him. He was good enough not to point out that lying was considered a sin in most quarters, and Evangeline doubted that she could have shown such forbearance, in his place.

“As for us sharing a bed—” Scully began.

Jacob’s head rose. So did his bristly brows. But he didn’t speak; he didn’t have to. It was plain to both Evangeline and Scully what he was thinking. Big John is your friend, his glance told Scully, before swinging, without condemnation, to Evangeline. And your betrothed.

“I reckon I’d best hitch you up proper while I’m here,” Jacob said, when the silence had stretched on for too long to suit even him. “Lord knows what you’ll tell Big John when he gets back, but that’s your problem, isn’t it?”

Evangeline’s heart was beating very fast, just at the thought of marrying Scully and not Big John, but at the same time she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Scully, for his part, looked ready to bolt from the ranch house and ride out ahead of schedule.

“We haven’t done anything wrong,” Evangeline said quietly. From anyone else, Jacob’s pronouncement would have been bold-faced interference, but his countenance was a humble one. He had come to help if he could, to straighten things out, not just for Big John’s sake, but for Evangeline’s and Scully’s, too. Perhaps that was why she felt called upon to explain further, when she would have told just about anybody else in the world to mind their own business. “Mr. Murdoch needed a warm place to sleep, and we only have the two beds. Scully had just been shot with an arrow, and—”

Jacob held up a large hand to dam the flow of words. “Wait a moment, here.” he said. “Scully got himself shot?”

Scully beamed, as though it were an accomplishment of no small significance, and told the story. Both men seemed to revel, however quietly, in the colorful description of the scene: the contested turkey, the Indian. The snow and the blood and the long, painful ride home.

Evangeline almost rolled her eyes. Scully was all man, outwardly at least, but there was a little boy tucked away inside him. One of the reasons, no doubt, that Abigail loved him with such devotion.

Finally, Scully reached the part of the tale where it had become necessary to sleep in Evangeline’s bed, fully clothed of course, with Abigail lying between the two of them. It was entirely innocent.

Jacob ruminated on this for a few moments; he was probably a sort of higher court in those parts, but he seemed fair-minded. Despite his obvious faith, he hadn’t come to scold or preach. “Well, then,” he said. “Seems like I made a long ride for nothing.” He glanced at the nearest window. “I don’t reckon I can make it back to Springwater tonight.”