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I’ve enclosed a pressed flower from a field near where I live. It is a favorite of mine…

…There are many things I dream of. Dreams are wonderful things that give us hope. And no man can live without hope. One dream I hold very dear involves you…

T he delicate scrawl of the handwriting stared up at Ed, pulling him in to read the words one more time.

He brushed the sawdust from his hand before picking up the softly scented paper.

A pressed columbine fluttered to the ground.

As he bent to grab it, the unfinished display case beckoned.

He ran his fingers over the soft petals before placing the flower back on the bench.

How well he knew the power of dreams. Only now, he’d added dreams of her, the woman intended for his brother.

After three days filled with running Rebekah to town, chasing down elusive clues for her story, and caring for a sick family, he finally had a moment to make progress on the display case. But he’d spent more of this early hour pondering Isaac’s latest letter.

He smoothed out the paper. This letter may have been intended for his brother, but in the moments Ed wrote to her, the letters belonged to him.

As if she saw him, with all his hopes and dreams. Surely the woman on the other end felt it too.

That connection with the real man behind the letters.

So why did Ed also feel a pang of guilt? Guilt at writing under a pretense.

A light rap sounded on the door as it swung open, letting in the fresh morning light. Drew stepped inside, his face still as pasty-colored as the dough their mother used to leave out to rise.

“Morning. Wondered if you have a minute.” Drew’s eyes skimmed the sight of the half-finished display case.

Maybe he wouldn’t ask about it, but if he did, Ed might as well give him the speech he’d been rehearsing for the day when he would confront his brothers about a furniture business. A day he’d planned for the future, but why not today?

“Sure. C’mon in. How are you feeling?” Ed reached around to grab a stool for Drew, unsure if his brother had the strength to balance himself there for long.

“That another letter?” Drew pointed at the paper on the bench before settling himself on the stool.

“Same girl. Not so sure she’ll make a good fit for Isaac though.” How could she? He didn’t want to discuss this with Drew. Didn’t want to face the fact that she was intended for Isaac. Not when the letters sank into his heart like they did.

“Hand it here. I’ll take a look.”

Ed swallowed hard. “Not necessary. I’m taking care of it. You’re looking a little under the weather still.” He hurried to push the letter into the drawer of the bench before taking up a piece of wood for his display case. “Should you be up and around?”

Ed slid the plane over the wood intended for the side panel of the cabinet.

The soft scraping worked to soothe his tension.

Let his brother ask about the furniture.

It’d be easier to explain than how he felt when he read the words in that letter.

He lifted the plane to run his hands over the smooth wood.

“Keeping a homestead running doesn’t afford any time off. You know that.” Drew rubbed the back of his neck. Ed bristled. No doubt his comment meant to hint about the furniture.

Ed knew good and well that Drew was right. But no man could live without dreams. Without hope. He took another swipe over the wood. This was Ed’s dream.

Drew coughed, the action making him look a little green. “Doctor confirmed a poisoned well was why we all ended up sick. Said he’d let the marshal know and confirmed we can’t use the well again.”

“Quade?”

“Do you know someone else who would do something like that?” His brother followed the movements of Ed’s hands with his eyes. “But we have no proof. No one saw who tossed that dead deer in the well.”

“Same old problem. You got any ideas?” Quade was skilled at keeping his nose clean.

One of these days, the McGraws would catch Quade crossing the line.

The man had wanted their land for the water rights for so long that the feud stretched back to their pa.

Pa had spent a night in jail after the argument had led to drawn guns years ago.

Quade just wouldn’t let it go. It had been too much to hope that the quiet they’d been having would last.

“Maybe you ought to tell Kaitlyn not to let the kids bring the dogs in at night,” Ed said.

Drew gave him a blank stare, then nodded. “We’ll have to dig a new well. Hauling water from the creek to boil takes too long. And it’s already shaping up to be a dry summer.”

Ed stepped away from the piece. He’d been thinking on the well situation himself. “I suggest we hire help for that. It’s a big job, and everyone is still a bit down from the poisoning.”

“Except our neighbors are all busy with their own chores. Trying to keep their farms running while Quade puts pressure on folks to sell. Not to mention the rumors of a rancher being attacked and the other farm that had that blaze.” Drew hung his head.

“Not sure who to trust. Don’t know who might be on Quade’s payroll. ”

An expectant silence filled the air between them.

“Which brings me to the point.” Drew rubbed the back of his neck again, looking for all the world as if he didn’t want to say what he was about to say. “Isaac’s still riding herd on the cattle, trying to eliminate the wolf threat. Can you dig the new well?”

Ed stood not a foot from his half-finished display case.

The one due to the bakery in less than two weeks.

All the extra duties, watching over Rebekah, and now this.

Drew hadn’t even said a word about the case, not even a question.

Just another request for Ed. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

No way would he be able to finish in time for the bakery’s opening.

His eyes leveled on Drew, but his brother had shifted to focus out the window. To the ranch. Which needed fresh water. His family needed a new well.

“We need Isaac.” The words slipped out in desperation for another pair of hands.

As they did, his gaze landed on the pressed flower.

If they brought Isaac back from his hiding place, the letters would go to him.

Isaac would have the privilege of writing to Ree.

Why? Everything in Ed wanted to shout the question.

Why did Isaac get everything he wanted? Just like when they were kids.

“I’d go for him, but Kaitlyn needs me here until Merritt can come stay for a few days. And Nick hasn’t recovered enough yet.” Drew stood, placing his hat back on his head.

There weren’t any other available men to hire. Even so, Ed opened his mouth, ready to tell his brother everything about the furniture, the letters, his own dreams.

“We don’t have time to waste. We need the well. Everyone’s counting on you.” Drew headed to the door, a sure sign he expected Ed up there digging at the first available moment.

Ed bit back his arguments. His family needed him. He watched through the open door as the golden hues of the sunrise all but engulfed his brother’s retreating figure, then he picked up the tarp in the corner, flipped it open, and spread it over the top of the cabinet.

With a sharp jerk, he scooped up his coffee cup from earlier.

The liquid had grown cold, but he downed it anyway.

It wasn’t half as good as the cup he’d shared with Rebekah the other night.

Ed shook his head. What was she doing in the middle of his thoughts?

One cup of coffee was, well, one cup of coffee.

He’d apologized. They’d shaken on it. Their long-standing feud over and done.

So why had that handshake given him so much grief in a different sort of way?

He could still feel the rapid beat of his heart like that night.

Ed left his empty cup on the bench and hurried to put on his boots. There were chores to be done. A well to be dug. He didn’t have time to dwell on things he had no business thinking about. Like Ree’s letters that he wanted all to himself, when she’d been writing to Isaac. Or Rebekah’s handshake.

He hurried out the door, across the field, and into the barn.

The shovel leaned against the side wall.

He snatched it up and began shoveling the stalls even as he warred inside himself.

He dug in over and over, scooping twice as fast, hoping to buy himself time he didn’t have.

But all he managed to do was sling manure all over himself.

He halted, bracing his arm on the top of the shovel. If Rebekah were here, she’d raise her eyebrow before slowly letting out a clear, crystal laugh. Ed shook his head. She just had to get under his skin. A slow grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Then he turned and dug the shovel back in.

Each scraping shovelful chanted You don’t have time. You don’t have time.

Not for his furniture. Not for the girl in the letters. Not for Rebekah, now his friend.

* * *

“Nice work on that story, Rebekah.” The praise from Reverend Carson as he backed out of the newspaper office filled her with hope.

Rebekah waved goodbye before leaning over the layout for the ads, ready to start on the typesetting.

She reached for her apron, tying it up to keep the ink from staining her clothes.

Mr. Sullivan brushed past her as he shifted back to his desk.

Maybe this would be as good a time as any to ask about the story on the candidates.

“That’s the third compliment I’ve heard.”

Rebekah eyed Mr. Sullivan. He didn’t even look up. “How was your daughter?”

“Oh, everything’s fine. The treatments seem to be working.” But he’d left town to rush to her side. Things must not have been as bad as he’d thought. Or he didn’t wish to share details.

“What did you think of my story?”

“Good enough.” His words were distracted as he ran his fingers down a ledger at his desk, then picked up a stack of invoices.