Page 16

T he very next day, Rebekah eased up on Mabel’s reins, giving her horse leave to catch up with Ed’s as they rode toward the Quade ranch.

But Lightning sidestepped in a way that prevented her from riding close to him.

Ahead of her, Ed’s shoulders loomed broader than she remembered.

She reined Mabel around to the other side, attempting to sidle up on the left, but Ed reined Lightning back until he was nudging Mabel aside.

This Ed was different. Less scowls and more smiles.

He’d taken her offer of friendship seriously.

Rebekah leaned to the side as a branch brushed close. A chuckle escaped Ed.

This was intentional. “Mabel and I aren’t cattle that need to be cut from a herd, Ed McGraw. I’m on a mission to get an interview, remember.”

Yesterday evening, when Ed had come by to tend the livestock, she’d rushed out of the house to meet him.

She’d been missing her aunt and uncle dearly.

With all the other McGraws still recovering, it had been a relief to see him.

When she’d let slip about her plan to ride out to interview Heath Quade, Ed had insisted on coming.

Sure as the sunrise, he’d shown up early this morning to ride out with her.

Ed flashed a serious look at her over his shoulder.

“I don’t see why an interview is necessary. Why can’t you just write that Quade’s a crook and be done with it? Save a lot of time that way.”

“You know why.” This earned another wry glance from him as he slowed Lightning enough to ride side by side with her.

“Has journalism always been so important to you? Always been your dream?” He shifted his focus to the road, then back to her, genuine curiosity written all over his face. Curiosity without an ounce of snark in it.

“I want to run the paper one day. I even have a plan to own it.” She’d never told anyone her dream before for fear of censure. But Ed didn’t laugh. There wasn’t even a twitch of his mouth.

“You like the facts or the writing?”

“The writing, mostly.” She angled herself, shifting Mabel’s reins slightly, to avoid a low-hanging branch on her side of the road.

The movement left her so close to Ed that her thigh brushed against his.

He shifted away on the horse’s next step, but not before she saw the way his hand fisted and then flexed on release.

“What inspired your love for writing?”

Never had she imagined him with so many questions bottled up inside. He’d always been short on words in her presence. This was all so new. So nice.

“I used to watch my father write novels.” Thinking about Papa brought an old pang of sorrow, one that somehow eased under Ed’s gentle gaze.

“It made you want to write too?” He bobbed his head as if contemplating this new revelation. “Why go into newspaper reporting? Why not write a novel yourself?”

She paused as silence filled the space. They’d called a truce, shaken on being friends. Did she dare to trust him with the truth?

“I’ve tried.” Rebekah scanned the trees and the curve in the road ahead that led up to the Quade house—anything but look at Ed.

“And?”

Why did it matter to him? He’d never thought much of her stories in school.

“A rejection notice came in a nice envelope.” Rebekah straightened in the saddle. Her story hadn’t been good enough.

The thud of the horses’ hooves on the dirt road filled the space between them as they started up the drive toward the Quade home accompanied by a low, gentle laugh from Ed. Not the laugh from the schoolroom. A different one, more like the Ed she’d begun to know this morning.

“That’s their loss. They didn’t know what they were talking about. You were always at the top of the class. Your stories were good then.” He glanced at her with a knowing look. “And I’ve read your story in the paper. I say you’re a top-notch writer. You got this interview, didn’t you?”

A grin passed across his features as they approached the porch. She didn’t know what to do with his compliment. Good thing the house was in sight. She’d do better to focus on the interview.

As they approached the house, Rebekah could see movement inside through the wide glass windows.

Mr. Quade’s daughter, Isabella, exited the house to stand with her hands folded in front of her.

The last Rebekah had heard, Heath Quade’s two other daughters, born out of a second marriage, were in the East somewhere at a finishing school.

All but Isabella, the eldest. Isabella wore a dress that was both expensive and practical.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun with loose tendrils around her face highlighting her high cheekbones.

Isabella had only grown more poised, even prettier, since their school days.

Rebekah dismounted as Ed tied off the horses to the hitching post.

“Good morning.” Isabella’s smile didn’t quite reach the depths of her eyes.

“Hello, Isabella,” Rebekah said.

“Morning.” Ed’s voice held none of the harshness she’d expected. For all his dislike of Heath Quade, it obviously didn’t extend to Isabella.

Isabella returned his greeting with a nod, then motioned to the house. “Father said you were coming.”

“Thank you, Isabella.” Rebekah followed her through the entryway. She couldn’t help an awareness of Ed’s presence close behind her.

The home was built from large stones, with strong beams supporting the ceiling.

They passed a large space they must use for the family room.

Lavish items filled the room. Pieces that might be found in an East Coast parlor, likely shipped out on the train.

It must have cost a large sum. But Heath Quade had been running cattle in these parts for a while, and rumor had it his second wife had brought a lot of wealth to the marriage.

Isabella led them down a hall and then ushered them into the parlor.

Rebekah paused near the door when she caught sight of a man emerging from what appeared to be the kitchen in the back.

When she angled to study him, he pulled his hat low, as if not wanting to be seen.

The motion gave her a quick glimpse of a dark mark where the base of his thumb met his wrist—a tattoo.

“I ran into Clarissa Nelson the other day in town. She tells me you made them the loveliest cradle.” Isabella’s light voice snapped Rebekah’s focus back to the parlor. She’d hesitated in the doorway, and Ed and Isabella were already inside the well-appointed room.

Ed lingered not far from Isabella, his face practically glowing at the praise for his workmanship. “I did make them a cradle. Not sure if it’s the loveliest.”

“She mentioned you might be starting a business.” Isabella was offering Ed a seat on the horsehair sofa.

Ed declined the offered seat with a shake of his head. “I’ve toyed with the idea. Calving go all right for your herds?”

Ed making friendly conversation caused Rebekah to blink. Was his smile a mite…flirtatious? It made Rebekah’s stomach do a funny twist.

The two of them standing there were both so attractive, so athletic. One might think they’d be well matched. If the McGraws weren’t at such odds with Quade.

And if it weren’t Ed.

Rebekah walked into the room, drawing Ed’s warm gaze. He motioned for her to take the seat he’d been offered. She took it and tried not to feel the awkward moment of silence her entrance seemed to have caused.

“That’s a pretty dress, Rebekah,” Isabella offered.

Rebekah caught the flicker of Ed’s gaze. She ducked her head and opened the notebook she’d brought with her, turning her concentration to the list of questions she intended to ask Mr. Quade.

A gentle laugh escaped Isabella, Ed smiling along at something he’d said.

Rebekah smiled to cover for not having paid attention.

Now that she and Ed were friends, things were different than before.

He’d even ridden along with her today without mentioning the promise to Uncle Vess.

But did different mean her stomach cinching up like a too-tight belt when she watched Ed answer Isabella?

She pressed her fingers to her temple. None of this made any sense.

“I’ll tell Nick you were asking about him. It’s been a long time since we all used to race horses after school.” Ed had fallen into reminiscing with Isabella.

“My apologies. I haven’t offered either of you anything to drink.” Isabella clasped her hands, the gentle smile back on her face. “Would you like coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.” Rebekah’s voice blended with Ed’s. She shot him a look out of habit, but half regretted it when he raised those brows at her.

The moment Isabella turned from the room, Ed paced the floor once, then stopped close to the sofa—so close his boot touched Rebekah’s. The clanging of cups on saucers echoed from the kitchen. Ed seemed to concentrate on the doorway, as if making sure no one entered.

When he leaned down close, his breath fell hot on her ear. “Don’t forget to see if Heath Quade has an alibi for the day of that bandit attack. I’d like to see what he says.”

Ed had never been this close to her before. If she turned her head…well…the warmth of him so close unnerved her in a strange new way.

He stepped away and Rebekah flipped the page of her notebook. Aimlessly, she began sketching. Anything to redirect her mind and calm her nerves before Mr. Quade entered the room. A replica of the tattoo on the man’s hand took shape unexpectedly as she worked to distract herself.

Ed cleared his throat behind her. She turned back the page, sitting up straighter.

Isabella returned with the coffee. As she handed them each a cup, Heath Quade stepped into the room.

* * *

Ed’s eyes locked on Heath Quade’s as the man’s lips drew into a tight line. No doubt the others in the room could feel the palpable tension at Quade finding a McGraw in his parlor.

Rebekah cleared her throat. “Thank you for agreeing to this interview.”