Page 17

If she wanted to take the lead, he’d let her.

Ed leaned against the wall by the window, watching Rebekah’s reflection in the glass.

Probably best if he kept sipping instead of talking.

Except his next sip revealed how close the bottom of the cup was, and Isabella had already exited the room with no sign of returning soon.

“What made you want to run for president of the Cattlemen’s Association?” Rebekah perched, prim and proper, on the edge of the settee, her pencil at the ready over that notebook of hers.

“I want nothing more than to give back to my community. Serving as president of the Cattlemen’s Association is the best way I can imagine doing that.” Quade moved to the large leather chair in the room, not far from Rebekah, as he spoke.

Resisting the urge to add his own thoughts on Quade’s supposed desperation to give back to his community, Ed let his cup clank a little heavily on the fancy saucer.

Rebekah scribbled away. He caught a swift flash of Quade’s subtle but hostile glance in his direction before Quade’s focus returned to Rebekah.

“What is your opinion of the current president?”

Quade drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair before droning a lengthy explanation of his views on the current president along with a bit of his own background and ranch.

Ed pushed back a snort. Too bad Quade had left out the part about trying to steal the land out from under the McGraws. All for a batch of water rights.

“Were you there when they brought the injured man into Calvin? The one who’d been attacked by a bandit? I know the man is a cattle rancher. Do you think there might have been any foul play related to his cattle business? Any comment on that?”

Good for Rebekah. Pinning him down to where he was that day under the guise of an interview question.

“I wasn’t there. My ranch hands and I were busy working on a fence in the south pasture.

But I did hear the terrible news, although I don’t believe it relates to cattle rustling.

And I’m sure Marshal O’Grady is doing a fine job of finding the man responsible.

” Quade shook his head in sympathy as if genuinely moved by the situation.

He then offered a smug smile before pulling out a toothpick.

“Of course.” Rebekah tapped the notepad with her pencil. “You’ve mentioned a lot about your history here and your family, but I don’t recall you mentioning your first wife. There have been rumors of a mystery surrounding her death. Any comment on that?”

The man shifted a little in his chair, his brows rising.

“The loss of my first wife is a painful subject. I’m sure you’ll excuse me if I don’t wish to talk about it.

Frankly, I wouldn’t expect a seasoned reporter to even ask such a thing.

But I understand Mr. Sullivan probably didn’t have anyone of that caliber to send. ”

Rebekah smoothed her hand over her skirt as her head tilted to one side.

She wore that smile plastered on her face, the one where her lips turned up but no teeth showed.

The one that usually came right before she let loose with a comeback.

But she simply glanced Quade’s way, then down to her notebook.

“Several members of the community are concerned at the amount of land you are amassing and what connections you may have had at the land office. Specifically with Ernie Duff.”

“I—I don’t believe Mr. Duff works for the land office anymore.” Quade rolled the toothpick in his fingers a little faster.

“They are asking why, when you have such a nice spread already, you are buying so much land. Some even question if you are building more of an empire for yourself. They wonder if you will only help the larger ranches or, if elected, represent even the little ranchers. Like the ones you are buying up.”

Quade shifted in his oversized chair. “Land is a legacy. I don’t feel I’m amassing more land for the land itself. It’s more of an investment in my roots here, for myself and my heirs. A true testimony I plan to stick around to invest in the people of this community.”

Heath Quade had turned that around, but only the ones who hadn’t been on the receiving end of his bullying ways would believe it.

Time for Ed to get his questions answered.

“I don’t suppose you heard about the well being poisoned out at our homestead?” Ed turned from watching the reflections in the window.

“Poisoned?” Quade shook his head slowly. “I may have heard a rumor.”

“Mind if I question your men about their whereabouts the night before last? I’d like to see if any of them saw anything.” Ed circled around to place the empty cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of the settee, never taking his eyes off the man’s face.

“No one but the marshal questions anyone on my ranch. If you can convince her that there’s a good reason to interrupt their work, I’m happy to let Marshal O’Grady talk to them.”

“What about you? Where were you that night?” Ed’s jaw tightened as his fists balled.

“Ed.” Rebekah’s call came out quick and sharp as she rose from the settee.

Mr. Quade stood to his feet from the large chair.

Isabella entered the room, her face pale as if she’d been listening outside the door. She shot a glance at her father. “We’d be happy to help you in any way possible.”

How had the man managed to raise such a proper daughter while hissing through the grass himself?

“I just remembered a prior appointment.” Quade brushed past them on his way to the door. “We’ll have to finish another time.”

Something in the way Quade hurried out told Ed there wouldn’t be another time. Rebekah must have caught it too. She fidgeted with her notebook, then shot Ed the raised-eyebrow look.

Isabella nodded, looking chagrined. “Thank you for coming to interview my father. I’ll show you out.”

Ed followed behind Isabella and Rebekah to the front door. Stepping outside, he tipped his hat at Isabella as she closed the door behind them, then turned to help Rebekah into the saddle.

“Sorry I cut your interview short.” He hated ruining her interview when she’d been so set on it, but Quade needed to be confronted.

“Your apologies appear to be quite frequent.” Rebekah leveled him with a stare before she leaned over to stuff her notebook in the saddlebag. But this wasn’t the place for squabbling over a shortened interview.

“I am sorry,” he repeated quietly.

Her expression softened.

Ed walked around to his horse, grabbed up Lightning’s reins, and swung into the saddle. With a nod to Rebekah, he followed her out of the Quade ranch. If anyone wanted to make trouble, he wanted to be closest to where he figured the trouble would come from. With Quade, that would be from the rear.

Once he got Rebekah back home, he dismounted to help her unsaddle Mabel. A good excuse to make sure the barn was clear. Then he’d check the house. Being around Quade earlier had his hackles up.

“Are you planning to stay? I can handle this on my own.” Rebekah cocked her head to one side, her sharp tone making a rare appearance again. The interview must have ruffled her feathers. Not that he’d hold that against her.

He did a quick check of the stalls, then returned to heft the saddle to its place while she finished giving Mabel a brush down. Satisfied the barn held no danger, he stopped near where Rebekah stood.

“I’m going to go check the house.” He patted Mabel, then nodded to Rebekah.

“You really don’t trust Mr. Quade, do you?” With the brush still in her hand, she lifted her satchel to hand it to him. “Take this to the house for me, will you? I’ve got a few nuggets in there I plan to put to good use in my article.”

A soft chuckle escaped him as he ambled to the house with her satchel in tow. Leave it to Rebekah to have a plan.

Once inside, he left the door open for extra light.

He swept through the rooms, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

As he passed through the main room, an overloaded bookcase all but begged for relief.

When he got his furniture business going, he’d offer to make the Boutwells another one at cost. He ran his finger over the shelves.

Books were stacked on top of each other.

Several were written by a man named Edwards. Rebekah’s father?

A dime novel stared back at him. One with a hero atop a horse, guns blazing, complete with a marshal badge.

Like Isaac. Something in him sank. He’d mended fences with Rebekah.

They were friends, or at least talking civil most of the time.

Shouldn’t bother him she still wanted Isaac over him, should it?

He hadn’t realized until this moment that, in all their time together, he’d been falling for Rebekah.

But what about the woman in the letters?

She acted mighty interested in marrying Isaac.

If that worked out, Rebekah might take the revelation pretty hard after all these years.

But maybe not so much if the woman really fell for Ed instead.

But what did he want? All of it filled his gut with a sickening feeling.

Maybe they’d been playing with too many lives, too many people’s feelings, while trying to fix Isaac up.

Things weren’t supposed to be like this.

Ed started for the door when he remembered the satchel across his shoulder. He pulled it down and slung it over a chair back. As he did, Rebekah’s notebook spilled out open onto the ground. He bent to scoop it up, then stilled.

There, on the page of her open notebook, a familiar looping handwriting beckoned.

Ed stilled with his finger on the page. His hand went cold.

He knew the delicate slant of those letters.

Knew it by heart. His fingers ran along the words from her interview, Wyoming Cattlemen’s Association , as his pulse pounded in his ears.

Every letter to Isaac started with “Dear Wyoming Rancher,” a funny sort of endearment the woman had decided on, making it so much easier for Ed to let himself sink into the letters. He tried to swallow against the sudden dryness in his mouth. There it was, the same fanciful rendering of Wyoming .

All this time, he’d been writing to Rebekah—for Isaac. And all this time, he’d been falling in love with Rebekah through her letters. His mind whirled in a confusion of letters, loopy writing, and a fearsome tug on his heart.

From the open door, he caught movement from the direction of the barn. With a flurried grasp, he flopped the notebook closed and replaced it in the satchel, then hurried out the door.

Rebekah approached the house, lifting a hand to wave as he swung a leg up over his saddle. He tipped his hat to her, then spun Lightning to take off for the McGraw homestead before she said a word.

He didn’t even glance back. Didn’t want to. Couldn’t. He was too afraid to admit to himself why this revelation hurt so much.