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A flash of a barn dance from when he was fifteen wove its way into his crowded thoughts.

He’d been wanting to ask the pretty, dark-haired cousin of Jeb to dance but couldn’t work up the courage.

That was when his buddies had brought him a cup of something sure to give him a bolster.

More like a horrid stomachache. One that’d left him running for the back of the barn to heave the contents of his stomach while Isaac twirled the pretty girl onto the dance floor.

Ed had passed Rebekah on the way out, her brows lifted high at his stumbling rush.

Not to mention the humiliation of his brother’s scolding all the way home for drinking what he’d later discovered to be moonshine.

When he’d confessed to Pa why he’d done it, Pa had told him to quit trying to be someone he wasn’t. God had made him Ed, and that was all that mattered. In time, the right girl would see him as her hero. Just as he was.

He let the sandpaper fall to the floor beside the display case, his eyes going to the most recent letter sitting on top.

Kaitlyn had told him to court Rebekah. But he didn’t have enough courage to ask her outright.

A letter had started it all. He’d write another one. Maybe his words on paper could change her mind.

He grabbed up a paper he’d been reserving for writing up invoices and began his letter.

Writing furiously, he poured his heart out on paper.

It wasn’t long before he had a letter he was satisfied with.

One with all his declarations of feelings for her.

After reading it one more time, he picked up the pen to sign his name. And stopped.

He stared at the page. If he signed this, there was no going back. If he won Rebekah, how would he explain all this to Drew? Surely Kaitlyn would soften his brother, who didn’t know about Ed’s conundrum.

He’d spilled out his feelings on the page. If Rebekah knew him like he’d begun to know her, she’d guess it was him. It seemed so obvious. He stared at the paper, his shaking fingers clutching the pencil. Did Rebekah want him? Ed McGraw?

He was afraid to find out. He left the signature blank and folded the paper to stuff it in the envelope, then put the direction on the outside as he’d done at least half a dozen times before. This time, his anticipation for a reply swirled in his gut with a fear he’d never faced before.

He wouldn’t sleep tonight, that was for certain.

* * *

Rebekah touched her fingertips to her lips as she reread the lines once more.

Every time I find your letter in the box, my heart aches with joy at the thought of reading it…

This letter mined the depths of romance unlike any before it, almost as if Isaac knew it was her. As if he were truly falling in love with her.

I long to hear what you have to tell me…

This was what she’d always wanted. From the very moment she’d first laid eyes on Isaac McGraw.

I can hardly concentrate until I can find a place all alone to read your words…

So why did Ed’s face keep invading the space in her head as she read the letter?

His comments about what he’d really thought about her in school.

The fact he liked her writing. His hand at her hip as he’d boosted her into the saddle at Quade’s place.

The protective way he’d checked the barn and house.

Rebekah ran her fingers from her lips up her cheek to her temple. Nothing made sense now that she and Ed were friends. Life had been easier when they hadn’t had a nice thing to say to one another. Hadn’t it?

“What is that? Is that another mail-order bride letter?” Mr. Sullivan’s sharp baritone over her shoulder sent a jolt through Rebekah.

“It’s personal,” she murmured as she slipped the letter back in its envelope. Her cheeks flushed. If only she’d waited until later to read her letter.

She spun, locking gazes with Mr. Sullivan. “This letter is addressed to me.”

Neither one broke the stare. Even as her insides trembled, the words still warmed her. Nothing in her wanted to let him read it to prove the letter belonged to her.

Sullivan broke the stare. “Did you deliver the letters to Isaac?”

She pushed the envelope into the pocket of her skirt. “I said I would.”

His eyebrows hitched. But she found she couldn’t even be sorry for the misleading words, not while her heart sang. She’d won Isaac’s heart.

“My article is ready.” Rebekah reached for the papers with her article scrawled across it and held it out to Mr. Sullivan, only too ready to divert the conversation. “The one covering my interview with Mr. Quade.”

“I’ll read it later.” He walked to his desk, tossing her article to the side.

“It’s the facts. An exclusive interview.” Desperation clung to her words as she watched him from across the room. Wasn’t he even going to read it?

“Not sure we’ll have space for it.” Mr. Sullivan mumbled the words as he focused on the ledger on his desk. It wasn’t his usual day to pore over the books. He only paid bills and tallied the ledger every other week. Why busy himself with it now?

She stepped in that direction, ready with an argument to plead the case for her article. “Has the circulation for the paper improved this month?”

Mr. Sullivan slid his arm over the page. He eyed her as if he knew where she was going with this. “We can talk about your article later.”

“It’s just that our readership seems very interested in the candidates?—”

The ledger slammed closed, echoing through the office. Was he hiding something in those pages? “I only need you for one thing: the matrimonial ads. If you can’t do that right, then maybe you shouldn’t be employed here.”

All her words stuck in her throat. Her fingers brushed the pocket where she’d slipped Isaac’s letter. She swallowed hard, thinking of all the other letters she’d hidden. She’d not done her job properly. Not all of it.

Mr. Sullivan’s eyes narrowed. “I want a yes or no answer. Did you deliver the letters to Isaac? And make a formal apology?”

Rebekah couldn’t stop the trembling of her fingers. “I will.”

He shook his head, his face reddening. “You…I…”

She had to stop him before he fired her on the spot. “I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”

“See that you do. I can’t have the paper’s reputation suffering over this.” He locked the journal in a drawer, then marched to the front door. Every footstep jarred her worn nerves.

“Deliver those letters or you’re fired.” As the door slammed behind him, the bell rattled in time to the shaking of her hands.

Rebekah fingered Isaac’s letter in her pocket. More work waited for her on her desk, but it could wait. She’d already worked on the next edition of the paper until it was almost dark. Mr. Sullivan would be back first thing in the morning to help her set the type for this week’s edition.

She crossed the newspaper office to the stairwell in the back, then clutched the railing tightly as she climbed to her little cot upstairs. After pulling the bundle of letters from their hiding place in her satchel, she placed Isaac’s letter on her pillow and set the rest of the bundle on the cot.

The soft fabric of the quilt atop the cot crumpled when she sat and leaned over to unlace her boots.

Who would have imagined letters causing so much trouble?

They’d always fixed everything for her. A letter had gotten her here so long ago when her mother had decided to remarry.

Aunt Opal and Uncle Vess had come to get her when she’d written, bringing her to this wide-open territory from the crowded city back east.

She tugged to pull off one boot, then the other.

She had no regrets about writing that letter.

It’d brought her new opportunities and so much joy.

Coming here had meant working at the paper and meeting the McGraws.

But if she lost her job, how could she afford to stay?

All the years of working her way up from sweeping out the office to setting type and writing articles only to be on the verge of losing it all?

What would her aunt and uncle do? Especially since her pay often helped cover the bill at the general store.

It wasn’t like she could depend on others to pull them through.

Her aunt and uncle had strong views about charity.

If it came to that, they’d likely sell the ranch that they loved so much.

Walking on her stocking feet, she moved to the window.

A group of boxes waited, arranged to create a sort of seat for her.

If she hadn’t come west to be with her aunt and uncle, Rebekah didn’t know what her fate might have been at the hands of her stepfather.

He’d been impatient with her, even cruel at times.

Her mother had tried to smooth things over, needing the financial security he offered.

But the Boutwells had been there for Rebekah. She could never let them down.

Through the windowpanes, the stars shone above the fading sunset.

Her journal and a pen waited in the secret place between the box and the wall. With her hand, she reached in to pull them out. The journal fell open to a blank page. Did she dare try to write another letter?

Dear Wyoming Rancher,

She put a line through the words. Crossed them out more fiercely as emotion poured through her. That wouldn’t do at all. She tore out the page, took a deep breath, and then began on a new sheet.

Dear Isaac,

Her chest heaved under the weight of what she had to write.

I can keep the secret from you no longer. I am writing this letter to tell you an awful truth in hopes that you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

With each stroke of the pen, Mr. Sullivan’s words echoed through her mind. She had to deliver the letters to Isaac. She couldn’t imagine how he’d respond. She hadn’t spoken to him in…months. What if she couldn’t find a way to make things right?

Her mind whirled. If she revealed her deception to Isaac, Ed would find out too.

She could imagine the disdain in his eyes. Easily. Would their friendship end when he found out she had been writing to his brother and scheming to marry him?

Their friendship would have to change if she and Isaac took the next step in their relationship. That was only natural.

So why did her stomach knot when she imagined Ed finding out?

…I am ashamed to tell you that I held back the other letters that came in response to your matrimonial ad. My reasons were selfish, as you can surely guess…

…my feelings for you have grown…

…I have attached the other correspondence…

…My job at the paper once felt secure, but with all that has happened lately, it no longer does…

…With so much uncertainty in my life, your letters have been my only constant. I would like to define our relationship. I need to know if…

Did she dare to write the word?

In her mind’s eye, she saw Ed’s sparkling eyes and quicksilver smile.

And then Isaac, standing at the back of the church like the last time she’d seen him. Brooding and enigmatic.

She couldn’t imagine Isaac saying aloud the words he’d written in his letters.

But Isaac was the man she’d always dreamed of as her husband. Determined, she put her pen to paper again.

…you truly feel as I do. That we have developed a connection worth taking a chance on. If you do, I see no reason to put off our engagement any longer. With great anticipation, I await your reply.

Rebekah signed the letter. Her breath caught as she fought the pounding inside her chest. She’d done it.

She folded the paper, then rose and returned to the bed.

Cupping her hand over the candle, she blew out the light with a shaky breath.

She slipped off her blouse and skirt, then settled on the cot in her cotton underpinnings.

The bundle of letters glared at her, even in the dusky light of the musty room.

She slid the new letter under the twine holding the bundle together.

Isaac’s letter to her lay open, staring back at her.

Sitting cross-legged on the little cot, she reached out to fold it up.

Her job, her future, and her love for her aunt and uncle and their farm all rested in her getting that bundle of letters to Isaac.

All the feelings she’d ever had for Isaac McGraw laced her letter of explanation to him, now attached to the top.

Marrying him seemed like the answer to all her troubles.

So why did it feel like a betrayal of her friendship with Ed?

She swiped at an interfering tear. In a quick motion, she scooped all the letters up and shoved them in her satchel.

Pulling her knees close to her chest, she stared out at the night sky.

Was it possible God would listen to her prayer for help after she’d jumped into this mess with both feet, directing things the way she wanted them to go?

Aunt Opal always said God was there with the answers when we needed them. We just have to trust, ask, and let go.

Rebekah flopped back against the pillow. She’d never been too good at letting go. But if she’d ever needed an answer, it was now. With her eyes closed, she tried to imagine her future. But as hard as she tried, it wasn’t Isaac’s eyes staring back at her.

It was Ed’s.