“N ow that you’ve talked to Drew about your carpentry, will you get to the bakery as soon as I’m settled with Mr. Sullivan at the newspaper office?” Rebekah paused by the boardwalk as Ed helped Tillie and Jo from the back of the wagon.

His hand rested on Tillie’s shoulder protectively. He lifted his gaze to Rebekah. “Will you be all right for a bit on your own?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine once I’m inside the newspaper office. You will take the estimate by, won’t you?”

She wanted nothing more than to see him succeed in this and had told him as much on the ride to town.

If she only had the courage to tell him to go on without seeing her into the newspaper office, but the more she worked to still her hands from trembling, the more her knees shook.

It’d all started the moment they’d driven past the edge of town where they’d walked off the boardwalk that day.

“I will.” Ed rounded the wagon to stand near her, appreciation written all over his face in the most delightful way.

“As soon as we get you settled.” He scanned her, squinting as if he’d picked up on her anxiety.

“And after I help Tillie and Jo pick out a gift at the general store for Isaac’s birthday. ”

“And those candies for Ma.” Tillie bounced on her heels, oblivious to the tension between the two adults.

“I don’t know how some candy is going to help her stomach.” Jo crossed her arms.

Ed flicked Jo’s braid. “Don’t grouch about it.”

“She’s still not totally recovered from the well incident?” Rebekah began the walk toward the newspaper office with her arm looped in Ed’s, the girls close beside them. The tension in her shoulders eased as he crowded close to her, still scanning the street.

“Kaitlyn’s stomach upset comes and goes…” His voice trailed off as he stilled in front of the cracked-open door of the newspaper office. “Mr. Sullivan here?”

Rebekah couldn’t understand for a moment as he held his arm to block her entrance. “Not supposed to be. He should be soon though.” She spied the splintering in the door, as if it had been forced open. “What?—”

She looked past him. Her desk lay on its side, papers strewn everywhere.

Tillie and Jo had crowded in close, and Jo gasped while Tillie cried out.

“Don’t look,” Ed ordered.

Behind him, a knife protruded from the door, stuck in a newspaper article.

Ed turned to follow Rebekah’s line of sight. He put his shoulders between her and the knife. “We need to get the marshal.”

Rebekah gulped for air. How was this happening? Where was Mr. Sullivan? Tillie moved close, and Rebekah wrapped an arm around her, reaching her other one out to pull Jo close too.

Ed pushed the door open the rest of the way. The familiar bell never jangled. Instead, it lay broken on the floor. Ed bent to pick it up, scanning the ransacked office.

Everything was silent except for the sound of her harsh breathing in her ears.

“Whoever did this is gone.”

“Uncle Ed?” The rise in Jo’s voice held a mountain of nervous questions.

Tillie’s eyes were huge in her face.

“Why would someone do this?” Her desk had been turned on its side, all the drawers opened and pillaged. Pencils lay scattered across the floor.

He reached to pull her back from the doorway. “I need to get you to the marshal’s.”

“Mr. Sullivan—” she started, but Ed interrupted.

“I don’t think whoever did this cared about Sullivan.”

She stood on her tiptoes to see the headline. Her headline, from the Cheyenne paper. “Mysterious Tattoo Clue to Bandit.”

She pressed her fingers to her forehead in an effort to stop the pounding. She’d written that story. And now someone had broken into the office, the wood by the handle marred where they’d busted the lock.

“Rebekah, come on,” Ed said gently. “Let’s go to the marshal.”

The back door opened, and Mr. Sullivan stared across the expanse of mess.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” she breathed.

“The door was ajar when we arrived,” Ed added.

Mr. Sullivan’s feet crunched in the glass strewn across the floor. He paused and bent to examine the press, lying on its side, smashed. Tears smarted Rebekah’s eyes. They were supposed to go to print with a new issue tomorrow.

As Mr. Sullivan approached, he looked at the article still pinned to the door. “You wrote that article? While I was away? That’s not what I hired you for.”

The words felt like a blow. Ed’s hand rested on her back.

Mr. Sullivan pivoted away from them, knocking his hat off with one hand and burrowing the other in his thinning hair. “My livelihood. Destroyed.”

“The press can be repaired,” Ed offered.

Mr. Sullivan glared at him, then turned his focus to Rebekah. “You’ve painted a target on the back of both of us,” he spat.

“I—” She couldn’t argue. Not when he was right. It seemed her article had brought the bandit and destruction right to Mr. Sullivan’s door.

From where she stood, she saw the pulse pounding in Mr. Sullivan’s throat. His shaking hand at his side.

“Are you afraid?” she asked.

“Of course I am,” he shouted. “I promised him?—”

Ed went still behind her.

“Promised who?” she asked.

For one moment, his eyes looked like a wild animal’s. Trapped and terrorized. And then a mask slipped over his features. “The bank. I signed a promissory note. How will I repay the mortgage now?”

“The marshal—” Ed started.

“The marshal can’t do anything,” Mr. Sullivan growled.

“Is someone threatening you?” Rebekah pressed.

“Stay out of it.” Mr. Sullivan’s glare landed on her. “You’re fired.”

Rebekah froze.

“Get out.”

Ed tugged her arm. In stunned silence, she let him pull her out onto the boardwalk.

Tillie was sobbing with loud gulps, probably from Mr. Sullivan’s shouting. Rebekah froze. Even the glances from passersby on the street didn’t touch her.

Mr. Sullivan had fired her.

With his arms wrapped around their shoulders—the girls on one side and Rebekah on the other—Ed led them down the street. He handed the girls into the wagon, then clasped Rebekah’s hand. “We’ll go see the marshal. Then figure out what to do.”

His steady presence helped calm the storm inside her. For the second time, he was protecting her. Caring for her.

She wasn’t alone.

* * *

Ed exited the marshal’s office ahead of Rebekah, scanning the boardwalk for any signs of danger as he held the door. Only the usual shopkeepers and pedestrians were on the street, but he couldn’t let his guard down.

He’d dropped Tillie and Jo off at his cousin Merritt’s house earlier, and it was a relief to know they were safe.

“Thank you for coming with me.” Rebekah had her arms wrapped around her middle. She looked lost, staring at the buildings across the street.

He wanted to punch Mr. Sullivan.

“Let’s grab the girls,” he said, reaching out to touch her arm. “I’ll take you to the Boutwell place.”

She seemed to shake herself out of her thoughts. “I just want to go home.” The wind fluttered her skirts. “I mean…I want to go back to the ranch with you. But what about your shopping?”

“It’ll wait.”

Her lips firmed. “But your business with the bakery won’t.”

The estimate he’d worked up rustled from where he’d wedged it beneath a stone on the wagon seat. And then blew out of the wagon to land near Rebekah’s feet. He moved, but not before she snatched it up. “Got it.”

Her smile faded as her eyes fell to the page. He saw her freeze.

“I know this handwriting.” Her whisper cut through him.

Rebekah was smart. Of course she would figure it out if given the chance.

The curls around her face bounced as she shook her head. “This can’t be.” The paper lowered, her eyes peered into his. Questions, disbelief, all of it on her face. “Ed, tell me this isn’t true. This is the handwriting that was in every letter from Isaac.”

He tried to push the words out. But they stuck behind his breastbone.

She stared at him, realization dawning. “You weren’t surprised. When I told you I’d written him. I thought…”

It was as if she read the answer in his face. “Those weren’t Isaac’s letters at all. They were your letters.” Her eyes fell to the estimate again, and more words rushed forth. “Were you—poking fun at me behind my back?”

“No! It wasn’t like that.” He swallowed hard. “You admitted you had a plan to win Isaac. Well, Drew and Kaitlyn masterminded the plan to find Isaac a wife. The ad.”

She shook her head slightly. He pressed on.

“I didn’t want any part of this. Not at first. But when I read your letters, everything changed. Writing to you—I started having feelings for Ree. Don’t you see?”

She slapped the estimate against his chest. He brought his hand up to cup hers, but she jerked her hand away, and he was left holding the paper.

Her eyes lit with fire as she talked through gritted teeth. “I admitted everything to you, and you didn’t say a word.”

Everything in him spun, slowing his responses and muddling his brain. How could he make her understand?

“Rebekah, just listen?—”

She spun away when he reached for her.

Her nostrils flared, eyes filling with tears. He was cut to the bone. Rebekah never cried.

“I suppose you were laughing when you read my…proposal to Isaac.”

“Your what?” His head buzzed. His limbs froze.

She’d proposed to Isaac.

Because she’d always wanted Isaac. And Rebekah was never afraid to go after what she wanted.

“Is everything all right?”

He hadn’t even heard the marshal come out of the jail. Her steely gaze took in everything.

Rebekah was silent.

Ed cleared his throat. “We were about to head home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Rebekah snapped.

The marshal looked between them. “I can see Rebekah settled at the boardinghouse. Set a patrol.”

“Thank you.” Rebekah held her chin high, not meeting Ed’s gaze. She fell in beside Danna, already moving down the street.

“Wait—”

“I have nothing left to say to you.” There was a finality to her words.

And then she was gone, and he was left to grasp the side of the wagon bed with both hands, unsteadiness leaching through his bones.

He’d tried to explain everything…

All he could see was a memory of the tears standing in Rebekah’s eyes. I have nothing left to say to you.

He’d ruined everything by keeping secrets. But would it have mattered if she’d listened? She’d proposed to Isaac.

Always Isaac. Why couldn’t Ed be good enough?