Page 32

T wo days at the boardinghouse in town had only served to fray Rebekah’s nerves.

She finished pinning up her hair, then bent to lace up her boots. The marshal had insisted Rebekah stay in town. Insisted staying out at the Boutwell farm wasn’t safe, was too far away from the nearest neighbor if the bandit came after her.

She’d barely slept, waking often from nightmares of that knife on the door. As Rebekah slipped down the steps, hoping to leave without notice, a board creaked beneath her feet.

Mrs. Thorton poked her head out of the kitchen. “Would you like any breakfast this morning? I’m about to clear the table.”

The way Ed had beamed at Rebekah when she’d saved him a plate that morning at the McGraw homestead flashed across her mind. His surprised gratefulness had touched her. Made her want to save him a plate every day. But now? Thinking of it made her stomach hurt.

“Not this morning. Thank you.” Rebekah hurried down the stairs and out the front door, ignoring the woman’s tsk.

The smell of the dirt packed by rain settled in her nose as she started along the boardwalk to the newspaper office. These last few days, she’d half expected a note or a message sent from Ed.

She’d reacted badly. She could admit it now that the anger and humiliation had faded. If he asked, could she forgive him for his deception? She didn’t know.

As she neared the office, Billy nodded at her from the other side of the street. What would he do if Mr. Sullivan followed through with his threat to shutter the paper?

Just ahead, Danna strode toward her. Rebekah slowed her steps. The marshal made a show of cutting her eyes in all directions.

“You out by yourself?” There was a slightly accusatory tone to Danna’s voice.

Rebekah had been trying to tell herself not to be nervous, but the marshal’s words reminded her that this wasn’t over. “I’m on my way to see Mr. Sullivan about getting my job back.” Surely he’d have repaired the press by now.

“Things are still dangerous.” Marshal O’Grady nodded to a man passing by, then focused back on Rebekah. “I thought I was closing in on the bandit. We tracked him to a hideout near the county line, but he disappeared.”

“I appreciate the warning,” she said tightly. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Danna couldn’t expect her to stay sequestered indoors forever, could she?

“Be careful.”

Rebekah tried not to let the marshal’s concern worry her. But as she walked down the familiar streets that made up the town that had been her home for years, every shadow between the buildings was a threat.

A shout from the saloon turned her head. She faced the splintered door to the newspaper office, her body poised to run. She took a long breath, straightened her blouse, then let her fingers press against the door. It opened slowly. A shadow moved inside. It had to be Mr. Sullivan.

She let her eyes adjust to the light. He bent over his desk, riffling through papers, stuffing his personal belongings in a satchel.

Her gaze lingered over the mess. The desks were righted, but all the papers were cluttering the front in an odd array of haphazard stacks.

Metal letters were strung out on the floor along with pieces of the broken-up stand for the printing press.

Her job. Her dreams. All lay scattered in a hundred pieces across the floor.

“How can I help?” Her voice trembled with emotion.

“Go away. You’re not supposed to be here.” Mr. Sullivan spat out the words, not even stopping his mad rummaging through his desk.

She stood, jutting her chin. “I love this job, you know.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “What job? There’s no paper anymore. See this mess?”

“You can rebuild.” Hadn’t Ed said the press could be repaired?

Sullivan shook his head. He found the ledger in the drawer.

Desperation rose inside her. “You can’t just give up.”

He fixed her with a wild stare, making her glad for the desk between them.

“It’s not safe,” he rattled. “This—this was just a warning.”

“Whose warning?”

He shook his head, moving around the desk, heading for the door.

“Quade?” She caught the truth in his eyes as he moved past her. “If he threatened you?—”

“Remember Frank Jones? I can’t go to the marshal. Even if I could repay the money, everything I’ve worked for is ruined.” His expression wore both fear and resignation. “I’m leaving. Going to live with my daughter. Start over.”

“You mean take the coward’s way out.”

“Watch yourself,” he said sharply. “Words can get you into trouble.”

The door slammed behind him. He was gone. Out the door and past the large window overlooking the boardwalk. She stared after his retreating figure until she lost track of time.

But you can’t control everything. You’ll end up miserable, and it won’t work.

Kaitlyn’s words from weeks ago ran through her head.

Rebekah had tried, hadn’t she? Written that article, chased leads. And look what had become of her job. The paper.

There had to be something here she could do.

Her foot rolled over a piece of metal on the floor as she took a step forward.

A letter she used for typesetting reflected the stream of sunlight from the window.

She bent to grasp it from the dust, dropping it in her pocket.

Then grabbed up a handful close to the other. They were scattered all over.

She held up her skirt in front of her to create a fold to place more letters in.

Rebekah dropped to her knees in the dust and grime, running her hands along the floor in search of her beloved letters.

Silent tears of exhaustion flowed as she scoured the wooden floorboards.

Finally, she rocked back on her knees to swipe at her face.

Holding up the fold in her skirt, she began sifting through the letters.

There were so few compared to what she needed.

She’d never be able to make the words with these.

She pushed up to place what few letters she’d salvaged in their tray, which lay on the desk close to the press. As she rose, the fabric of her skirt moved, allowing letters to spill out. They hit the floor with a clink.

Tired and spent, Rebekah gripped the edge of the desk. All her letters, her dreams, lay broken and scattered. Just like her relationship with Ed.

A loud bang from outside made her jump. She shouldn’t stay here.

She needed to write to Aunt Opal and Uncle Vess to tell them all that had happened. Without the paper, her income was gone. She might have to go back east after all. Surely they’d insist on it. And to think of all she’d done to get here in the first place.

The ache in her heart ran so deep that her tears dried up. She stumbled forward to grasp the tray for what letters were left. In a desperate move, she splayed them in their tray. None of them organized, just heaped in the slots.

“I can’t fix any of this.”

She’d been believing a lie. She’d never really been in control of her life. But even if she had been, she certainly wasn’t now.

* * *

Ed slammed the posthole auger into the dirt and twisted.

Only ten more posts to set to finish the extra fence project Drew had asked for. With a twist, he spun the auger until enough dirt built up on top to dump it near the hole, then started the process over again.

Clang.

He wanted the effort that was tiring out his body to tire out his brain, but it wasn’t working. Drew’s promise to give Ed more time away from the ranch duties hadn’t come to fruition. Ed was letting Mrs. Wilson down. He’d promised to bring in a chair for her to look at.

Ed tossed the dirt to the side again, then dropped the auger back in the hole.

Clang.

How did a man keep the promises he made when they were dependent on others keeping theirs?

Something Drew hadn’t done, even if his reasons were legitimate.

Sweat dribbled down his back. He didn’t look forward to the next drive to town.

It meant a discussion with Mrs. Wilson that he didn’t want to have.

At the thought of town, Rebekah’s face invaded his thoughts. Was she safe? Was she eating? Were nightmares plaguing her again?

The remembrance of her tears made him want to howl. His body ached, but his soul ached worse.

Clang.

I have nothing left to say to you.

Clang.

The desolation in Rebekah’s eyes as she’d spoken haunted him.

Always would. Even as he shoveled out another spot to start the auger.

He pressed the shovel below the weeds with his boot, stopping to wipe the sweat off his face with the back of his arm.

His mind might never stop going back to Rebekah.

A distant shout interrupted his musings.

“Dinner’s ready. You comin’?” David didn’t even bother to come the whole way. He stood at the edge of the fencerow, hands cupped around his mouth as he hollered.

Ed lifted a hand to wave him off. He didn’t want to face his family. Not after all their hopeful teasing.

He would have kept working if it weren’t for his grumbling stomach.

He slipped into the house through the side door to the kitchen.

In the shadows of the corner, he bent over the washbasin.

He splashed the water over his face and neck, then reached for the soap.

As he did, a happy birthday chorus filled the house. They were singing without him?

Ed shifted from the shadows to peek into the dining room as he scrubbed with the soap. Isaac sat stone still. Tillie’s and Jo’s faces were shining. David was leaning to whisper something to Nick.

Ed ducked back into the corner, replacing the soap to rinse his hands off. Hearty laughter filtered in from the dining table as they finished the song. If Rebekah had been here, she would’ve insisted they wait.

“Uncle Ed.” Tillie’s voice came from the doorway of the kitchen. When had she stepped this way? “You missed the song. Hurry or you’ll miss the cake.”

She rushed forward, gripping his hand before he’d finished drying it. With a tug from Tillie, he gave in to following her.

“Happy birthday.” He paused long enough to grumble out the greeting to his brother.

Isaac’s gaze cut away.

The table quieted. Kaitlyn wore a sort of pitying smile as she exchanged a glance with Drew. Nick raised a brow as he finished a sip from his glass, as if studying him. But only Isaac’s concentrated stare unnerved him.

Ed stopped at his place, then halted when there wasn’t any silverware.

“I’ll get you a fork.” Kaitlyn pushed up from the table.

“Don’t bother. I know where it’s at.” He huffed to the kitchen, pulling out a drawer from the kitchen safe a little too hastily. Silverware jangled as he did.

As Ed picked up a fork from the drawer, his eye caught a strawberry cake. Kaitlyn must have baked it for Isaac’s birthday. Figured that the night they had cake, it’d be strawberry. If he ate it, he’d break out in hives. But Kaitlyn didn’t know. She’d only been part of the family for a few months.

He reached for the cookie jar, intending to grab himself a bit of dessert. He’d tuck it into a napkin, pull it out as the others ate the cake. Where did Kaitlyn store the napkins?

He jerked open a drawer, but instead of the napkins, he found the bundle of letters he’d stashed there a couple weeks ago.

He ran his hands through his hair, remembering how he’d hidden all the letters from the other women who’d answered Isaac’s ad there after Rebekah had come to the ranch looking for Isaac.

With a jerk, he pulled open the lid to the kindling box and shoved the bundle to the bottom, right where they belonged.

Another burst of laughter echoed from the other room, bringing with it memories of Rebekah at the table with them the other night. The brush of her shoulder against his, the sparkle in her eyes.

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

He dropped the fork back into the drawer.

His shoulders drooped as he slid the silverware drawer closed, casting a quick glance back at the happy celebration before he turned to slip out the lean-to door.