A lmost…finished!

It’d only been two days since Ed had dropped Rebekah off in town.

One more line of type to set before Rebekah would be done for the day. The click of metal letters sliding into the composing stick created a pleasant tune to her ears.

The clock tower at the train station chimed once.

A wagon rattled to a stop outside the newspaper office in Calvin.

Right on time to take her home after two days of preparing the paper to go out.

Too bad her work prevented her from peeking around the stacks of papers strewn across the desks to see out the window facing the boardwalk.

The window offered a perfect view of the boardwalk, the shops across the dirt lane that made up the main street, and the pedestrians she loved watching.

For now, she had to settle for listening to the clop of hooves and the jingle of harnesses.

If Isaac were sitting atop the wagon seat instead of Ed, her week would be perfect.

For years, she’d tried to stop the wild moment of heart pounding every time Isaac approached.

She’d begun to simply accept it as part of who she was.

Ever since her first sight of him, when she was only eleven, she’d fancied him.

Never could seem to help it, even now. If only it’d been Isaac who’d promised Uncle Vess.

The bell above the newspaper office’s door jingled, followed by the even cadence of clomping boots across the planks of the printing office.

A distinct pattern belonging to only one man in all of Calvin plunged her into the depths of disappointment.

Twice this week, Ed had shown up where he shouldn’t have.

Rebekah rescued the composing stick from crashing to the ground as she spun to face him. “If you can wait for a minute or two, I’m almost finished.”

“Take all the time you need.” His clipped words didn’t hold the patience they implied. “If it’s not too late, I have an ad for the paper.”

She inhaled a slow breath of air in an attempt to ease her frustration before walking to the front counter. Any other neighbor might have asked about the weather or how she was faring with her family gone. Not Ed.

The sooty scent of the ink around her usually produced a calming effect of sorts, but it lost its power as the faint whiff of horse hung in the air. Isaac would have smelled like gunpowder, or so she imagined.

On her way to the front, she handed the composing stick to Mr. Sullivan.

As she did, a curl escaped the pin holding her hair back.

She dared not touch it for fear the ink on her fingers would color the tendrils.

Her aunt was forever scolding her for coming home with ink-stained ringlets, telling her it ruined the glow of her beauty.

For all Rebekah knew, another McGraw brother might be in town with Ed. That hope bolstered her spirits anew.

“An ad?” Rebekah arched one eyebrow as she spoke to Ed in a low tone. His white shirt bore scuff marks across the arms where he must have loaded items into the wagon earlier in the day.

“Morning, Mr. McGraw.” Mr. Sullivan, the proprietor of The Weekly Gazette and Rebekah’s boss, called out from somewhere behind her as the press clacked back and forth with the printing.

Spinning his hat in his hands, Ed nodded at Mr. Sullivan before focusing his attention back on her. The twirling hat stopped. “It’s an ad for the matrimonial section.”

“The matrimonial section? You?” Both her brows flew up with the corners of her mouth.

If only she had the strength to keep from bursting out in laughter in the presence of Mr. Sullivan.

He’d scolded her more than usual lately about professionalism with the customers.

But maybe Ed hadn’t taken notice of the incredulity in her tone.

Before her fingers could reach for a pencil to take down the ad, he pulled a folded-over piece of paper from his pocket. His jaw twitched.

“It’s for Isaac.” He slapped the paper on the desk, his gaze holding hers and his expression thunderous. He’d heard her all right. “I’ll be back to take you home after I load up the supplies at the general store.” His words were clipped.

Rebekah gulped back the aggravating tears pricking her eyes as she held his stare. His face wore no emotion as he placed coins on the counter to pay for the ad, then spun on his heels. His steps echoed heavier than usual as he exited.

“What did you do now, Rebekah?” Mr. Sullivan moved in behind her.

Sullivan’s words barely registered as Rebekah’s fingers lifted the paper. A faint whiff of coffee mixed with bacon drifted to her nostrils. She carefully unfolded what appeared to be an envelope, worn with time. Words were scrawled across the width of the yellowing paper.

Rancher, tall with good manners, nice-looking, desires acquaintance with upstanding young woman, must cook well; object matrimony. Box 256, Calvin, Wyoming.

A matrimonial ad for Isaac? Whatever pounding rhythm her heart had beat before, it slowed until the room spun.

Isaac wanted a wife.

“Rebekah?” Mr. Sullivan grasped the paper with one hand as he raked the other through his whitening hair. “Another rancher looking for a wife. We’ll put it in the next edition.”

“I can’t.” I was supposed to be his wife.

Mr. Sullivan made no indication he’d heard her over the clatter of the press. He surveyed her with a questioning crinkle to his brow, as if calculating why she stood so still. “Take it home with the other ads. Work it up. Make sure you run it in the next edition.”

There was no way Mr. Sullivan had any idea of her feelings for Isaac.

Since the humiliation she’d endured in the schoolroom, she’d kept her true feelings close, never sharing them with anyone.

Most of her acquaintances had forgotten that long-ago debacle.

Except for the boy—now man—who’d engineered it. Ed.

Her eyes roamed the room, at first to distract herself. The stacks of papers waiting to be tied with twine, the dusty desks, the ink on her own fingers—all reminders of what Mr. Sullivan had done for her. He trusted her with the ads. And she wanted more, so much more.

Rebekah breathed deep, this time letting the odor of printing ink settle her nerves. She had no choice but to print the ad. Isaac McGraw was a paying customer.

Her fingers worked to untie the leather apron that protected her light-colored blouse.

You could answer Isaac’s ad.

The thought stopped her in her tracks as she climbed the stairs to gather her bag from the storage room above the newspaper office.

Her well-worn satchel sat atop the cot that ran the length of the old newspaper stacks.

Beyond them were boxes of filed papers, miscellaneous parts, and a lone window overlooking the street.

She moved to the window. She’d wrestled with problems up here before, in the evenings when she stayed in town by herself.

Mr. Sullivan’s house was two blocks over on the residential street, and he let her lock the doors for propriety’s sake.

Isaac McGraw couldn’t marry anyone else.

Through the glass, she spied Ed returning with his wagon loaded. She must have lingered longer than she’d planned. Her fingers were still without feeling as she lifted her satchel. Or had her brain simply refused to acknowledge the motions of her own body while her heart went numb?

Rebekah descended the stairs. From the desk in the corner, she gathered up the stack of ads waiting to be sorted and placed for next week’s edition.

One particular ad glared at her from the top as she slid it into her leather workbag.

What if it were to get lost in the busy news office?

That was another option. Or a gust of wind might easily blow the ad away.

She finished gathering her work. With a wave to Mr. Sullivan, she spun to push the door with her back, lugging her satchel in one hand and the leather bag of ads in the other.

As the door swung open, it met a thump of resistance.

She turned to find Ed rubbing his nose. An apology stuck in her throat as he glared past his fingers at her.

“Ready?” The word came out clipped. He held out a hand for her things, but she brushed past him to put her bags in the wagon herself.

A swirl of emotions fought inside her. The last thing she needed was Ed’s commentary on her feelings for Isaac.

Or more of his snickering, which still echoed in the back of her mind, along with all the other students’ laughter from that unfortunate incident years ago.

She hoisted herself onto the seat, perfectly content if he didn’t speak to her for the entire ride home.

Ed settled beside her, pointing to her workbag as he snapped the reins. “Taking work home?”

“I usually do.” She refused to look at him.

“Don’t forget to put all the ads in the paper.”

Insufferable. As if her professionalism would allow her to do otherwise. What did he take her for? Whatever his angle was, he’d not get the satisfaction of another word out of her.

She gripped the far edge of the seat, angling her body away from his as much as possible.

As she did, he eased the wagon onto the small town’s main street.

They passed buildings lining both sides of the street until Ed turned the wagon onto a side street.

A row of small houses ran the length of the road.

Ed pulled up on the reins in front of a white clapboard house. “Wait here.”

“Why are we stopping?”

“I’ll only be a minute.” He jumped from the wagon without offering any real answer, then walked around to the back.

“Some of us want to get home before nightfall,” she called out after him.

He ignored her.

She shouldn’t care, but her innate curiosity got the better of her, and she stretched her neck to discover what mystery had halted their trip home.