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T he bell above the office door chimed.

“Give me one minute, Billy.” Rebekah didn’t look up as she worked the twine to tie a bundle of newspapers together.

She hadn’t counted on having to prep the papers for distribution by herself before the delivery boy, Billy, arrived.

But Mr. Sullivan’s rush to see his daughter, who’d been ill, had seen him racing off to catch the one o’clock train.

“I just have to tie off this last stack.”

A man cleared his throat, causing her to jump. Definitely not Billy. The twine fell from her fingers, leaving the papers to slide into a heap on the floor.

“Sorry to startle you.” Mr. Jameson’s figure blocked one whole section of the front window. The local rancher wore a big Stetson that reached nearly to the ceiling. “I have an envelope for Mr. Sullivan. Is he here?”

The man scanned the front office. Rebekah stepped from behind her desk, dodging the misshapen stack of fallen papers. Her green sprigged calico skirt rustled as she moved.

“He has gone out of town for a few days. I’ll be happy to deliver it to him when he returns.” She held out a hand, tilting her head as she smiled.

Mr. Jameson eyed her. Didn’t he trust her? Rebekah had babysat the man’s daughters when they were little, after all. “Be sure it’s kept in a safe place.”

“And what is so mysteriously important?” Rebekah teased. She clasped the envelope with both hands as the man handed it over.

“List of candidates for president of the Cattlemen’s Association.” He tipped his hat and winked. “Don’t want them getting out before next week.”

“Don’t you worry. This newspaper has a spotless reputation.” At least, it would keep that spotless reputation as long as she got the rest of the papers ready on time.

Mr. Jameson turned to go, the bell jangling as the door closed behind him a few seconds later.

Rebekah studied the envelope in her hand.

This week, when she’d taken care of the matrimonial ads, they’d all fit into the paper without a problem.

Not a good sign. Not if they wanted more papers to sell.

If only they’d been able to print this list of the candidates for president of the Cattlemen’s Association this week.

Even with the list, if Mr. Sullivan didn’t get back soon, they might not have time to work anything up to print next week.

Rebekah gripped the envelope in her hands as she stepped toward her desk, then stuffed it in a pocket of her skirt before picking up the fallen papers.

This could be her big break. She flopped the last of the folded papers on the stack, then ran the twine beneath the lot of them and pulled the cord up to tie it.

If she reported on the men running in the election, things might pick up around here.

What if this was her chance to make a difference with her reporting?

With both hands, she hoisted the stack of newspapers onto the front counter for when the delivery boy came by.

Then she patted the pocket where she’d stuffed the list of people running in the election.

One little peek at the list would give her enough information to get a story or two. A story that would sell more papers…

Her conscience pinged. Mr. Jameson had insisted it go to Mr. Sullivan.

She turned and made her way to Mr. Sullivan’s desk, her steps echoing off the floorboards, then took the envelope from her pocket.

The folded paper pulled at her with a magnetic sort of draw.

What good did it do for her to sit around working up more matrimonial ads when the story of the year rested inside that envelope? Did she dare?

Her hand trembled slightly as she fingered the seal.

On the other side of the window, a wagon kicked up dust as it careened past the newspaper office, nearly hitting the hitching post out front.

Shouts rose amidst the dust. Rebekah left the envelope unopened on Mr. Sullivan’s desk in her rush to the window.

Voices—worried voices—came from the direction of the doctor’s office, where a crowd was already gathering.

Rebekah pushed against the front door, her heart pounding against her ribs.

The jangling bell rang in her ears as she sped down the rough boardwalk toward what must be the makings of a story.

She excused herself as she hurried past a group of women near one of the shops.

“Rebekah?” Merritt, a good friend and cousin to the McGraws, called out to her hesitantly. “Where are you going?”

In her rush, Rebekah waved her off. She needed to get this story. She’d have time enough later to catch up with Merritt.

“Get the marshal,” a man from the group hollered at a bystander.

Marshal Danna O’Grady was already crossing the street at a jog. The men carrying the wounded man shifted to let the marshal get close. Rebekah shouldered her way amongst the sweaty cowhands. Her nose wrinkled at the smell.

Who lay on that makeshift stretcher? Someone mentioned “the boss.” The boss of the ranch? Which ranch did they belong to? If only she could identify the man, she’d have a place to start investigating.

The marshal motioned for everyone to step back, then leaned in over the wounded man.

From here, Rebekah could only hear the cadence of their voices. She held her bent arms in front of her, pushing against the men crowding in only to take a sharp elbow in her side. She lost her breath. Kept going. It didn’t matter how she shifted, she failed to make out more than a few words.

An attack along the side of the road. A bandit with…

“Bring him in. Quickly.” The doctor held open the door to his office as the men hoisted the injured man inside. The marshal leaned close to whisper to the doctor, who nodded his head with a grim set to his jaw. “I’ll let you know.”

“Marshal.” The crowd began to break up around Rebekah, smothering her voice and carrying her backward as she struggled to gain her footing. “Excuse me. Press here.”

A few of the rough cowboys eyed her with disinterest, but their hesitation gave her enough of a break to squeeze closer once again. She was almost in line with the marshal when another cowhand stepped in her way.

“Marshal.” Sweat from pushing against the now dissipating crowd left sprigs of Rebekah’s hair clinging to her forehead and neck.

Danna barely glanced up. “I need the ranch hands to come to my office.” Marshal O’Grady motioned for the men to follow her.

Rebekah increased her pace, ignoring the side glances of the ranch hands she’d fallen in with as she pushed forward to walk in step with Marshal O’Grady. “For the record, who was that? Does the doctor expect a recovery?”

Marshal O’Grady didn’t slow. “I’m in the middle of an investigation.”

Her sharp words only took Rebekah aback for a moment.

“But where did it happen? Someone in the crowd mentioned a bandit?”

Marshal O’Grady stopped outside her office. She motioned for the ranch hands to continue inside, then turned to face Rebekah. Her eyes were sunken. Likely, the recent trouble in the area had been keeping her busier than usual. “I’ll pass along pertinent information to the newspaper when I have it.”

“But—”

The marshal’s frown brooked no further argument. As she stepped into her office, Rebekah reached for the door to follow, but the marshal pulled it closed.

Rebekah did a slow pivot to face the direction of the doctor’s office.

A man loitering nearby, no doubt hoping to have a story of his own to tell, eyed her with disdain before ambling away.

She balled her fists at her side. Getting a story was hard enough.

Proving herself as a young woman with the ability to write and tell a good story was even harder.

But she’d do it.

Mr. Sullivan may have told her to leave the candidates to him, but he hadn’t specified anything about other news impacting the town.

She pushed back the way she’d come. The dirt from the rumbling wagon and clomping boots had settled to leave a film across the boardwalk.

The taste of grit filled Rebekah’s mouth as she sauntered back to the newspaper office, listening for any other viable clues as she did.

All she needed was a hint of something to go on.

She pulled on the door to the newspaper office.

Maybe if she sketched the brand from the horses, she could find the name of the ranch.

In quick steps, she swerved around the stacks of clutter in the office to her desk.

As her fingers fell to her pencil, Rebekah nearly knocked a stack of freshly delivered mail from her desk.

It must’ve come while she’d been gone for those few minutes.

There, on the top envelope, were her initials.

Just as she’d signed them on her letter to Isaac. She froze.

He’d written back.

She clutched the envelope to her chest. Everything around her blurred as she sank into her chair.

She worked to steady herself, taking in long breaths and slowly exhaling.

Her fingers refused to stop trembling as she slid open the envelope and pulled the letter from inside.

Her eyes drank in the words as her fingers flew to her lips.

The cheerfulness of your letter put me in mind of a ray of sunshine. Something every man needs in their life. Especially when the winters are long…

…I’m very interested in hearing more about you…

Tough Marshal Isaac McGraw had written this. To her. It was everything she’d always dreamed of.

Even if he didn’t know it was her, exactly. He’d written this letter, and she was reading it. If only she had someone to share the wonderful news with. No day had been better in all her history of days.

Only after she’d secured the letter in her satchel did she return to sort through the other envelopes. Three other letters for Box 256. For Isaac.

Rebekah placed all the other correspondence in the appropriate boxes except for those.

What should she do?