Page 4 of Chapel at Ender’s Ridge (Ender’s Calling #1)

The stranger blanched, still cradling his hand. “I didn’t want to be any trouble. ”

Blood pooled under his bound hand and the sharp smell went to Decker’s head despite his recent feeding. “Safine,” he said politely.

“Give me a goddamn minute,” she snapped, and snatched a clean towel from the next table, tossing it to him before bounding up the steps.

Red streaked across the stranger’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s alright.” Decker turned a chair towards him and sat, motioning for his hand.

“I really didn’t mean—”

“Quiet.”

A small, indignant sound left him, but he fell silent and propped his arm on his knee. Decker replaced the soaked shirt with a towel over the wound and pressed to slow the bleeding.

Copper faded and mixed with the faint scent of sandalwood soap like he’d washed up before coming here.

Faint stubble, lighter than his curls, dusted his jaw, and freckles trailed across his cheeks like a tiny church mouse scampered across him while he slept. If he stayed, the sun would coax even more color out of his wan face.

The West will drive him away in a week.

Decker eyed him. “That’s a nasty gash.”

His flush deepened. “The knife I bought from the mercantile came very well-sharpened.”

“Good. It’ll be easier for her to sew up.” His hand was soft under Decker’s, tension unknotting with each word, and he took full advantage. “You’re the one staying at the chapel?”

“I am. I have much work to do, but I’ll have it ready for winter—oh, goodness, my manners. ”

Worse than a flighty bird, spit it out.

“Lawrence—” he stumbled over his own name like this was the first time he’d introduced himself to anyone, and tried again. “Laurie. Laurie Lane.”

Lane.

Decker stiffened.

Same as the last preacher. Common name, but here? There could be no coincidence. A burning sensation prickled at the scars curled around his hands.

The stairs screeched in protest as Safine flew down them with a needle and thread between her lips, a small blue bottle in one hand and hard clear liquor in the other. She took his arm, stretching it on the table and letting out a low whistle as she eased the towel away.

“Alright, Mister—”

“Lane.”

They answered as one and she stilled, her gaze snapping to Decker.

He returned her steady look with the slightest shake of his head.

Bide our time.

Decker didn’t want to scrub the floors tonight. Besides, this would be a waste of a kill when he didn’t plan on feeding again for weeks.

“Laurie. Please call me Laurie.” Clear liquor splashed over his hand and he winced.

“Oops,” Safine said in a tone that was anything but apologetic.

Decker almost smiled. “We’re in my saloon, not your chapel. God won’t care if you cuss a little. ”

The preacher sank his teeth into the edge of his lip when Safine jabbed the needle into the clean edges of the cut. His heartbeat skipped and scattered like rabbits, racing along Decker’s last nerve.

“We never got a proper introduction,” he said in a tight, breathless voice.

And yet I know so much more about you, than you know of me.

His hand spasmed under Safine’s needle. Decker took his fingers and pinned them to the table.

“Decker Belmont,” he said. “And you’ve met my wife, Safine.”

“Good thing, too,” she murmured, “would’ve been a shame if you bled out in our saloon.”

Something indescribable flickered through his eyes—pain, longing, fear, all gone so quickly Decker might have missed it if he wasn’t studying his face for signs of who Elias Lane was to him.

Father, brother, uncle? He gathered the preacher was younger than Safine, but not by much; Elias was far too old to be his brother, and Decker dismissed the thought, leaving only father and uncle. If he had to wager, he would bet on uncle.

The similarities were subtle, but present—the same unruly hair, almost too long, and a delicately crooked nose that might have been broken once. His eyes were different. Worried and tentative, like a dog kicked too many times, and holding none of the bite Elias had when he arrived.

“The newspaper said Ender’s Ridge was the Devil’s Town,” he said.

Decker’s last nerve snapped. “The newspaper?”

Mr. Lane winced when Safine dug the needle deep into his palm. “I bought the last one when I got off the train in Ridgewater. I can’t imagine who would write about your town like that—everyone I’ve met has been kind to me.”

The preacher’s voice trailed into the distance as Decker focused on two words.

The newspaper .

Ender’s Blessing jumbled the memories of humans who had been there, muddying them until they never quite remembered how to get there or what went on across the river. Ender’s Ridge was never remembered long enough for lawmen to come looking for them, much less a reporter writing about them.

Bitter implications fell like dominos. If their visitors remembered Ender’s Ridge long enough to write a newspaper article calling them the Devil’s Town , what else did they remember?

Winds of change had blown into town with the new preacher, and the gale snatched away anonymity and peace. How deep did the unveiling run?

And why now?

Safine pulled the thread taut and snipped the excess with a tiny pair of gold-handled shears. “Don’t strain it for the next few days. I’m not sewing you up again.”

“You make an excellent doctor. I appreciate you fixing me up the first time.” He gave her a rueful smile and tilted his head to make sure the wayward goose wasn’t under the table again. “What do I owe you—” The words died in his throat as he straightened and came eye to eye with Decker.

The preacher’s breath wavered across his lips. Decker wanted to yank the air from his lungs, unraveling each gasp and sigh until it told him why he was here .

“The newspaper. Stop by tomorrow night. I’d like to read it,” Decker said softly.

“Of course.” He glanced at Safine.

She jerked her head towards the door, false niceties replaced with clipped words. “I don’t need any other payment from you.”

Thanks, preaching, and pleasantries all looked like they wanted to tumble from him like a snake shedding its skin. Instead, Mr. Lane gave a quick “Good night”, and fled the saloon.

As soon as his footsteps left the veranda, Safine rounded on him with a whispered hiss. “You invited him back ?”

“If Ridgewater is remembering us, we can’t get rid of him yet. Someone will come looking,” Decker said evenly.

“If he’s related to Elias, he’ll be no different.” Glass cracked as she swept up the broken bottle in short, stabbing sweeps of the broom.

Nudging the battered dustpan closer with his foot, he held it in place. “We can’t afford recklessness. I won’t let anything happen, Safi.”

With a loud clatter, she swept it into the dustpan and jammed the broom into the corner. Gathering her things, Safine glanced at him, her face as sharp as the chips of glass. “If he starts causing problems, he’s gone, whether it’s me or you.”

“Me or you,” Decker promised.