It was late afternoon when Faith Goodell sat in her kitchen, eating warm beef stew. Her mind churned with restless thoughts, not tasting the meal she’d prepared.
“This won’t do,” she muttered, pushing away her half-empty bowl. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the worn wooden floor.
Her eyes darted to the clock on the mantle. Still early enough. Decision made, she strode to the coat rack by the door, donning her favorite coat.
The streets of Mystic were quieter than usual as Faith made her way to the Mystic Gazette office. The fading sunlight glinted off the newspaper’s painted sign.
Inside, Faith lit the oil lamps, bathing her father’s old desk in a welcoming glow. She settled into the familiar chair, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper, her favorite dip pen, and an inkwell.
Her pen scratched across the paper as she began to write.
Pausing, she tapped the pen against her chin, wondering what her father would think of the Alliance.
A wistful smile tugged at her lips. Faith guessed he would say she was stirring up trouble.
Then again, he always encouraged her to question everything.
She returned to the task, adding more points to her list.
The scratch of her pen and the occasional creak of the old building were the only sounds in the quiet office. Faith lost herself in the work, the restlessness plaguing her earlier gave way to a sense of purpose.
Finishing the last point, Faith leaned back in her chair, stretching her cramped fingers.
She glanced at the clock, surprised to see how much time had passed.
Night had settled in, and Faith knew she should head home.
Yet, as she gathered her things, a nagging feeling tugged at her.
Something about the empty streets and the frightening events of the day left her feeling unsettled.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the sensation. Stepping out into the cool night air, she locked the office behind her. Faith couldn’t quite shake the feeling change was coming to Mystic, and not all of it might be welcome.
Her hand lingered on the doorknob of the Mystic Gazette, her mind drifting from the Women’s Alliance to the events of the day. The bank robbery, Trent Galloway’s sudden appearance, and Joshua’s quiet strength all swirled in her thoughts like leaves caught in a whirlwind.
During the walk home, Faith found herself pondering the two men who had unexpectedly dominated her thoughts.
Joshua, with his stable presence, had been a constant in her life for as long as she could remember.
She’d loved him for years, though Faith had never admitted her feelings to him. She wondered if he felt the same.
Trent, with his rugged charm and tales of adventure, stirred something new and exciting within her. The two men were as the moon and the sun. Joshua, so rooted to the land, and Trent a tumbleweed in a storm.
The bounty hunter’s stories echoed in her mind, tales of justice served and outlaws brought to heel. Faith’s journalistic instincts tingled with possibility.
She quickened her pace toward home as a cool breeze rustled through the trees.
As she rounded the corner onto her street, a shadow moved in the alley beside Jennings Mercantile.
Faith’s heart leaped into her throat, her earlier bravado evaporating like morning dew.
She froze, eyes straining in the dim light.
“Hello?” she called, hating the tremor in her voice. “Is someone there?”
Silence answered her, broken only by the distant howl of a coyote. She mentally shook herself, trying to laugh off her fear. But the safety she’d always taken for granted suddenly seemed as fragile as spun sugar.
Rushing up the front steps and into the house, she locked the door behind her. Faith leaned her back against it, her thoughts swirling.
She glanced at her writing desk, where a blank sheet of paper waited invitingly.
Even with the late hour, Faith felt a familiar itch in her fingers.
There were stories to be told, and she was the one to tell them.
Whether it was the Women’s Alliance, Trent’s adventures, or the changing face of Mystic itself, Faith knew one thing.
Her pen would be busy in the days to come.
The following morning, Faith stepped out into the crisp Montana air, her folio tucked securely under her arm. As she strode toward the newspaper office, she spotted a familiar figure outside the sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Brodie Gaines stood tall and imposing, his jet-black hair ruffled by the morning breeze. His eyes, usually twinkling with good humor, were clouded with concern as he gazed down the street.
“Morning, Sheriff,” Faith called out, quickening her pace. “Did they catch the bank robbers?”
Brodie turned, his broad shoulders relaxing at the sight of her. “Good morning, Faith.” He nodded, his voice deliberate and measured. “I was hoping to catch you. Got some information you might want for that paper of yours.”
Faith’s eyebrows shot up, her instincts instantly on alert. “What do you have?”
“I’ve sent word to Fort Ellis, requesting they send some troops to help us deal with those outlaws holed up in Black Canyon.”
Faith’s eyes widened. “Troops? Will they venture into Black Canyon?”
“I’m hopeful they will,” Brodie replied, his eyes meeting hers steadily.
“These bandits are dangerous. We were fortunate none of the townsfolk were shot during their escape yesterday. Going into Black Canyon is dangerous, especially with the few men in the posse. The cavalry plus the posse would have a better chance of penetrating their defenses.”
Faith nodded, already considering the implications of heading into what Joshua called the viper’s nest. “Do you think all the men in yesterday’s posse will volunteer again?”
A flicker of uncertainty passed over Brodie’s face.
“That’s the other thing,” he said. “Trent Galloway’s decided to ride out to Fort Ellis himself.
Told me he wants to join up with the troops if they do ride into Black Canyon.
He implied the posse wouldn’t be necessary. If that’s so, I’m all for it.”
Faith felt a sudden tightness in her chest. “If he rides with the troops, when will he be back?”
Brodie shook his head. “I’m not sure he will be coming back. He told me, whether the troops ride out or not, he may not be returning to Mystic. Men like Trent are like tumbleweeds. They never stay in one place long.”
Her high good spirits sank. She’d known Trent was a drifter. Still, she’d hoped he might stick around long enough to share his stories.
“I see.” She fought to compose her voice. “Well, I suppose you’re right. A man can’t change his nature, after all.”
Brodie studied her face, his expression softening. “You all right? Cody told me Galloway had agreed to tell you more of his tales for the newspaper. Must be disappointing.”
She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin. “You’re right. I am disappointed. The townsfolk would’ve enjoyed his stories. I was thinking about asking Lilian to create illustrations to go with them.”
As Faith and Brodie concluded their conversation, the jailhouse door creaked open. A man Faith had never seen before emerged, his presence catching her attention. Tall and wiry, with thick auburn hair and piercing golden-brown eyes, he presented an air of quiet confidence.
Brodie gestured toward the newcomer. “Faith, I’d like you to meet Nash Beaumont, our new deputy.”
“Pleased to meet you, Deputy Beaumont,” Faith said, extending her hand. “I’m Faith Goodell, editor of the Mystic Gazette.”
His handshake was firm but not overbearing. “Ma’am,” he replied, his voice low and measured.
“Nash has come to us from Laramie,” the sheriff explained. “Figured with all the excitement lately, we could use an extra deputy.”
She nodded, her curiosity far from satisfied. “I’m sure the townspeople would be interested in hearing more about our new deputy,” she said, turning back to Nash. “Would you mind if I wrote an article about you for the newspaper?”
Nash shifted his weight, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “Don’t reckon there’s much to tell, Miss Goodell. I’m a man doing his job, is all.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” she insisted. “Everyone has a story, Deputy Beaumont. And I’m certain the townsfolk would be interested in the man who’ll be protecting them.”
Nash glanced at Brodie, who gave a slight nod of encouragement. “I suppose if the sheriff thinks it’s all right, I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “Perhaps we could meet later today? I promise not to take up too much of your time.”
Nash touched the brim of his hat. “As you wish, Miss Goodell. I’ll stop by the newspaper office when my duties allow.”
As Faith bid farewell to both men, her high spirits returned. A new deputy, an impending military operation, and the lingering mystery of the bank robbers were all superb topics for the Gazette. Mystic was certainly brimming with activity, and she was determined to chronicle every moment of it.
The bell above the Mystic Gazette’s door jingled, startling Faith from her concentration. She looked up from her desk, pen poised in her hand, to see Nash Beaumont’s tall frame filling the doorway.
“Deputy Beaumont,” she greeted, rising from her chair. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Removing his hat, he revealed thick auburn hair to match his mustache. “Miss Goodell.” He nodded. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
She gestured to a chair across from her desk. “Not at all. Please, have a seat.”
As Nash settled into the chair, Faith couldn’t help but notice the way he scanned the room, his golden-brown eyes taking in every detail. It was the gaze of a man accustomed to assessing his surroundings.
“So, tell me about your journey to Mystic. What brought you here from Laramie?”
His lips quirked in a half-smile. “It’s not much of a tale, I’m afraid. Saw the posting for a deputy position and decided it was time for a change of scenery.”
“Surely, there’s more to it than spotting a posting. What made you decide to be a deputy in the first place?”
His eyes grew distant for a moment. “I suppose you could say it runs in the family. My father was a Texas Ranger. I grew up hearing his stories and watching him serve the community. It seemed a natural path.”
She found herself drawn into Nash’s world, piecing together the experiences that had shaped this taciturn man.
Their conversation flowed, touching on Nash’s time in Laramie, his impressions of Mystic, and his hopes for the future. Faith’s pen danced across the page, capturing not only the facts but the essence of the man before her.
As the interview drew to a close, he cleared his throat. “Miss Goodell, I hope I haven’t taken up too much of your time.”
She glanced at the clock, surprised to see how much time had passed. “Not at all, Deputy. This has been most illuminating.”
Standing, he reached for his hat. Fingering the brim, he met her gaze. “I don’t suppose you’d care to talk more over supper? The Buffalo Run, perhaps?”
She hesitated for a moment, her thoughts briefly flitting to Joshua Beckett. But her instincts won out. “Sounds lovely. I’d be delighted to learn more about your travels.”