The almost full moon lit the streets of Mystic as Faith and Nash strolled toward her house.
The evening air was brisk, carrying the scent of woodsmoke from the stoves and fireplaces inside the homes.
She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her mind filled with the tales Nash had shared over supper.
“I must say, Deputy Beaumont, your adventures make Mystic seem quite quaint in comparison.”
His lips curved into a small smile. “Every place has its own story, Miss Goodell. Mystic’s just waiting for someone to tell it.”
She smiled. “Well said.”
They reached her porch, and Nash tipped his hat. “I reckon you’d do a fine job of it. Don’t ever sell yourself short. There’s a whole world out there waiting to be written about.”
As he bid her goodnight and disappeared into the darkness, Faith found herself rooted to the spot, his words echoing in her mind. She sank onto the porch swing, the gentle creaking a counterpoint to her jumbled thoughts.
Mystic spread out before her, familiar and comforting. Yet Faith felt a restlessness stirring within her. She thought of Trent Galloway and Nash Beaumont, of the vast country beyond Mystic’s borders, wondering if there was more out there for her. What if her story didn’t end in Mystic?
As quickly as the thought arose, another followed. Joshua Beckett’s face swam into her mind, his familiar presence an anchor in the sea of uncertainty.
“Oh, Joshua,” she murmured. “Where do you fit in all this?”
The porch swing swayed, as if encouraging her musings.
Her gaze drifted to the distant mountains, their peaks silhouetted against the star-studded sky.
As the night deepened around her, she remained on the porch, her heart and mind grappling with the choices before her.
The future, once so clear, now seemed as vast and mysterious as the Montana sky above.
A sudden gust of wind swept across the porch, rustling the papers Faith had brought home from the Gazette. One sheet caught the breeze, dancing out of her reach. As she lunged to grab it, a name caught her eye. “Flatrock.”
Faith’s breath caught in her throat. She snatched the paper, her eyes scanning the hastily scrawled notes she’d jotted down earlier in the day. In all the excitement of meeting Nash and the lingering thoughts of Joshua, this crucial piece of information had slipped her mind.
“Flatrock,” she whispered, her heart racing. “The outlaws’ hideout.”
She stood and paced the porch, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet, considering her options. A horse nickered in the distance, and her head snapped up. An idea, dangerous and thrilling, began to take shape in her mind. She could ride out tonight, under the cover of darkness.
“It’s madness,” Faith told herself, even as she felt her resolve hardening. “Absolute madness.”
Yet she found herself moving inside the house, her hand reaching for her heaviest coat. The night air seemed to whisper promises of adventure, of stories waiting to be told.
Rushing outside, she hurried toward the livery. Careful not to make any noise opening the gate, she approached the chestnut mare Josiah Jarvis always saddled for her. Seeing her approach, the horse nickered in greeting.
As her hands closed on the saddle, a shadow fell over her. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest. Slowly, she turned to face the unexpected visitor.
“Going somewhere, Faith?”
The shadowy figure stepped into the moonlight, revealing the stern countenance of Sheriff Brodie Gaines. His eyes, usually warm and friendly, now held a mixture of concern and suspicion.
Her hands dropped from the saddle, her pulse quickening. “Brodie,” she managed, striving for a casual tone. “What brings you out so late?”
His gaze swept over her attire, lingering on the heavy coat, the one he knew she wore when it snowed. “I could ask you the same question. Seems to me you’re fixin’ to go on a late-night ride.”
The cool night air swirled around them as the mare nickered once more. In the distance, a coyote’s howl pierced the silence, adding to the tension of the moment.
Faith weighed her options. She could lie, make up some excuse, but the thought of deceiving Brodie sat ill with her. Taking a deep breath, she decided on honesty.
“I remembered something. Thought I might check it out myself.”
His eyebrows shot up. “And it couldn’t wait ’til morning?”
“It’s about the robbers,” Faith pressed on, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I understand they’re holed up in Black Canyon. Probably in Flatrock.” She glanced away, realizing how ridiculous her idea would sound.
“And?”
“And, well… I had the idea to ride out there and see if I might be able to find them. For a story, I mean.”
Brodie’s expression shifted, shock and anger crossing his features as his voice rose. “Flatrock? You were going to ride out alone to a town with a saloon, a house of ill repute, and a livery. A town brimming with outlaws to get a story?” The censure in his voice had her wincing.
“I guess it doesn’t sound quite as sensible as it did when I first thought about it.”
Brodie’s eyes narrowed, his voice harsh as he took a menacing step toward her. “It’s a darn fool notion, and you know it. Flatrock isn’t safe during the day, and is darn right murderous at night.”
As if to underscore his point, a sudden gust of wind rattled the livery railings, sending shadows dancing across the stables. Faith shivered, not entirely from the cold.
Brodie regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Most of the time, your heart’s in the right place, Faith, but your head isn’t thinkin’ straight tonight. Now, here’s what you’re gonna do…”
The sun crested the distant horizon when Faith found herself seated at her desk in the Mystic Gazette office, her fingers punching keys on her father’s typewriter.
The events of the previous night continued to weigh on her as she crafted her latest article, weaving together the facts of Nash Beaumont’s experience with the story of his travels, ending with his arrival in Mystic.
A gentle knock at the door interrupted her focus. She looked up to see Nash Beaumont, the subject of her article, standing in the doorway with his hat in his hands.
“Mornin’, Miss Goodell.” A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Sheriff Gaines asked me to check in on you. Make sure you weren’t planning any more midnight adventures.”
She felt a flush creep up her neck. “Deputy Beaumont, I assure you, I’ve learned my lesson. My place is here, reporting the news, not gallivanting about in the dark.”
Nash’s smile widened. “Glad to hear it. Though I must admit, your spirit is admirable. Not many folks would’ve had the gumption to even consider such a thing.”
As he spoke, Faith found herself studying the newcomer. Something in his easy manner put her at ease, cutting through the tension lingering in the air.
Nash reached into a pocket, drawing out a glove. “Mr. Jarvis brought this to the jail this morning. He didn’t know where else to take it. The sheriff wondered if you might be missing one.” He chuckled as he walked toward her and set the glove on the desk.
Her face flushed again. Clearing her throat, she reached out and picked it up. “Why, yes. This does look familiar. I removed my gloves to pick up the saddle…” Her voice drifted off.
“Understandable. It can be hard to cinch up a saddle with gloves.”
“Yes. Quite right.” Opening the drawer of her desk, she slid the glove into it.
“If you don’t mind, I’d best get back to the jail and let Brodie know you’re in your office.”
“Thank you, Deputy.”
Walking toward the door, he stopped, turning toward her. “Oh, and the sheriff asked for you to stop by the jail and let him know if you have the inspiration to ride out at night in the future.”
Clamping her jaw shut, Faith stopped herself from a response neither ladylike nor civil.
Joshua Beckett sat alone on the porch of the main house, a cup of coffee warming his hands before his mother called everyone to supper.
His azure eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the sky met the jagged silhouette of the Rocky Mountains.
His thoughts, however, were miles away, centered on one person. Faith Goodell.
He tried to think about the work waiting for him in the morning.
Mending fences and moving cattle were never ending chores on the sprawling Wild Spirit Ranch.
His mind should’ve been on them. Instead, it slipped back to the last time he’d seen Faith, after the bank robbery and his part in the posse tracking them.
Why was it so hard to tell her how he felt?
He’d known Faith longer than anyone outside his family.
She was as much a part of his life as the ranch itself.
Telling her his feelings shouldn’t be more difficult than confessing he preferred beef to chicken.
Yet the thought of laying his heart bare made his hands go clammy, and his stomach twist into knots.
What if she didn’t feel the same? Worse, what if his admission put a strain on their lifelong friendship? He needed her in his life. Losing her would be unbearable.
Joshua remembered how devastated Faith had been after her father died, the deep hollows in her cheeks, the emptiness in her eyes.
Joshua had been the one to convince her to keep the paper running, to persevere.
He’d wanted to tell her everything would be okay, and he’d always be there for her. But fear had stopped him.
Confessing his love could change everything. It could mean losing her entirely. And yet, doing nothing might cost him even more.
Sipping his coffee, memories flooded his mind, unbidden, though welcome.
He saw the two of them as children, running wild through the town of Mystic and up into the hills of his family’s ranch.
Faith had always been fearless, the one to dive into the swimming hole first or climb the highest branch of a tree.
He’d been more cautious, following her wherever she led.
He thought of the time in high school when she’d been dating Ben Hadley.
Joshua had simmered with jealousy, though he’d kept it well hidden.
When Ben moved away and broke things off, Joshua had secretly been relieved, though he hurt for her all the same.
She’d cried on his shoulder the night Ben left, and he’d been there, steadfast as an old oak in the following weeks.
More recently, he’d remembered the mid-summer evening she invited him to the newspaper’s anniversary, celebrating ten years in Mystic.
They’d eaten roast beef and potato salad, along with molasses cookies and wild blackberry tea.
She’d told him stories of her parents and the early days of the Gazette.
Joshua had been so proud of her, of everything she’d accomplished on her own.
Then there was last Christmas, when she’d come over to the Beckett house for supper.
The ranch was snowbound, and she’d spent the night.
They sat up late, drinking hot cocoa in front of the wood stove, talking about old times.
He’d come perilously close to telling her then, the words “I love you” dancing on the edge of his tongue.
Every moment had carved her deeper into his heart.
The porch boards creaked as Joshua shifted in his seat, stretching his long legs. His mind was a tangle, a knot he couldn’t hope to unravel. He wanted to tell Faith how much she meant to him, how he ached to be more than her friend.
He thought about Annalee, and how she’d been able to balance her friendships and her young loves. Joshua admired her, but he didn’t share her fearless nature. At least not in matters of the heart.
Could he risk the life he knew for a chance at something greater? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was he couldn’t go on like this, with every interaction leaving him more conflicted, more unsure of where he stood.
He took another sip of coffee, now lukewarm. The horizon had shifted to deep oranges and purples, the sun slipping behind the mountains. Confession might ruin everything, but his silence was tearing him apart.