Pete Benjamin looked…magnificent.

Dressed in his fancy clothes, Pete Benjamin looked big and masculine and so very, very handsome. A tower of strength encased in wool and crisp linen.

In that moment Rebecca knew that with Pete she would be safe. Safe from gossip. Safe from men like the Tully brothers. Safe. Always safe.

It wasn’t the same as love, or even affection, but she knew it could be worse. Much worse.

He sank to one knee.

Taking her free hand in his, Pete pressed a soft kiss to the knuckles. “Rebecca.” He looked up into her eyes. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

AFTER THE STORM: THE FOUNDING YEARS

A tornado can’t tear apart the fabric of faith and love in a frontier Kansas town.

High Plains Bride—

Valerie Hansen, January 2010

Heartland Wedding—

Renee Ryan, February 2010

Kansas Courtship—

Victoria Bylin, March 2010

Books by Renee Ryan

Love Inspired Historical

*The Marshal Takes a Bride

*Hannah’s Beau

Heartland Wedding

RENEE RYAN

grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.

Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetic conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career. She lives with her husband, two children and one ornery cat in Nebraska.

RENEE RYAN

Heartland Wedding

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Renee Ryan for her contribution to the AFTER THE STORM: THE FOUNDING YEARS miniseries.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.

—Romans 8:28

To Valerie Hansen and Victoria Bylin, two of the hardest-working writers I know. Your talent inspires me and your kindness humbles me. God bless you both!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Discussion Questions

Prologue

High Plains, Kansas, June 1860

A burst of wind whipped the doorknob from Rebecca Gundersen’s fingers. Hail pelted her face, leaving behind a nasty sting. The storm was coming in too fast. The town wasn’t prepared. She wasn’t prepared. But before Rebecca took cover, she had to find Edward and make sure he was safe.

She couldn’t lose her brother in this storm. Not so soon after her parents had died.

Forcing back her panic, she sprinted down the boardinghouse steps and ran straight into the growling wind. There was an oppressive stench of rotting earth and grass, an unmistakable warning that a deadly tornado loomed in the distance.

Rebecca shoved her hair back from her face. Too afraid of losing Edward to think of her own safety, she forced her feet to move faster. She knew her brother could take care of himself. He was a grown man. But knowing something wasn’t the same as believing it. She had to make sure he took cover.

Heart pounding in time with her steps, she cast a quick glance to her left. A shelf of ominous clouds cut a sharp line of black against the pale blue sky.

There was still time to find Edward. If she hurried.

She was not alone on the street, though the thought gave her no comfort. Caught in their own fear, people of all ages and sizes rushed past her, scrambling for home. Three horses galloped by, their high-pitched whinnies echoing the panic they held in their eyes.

Navigating the labyrinth of activity, Rebecca dashed around the mercantile. She cast another glance to the sky. The rapidly approaching clouds had taken on a sickly, greenish tint.

Oh, Lord, please, I beg You. Do not take Edward away from me. He’s all I have left.

As if to mock her prayer, black clouds swallowed the last patch of sunlight.

She broke into a run across the expanse of dirt and pebbles behind the mercantile building. Debris and sand stung her exposed skin while the raging wind pulled and pushed at her, tossing her around like a child’s doll. Thankfully, she had in sight the livery stable where her brother lived and worked.

Five more steps and she was there.

“Edward!” she shouted into the wind.

No answer.

She ran to the opposite end of the stable, only to discover the doors flung wide open. Not a man or horse in sight.

“Edward?” Panic made her Norwegian accent heavier than usual. “Are you in there?”

Still no answer.

Could he be in the blacksmith shop? She took a step forward, but a gust of wind shoved her back. She missed her footing, twisted in midair and landed on her hands and knees.

“Edward,” she whimpered, loss of hope making her voice crack.

Gritting her teeth, she wobbled to a standing position. One step. Two. A hand clamped around her arm and pulled her backward, away from the stable.

“No.” She fought against the steely grip. “Please. I need to get to my brother.”

“You need to get below ground.”

Instead of calming her, the sound of the gravelly voice, so strong and masculine and unmistakably not Edward, shot a wave of pure terror through her.

“I have to find my brother. He might not realize the danger. He—”

“There’s no time.”

She looked to the heavens. The swirling clouds were better organized now, twisting in a powerful circular motion. She clawed at the hand still holding her arm. “Let me go.”

“Rebecca, you’ll do Edward no good if you panic.”

The use of her name, rather than the words spoken, had her turning her head toward the insistent voice. Her gaze connected with the intense, deep brown eyes of Pete Benjamin. Her stomach folded inside itself. She’d never seen such raw emotion in the reserved blacksmith before. Fear, impatience—both were glaring back at her.

“Pete.” She had to shout over the wind. “Help me find him.”

“No time. We have to take cover.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he forced her away from the stable, step by step. Not roughly, but with firm, insistent movements.

As if to punctuate his urgency, the rain let loose. The wind turned deafening, the sound as loud as if they were standing in the path of an incoming freight train.

The door to the blacksmith shop flung open. The clank of tools slamming into the walls could be heard over the wind. Rationally, she knew she had to get out of the storm, but she couldn’t move.

“Hurry.” Pete readjusted his hold, practically lifting her off the ground as he took off toward the back of the livery. Rebecca half stumbled, half skipped beside him.

With each step, wind and horizontal rain spit in her face. She ducked her head, but tears leaked from her eyes, anyway.

Just as she turned her face to the sky again, Pete yanked her toward him. “Look out.”

One of his tools flew past her head, missing her by mere inches.

“Stay down.” Pete released her long enough to throw open the door to the storm cellar. Without his sturdy grip, Rebecca fell to her knees again.

He lifted her to her feet. “You first.”

“I—”

“Go.”

She went. In her haste, she tripped just as she reached the bottom of the steps, landing hard against the wall. She turned around, flattened her back against the unforgiving stone and tried to settle her ragged breathing. But like the bugs scurrying past her feet, thoughts chased around in Rebecca’s brain.

She shifted slightly to her left, batting away the cobwebs as she went. A few seconds later, Pete rushed into the cellar.

With a powerful jerk, he pulled the door shut behind him and threw the bolt. The gesture plunged the small room into pitch-black darkness.

“There’s a lantern on the middle shelf to your left,” he yelled down to her.

Hands shaking, Rebecca reached out and fumbled around until her palm curled around cool glass. “I’ve got it,” she shouted back.

“The matches are beside it, on your right.”

Hands shaking harder still, she found the box of matches. It took her three attempts to ignite one. Momentarily blinded by the miniature fire, she somehow managed to light the lantern, anyway.

Pete came down the first three steps and then stopped, his gaze never fully leaving the door. Loud, hissing air slipped through the slats, filling every crevice of the room, a brutal reminder of the terror sweeping across their small Kansas town.

Had Edward found cover in time?

Hail pounded against the cellar door like hammers to iron. And still, Pete stared, his face raised. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he joining her at the bottom of the steps?

Desperate for something to do besides worry, Rebecca took the opportunity to look around. The cellar was barely a third of the size of her room at Mrs. Jennings’s boardinghouse. Cobwebs had made use of every available corner, while the smell of earth and mold spoke of obvious neglect.

An entire wall was filled with shelves from floor to ceiling, but other than the lantern and matches there was nothing on them. She supposed Pete’s wife had once kept these shelves full with her canning efforts. But Rebecca couldn’t know for sure. Sarah Benjamin had died in childbirth before Rebecca had arrived in High Plains.

Poor Pete. To lose his wife so young. And without any warning. Rebecca knew about that kind of sudden loss and the loneliness that followed.

Wanting to break the silence but not knowing what to say, she stared at Pete’s back while he continued to watch the cellar door rattle on its hinges. The unmistakable sound of farm tools and other items crashed against the door.

Would the wood hold? Was that why Pete continued staring up, as though his vigilance would keep the door intact?

Rebecca ran her gaze from end to end along his broad shoulders. He was a big, sturdy man, built of hard muscle and strong character, much like Edward.

At the thought of her brother, Rebecca’s breathing quickened to short, hard pants. What if he died in the storm? Tears pooled in her eyes.

As though sensing her anguish, Pete finally turned and captured her gaze with his. Even in the low light she could see his eyes, usually so sad and distant, softening in the same way they did when he was tending a horse in his livery stable. He probably didn’t realize that his expression also gave her a brief glimpse into his loneliness.

Such pain. It hurt to look at him. Without realizing what she was doing, she took a step forward.

He came down the stairs and placed a hand on her shoulder. His touch was completely impersonal. So was his gaze. “Don’t worry, Rebecca. Edward is a smart man, resourceful. He’s lived in this area long enough to know to take cover in a storm.”

That calm, confident declaration did nothing to soothe her fears. In fact, she trembled harder. Intelligence and good sense had nothing to do with surviving unpredictable weather. Her own parents had died in an ice storm six months ago.

Awful memories threatened to consume her. She gripped her throat and looked frantically around her. Was the cellar getting smaller? She fisted a clump of hair in her hand. White-hot waves of anxiety slipped along her spine, giving her a chill. No longer willing to stay underground, she rushed toward the stairs.

Pete barred her way. “No. Rebecca, you have to be patient.” He placed his finger under her chin and urged her to look at him. “Listen to me.” His gaze was no longer impersonal, but earnest. “We must wait until the storm has passed.”

He might have spoken softly, calmly even, but she knew he would not allow her to leave. He’d become her jailer.

She tried not to resent him for his new role as he urged her toward a small bench running along the opposite wall of the shelving.

“Sit.” He handed her a threadbare blanket. “Wrap this around you.”

She did as he commanded. She had no choice.

Watching her carefully, Pete sat on the steps and rested his elbows on his knees. For a long moment, he stared at her without speaking. She studied his face in turn. The hard, chiseled features were at odds with the sad eyes, eyes still mourning the loss of a loved one.

Rebecca swallowed. She had no idea what to say to this stranger who employed her older brother as a farrier in his livery stable. No words would bring back Pete’s wife. No words would bring her parents back, either.

“Would you pray with me?” he asked in a stilted voice.

Pray? Why hadn’t she thought of that herself? Where was her faith? Why hadn’t she put her hope in the Lord like always? “Ja. Yes,” she corrected. “That would be a good idea.”

Pete lowered his chin toward his chest. Rebecca stared at his bowed head for only a moment before closing her eyes.

“Heavenly Father,” he began, “Your Word tells us You determine our days and months in this life. You give and You take away…” His voice hitched and his words trailed off.

When the silence continued, Rebecca opened her eyes.

Head still bent, Pete swallowed once. Twice. Then he cleared his throat and began again. “Scripture also tells us that You give strength to Your people. Lord, we pray You give Edward Your strength as he battles this storm. Keep him and all the citizens of High Plains safe. May they all have found cover in time.” He paused again. “In Jesus’ name, we pray, amen.”

“Amen.”

After a moment of silence, Pete shifted a few steps higher. Gazing at her from his perch, he spoke softly, using the tone he might adopt for one of his spooked horses. “Are you warm enough?”

She hugged the blanket around her shoulders and nodded.

“There’s nothing to fear down here.”

“I…know.”

“The storm will pass, eventually.”

She drew in a shuddering sigh and nodded again. Clearly, he was being careful with her, drawing her into conversation slowly. She found herself admiring him all the more for his consideration. It would be easy to build dreams around such a man. But Rebecca knew Pete wasn’t for her and she wasn’t for him. Aside from the fact that they hardly knew each other, his heart still belonged to the wife and child he’d lost.

He continued talking. Before long, she responded in more than nods and short phrases. When he asked about her childhood in Norway, she told him of the poverty and the never-ending workload. Then she revealed the loneliness she’d suffered when Edward had left for America and her parents had banded tighter together, leaving her feeling alone and left out.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” she admitted, wiggling a hand free from the blanket to shove at her hair.

Pete smiled at her, just a little. “Are you happy in High Plains?”

She answered without hesitation. “Oh, ja. Mrs. Jennings has been very kind. Cooking for her and the other boarders is a wonderful job.” She swallowed. “But, Pete, I have to know. Why wasn’t Edward at the livery today?”

“He was, earlier, but then he headed out to the wagon train for a final check on the horses’ shoes.”

The wagon train. Of course. Edward would want to make sure all the horses were ready for the trek across country. She herself had fed an extra twenty people this morning at the boardinghouse. “I—”

The wind stopped, suddenly. Pete raised his gaze to the heavens. “Praise God, it’s over.”

Rebecca released her own sigh of relief.

Without looking at her again, Pete ascended the stairs, unlatched the bolt and shoved open the door. His shocked gasp alerted Rebecca to what she would find.

After snuffing out the lantern’s flame, she wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, then slowly picked her way up the stairs.

The sky had turned bright with sunshine, momentarily blinding her as effectively as the match’s fire had done earlier. When her vision cleared, the view that met her gaze stole her breath away. There was too much devastation to take in at once. Boards blown off houses, everyday household items lying in pieces, trees torn from the earth by their roots, a wagon on a rooftop.

Rebecca took a tentative step forward. And then another.

The scent of smoke filled the air, but she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Somewhere close.

She glanced at Pete. Lost in his own shock, he stood staring straight ahead, unmoving, jaw clenched. She followed the direction of his gaze. His livery stable was still standing, but a portion of the roof had been completely ripped off.

“Oh, Pete. I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond. She hadn’t expected him to.

Tugging the blanket tighter around her, Rebecca turned to look behind her. There was a menacing stillness in the air.

Half the town’s buildings had been shredded into raw timber.

Pete Benjamin had just saved her life.

But what of Edward? Her knees buckled. “How could he have survived this?” she whispered.

Pete abruptly turned to her, hesitated only a second before taking charge. He directed her to a solitary bench near the stable and sat beside her. “Once you catch your breath we’ll go in search of your brother.”

What a kind offer. She knew she should refuse. Pete had to tend to his own property. Yet she found herself nodding at his offer. “Ja. I would appreciate your help.”

They rose as a unit and walked toward the center of town. With each step Rebecca’s breathing quickened. There was so much destruction. So many people stumbling along beside them, but none of them were Edward.

Where was her brother?

She gripped Pete’s arm, afraid of what they would find as they picked their way through the debris. Afraid that Edward had not weathered the storm as well as she had thanks to Pete’s quick thinking and persistence.

When they rounded the corner onto Main Street, Rebecca stopped dead in her tracks. A large pile of shredded wood filled a newly formed gap between them, the schoolhouse and church. “Pete.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “The town hall is gone.”

Without waiting for his response, Rebecca released his arm and rushed forward.

Oh, Lord, please. Please, let Edward have taken cover anywhere but in the town hall.

Chapter One

One month after the tornado ripped through High Plains, Rebecca made her way down Main Street. She still had plenty of time to buy her supplies at the mercantile before the lunch crowd arrived at the boardinghouse.

With that in mind, she let the sun rest on her face as she walked along the slatted sidewalk. She couldn’t help but marvel at the intense July heat. Summer in Kansas was far hotter than in Norway, which was why she chose not to wear gloves or a bonnet like the American women. It was just too hot for her thick Norwegian blood.

No one else seemed to mind the dreadful heat. The street bustled with an excess of sights and sounds. Hammers hitting nails mingled with mothers shouting after their laughing children. Two young boys chased a dog with a stick in his mouth. A horse hitched to a work wagon rolled by at a leisurely pace.

Breathing in the scent of sawdust and fresh paint, Rebecca focused her attention on the town itself. Buildings at various stages of construction lined the street, firmly declaring that the rebuilding of the town was coming along.

“Good morning, Rebecca,” a jaunty voice called out to her.

“Oh, hello.” Rebecca waved at her friend, Cassandra Garrison, as she rode by in her calash-covered buggy. The town lawyer, Percival Walker, sat beside her, reins in his elegant hands. Despite the heat, the two were impeccably dressed. They were clearly courting, if their smiles were anything to go by.

Rebecca dropped her hand and sighed, shocked at the jolt of sadness that whipped through her at the sight of all that happiness. Rebecca wanted what Cassandra seemed to have. Love. Companionship. A man of her own.

Another equally depressed sigh came from a slouching cowboy standing just outside the mercantile. Rebecca didn’t know the lanky man well, but she recognized him. Clint Fuller had eaten at the boardinghouse a few times in the past month. She opened her mouth to speak to him, but he was intently watching the happy couple ride by in Cassandra’s little buggy.

Rebecca recognized the scowl on the cowboy’s face. Unrequited love. She understood the emotion. And sympathized. Ever since she’d taken refuge from the storm with Pete in his cellar, she couldn’t get the reserved blacksmith out of her head.

She recalled the events of that day often. Pete’s concern as he pulled her to safety. His kindness as he calmed her panic. His help as she searched for her brother. For one brief afternoon, someone had put her needs above his own. And she now understood God’s design for marriage. It was unfortunate that the one man who had caught her attention was completely out of reach.

Pete’s loss of his wife and subsequent year-long grief was legendary in High Plains. Rebecca had spent too many years fighting for her own parents’ affection to set her sights on a man still in love with his dead wife.

Shaking her head at her unproductive thoughts, she smiled at Clint—who did not smile back in return—and hurried into the mercantile.

The smell of spices and burlap filled her nose, followed by the raw scent of buffalo hides and licorice. Her mind was too full of Pete Benjamin, unrequited love and poor Clint Fuller for her to take note of the vast range of improvements that had been made to the store since the storm.

Rebecca swept her gaze across barrels of dry goods, past sacks of flour and shelves filled with kitchen utensils and canned goods. Mrs. Johnson was standing alone at the back counter with bolts of material in various styles and colors lining the shelves behind her.

Rebecca shuddered as she locked gazes with the woman.

Why was the proprietress staring at her with such censure? It was true, Mrs. Johnson didn’t like her much, nor did the woman’s daughter, Abigail, but they usually kept their dislike hidden behind false smiles.

Not today. Today, Mrs. Johnson had a positively mean look in her eyes. And her lips were pressed into a hard, flat line.

Confused, Rebecca took slow, careful steps toward the back of the store. She would simply conduct her business and be on her way.

“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson, I’d like to purchase a—”

“Miss Gundersen.” The woman’s narrowed gaze swept over Rebecca with lightning speed. “I have just one question for you.”

Unsure what to make of the woman’s mood, Rebecca cocked her head. “You…you do?”

“I would like to know where you took cover during the storm.” The haughty demand took Rebecca by surprise.

What did it matter where she took cover? And why would Mrs. Johnson care about that? “I don’t think I understand what you’re asking.”

“Come now, girl. Don’t play coy.” The woman sniffed indelicately. “Just this morning, I heard Mrs. Morrow telling the pastor that she saw you and Pete Benjamin walking through town together after the storm.”

Rebecca blinked. “Yes, we were together. Pete was helping me locate my brother.” Praise God, Edward had survived the storm unscathed, but Rebecca didn’t think that was what the woman was asking.

Setting her hands on her hips, Mrs. Johnson lifted her chin at a proud angle. “How in the world did you end up in Pete Benjamin’s company that afternoon?”

Rebecca bit her bottom lip, concerned that her answer would only increase the woman’s condemnation. She had nothing to hide, but that truth didn’t give her much relief. Matilda Johnson wasn’t always one to focus on the truth if she thought she could twist it into gossip instead. Nevertheless, Rebecca would not lie. “We took cover in his storm cellar.”

“Just the two of you? Alone?”

Rebecca didn’t understand why the woman was looking at her with that odd mix of suspicion and glee. “Well, yes,” she explained. “When the storm blew in, I went in search of my brother at the livery, but he wasn’t there.”

She could still feel the fear. Losing Edward would have been beyond what she could endure, especially so close to the death of her parents. In her panicked state, she’d been far too upset to think beyond Edward’s safety and had nearly died because of it. Thanks to Pete, Rebecca had survived the storm. Perhaps that explained why he’d filled her thoughts so often since. He’d saved her life.

“Pete pulled me to safety,” she said aloud. “I wouldn’t listen to him at first, but, eventually, I went with him below ground to ride out the storm.”

“How…unseemly.”

Unseemly? Rebecca puzzled over the English word, unsure if she had the definition right in her mind. Surely Mrs. Johnson didn’t think that Rebecca and Pete had…that they would…that they…

Rebecca gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

Much to her chagrin, Mrs. Johnson read the gesture with a nasty mind rather than a grace-filled heart and seemed to take it as an admission of guilt. “I’m shocked at you, Miss Gundersen, luring that poor man in his storm cellar like that.”

Stunned by the woman’s mean accusation, Rebecca looked around her, thankful there were no other customers in the store to witness her humiliation. “But, Mrs. Johnson, I assure you. We did nothing wrong. Pete saved my—”

“Nothing, indeed.” The woman smirked at her. She actually smirked, as though she was enjoying Rebecca’s discomfort.

“Why are you intentionally misunderstanding me?” Confusion and shock sounded in her voice.

“How dare you question me.” The woman sneered. “Under the circumstances, you can have no further business to conduct in my store. I must ask you to leave.”

“Leave?” Rebecca sucked in a breath of air. “But I still have purchases to make.”

“We don’t serve your kind.” Muttering something about immigrants and their lack of morals, Mrs. Johnson turned on her heel and showed her back to Rebecca.

Choking down a sob, Rebecca blinked in stunned disbelief. The sound of the front door swinging open spurred her to action. Head down, she rushed past the two newcomers, women she’d seen in church but had never met. In the six months since Rebecca had arrived in High Plains, neither woman had acknowledged her, no matter how often she smiled at them. Well, she would not cry in front of these ladies. Not today. Not ever.

She made it two full blocks before she careened into a hard, unyielding wall of pure muscle.

“I. Oh.” She pressed her hands against the broad chest and looked straight into…Pete Benjamin’s eyes.

Could her day get any worse?

“Steady, now.” Pete’s voice held a hint of amusement, while his hands wrapped around her shoulders with a strong yet gentle grip. “You’re certainly in a hurry this morning.”

Rebecca lowered her head further still, afraid he would see her anger, her shame, if he looked hard enough.

“Rebecca. What’s wrong?” Pete stepped back and lifted her chin with his index finger. “What’s happened?”

Before she could censure herself, words spilled out of her mouth. “Mrs. Johnson said…She said…I mean, she implied that I…” Realizing who stood before her and too humiliated to finish, she let her words trail off.

What would he think if he knew that Mrs. Johnson had just accused her of luring him into his storm cellar? Would he think ill of her? Would he think she wanted the accusation to be true?

Glory. What a dreadful thought.

Pete’s face scrunched into a frown. “Did Matilda Johnson hurt you?”

Yes. “No.” Rebecca forced down a sob. There were some things better left unsaid, especially to this man. “I…have to go.”

Hoping Pete didn’t see the tears welling in her eyes, she quickly whirled around and hurried toward the boardinghouse.

She didn’t dare look back, not even when he called out her name.

When Rebecca didn’t turn around, Pete stared after her in silence. From what little he could glean, Matilda Johnson had caused the pretty Norwegian a great deal of distress.

The thought sent a hot surge of emotion through him. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing Rebecca Gundersen hurting like that tied his gut into a tight knot of tension.

What was it about her that tugged at him? Even now, weeks after the tornado, the image of her rushing around the livery stable in search of her brother still haunted him. There’d been such love in her actions, such fear for her only living relative.

Up to that moment, Pete had spent the previous year locked in his own grief. Missing Sarah—and all that might have been had she survived—he’d merely existed, blindly walking though the motions of life. He hadn’t concerned himself with others or their pain. But when he’d seen Rebecca’s desperation to find her brother, even at the risk of her own safety, Pete had resolved to do whatever it took to save her life.

No, it hadn’t been resolve. He’d been driven by something stronger than that. He’d needed to save her life. He’d failed one woman. He’d vowed not to fail another.

In that instant, Rebecca had sparked a protective instinct in him. One he’d thought long dead, one that apparently still burned today. Which probably explained why the fact that Mrs. Johnson had just made her cry angered him so much.

Fueled by the surprisingly strong emotion, he turned in the direction of the mercantile. He knew he needed to handle the situation with the Lord guiding him, but Pete wasn’t feeling very charitable toward Mrs. Johnson at the moment. She’d hurt Rebecca, one of the kindest women in town.

He that refraineth his lips is wise…

Pete kept the proverb in mind. It would do Rebecca no good if he acted out of raw emotion. He would gather the facts first. Then he would know how to act.

So focused on his task, he nearly slammed into Will Logan, one of the town’s founders and Pete’s childhood friend.

“Whoa.” Will shifted directly into his path, forcing Pete to halt his pursuit. “Where’s the fire?”

“I’m about to quench it.”

Will eyed him thoughtfully, then shot a quick glance at the mercantile. “Let me guess. Matilda Johnson is up to her old antics, and from the look on your face I’m assuming you’re at the center of her latest gossip.”

“Not even close.”

“Well, whatever has you in such a mood, my suggestion would be to simmer down before you confront that gossiping old biddy.” Will lowered his voice. “But don’t tell my wife I called Mrs. Johnson that. Emmeline would be so disappointed in me.”

“Step aside, Will. My fight isn’t with you.”

When his friend held his ground, Pete took a calming breath. And then stepped to his left.

Will moved in the same direction.

“Get out of my way.”

“Pete, think this through. We’re talking about Matilda Johnson here. Whatever she’s said, there’s a good chance it’s not based in fact.”

“It’s not what she said. It’s what she did. She made Rebecca Gundersen cry.” Pete practically growled out the words.

Hearing the anger in his own voice, he realized he wasn’t furious with Matilda Johnson alone. After six months of cooking at the boardinghouse, many in High Plains still considered Rebecca an outsider. All because she was a foreigner. Some shunned her. Others treated her as if she was tainted. Very few actually accepted her.

That ended today, starting with Matilda Johnson.

“Rebecca deserves better than this town has given her since she’s arrived in High Plains,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud.

He couldn’t explain this strange need to protect the young woman. Perhaps it had to do with his failure to save Sarah and their baby. Perhaps this was some sort of self-imposed penance. Perhaps it was just the right thing to do.

Whatever was driving him, he didn’t have time to discuss the particulars with Will Logan.

He shoved forward.

Will stopped him with a hand on his arm. “If I’m hearing you correctly, you think Rebecca deserves to be treated decently by everyone in this town, including Matilda Johnson?”

“I don’t think.” Pete glanced in the direction of Mrs. Jennings’s boardinghouse, where Rebecca was the live-in cook. “I know.”

“Well, then.” Will cuffed him on the shoulder. “Let me be the first to welcome you back from the dead.”

Genuine confusion had Pete blinking at his friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Will waved him past. “Go on. Set Mrs. Johnson straight. I won’t stop you.”

Focused once more on his task, Pete stepped around his friend. Will turned on his heel and matched him step for step along the slatted sidewalk.

Pete stopped walking. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

“Pete. My friend.” Will spoke in the slow cadence he usually reserved for small children. “Aside from the fact that I wouldn’t miss this confrontation for the world, I’ve known you since we were boys back East in Belville.”

“Yeah? No kidding. Thanks for reminding me.” He didn’t bother hiding his sarcasm. It was no secret that Will was the most level-headed man among their group of friends. Even when they were kids, he had prevented more than a few fights in their small Massachusetts community.

Pete usually appreciated Will’s ability to remain calm and think through any situation. But not today. Not with Rebecca’s tears still fresh in his mind.

“Pete,” Will said. “We both know when you’re this angry, words fly out of your mouth that make matters worse.”

Pete didn’t argue. The man had a point. “Fair enough.” He relented with only a mild dose of animosity churning in his gut. “But remember. This is my battle.”

Will’s gaze filled with mock seriousness. “I wouldn’t dare interfere.”

“Right.” Blowing out a hiss, Pete pushed open the door to the mercantile.

He looked around the store until his gaze landed on his quarry, who was staring back at him from behind a counter.

Matilda Johnson had the broad shoulders of a man, the small, beady eyes of a rat and hair the muted silver-brown of a hawk. Balancing on her toes, with her shoulders hunched forward, the woman looked like a coiled viper ready to strike. Even her narrowed gaze had the requisite predatory sheen.

A formidable foe. Perfect.

“Mrs. Johnson,” he said through clenched teeth. “A word, if you please.”

Only as he moved in her direction did Pete notice the other two ladies in the store. They whispered together, sending odd looks in his direction, but neither made eye contact with him. Rather, they scurried around him like frightened mice in a barn full of cats.

Dismissing them from his mind, Pete maneuvered in front of Mrs. Johnson and opened his mouth to speak.

She beat him to it. “Why, good morning, Mr. Benjamin. How may I help you this fine day?” She smiled at him sweetly. Too sweetly. Clearly, she was up to something.

He couldn’t imagine what had put that look of pure glee in the woman’s eyes. He feared Rebecca was the reason.

The muscles in his shoulders bunched. “I want to know what you said to Rebecca Gundersen just now.”

His blunt question sent words sputtering out of her mouth. “I, oh. I didn’t expect you to—”

“Tell me.”

“Now, see here.” She hitched her chin at him, no longer playing innocent. “You don’t need to get upset with me. I merely confronted the girl about that day in your storm cellar.”

Pete narrowed his gaze. “What day in my storm cellar?”

She leaned forward with a sly look on her face. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly discuss this here, in front of my customers. It might…embarrass you.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“All right, then. I heard—” she looked at the other ladies for a brief moment “—that you and Miss Gundersen took cover together during the storm. Just the two of you. Alone. Without a chaperone.”

That was what this was about? Mrs. Johnson putting a nasty spin on a harmless situation? Now he understood why Rebecca had run away crying. She must have been humiliated. Well, Pete would not allow this heartless woman to get away with ruining Rebecca’s reputation over a completely innocent, life-and-death situation.

“Yes, we took cover together,” he said. “But I dragged Rebecca below ground to protect her from the tornado. I gave her no other choice than to come with me.”

“Isn’t that just like you to take the blame?” She gave him a sympathetic look. “So noble. But don’t worry. I know it wasn’t your fault. That woman lured you into your storm cellar. I’m sure of it.”

“Lured him?” Will muttered from just behind Pete.

Pete raised his hand to stop Will from speaking further. Matters had just turned serious. Too serious to play word games. “What exactly are you suggesting, Mrs. Johnson?”

“Oh, Mr. Benjamin. I’m not blaming you for the incident in your cellar. I know how vulnerable your terrible loss has made you.” She patted his arm in an odd show of sympathy.

Pete yanked out of the woman’s reach. If he wasn’t mistaken, Mrs. Johnson had just blamed the entire “incident” on Rebecca Gundersen and had given him atonement because he was still grieving his dead wife and child.

Could the woman’s reasoning be that skewed? “Let me repeat. I dragged Miss Gundersen into the cellar. Our seclusion was completely innocent.”

Mrs. Johnson waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You don’t need to defend your actions to me. It’s quite understandable that you would fall for the wiles of that…immigrant.”

“Immigrant? You’re judging Miss Gundersen simply because she was born in a different country?”

“Well, you have to admit the woman is different from the rest of us.” She cast a sly glance to the front of the store, smiled at her two allies and then leaned across the counter. “We all see how she sashays around town, batting those long eyelashes at every man in sight. Why, she doesn’t even wear a bonnet like a decent woman.”

For one black moment, Pete was tempted to reach out and shake some sense into the woman. “You dare to—”

Will cleared his throat, cutting Pete off in midsentence.

Losing his train of thought, Pete cast his friend an annoyed look. “I told you to stay out of this.”

Will gave his head one hard shake. “Think before you speak,” he warned.

Pete’s jaw tightened.

It was wise advice. Nearly impossible to put into action.

Taking a moment to calm his temper, Pete called to mind a verse from the book of James about the evils of a gossiping tongue. The tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity…

For Rebecca’s sake, Pete needed to extinguish Matilda Johnson’s gossip before it spread any further.

Placing both palms on the counter, he leaned forward and locked gazes with the odious woman. “You will not share what you heard about Miss Gundersen and me in my storm cellar. The gossip stops now.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed as the woman pursed her lips. “You can’t order me to be silent about something like this. We both know that no innocent woman would spend time alone with an unmarried man in a storm cellar. Tornado or not.”

That did it. Pete’s patience snapped. He forgot all about holding his tongue, all about thinking before he spoke. Instead, he focused on the one solution that would salvage an innocent woman’s reputation.

“You will no longer speak about my future wife with so much as a derogatory word or an ugly insinuation ever again.”

“Your wife?”

“That’s right. I’m marrying Rebecca Gundersen as soon as I can make the arrangements.”

The woman’s gasp was all the response Pete needed. He turned to go, then stopped himself after only two steps.

“In case there’s any doubt in your mind,” he shot over his shoulder, “you have my permission to share the happy news of my upcoming nuptials with any wagging tongues you choose.”

The woman’s sputtering was drowned out by Will’s laughing remark. “Clearly, some people never change.” It was anybody’s guess whether Will was speaking about Pete and his rash tongue, or Mrs. Johnson and her gossiping one.

Finished with the lot of them, Pete strode toward the front door. He had the presence of mind to nod at the other two women gaping at him. “Good day, ladies.”

One of them squeaked out a response, but they both gave him a wide berth. That suited Pete fine. Just fine.

The windows rattled in their casings as he slammed the door shut behind him. A sense of urgency had him increasing his pace along the sidewalk.

He figured he had ten minutes, maybe less, to locate his bride-to-be and tell her they were getting married before the rumor of their impending nuptials made it to the boardinghouse ahead of him.

Anger might have driven his words, but Pete had no doubt marriage was the right course of action. Even if pledging his life to the pretty Norwegian was a betrayal to Sarah’s memory, Rebecca Gundersen deserved the protection of his name. Maybe then the people in High Plains would start treating her with the respect she deserved. He’d worry about the repercussions to his own life and Sarah’s memory later.

Of course, Rebecca had to agree to marry him first.

Not that she had much choice.

Pete had just added enough fuel to Matilda Johnson’s fire to turn it into a raging inferno.

There was no turning back now.

Chapter Two

“Why in the world would Matilda Johnson order you out of her store?” Emmeline Logan asked, hands on hips, blue eyes flashing. “Please, tell me it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

Afraid of what might spill from her mouth, Rebecca considered her words carefully. Although it had been less than an hour since she’d left the mercantile, she was sure the talk had begun about her and Pete. There was no way a woman like Matilda Johnson would hold her tongue for long. More likely, she would spread her gossip with the ugliest spin possible and as quickly as she could.

Needing a moment to gather her thoughts, Rebecca glanced out the kitchen window of the boardinghouse. She hardly noticed the clear rays of sunshine beaming across the chewed-up backyard, or the gaping holes that had once housed trees.

“Well?” Emmeline asked.

Rebecca drew in a quick breath and returned her attention to her friend. “Apparently, Matilda Johnson thinks that I lured Pete into his storm cellar during the tornado for unseemly purposes.”

“No.” Shock leaped into Emmeline’s eyes. “She didn’t actually say that.”

“She did.”

Emmeline sank into the chair behind her. “Why, that’s…awful.”

Until she’d seen the outrage on her friend’s face, until she’d heard the appalled disgust in Emmeline’s voice, Rebecca hadn’t realized how much she’d needed an ally. “It is rather awful, isn’t it?”

“Please, sit down.” Emmeline gestured to an empty chair facing her. “You must tell me everything that woman said, and then we’ll determine what to do next.”

With the bread dough rising and the pies she’d made for lunch baking in the oven, Rebecca wiped her hands on her apron and did as her friend requested. It would be nice to share her burden with someone willing to listen to her side of the story before making judgments.

“All right, start at the beginning.” Emmeline’s foot drummed out an impatient tap, tap, tap on the floor. Rebecca tried not to sigh. She recognized that expression on her friend’s face. Emmeline was about to take charge of the situation, just as she had with her own family after the tornado had hit their wagon train and stranded them in High Plains. Even before her father’s death in the storm, Emmeline’s mother had alternated between timidity and illness, leaving Emmeline in charge of her three younger siblings.

No wonder Emmeline glared at her with all that determination. It was just a part of who she was as a woman. Unfortunately, no matter how hard Rebecca thought over her words, she knew her friend wasn’t going to let her skirt over any of the details.

Just as she opened her mouth, Emmeline leaned forward. “All right, that’s enough stalling. How on earth did Matilda Johnson find out that you and Pete took cover together? I didn’t even know about that until you told me a few minutes ago.”

Rebecca’s heartbeat picked up speed, matching Emmeline’s frantic toe-tapping rhythm. Now that she had a sympathetic audience, she found herself hesitating. She didn’t want to create her own set of rumors, but the facts were unfortunately the facts. She’d spent time alone with an unmarried man in his storm cellar. “I’m afraid she suspected and I confirmed it. I didn’t think she’d turn something innocent into something ugly.”

“Oh, Rebecca, I’m just sick about this.”

“Emmeline, you have to believe me. We were only in that storm cellar a short while. And nothing inappropriate happened. Like I said earlier, Pete saved my life.”

Emmeline’s foot stilled. “Well, of course he did. Mrs. Johnson had no right to insinuate otherwise.”

No, she hadn’t had that right. But the damage was done. Rebecca’s reputation was most certainly ruined, or on its way to becoming so. She’d lived in High Plains almost seven months, long enough to know the power of Mrs. Johnson’s tongue.

Rebecca’s stomach curled inside itself at the thought. She’d never been accused of a moral misdeed. Not as a child in Norway, not on the ship across the Atlantic, not on the wagon train to High Plains. And yet, the shame burned through her all the same.

It didn’t matter that Pete had been a gentleman inside that storm cellar. It didn’t matter that he’d saved her life. Apparently, what did matter was that she’d been alone with him, without the benefit of a chaperone or anyone else to vouch for her innocence.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t—

Emmeline made a soft sound in her throat. “That woman didn’t accuse you of impropriety in front of anyone else, did she?”

“No.” Rebecca drew in a short breath. “I was the only one in the store at the time. Her daughter wasn’t even there.” But as soon as she spoke she remembered the other two ladies entering the mercantile just as Rebecca exited the building.

“Okay. Good. This situation is manageable.” Emmeline’s shoulders relaxed. “We can figure out a way to stop the gossip before it goes too far.”

“I think it’s too late for that.”

“What do you mean, it’s too late?” Emmeline repeated carefully, her gaze wary.

Rebecca’s heart did a sudden roll in her chest. Clinging to the last thread of her dignity, she lifted her chin and told Emmeline the rest. “Two other ladies walked into the store just as I was leaving. I’ve seen them before. They’re friends of Mrs. Johnson’s, they…” She trailed off, not sure how to put her worst fears into words.

“Oh.” Emmeline’s eyes widened. “Oh. You think Mrs. Johnson already told them about you and Pete?”

“Of course she did.”

Emmeline caught Rebecca’s hands between hers and held on tightly. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you, but we’re only speculating at the moment. You must talk to Pete about this.”

“I couldn’t.” Rebecca snatched her hands free, horrified at the prospect. “I’d be too mortified to discuss this with him.” Besides, she’d had her chance right after she’d left the mercantile. His obvious concern for her had only added to her shame.

“With all that’s happened to this town over the past month, I can’t understand how Matilda Johnson has time to spread lies.” Emmeline’s lip curled into an uncharacteristic snarl. “Well, it’s just mean.”

Rebecca nodded slowly. Yes, it was mean. But whatever the woman said at this point could not be unsaid. People would either believe the talk or they wouldn’t. And if her reputation was beyond repair, Rebecca would survive the devastation. Eventually. It wasn’t as if she’d been fully accepted by the community before this.

That did not mean she had found it in her heart to forgive Matilda Johnson. Not yet. Ever since she’d left the mercantile, Rebecca had struggled with her own evil thoughts toward the woman.

Lord, how do I overcome this unbearable anger? I know we’re called to love our enemies, but how do I love such a woman, especially when there’s only bitterness in my heart toward her?

Rebecca paused after her prayer, hoping for a swift transformation in her thinking. But she felt no different than before. There was still no love in her heart and certainly no forgiveness for a woman who had set out to believe the worst.

The question, of course, was why? Why did Matilda Johnson hate her so? The woman’s behavior simply made no sense.

Renewed bitterness swelled. The emotion was so frigid it leeched the warmth right out of Rebecca’s limbs. She rubbed her palms together, but she continued feeling cold inside. Deathly cold.

Reaching across the table, Emmeline touched her arm. Rebecca nearly jumped out of her chair at the unexpected contact. She blinked at the hand on her sleeve as though it was a foreign object.

Emmeline released her. “Rebecca?”

She lifted her head and looked into her friend’s clear blue eyes. The eyes of a pure soul, set off by a cloud of dark curls under her bonnet.

“You must know that I believe you and Pete did nothing wrong that day.”

Rebecca grew very still, afraid if she moved, even a little, she would burst into tears. But out of gratitude or shame, she didn’t know. “So you don’t believe I lured Pete into his storm cellar for my own unseemly purposes?”

“Of course not.” Emmeline batted the idea away with a slash of her hand.

For the first time that morning, the knots in Rebecca’s stomach began to uncurl. At least one person in town believed her innocence. Two, counting Pete. Three, if she added her brother to the list. Edward had known about her forced confinement with Pete from the beginning and hadn’t thought anything of it. He trusted Pete. He trusted Rebecca. That was the end of that.

But what if he hears the gossip? Would he talk to Pete about the matter? That would only add to Rebecca’s humiliation.

Not that Pete wouldn’t find out soon enough. Once Matilda Johnson started talking, people would surely listen, and then spread what they heard to others.

Rebecca rolled her fingers into fists, but then forced herself to relax. “Thank you, Emmeline. You have no idea how much your belief in me means.” Her voice quivered over the words.

Emmeline patted her hand. “You will always have my support. And my friendship.”

Rebecca saw the truth shining in her friend’s gaze. What more was there to say? “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Did you find any material for your new curtains?”

Emmeline hesitated a brief second before a smile broke across her face. “I did. But I left it in the parlor. I’ll just go retrieve it.” Without another word, she rushed from the kitchen in a half run, half skip.

Rebecca smiled after her friend. She looked happy, truly happy. Something Rebecca couldn’t have said a few weeks ago.

Emmeline had been through more than her share of hardships in the past month. She and her family had been part of the wagon train that had received a direct hit from the tornado. In a matter of minutes, the violent storm had robbed Emmeline of her father, turned her fifteen-year-old sister, Bess, mute with shock and sent Missy and Mikey, the eight-year-old orphan twins who’d been traveling with Emmeline’s family, vanishing into thin air. Everyone in town was most worried about the missing children. The fear was that Mikey and Missy had been stolen by Indians.

It was all so…terrible.

But the Lord had brought some good out of the tragedies Emmeline had endured. All starting with Will Logan, the owner of the Circle-L. He’d taken Emmeline and her family in when there’d been nowhere else for them to go. No one could have predicted—least of all Emmeline—that the handsome rancher would turn out to be the love of her life. Rebecca had attended their wedding just last week.

But before she could dwell any further on the particulars of the ceremony, Emmeline returned to the kitchen carrying a brown paper package with a white string tied around its middle. One look at her shining face and it was clear the Lord had blessed Emmeline Logan with an enduring love for her husband. Will and Emmeline’s courtship had been unusual, more whirlwind than smooth and steady, but there was no doubt the two were blissfully happy together.

“Here it is,” she said, setting the package on the table so she could pull the string free. With slow, careful movements, she then spread the paper aside one corner at a time.

“Oh, Emmeline.” Rebecca swept her fingers across the light blue material, stopping along the way to trace a bold ivory flower. Tears threatened to escape her eyes, but Rebecca blinked them ruthlessly back into place. “This pattern reminds me of your wedding dress. You were such a beautiful bride.”

Emmeline smiled sweetly. So sweetly, in fact, that Rebecca had to gulp down another bout of tears. But this time, her emotions were far more selfish. Like this morning when she’d seen Cassandra and Percival Walker together, Rebecca didn’t want to feel the swift pang of jealousy that snaked through her. Yet there it was, coiling around her heart with a steely grip.

What was wrong with her this morning? First bitterness. Then anger. Now jealousy of her two friends’ happiness.

She felt like a stranger in her own skin.

Clearly unaware of her troubled thoughts, Emmeline moved her hand across the fabric and stopped it beside Rebecca’s. “I told Will I didn’t need another set of curtains, but he wanted me to make my own mark on the new house. I mean, our new house. He liked this material best, said the color reminded him of the blue in my eyes.”

“He’s right.” Rebecca held on to her sigh. Barely. “This will look lovely in your new home.”

“I hope so,” she whispered. “For Will’s sake. I want to make my husband as happy as he’s made me.”

How Rebecca wanted a love like Will and Emmeline shared. Unfortunately, the one person who’d captured her attention was Pete Benjamin, a man whose devotion still belonged to his deceased wife.

If only Pete hadn’t been so kind to her after the tornado, she might have been able to put her feelings for him into perspective. But each night as she drifted off to sleep, Rebecca remembered every second of their time together after the storm.

He’d refused to abandon her as she’d searched for her brother. With a gentle hand on her arm, he had guided her past dangerous debris until they’d found Edward helping with cleanup on the edge of town. Pete had made sure she was in good hands before he’d joined the efforts himself.

At the memory of his kindness, she sucked in a shaky breath. Why was there such pain in her heart every time she thought of that day?

Clicking her tongue, Emmeline set the material on the table. “You’re not thinking about what Matilda Johnson said, are you?”

“Not at all.” Rebecca wiped her forehead with her fingertips. “Other than my reputation suffering a little, I’ve been very fortunate. I made it through the storm without a single loss or injury.”

Emmeline’s smile faded, and she sighed as she lowered herself into her chair again. “You’re right, of course. We need to focus on what we have, not what we’ve lost.”

In spite of her words, a stormy expression gathered in Emmeline’s gaze. It was the same faraway look Rebecca had seen in Bess’s eyes whenever someone asked her about the unaccounted time she’d gone missing after the tornado. The girl had been the last to see Mikey and Missy. If only Bess would talk.

It was Rebecca’s turn to squeeze Emmeline’s hand in sympathy. “How is your sister? Any developments?”

“None.” Emmeline’s eyebrows pulled into a frown. “She hasn’t made a sound, not a single peep.”

“What does Dr. Dempsey say?”

Emmeline lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture. “That he can’t find anything wrong with her. That in time she’ll recover completely. But it’s been a month and she still isn’t talking. And between you and me, Dr. Dempsey is…rather…” Her gaze darted around the room. “Old.”

Holding her friend’s gaze, Rebecca nodded slowly, unsure if she wanted to admit the sad truth aloud. But the facts were undeniable. Dr. Dempsey had just celebrated his eighty-second birthday. And ever since the tornado, he’d been overwhelmed with a workload a man half his age would find daunting. He’d had neither the time nor the energy to devote to Bess’s treatment.

“If only Bess would make a sound, a sigh…anything,” Emmeline said. “I’d feel more hopeful. But ever since we found her under that bush where she’d been thrown by the tornado, she just goes about her business without speaking. And every so often, I catch her staring into the distance as though she knows things the rest of us don’t. I’m afraid whatever is keeping her silent is too terrifying to contemplate.”

“You think she knows what happened to Mikey and Missy?”

“Yes. And I fear the news is dismal.” She shuddered. “After all, she was the last person to see them after I sent them all off together to find shelter from the storm. Suppose the memory of what happened to the children is too painful for her to face and that’s why she won’t speak? Oh, Rebecca, what if…what if…the twins are dead? Or worse. What if they’ve been kidnapped by Kansa Indians and turned into slaves?”

The hopelessness in Emmeline’s voice had Rebecca squeezing her hand again. “I pray you’re wrong on both counts.” Unfortunately, they both knew either scenario was possible.

“Me, too. But at least if they were kidnapped they’d still be alive.”

“True.”

As silence fell between them, Rebecca eyed her friend a moment, trying to decide if this was a good time to broach an idea she’d been mulling over for a while. “I’ve been thinking about something that might help Bess,” she began cautiously.

Emmeline raised an eyebrow in question. “Oh?”

“Maybe if you found something for her to focus on other than her painful memories she might relax enough to speak again.”

“I’ve thought of that already,” Emmeline said. “She helps me and our mother around the Circle-L ranch without protest, but whenever we start asking her questions about the storm, she either shakes her head or simply walks away.”

“Why don’t you let me try?”

An intrigued expression flitted across Emmeline’s face. “What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s see if Bess will agree to help me here in the boardinghouse kitchen.” She rose and went to check her pies. They still had a while to go. “I could use another set of hands since the storm displaced so many people, most of whom she knows from the wagon train. Maybe the change of scenery will nudge her recovery along.”

Emmeline tapped a finger against her chin. “Hmm, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try. Maybe I’ll…”

Her words trailed off, and she tilted her head at a slight angle. “Oh, Pete. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.”

“Not to worry, Emmeline.” There was an exaggerated pause. “I only just arrived.”

“Well, then, that explains it.” Smiling, Emmeline rose to her feet.

Rebecca followed suit, but she didn’t turn around right away. She needed a moment to swallow back the lump of emotion clogging her throat. Despite what she’d told Emmeline earlier, she’d expected Pete to seek her out once he heard the gossip. Expected it, and dreaded it. But now that he was here, in her kitchen, so soon after her altercation with Matilda Johnson, she had to fight back a wave of hysteria.

He’d heard the gossip; nothing else explained his presence here now.

But, glory, what was she going to say to him? How was she going to say it? Should she talk with him openly about their time together in his cellar? Should she pretend she hadn’t told Matilda Johnson the truth, innocent as her actions had been?

Should she run?

“Rebecca, we need to talk,” Pete said from behind her. His urgent tone could not be ignored. Her options had dwindled to one.

“Please,” he said in a much softer pitch.

A chill navigated along Rebecca’s spine. The sound of that deep, gravelly voice lowered to a mere whisper reminded her of the last time they’d been alone together and how gentle his words had become when she’d been in a state of panic over Edward’s safety.

When she still didn’t move, Emmeline gave her a nudge. “Go on,” she mouthed. “Talk to him.”

Rebecca slowly pivoted around. It took considerable fortitude to hold Pete’s gaze. She’d seen that look on his face before. It was the same intense expression he’d had when he’d practically dragged her into the storm cellar.

He remained silent, unmoving, holding her stare with unwavering concentration. A sure sign he was trying to hide his emotions behind an unreadable mask. But it was a mask. She’d seen glimpses of the real man behind the facade, the one who had put her fears ahead of his own in the storm cellar. Today, however, there was no softness in him, no warmth.

And just like that, she had her confirmation. He’d spoken with Matilda Johnson. Or…

Had something else happened, something far worse?

“Is it Edward?” Her stomach rolled inside itself. “Is he—”

“He’s fine.”

In spite of Pete’s quick assurance, something was wrong.

Her heart gave a momentary flutter.

In that instant, Rebecca understood why she’d avoided him ever since the storm. Something deep within her, something vulnerable and unrecognizable, wanted to know this man better.

She would never get the chance, of course. He was still mourning his wife and child. And no matter how noble his intentions were, Rebecca would not be second in anyone’s heart. Even if her suspicions about his reasons for calling on her proved to be correct.

This visit, so close behind her trip to the mercantile, could mean only one thing.

Pete Benjamin had come to do the right thing.

And she would have to tell him no.

Chapter Three

Think before you speak. Will’s advice echoed in Pete’s head, causing him to take a moment to contemplate his next words. He couldn’t make any mistakes with Rebecca. The consequences were too severe for her if he failed to convince her of what needed to be done.

Restlessly, he scanned the room, running his gaze past the sink to the spotless counters with canisters lined up in neat, functional rows. There was a pile of dough sitting on a wooden cutting board, and the smell of baking pies created the pleasant scent of home, a real home. The thought whipped an unexpected pang of sadness through him. He’d forgotten how soothing order and cleanliness could be in this chaotic world.

He wasn’t surprised Rebecca Gundersen kept her kitchen neat and free of clutter. She had that air of competence about her. He found himself admiring her all over again, which made the knot of regret forming in his gut all the more disturbing.

Lord, help me to clear up the muddle I’ve made with my rash behavior.

Pete continued staring at Rebecca.

He’d never looked at her like this before, head-on, without interruption, not even when they’d been alone in his storm cellar. He’d never noticed her fine, sculpted cheekbones. Her clear, pale skin. Her silvery-blue eyes that were not a run-of-the-mill blue as he’d always assumed. Her light blond hair and sturdy build spoke of her Nordic descent. Yet, in spite of her height, her soft curves made her seem feminine, almost delicate.

His stomach performed an unexpected flip and he nearly reached out to her.

He took a step back, instead. This was no time to forget why he was here.

A rustling of paper coming from his right captured his attention. Irritated by the distraction, he turned his gaze onto Emmeline Logan. He’d been so focused on what he’d come to do, he’d forgotten she was in the room with them. Bent over a small table in the middle of the kitchen, Will’s new bride was wrapping brown paper around some sort of blue material.

Even with her hands busy, she kept casting nervous glances at Rebecca, while Rebecca kept staring at him. And staring. And staring.

A clock chimed the hour. By the third note, Pete sprang into action. “Emmeline, would you allow Rebecca and me a moment of privacy?”

“Oh, yes.” She straightened and then smiled prettily at him. “Of course.”

Holding on to her smile, she picked up her package and glided closer to Rebecca. “I’ll just be in the next room if you need me,” she said, giving her the kind of meaningful look only another female could interpret.

Eyes still on Rebecca, Will’s wife turned only her shoulders in his direction. “Good day—” her gaze followed at last “—Pete.”

Pete forced his lips into an answering smile. He hoped. “Good day, Emmeline. It was a pleasure seeing you again.”

“The pleasure was mine.” She threw a brisk wave in his direction before exiting the kitchen through the swinging door.

Now that he was alone with Rebecca, Pete’s sporadic heartbeat eased a bit. He moved without thought. One step forward. Two.

He stopped.

What was he doing, advancing on the poor woman like a hunter stalking his prey? It was no wonder her eyes—those beautiful almond-shaped, silvery eyes—filled with alarm.

“You wanted to speak with me?” she asked in a quivering voice.

“Yes.” The word came out rougher than he’d intended. He was out of practice talking to a woman.

As if to prove his point, Rebecca took a noticeable step away from him.

Was she afraid of him? The thought was like a punch to his gut. Determined not to scare her, he broke eye contact. He had to remember that although she was no fragile miss, he was still much larger than she.

“We have a problem,” he said in a more contrite tone. “We…” Think before you speak, he reminded himself. “There’s gossip going around about our time together during the storm. And I’m afraid the things being said are not…nice.”

“So you’ve spoken with Mrs. Johnson,” she said, her tone resigned and more than a little cautious.

“Yes, I spoke with her just now.”

Guilt spread across her face, followed closely by shame. “I had no idea she’d take your effort to save my life and turn it into something depraved.”

Pete heard the apology in her tone, as though the situation was her fault. Knowing how Matilda Johnson worked, how she liked to twist the facts to suit her nasty mind, Pete wanted to reach out and soothe away Rebecca’s distress. He clasped his hands behind his back. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But it is.” She braided her fingers together and sighed. “I let it slip that we were alone in your storm cellar during the tornado.”

“It doesn’t matter how she found out. What matters is—” he banged his fist against his thigh “—that I made things worse.”

A confused look crossed her face. “You did?”

“We must marry at once.” He spoke more forcefully than he’d planned. Powerful feelings were cracking through his usually calm exterior, making him want to give this woman a stack of assurances.

There were none to give.

“You want us to marry?” She said the last word as if she had yet to learn its full meaning. She’d spoken calmly enough, but her eyes were wide with shock. And something else. Sorrow, perhaps? Disappointment?

“To stop the gossip from spreading any further,” he clarified. He started to explain the role he’d played in fueling the gossip, but she spoke over him.

“Oh, Pete.” She let out a slow, careful breath, but then squared her shoulders. “You don’t have to marry me.” Her eyes took on the color of quenched steel. She would not be swayed to his way of thinking easily.

He should have been better prepared for her response. Instead, he felt his jaw tighten in an unexpected mixture of anger and frustration. All directed at himself, of course. He didn’t need Will Logan by his side to tell him he was handling the situation poorly.

Think before you speak.

“Yes, I do.” He forced his teeth to unclench. Let out an irritated hiss. Cleared his throat. Breathed out again. “Matilda Johnson should never have begun talking about you, no matter the circumstances. You—we—did nothing wrong that day. And now her poisonous tongue must be stopped.”

The force of his words could have melted iron.

Rebecca blinked at him. Her mouth started working, but no words came out.

“You don’t deserve to be treated with disrespect by anyone, especially not by Mrs. Johnson,” he added.

At that, everything about her softened. Her shoulders, her eyes, her lips. She looked as though she might smile at him, but then she folded her hands in front of her and took a bracing breath. “You truly believe that?”

“I do.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, then lowered her head and sighed. Her hair cascaded forward in a waterfall of golden waves, curtaining her face from his inspection. “But I fear it’s too late. The damage is already done.”

Pete frowned. Something in him threatened to snap at her quiet acceptance of the situation. He might not have presented the issue of marriage with any sort of style, but she was being ridiculously stubborn.

“The destruction is not irrevocable,” he said through a tight jaw. “Our marriage will stop the gossip before it goes any further.”

He would see to it.

Shaking her head, she walked calmly to the oven. A pleasant scent of baked apples wafted through the room as she cracked open the door to peer inside.

“Don’t you understand?” Her words were enunciated perfectly as she closed the oven door and spun back around. “I’m an immigrant. Whether or not you marry me, whether or not the gossip continues, I will never be fully accepted in this community.”

“So you’re new to this country. That has nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with this. If we marry, if you took me as your wife, my reputation wouldn’t be restored, yours would be destroyed.”

Pete felt his mouth thin at the absurd notion. Praying for patience, he rubbed a hand down his face. There was no denying that her words lifted just a little of the shadows from his bitter soul. Rebecca Gundersen actually cared what their marriage would do to him. To him. He hadn’t expected that, nor had he expected to be captivated by her unselfish heart.

Something deep within him shifted toward her, something so small, so slight, he nearly missed it. He wanted to make promises to this remarkable woman. The thought felt like the ultimate betrayal to Sarah.

He took a deep breath. “Rebecca.”

He moved a step closer, close enough to smell her pleasant scent—much like the pies she was baking, a sweet combination of vanilla and sugar and summer fruit. Aware of his own rank odor of coal and melted iron and sweat, he shifted a few steps back.

“Marry me,” he demanded, realizing his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t asked her. He’d told her.

He tried to rectify his insensitive act, but she was already speaking over him. “Why are you willing to spend the rest of your life married to me, a woman you hardly know, simply to save my reputation?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said with a confidence that spoke of his life-long convictions. He wasn’t just speaking pretty words. He truly believed the Lord honored a man’s obedience of His commands.

Angling her head, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and then did something utterly remarkable. She smoothed her fingertips across his forehead. “As sweet as I think your gesture is, you don’t have to save me.”

A pleasant warmth settled over him at her touch. The sensation left him oddly disoriented. “Yes, I do.”

She dropped her hand to her side. “I don’t mind what others say about me. You and I, we, know the truth about that day. But more important, so does the Lord. Our Heavenly Father’s opinion is all that matters.”

Pete caught her hand in his, and turned it over in his palm. Wrapped inside his fingers, her hand looked small and pale. Not soft, but work-roughened, a perfect, miniature version of his own.

He touched the callous under her ring finger. “I told Matilda Johnson we were getting married.”

She snatched her hand free. “You…you…what?”

He spoke slower this time. “I told her we were getting married.”

She did not like his answer. That much was clear by her scowl. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

He didn’t argue. How could he? He’d allowed his anger to speak in place of his common sense. The inevitability of what he’d done weighed like an anvil on his chest.

Worse, he hadn’t thought of Sarah since he’d run into Rebecca this morning, not really, and he certainly hadn’t thought of her since he’d walked into the boardinghouse today. Not with anything other than a sense of betrayal.

Regret. Guilt. Was he to spend the rest of his life feeling both?

“Mrs. Johnson was blaming you for luring me into my own storm cellar. We both know how absurd that is.”

The color leeched out of Rebecca’s cheeks as she sank into a nearby chair. “She actually said that to you?”

“Yes.”

She looked to her left then to her right, and back to her left. “I…I simply don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes. Mrs. Johnson is a bully. She finds power in others’ weaknesses. Our marriage will silence her.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.” There was such sorrow in her eyes that he wanted to slay a dragon for her, as though he were a hero in a child’s fairy tale. But he remembered what Jesus had taught in his Sermon on the Mount. Love thy enemies.

It was an impossible command when his “enemy” had hurt this compassionate woman. Ah, but he knew how to thwart Matilda Johnson. “We’ll marry as soon as I can make the arrangements. I’ll speak with the pastor today and—”

“No.”

“—schedule the ceremony at once.” His words came to a halt. “What did you say?”

“I said, no.” She rose, cautiously, her palms flat on her thighs as though to brace herself. “I won’t marry you.”

“You’re turning me down? After everything that’s happened today?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’m turning you down.”

Tears spiraled in her eyes, but Pete pushed them out of his mind. He knew all about that particular female weapon, and its various uses against a man.

“Rebecca.” He growled past his impatience. “You have no choice in the matter.”

“There’s always a choice.” She blinked rapidly, controlling her emotions with a fierce determination that was admirable.

Nevertheless, Pete refused to be moved by her valiant efforts. “Your reputation—”

“Is my concern, not yours.”

She sniffed, rather loudly, but the tears remained in her eyes, shimmering just along the edge of her lashes.

Pete stood transfixed in the face of her internal battle. Even then, even sensing she was honestly trying not to cry, he waited for Rebecca’s inevitable breakdown with a cynical heart.

Remarkably, she didn’t give into her emotions. Oh, she blinked. And blinked. And blinked. And blinked. But no tears spilled from her eyes. Not one.

Pete pulled in a hard breath. If she’d give into her emotions, he would know what to do and how to feel.

Her lips pressed together into a tight line. Taking several deep breaths, she pressed the bridge of her nose between two fingers. Yet still, no tears.

He’d never been more baffled by a woman.

“We were both in my storm cellar,” he reminded her through a painfully tight jaw. “That means we share the burden of the consequences, equally.”

Blink, blink, blink. “My decision is final.” Blink, blink, blink.

“So is mine. We’ll be married by the end of the day.”

Her breathing quickened to short, hard pants. And then…at last…it happened. One lone tear slipped from her eye.

She might as well have slapped him.

Pete reached to her.

A look of horror crossed her face and she stepped out of his reach.

“Rebecca, please,” he whispered, knowing his soft manner came too late.

“No.” She wrapped her dignity around her like a coat of iron-clad armor. “We have nothing more to say to each other.”

Just as another tear plopped onto the toe of her shoe, she turned and rushed out of the kitchen.

Stunned, Pete stared at the empty space she’d occupied. “That,” he said to himself, “could have gone better.”

With a gentle hand on her arm, Emmeline stopped Rebecca before she could run up the stairs. “Rebecca, wait.”

Rebecca swiped at her eyes. The onslaught of tears was close at hand, and she didn’t want an audience when she gave into her emotions. She looked frantically around the parlor. “Are we alone?”

“Completely.”

She blew out a relieved sigh. “Good.”

“What happened?” Emmeline’s gaze narrowed. “Did Pete hurt you?”

“No.” Not in the way Emmeline meant.

“Well, he must have done something. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“He—he—” Words backed up in her throat. Her emotions were too raw to push them out in English, but she threw her shoulders back and tried once more. “He asked me to marry him to stop Matilda Johnson’s gossip.”

Emmeline drew her deeper into the room, then applied pressure on her shoulders until Rebecca was forced to sit in one of the wing chairs facing the brocade divan.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Emmeline asked.

Unable to explain why Pete’s proposal had hurt so badly, Rebecca leaned her head against the chair and shut her eyes.

It wasn’t that she expected him to love her, or forsake his feelings for his dead wife, but she wanted him to…to…know something about her. Her favorite color, her favorite recipe. Something. Anything. She didn’t want her marriage to be only about duty and honor.

She wanted…more. Affection, at the very least.

“Rebecca? Was he cruel with his words?”

“No.” She shook her head fiercely. “He was honorable. Noble, even. And…and…” She sighed. Heroic. Very heroic. He hadn’t cared what marriage to a Norwegian immigrant would mean to his own standing in the community.

“And?”

“And, nothing. He was very respectful, if a bit blunt.”

Emmeline let out an unladylike snort. “So he botched it.”

“I suppose he did. But his intentions were pure.”

If nothing else, Pete’s proposal proved that he was a man of Christian integrity and a true follower of the Lord. Unfortunately, the thought of his steadfast obedience made her a little sad. She didn’t want a marriage driven by duty alone.

“I don’t see the problem here.” Emmeline smoothed a hand down her dress, then plucked at a pleat until it fell neatly into place. “Marriage is a perfect solution to the gossip.”

“But Pete doesn’t know me. And I certainly don’t know him.” Not really. Not enough to build a life on.

“If you give it time, that could change.”

Time. The one commodity they didn’t have. Despite his noble intentions, Pete had told Mrs. Johnson of their impending marriage. The talk would get worse if they didn’t follow through.

She slumped forward, as reality settled over her. Her choices were limited now. No, they were nonexistent. What did it matter whether she and Pete knew each other well? By trying to defend her—which was really rather sweet—he’d tied her to him as no ceremony or vow before God could have done.

“I…” She fought back another onslaught of tears and stood. No. She would not cry over this horrible turn of events. Unfortunately, another lone tear made it past her defenses.

All right, maybe she would cry.

But not here. Not in front of Emmeline.

“I…” She glanced to the ceiling and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Have to check on my pies.”

“Oh, Rebecca.” Sighing, Emmeline pulled her into a fierce hug. “It’s going to be all right. I just know it.”

Surprised at the relief Emmeline’s words brought her, Rebecca clung to her friend. “What am I going to do?” she choked out.

“You’re going to pray for guidance, and trust the Lord. He already has the particulars worked out, you just can’t see the solution clearly yet.” Emmeline patted her back. “And if all else fails, follow your heart.”

“Pray. Trust the Lord. Follow my heart,” Rebecca repeated, chewing on each word as though she was learning the language all over again.

Emmeline pulled back and gave her an encouraging nod. “It’s really that simple.”

And that complicated, Rebecca thought.

How could she explain to her friend that her greatest desire was to be loved solely for herself? She’d spent her entire childhood second best in her parents’ eyes. They had loved her, in their own way, but they had loved each other more. And when the hard times had hit, they’d turned to each other, ignoring Rebecca completely. With Edward already gone, she’d been alone in her own home.

She couldn’t live like that again. Pete’s heart would never truly be hers. After all, he hadn’t chosen to marry her. And, to be fair, she hadn’t chosen to marry him, either. Their union would hush the gossip, but how could anything good come from something based solely on duty and obligation?

Rebecca flicked her gaze toward the kitchen, surprised at the little gasping sobs that slipped past her lips.

“Follow your heart,” Emmeline repeated. “And trust the Lord to take care of the rest.”

If Rebecca did what her friend suggested, if she followed her heart, she feared she would agree to Pete’s proposal. And spend the rest of her life in a forced marriage neither of them truly wanted.

She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t do it.

Chapter Four

With tension scratching under his skin, Pete pushed out the back door of the boardinghouse and set off at a brisk pace.

Rebecca might have just refused his proposal, but he wasn’t giving up. He would convince her to marry him. For her sake, not his own. It was not a matter of if, but when.

The how? Now, that was the problem.

Lord, I could use a little guidance here.

Eyes locked on the horizon, Pete rounded onto Main Street. The air was thick with the pleasant smells of summer, the scent equal parts sweet wildflowers and the tang of fresh-cut timber.

It was no wonder he loved July on the prairie. He loved every month on the prairie, even when the harsh snows hit in winter. Sadly, Sarah had never been happy in High Plains.

Pete should have known she wouldn’t adapt to life on the frontier. She’d always been fragile, frail even. Carrying his child had been the final blow to her uncertain health.

He flexed his fingers several times, clamped his lips tightly together. He hated thinking about Sarah. Memories of her always made him restless and uneasy. He missed her, missed what might have been, missed the child he’d lost along with his wife. There were too many regrets, too much blame, so he cleared his mind, a growing habit since Sarah’s death.

Tense, hands brushing his thighs, he prowled around the perimeter of what would eventually become the new town hall.

The original building had been leveled by the tornado. Miraculously, neither the church on its right nor the schoolhouse on its left had been harmed. Some said the tornado had chosen one building over the others, as though it had a mind of its own. Pete believed otherwise. The Lord had protected the church and the schoolhouse.

Pivoting on his heel, he retraced his path along the perimeter of the building. So far, only the frame, the east wall and several window casings had been constructed. There was a lot of work still to do to rebuild the town.

Frustration rose, strong and urgent. And then, as if to taunt him, his mind circled back to Rebecca and the gossip that had started about them. A sickening dread dropped in his stomach. Just as he had failed Sarah, he was going to fail Rebecca.

Marry her, a voice blazed through his mind. Today. Marry her today. Before it’s too late.

Shocked at the intensity of the thought, and the tightening around his heart, Pete paced to his left, back to his right, and then rounded to the front of the building. With his gaze unfocused, he lifted his face toward heaven.

Lord, how am I supposed to convince Rebecca that marriage is our best course of action when we hardly know each other? What if this doesn’t work out for her? What if she ends up hurt? What if—

“Brooding again, Benjamin?”

Unhappy with the interruption, Pete crammed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Don’t push me, Zeb.” He kept his gaze locked on the sky above. “I’ve already been pushed enough for one day.”

“Don’t doubt it for a minute.”

Unsure what he heard in the other man’s tone, Pete swung around to glare at his friend. But instead of judgment, or even sarcasm, he saw only rough understanding staring back at him.

As the owner of the town’s only mill and a town founder, Zeb Garrison was the wealthiest man in High Plains. Yet today, like most days, he was dressed in ordinary work clothes. Dark trousers, muslin shirt, broad-brimmed hat plopped over his black hair, all were covered with a thin layer of sawdust.

“Been hard at work, I see.”

Zeb shrugged. “Town can’t be rebuilt without lumber.”

Pete heard the determination below the mildly spoken words. He knew firsthand just how strong his friend’s commitment was to High Plains and its people. Zeb was one of Pete’s oldest friends, and he had been the one to coax Pete to move here as the town’s blacksmith, paying for his and Sarah’s passages when there wasn’t enough money to make the trek across country.

When Sarah died, Zeb had begun the search for a new town doctor. Not that Pete blamed Doc Dempsey for the tragedy, but it had been clear that the old man needed help. Zeb’s year-long search hadn’t proved successful—yet—but Pete knew Sarah’s death, Doc Dempsey’s advanced age and all the increased need for medical help since the tornado, kept his friend diligent in the ongoing pursuit.

For that alone, Pete valued Zeb’s friendship.

“Think we’ll get the building done in time for the festival?” Zeb asked.

“We have to,” Pete answered with conviction. “The town needs a day of celebration.”

Zeb nodded. “Yeah. It’s about time we focused on High Plain’s founding principles of faith, love and fortitude, rather than all the tragedies and loss we’ve had to endure.”

Pete’s gut clenched, but he refused to think about Sarah or his son. He forced his mind on the town hall, and nothing else, especially his own loss.

“It’s a mighty task we have ahead of us,” Zeb added.

“We can do it.”

“Yes, we can.”

Of course, neither of them stated the obvious. If they wanted the town hall complete in time for the summer festival they would have to focus all their efforts on this one building. Even then, they would be cutting it close. The festival was scheduled for the end of August, a mere seven weeks away. There was at least nine weeks of work still to be done.

Pete recognized the curling in his gut as apprehension. Unfortunately, the emotion wasn’t due solely to the rebuilding task that lay ahead. Zeb wasn’t finished with him yet.

Feet braced, Pete swallowed back a sudden urge to return to his smithy, the one place where he could use work to free his mind and avoid well-meaning friends.

“I heard about your conversation with Matilda Johnson this morning,” Zeb said in a deceptively neutral tone.

Pete kept his gaze cemented to the window casing just to the left of the front door. “I suspect everyone in town has heard about it by now.”

“Does Rebecca know she’s marrying you yet?”

A pall of defeat enveloped him. “I informed her, yes.”

“You informed her?”

“Yeah.” Pete’s throat tightened. “She refused me.”

“Pete, Pete, no wonder she turned you down, you can’t—”

“Don’t, Zeb.” He lifted a restraining hand in the air. “There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t said to myself.”

That earned him a dry chuckle.

In the midst of his burning frustration, Pete experienced something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Peace. The kind of soul-deep serenity that came when he followed the Lord’s will for his life. He didn’t know why a sense of calm settled over him so completely. Nor did he know how he’d come to this point of acceptance. All he knew for certain was that marrying Rebecca Gundersen was the right thing to do.

“She will marry me,” he said with renewed confidence.

“Is that so?”

Before he could explain further, Pete felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He shot a glance over his shoulder.

“The Tully brothers.” He nearly spat the words.

A muscle twitched in Zeb’s jaw. “Those boys have just about worn out their welcome in this town.”

Pete made a sound of agreement in his throat, although “boys” was not an accurate term. Sal, the oldest and meanest, was in his late twenties. The other two were only a few years behind him. But no matter their age, with their filthy clothes, matted hair and raucous natures, the Tully brothers were walking, talking trouble.

They’d arrived a month ago with the wagon train that had been devastated by the tornado, and had chosen to stay in town when the rest of the train had moved on. From day one, the “boys” had accepted food and lodging while providing little in return.

“We’ve seen their type come through before,” Pete reminded Zeb. “They usually move on once boredom sets in.”

“Yeah, well.” Zeb’s eyes frosted over. “That blessed event can’t come soon enough.”

Pete nodded. He’d broken up more than one fight the brothers had instigated. Flashing the three a dark glance, he then went back to inspecting the town hall’s skeletal frame.

It would take everyone’s combined effort to get the building completed in time for the festival. Looked like his livery wasn’t getting a roof anytime soon.

“Here we go again,” Zeb muttered.

Pete turned in time to see Edward Gundersen rounding the corner of the mercantile. The glare on the big Norwegian’s face, along with the bunched shoulders and clenched fists, told Pete the man was spoiling for a fight. And, of course, Rebecca’s brother was walking straight toward the Tullys.

As if Pete’s day hadn’t been filled with enough conflict, now he had to break up another Tully fight.

“Leave this to me,” he said, looking to his right and then his left before stepping off the planked sidewalk.

“Not on your life,” Zeb said. “This is my concern, too.”

Pete and Zeb made it halfway across the street when Edward closed the distance between him and the brothers. Sal Tully, the oldest and meanest of the three, said something low and menacing. Pete was too far away to make out the specific words.

Edward raised his hands in a show of surrender, as though he was trying to behave rationally and stay calm despite the anger on his face.

The Tullys advanced on him anyway. Shoulder to shoulder, they created a wall of hard muscle and bad attitude.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw Will Logan heading toward the fight from the opposite direction. It was anybody’s guess who would get to the group first.

Edward pushed back.

Pete broke into a run. Zeb’s footsteps pounded behind him.

Just as Edward raised his fists in obvious defense, the two youngest Tullys grabbed him from either side and slammed him against the wall of the mercantile. Edward’s elbow broke through one of the store’s new windows. The high-pitched shriek of shattering glass rang out over Edward’s grunts.

The boys held Edward in place while Sal pounded his left side. The brute focused on the same spot, over and over again.

People spilled out of buildings from both sides of the streets. One woman in particular rushed forward.

“How dare you start a fight in front of my store,” Matilda Johnson said in an outraged voice.

In the next moment, Pete drew alongside her. He nearly clipped her on the shoulder in his attempt to rush past her. Matilda’s pinched-faced daughter, Abigail, yelled at him to watch his step. But then she saw Zeb and her face softened. She approached him, but he barked at her to stay back.

Unfortunately, the Tully brothers had Edward down on the sidewalk by then. The hard thuds of boots connecting with human muscle and bone were followed by Edward’s grunts.

Furious, as much by the underhanded tactics as the growing audience they were attracting, Pete grabbed the closest Tully by the shirt and waistband. One hefty swing and the man went flying into the street. Pete reached for the next brother, but Zeb already had his hands on him.

Tully number two landed on top of his brother.

They tumbled over each other, arms and limbs tangling together. Dust swirled in the air, twisting around them in a choking brown cloud. Will warned them to stay down. Three of his ranch hands joined him, circling around the brothers.

Sal continued kicking Edward. In unison, Pete and Zeb lifted Sal backward and then slammed him against the wall in an identical move to the one his brothers had used on Edward.

Zeb told the crowd to go back inside their homes and businesses. “Nothing to see here,” he added.

That only drew the gawkers closer.

Pete pressed his forearm into Sal’s collarbone and glanced over his shoulder at Edward. “You all right?”

Moaning, Edward lifted to his knees, released a breath, then collapsed back to the ground. “I think he busted my ribs.”

Sal strained against Pete’s grip. “Serves you right, you dirty immigrant.”

As one, Pete and Zeb slammed Sal harder against the wall. “Keep your mouth shut,” Pete growled. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

“What?” Sal jerked his chin in an angry gesture. “Like you’re so good? I know what you are, and I know what you do behind closed cellar doors with unmarried women.”

A wave of unconscionable anger flooded Pete’s ability to think logically.

But just as he raised his fist, Edward reached out and yanked Sal’s foot. Hard. “You’re scum, Sal Tully.”

Unprepared for the attack, Pete and Zeb lost their grip and Sal tumbled to the ground.

The crowd gasped.

Edward muttered a string of angry Norwegian as he struggled to grab Sal. Sal didn’t deserve the effort. The realization helped Pete calm his own anger.

“That’s enough, Edward.” He lifted his friend off Sal while Zeb shoved the oldest Tully into the street with his boot heel.

Sal ended up on top of his younger brothers, who were still tripping over one another in a whirlwind of cursing and dust.

Fingers squeezed into white-knuckled fists, Will waited until all three found their footing at last. “You’ve officially worn out your welcome. I want you out of my town now.” He paused. “And if I see any of your faces around here again I’ll make sure you wished you were never born.”

Sal wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I ain’t scared.”

Will held his ground. “You should be.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Sal closed it when he took note of the ranch hands closing ranks around Will.

With the odds no longer on his side, Sal accepted defeat at last. “Let’s go, boys.”

The Tully brothers limped away, muttering ugly epitaphs with every step. Pete prayed the three kept on walking, all the way out of High Plains for good.

Sensing most of the trouble had come to an end, people edged closer to Edward, who was still sprawled on the ground.

Pete helped him to a sitting position. “Easy now.”

Edward swallowed, then narrowed his eyes into two angry slits as he glowered over Pete’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

Squeaking, Abigail Johnson, round-eyed and blinking rapidly, scampered behind her mother. Although Pete estimated the petite blonde to be about the same age as Rebecca Gundersen, Mrs. Johnson treated her daughter as if she was still a child.

True to form, Matilda threw her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Come along, darling, you don’t need to see such brutality.” Spreading her lips into a snarl, she leveled a condescending glare onto Edward. “Shame on you. Men from this country do not engage in unseemly brawls.”

“Unless you’re a Tully,” he muttered.

She sniffed in disapproval, and then marched her daughter back into the mercantile. “Someone’s going to pay for my broken window.” The door slammed with a loud bang behind her.

Will pushed through the crowd and joined them on the sidewalk. “You all right, Gundersen?”

“Ja.” Edward wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Never better.”

“Why would you take on a Tully, much less all three at the same time?” Zeb asked. “Everyone knows those boys fight dirty.”

Edward shot Pete a frustrated glare, then turned his attention back to Zeb. “Yeah, well, I didn’t intend to fight them,” he paused to take a breath, “I just wanted to have a few, uh…words with them.”

Will and Zeb shared a meaningful look, but didn’t comment. Pete held his tongue, as well. Everyone knew the Tully brothers were unreasonable on a good day. More often than not, a “few words” turned into a brawl.

Pete studied Edward’s face a moment longer. “You have a bloody nose, a split lip and some busted ribs. Not bad, considering the Tullys weren’t in a talkative mood.”

Edward clutched his mid-section and wheezed out a breath. “I don’t care what any of you think. I don’t regret confronting those good-for-nothing troublemakers.” He glared at Pete, and then lowered his gaze quickly. A little too quickly. “I did what I had to do.”

Aware they were attracting an audience, Pete shifted his stance to shield Edward from the stares. “Can you stand?”

Edward’s lips thinned. “Won’t know till I try.”

Pete gripped one of his shoulders. Zeb took the other. Together, they carefully hoisted Edward to his feet, holding him steady until he secured his balance.

“You want me to get Doc Dempsey?” Will asked.

“No,” Edward and Pete said simultaneously. The old man wouldn’t be able to do much, especially if Edward had busted a rib. In fact, Dempsey might make matters worse.

“Sure?” Will persisted. “His office is right next door.”

Pete grimaced. “We’re sure. Edward and me, we need to have us a little heart-to-heart.” He gauged the crowd, taking special note of Matilda Johnson’s beady-eyed gaze peering out from the gap where her store window had been. “Alone.”

“You better stabilize his ribs first.” Will motioned one of his ranch hands forward, a man Pete knew well. On occasion, Clint Fuller assisted him in the smithy, more now since the storm had blown through town.

“Here.” The lanky cowboy shouldered his way through the crowd. “Use this.”

Taking the well-worn blanket, Pete held Clint’s gaze over Edward’s head. “I’ll need your help in the smithy this week. Whenever Will can spare you.”

“We’ll make it work,” Will offered.

Pete nodded. “Much appreciated.”

With quick, careful movements, they wrapped Edward’s ribs. But the crowd’s murmuring grew louder and people began closing in on them.

It was time to move Edward away from all the interested stares. Draping the injured man’s arm over his shoulder, Pete steered him in the direction of Mrs. Jennings’s boardinghouse.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said to his friends as he maneuvered through a small opening in the crowd.

“Let us know if you need anything else,” Will replied.

“Right.” Pete waved a hand over his head without bothering to glance backward.

Leaning heavily on Pete, Edward half stumbled, half dragged himself down the sidewalk. “Not that I’m unappreciative of your assistance,” he said in a thicker accent than usual. “But where are you taking me?”

“To the boardinghouse.”

“I’d rather go back to my room in the livery.”

“Too bad. You need tending. I’m sure your sister will know what to do.”

Edward groaned. “Rebecca’s not going to like this.”

“You should have thought about that before you decided to have ‘a few words’ with the Tully brothers.”

“You didn’t hear what they said,” Edward grumbled.

Pete’s grip tightened, but he didn’t slow his pace. “Maybe I should hear it now.”

“They said,” Edward braced himself, “that they wanted Rebecca to give them a little of what Pete Benjamin already sampled.”

Pete stopped walking. He held himself perfectly still, but inside he trembled with rage. He thought briefly of praying for guidance, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not with Rebecca in physical danger from a wicked-minded man and his evil brothers. Pete needed to act before Sal had a chance.

“I have to go.” He stepped away from Edward.

“Pete, wait.” Edward swayed but righted himself with a shake. “Think about my sister.”

“I am thinking about her.” The threat was no longer about her reputation. It wasn’t about what Pete wanted, either. Ungodly men were willing to push themselves on Rebecca because of what they thought she’d done with him.

Pete’s heart constricted painfully in his chest. The situation had gone beyond mere talk. A woman’s physical safety was in jeopardy now. And Pete was the only one who could fix the situation.

He turned in the direction the Tullys had left town, but Edward’s hand clenched his shoulder with surprising strength. “Pete, you can’t attack the Tully brothers right now. Rebecca needs you more.”

Under Edward’s grip, Pete stood unmoving. Barely. His rage shuddered for release.

“I can’t protect her, Pete.” Edward took a wheezing breath. “Not all broken up like this. I need you to stay strong so you can take care of my sister for me.”

Fury so intense it left a tinny taste in his mouth burned through Pete, along with the savage need to wipe out the threat to Rebecca—literally—with his bare hands.

There is another way, a still, small voice whispered in his head. Marry her, and this ends. She’ll be safe in your home, carrying your name.

“Did you hear me?” Edward asked in a thick, frustrated tone.

Pete nodded.

“You’ll take care of my sister?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Pete angled his head toward the boardinghouse. “Can you make it the rest of the way on your own?”

“Ja.” Edward straightened to his full height, but he ruined the affect by wincing. “It’s not so far.”

“Good. I have to go clean up.” Pete turned to go, then swung back around. “Once you’re bandaged, have Rebecca put on her prettiest dress.”

Edward eyed him skeptically. “Why?”

Pete glanced in the direction of the church. He and Rebecca were getting married. Tonight. But he’d learned his lesson. He would not tell Rebecca she was marrying him. He would ask her. Nicely.

“Because,” he said, “I have a proper proposal to make to your sister.”

And this time, he would do it right.

Chapter Five

Rebecca tied off the bandage around Edward’s ribs with slow, careful movements. She tried to hold her fear at bay, but she couldn’t stop her heart from beating too fast and too hard, as if she were running a race without a finish line in sight.

Something awful had happened to her brother, bad enough to put him in this injured condition. But he wasn’t revealing any specifics. After he’d assured her there’d been no accident at the livery, he’d become unusually reticent. Which could mean only one thing. He’d been in a fight.

With trembling fingers, she ruffled his hair as though he were the younger sibling rather than the older. “There.” She dropped a kiss to his forehead. “You’re all patched up now.”

“Takk,” he said in Norwegian, then took what looked like a painful breath and began again. “I mean, thanks.”

Clicking her tongue, Mrs. Jennings scooted the bowl of water closer to where Rebecca stood over her brother. Sharing a worried look with the older woman, Rebecca dipped a rag into the cool liquid.

“I’ll get more water for you, dear.” Mrs. Jennings lifted the bowl from the table.

Rebecca gave her employer an appreciative smile before the woman trudged out the back door toward the pump. Watching her go, Rebecca sighed with gratitude. In her mid-fifties, Mrs. Jennings might appear overly formal to some in this town, but she’d always been kind to Rebecca. And she’d personally taken in one of the displaced children from the wagon train. Ten-year-old Alex seemed happy under Mrs. Jennings’s care.

Rebecca was, too. The woman might tuck her brown hair into an ordinary bun at the nape of her neck, but there was nothing ordinary about her. Yes, she had plain brown eyes, unremarkable features and wore nondescript clothing, but her inner beauty and love of the Lord radiated out of her like a sunbeam splitting through a dingy cloud on a blustery day.

Edward pulled in an audible, ragged breath, capturing Rebecca’s attention once again. She knew he was in pain, yet he kept tossing worried, determined glances at the back door. Did he think the threat had followed him here?

Oh, Edward, what’s wrong with you? What’s happened to turn you into a stranger so quickly? The brother she knew would never get into a fistfight.

Cautiously, she dabbed at his lip.

He drew back with a hiss of pain.

“That’s what comes from fighting.”

He didn’t confirm or deny her suspicions. Nor did he make eye contact with her.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked.

“I…” He clamped his lips shut, then leaned an elbow on the table as if his weight was too heavy for him to hold up on his own anymore.

Rebecca knelt in front of him and placed her hands on his knees. “Edward, please. Tell me who did this to you.”

At last, he looked directly at her. She gasped at what she saw in his eyes. Sorrow, guilt and unprecedented anger.

His fight had been about her.

Oh, Lord, please no. Not that. Let me be wrong.

Even though she dreaded what his answer would be, she needed confirmation. “You were defending my honor, weren’t you?”

His gaze darted to the back door again. “Ja.”

“Oh, Edward. Who did you fight?” Not Pete. Please, not Pete.

He mumbled his response, but she caught enough of what he said to send a wave of panic shooting past the last threads of her remaining calm. “Which Tully?”

He shuffled his feet again. “All three.”

“You fought all three Tully brothers?” She gripped her throat and stumbled away from him. “By yourself?”

He nodded, but his gaze was remarkably unrepentant. “Ja.”

The situation had gone far beyond anything she could have imagined. Gossip was one thing. Her ruined reputation a mere inconvenience compared to this. Edward had been beaten up defending her honor against three—three!—bullies.

What if one of the Tullys had carried a gun? Or a knife? Would she be preparing Edward for his funeral? The idea was too terrible to contemplate.

Yet, she had to face the truth. Edward could have been killed today—because of her.

Closing her eyes a moment, Rebecca called upon her favorite verse from the Book of Joshua, the one she’d recited over and over throughout her travels from Norway to America. Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid.

She knew what she had to do. Her pride no longer mattered. Her reputation wasn’t important, either. This was about protecting her only living relative as best she could.

Rebecca stared down at her brother as an uncomfortable silence hung between them. They were both breathing hard.

Thankfully, Mrs. Jennings returned and Rebecca shifted her gaze to the woman. “Can you serve supper without me tonight?” she asked. “I have someone I need to…find.”

Eyes filled with concern, Mrs. Jennings looked from Rebecca to Edward and then back to Rebecca again. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

Rubbing her palms together, Rebecca lifted her chin at a determined angle. “Nothing I can’t fix with a short conversation.” And an equally short ceremony.

“Well, then, by all means, dear. Do what you have to do.”

Edward grabbed her arm. “You don’t need to go to him, Rebecca. Pete’s coming for you on his own. Tonight.”

“Pete’s coming here? Tonight?” Her heart skipped a beat. “Then he knows about your fight?”

“He broke it up.”

“Oh, Edward.” Her knees threatened to give way, but she refused to collapse into a heap of nerves.

“He said to put on your prettiest dress,” Edward added.

“Yes, of course.” Her tone came out flat. There were just too many emotions to sort through to give into any one of them.

“Yes, of course?” Edward lifted a single eyebrow. “You have nothing more to say than that?”

She shrugged. What else could she say? Pete was coming to propose. Only this time, it wouldn’t matter what words or what tone he used. Edward’s safety was all that mattered.

A wave of sadness flooded through her. All her dreams of a happy future with a man who loved her solely for herself were disintegrating.

Her choice of a husband was no longer hers to make. Marriage to Pete was inevitable now.

But, maybe, if she dug deep enough, all the way down to a hidden spot in the back of her soul, she might be able to find a spark of hope waiting to ignite. A small, tiny thread of anticipation that had her wishing the inevitable didn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe, just maybe, God had a plan she couldn’t discern just yet.

Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid.

Shoulders back, Rebecca forced a smile on her lips and addressed Mrs. Jennings. “Will you stand with me at my wedding?”

“Oh, my dear. Of course.” Tears filled the woman’s eyes. “I would be honored.”

Rebecca touched her brother’s shoulder. “I’ll go change now. Send someone to find me when Pete arrives.”

“No need.” His gaze locked onto something behind her. “He’s already here.”

Pete was here? Now? A flutter captured her heart. She wasn’t ready to see him. She wasn’t prepared. She wasn’t calm.

It didn’t matter.

Pivoting quickly around, she faced the man who would soon be her husband. Her breath clogged in her throat.

Pete Benjamin looked…magnificent.

His hair was still damp at the edges, indicating that he’d washed before coming to her this time. But more shocking than that, he was wearing…he…was…wearing…

A suit.

A freshly pressed solid-black suit with a crisp white shirt and a green brocade vest. There was no neck cloth tied at his throat, but a gold watch fob dangled from the center button of his vest to a small pocket on his right side.

He should have looked ridiculous. Or at the very least uncomfortable.

But, instead, dressed in his fancy clothes, Pete Benjamin looked big and masculine and so very, very handsome. A tower of strength encased in wool and crisp linen.

In that moment, Rebecca knew she was making the right decision. With Pete, she would be safe. Safe from gossip. Safe from men like the Tully brothers. Safe. Always safe.

It wasn’t the same as love, or even affection, but she knew it could be worse. Much worse.

Tears blurred her vision before she blinked them away and lowered her gaze to the clump of flowers Pete strangled in his right hand. She could tell he’d gathered the colorful array of wildflowers himself. A few stems still had their roots hanging ragged at their tips.

What a dear, dear man.

With slow, methodic steps, he came toward her, his eyes never leaving her face. And then…

He lowered to one knee.

Smiling sweetly, he thrust the makeshift bouquet at her. “These are for you.” His voice came out gravelly, with an edge of tenderness that sent her heart kicking against her ribs.

“They’re…they’re…” She touched a fingertip to the corner of her eye and sighed. “Really quite lovely.”

Fingers shaking, she took the bouquet and buried her nose in the blossoms.

Taking her free hand in his, Pete pressed a soft kiss to the knuckles. “Rebecca.” He looked back into her eyes. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Unable to catch a decent breath, Rebecca shot a quick glance at her brother. Her gaze fell onto his split lip, the harsh physical reminder nudging her in the proper direction.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned her attention back to Pete. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you. As soon as possible, please.”

Two hours after Pete’s second—and final—proposal, Rebecca eyed High Plains’s only church from the bottom of the boardinghouse steps. Situated directly across the street, the modest structure seemed to sleep contentedly under the indigo sky. Moonlight polished a row of square-paned windows into clear, sparkling diamonds.

The building practically glowed, beckoning Rebecca forward. To her new life.

Her heart filled with a fierce longing. Would this marriage be the best decision of her life? Or the worst?

“Let’s go.” Edward took her elbow and attempted to guide her across the street. They stumbled and staggered a few steps until Rebecca took charge. She ducked under his right arm and did most of the guiding while her injured brother did a considerable amount of leaning.

Mrs. Jennings’s worried gaze met Rebecca’s before shifting to the church up ahead. “My dear boy, are you sure you can make it up those steep steps?”

A pained smile twisted his lips. “I will not miss my sister’s wedding.”

“Of course you won’t.” Mrs. Jennings’s nod held the perfect amount of understanding. Thankfully, one of the other boarders was watching little Alex, freeing the woman for most of the night. Rebecca was grateful for her presence. She needed a friendly face now more than ever, and there hadn’t been time to send for Emmeline or Cassandra.

With each step, Rebecca kept her gaze glued on the church. Conscious of the sidelong glances Edward dropped on her, she tried to ignore the sorrowful look in his eyes, a look that seemed to say he regretted forcing her into this marriage.

But what could he have done? What could any of them have done? Matilda Johnson’s gossip had set events into motion. Edward’s fight with the Tullys had only hastened the inevitable. Rebecca just prayed her marriage to Pete would end the worst of the gossip, thereby erasing most of the danger to Edward.

“I wish there’d been time to have Mrs. Morrow make you a new dress,” Edward said in a halting tone.

Rebecca’s heart wrenched at his words. She’d put on the nicest dress she owned. Unfortunately, the soft blue calico was rather simple with its long, narrow sleeves, modest neckline and flared skirt that billowed to the ground from its fitted waist. As a sentimental gesture, she carried her mother’s lace kerchief. Rebecca had sprinkled the tiny piece of material with lavender water. Her mother’s favorite.

“Not to worry, Edward.” She patted his arm, trying not to show any disappointment in her gaze. Mrs. Morrow was a brilliant seamstress. A dress from her shop would have been a lovely item to own. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think it matters what I wear.”

He looked ready to argue, but they’d come to the bottom of the church steps. Navigating the stairs took all his effort.

Once they entered the building, the sound of their footsteps echoed through the deserted church. The interior was illuminated with a few flickering candles, enough to light their way down the center aisle.

Edward leaned over and kissed Rebecca on the cheek before collapsing onto the front pew with a soft groan. He closed his hand over hers to keep her from moving away from him.

“This is the right decision,” he said. “Pete will make you a proper husband.”

Rebecca sighed. Of course Pete would make her a proper husband. But would that be enough? He was a complete stranger to her, a man she’d barely spoken to since their time in his storm cellar. And even less before that.

How could she ever hope to replace Sarah in his heart? Did she even want to? She found him attractive, yes, but events had moved so quickly today. She hadn’t had time to think through all the consequences.

What did she really know about her future husband? He was good to Edward, and paid him a fair wage, but did that guarantee he would be a decent husband, as well?

Biting her bottom lip, she turned at the sound of creaking door hinges. Her groom entered the church with Reverend and Mrs. Preston flanking him on either side.

In the flickering candlelight, Pete’s expression was cast in shadow. But as he drew nearer, Rebecca could see that his features were set in an overly serious frown, with dark determination staring out of his eyes. This ceremony would take place. That much, she read in his gaze.

Pete Benjamin might be a man who kept his emotions closely guarded, but she’d seen below his mask on more than one occasion. He would not allow gossip to hurt her anymore. He was too much of a gentleman to let the evil words continue. She trusted him to protect her from any danger.

But what of tenderness and affection? What of love?

Would her marriage be any different from her lonely childhood?

As though sensing her distress, Pete’s brown eyes locked with hers, and he smiled so sweetly her heart skipped a beat. If not careful, she could fall for this man.

She must not.

Her parents’ neglect had taught her well. Only loneliness and pain came from loving too much, especially when the emotion wasn’t returned.

She would have to be careful with her feelings for this man.

Pete stopped directly in front of her. “Rebecca.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “Are you certain you want to do this tonight? I know I’ve pushed you. We can wait a day or two if you need more time to prepare.”

Staring into those beautiful, compelling eyes, she couldn’t answer him right away—her heart was stuck in her throat—but she swallowed back her nerves and forced her words out in careful English. “Now is good. Now is right.”

He smiled again, the gesture transforming his face. Honestly, the man should smile more often.

Needing a moment to gain her composure, she quickly turned her attention to the preacher and his wife. “Good evening. I appreciate you doing this for us tonight.”

They both nodded solemnly.

Richard Preston looked like a preacher. Tall, scarecrow thin and dark-haired, he was an ordinary-looking man with a pleasant, nearly forgettable face. His wife was shorter, a little plump, very blond and quite pretty.

Mrs. Preston’s gaze met Rebecca’s for the first time ever. Rebecca clutched her mother’s kerchief tighter. Although Susannah wasn’t actually scowling at her, her mouth was pinched at a slightly odd angle. A single hollow etched a tiny groove across her wide brow, and her eyes held a watchful expression.

Rebecca sighed. She supposed the woman’s lack of warmth was to be expected. Susannah Preston was friends with Mrs. Johnson’s daughter, Abigail. No telling what she’d heard about Rebecca’s time spent with Pete in his storm cellar.

Yet another reminder why this marriage must occur tonight.

Burying her trembling fingers inside the folds of her skirt, Rebecca tried to appear calm. Stoic was the best she could manage under the circumstances.

Pete took her elbow and directed her to the front of the church. He loomed large next to her, but instead of scaring her, his presence gave her courage. In a matter of hours, he’d become her pillar of strength, her trustworthy sentinel much like the granite cliffs overlooking the fjords in her homeland.

Glory.

“Let’s begin,” the pastor said, employing his booming preacher voice despite the fact that the wooden pews held all of two people this evening.

Bible open, he shifted his gaze to his wife. “My dear, would you be so kind as to play a hymn for us first?”

Giving him a stiff bob of her head, Susannah Preston positioned herself at the church’s organ.

Hands raised, she pounded out the wheezing refrain of a hymn Rebecca had never heard before. Then again, perhaps she had heard the tune. The organ had seen better days twenty years ago. Now it was a pitiful instrument that only produced a series of hisses, tinks and bangs.

Trying not to cringe, Rebecca smoothed the lines in her already smooth skirt. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Mrs. Jennings sat broomstick-straight, while Edward slumped forward, his left arm wrapped protectively around his middle. What a forlorn little group they made.

“It’ll be over soon,” Pete whispered. To punctuate the statement, he took her hand and gently stroked his thumb over her knuckles.

Her heartbeat quickened.

The music stopped abruptly and Rebecca jerked.

Pete let go of her hand and squared his shoulders.

“Dearly beloved,” the pastor began. “We are gathered here to witness the union of Peter Daniel Benjamin and Rebecca Anne Gundersen in holy matrimony.”

With the words of the marriage ceremony falling over them, Rebecca found herself thinking of her parents again, and she brought the kerchief to her cheek. From her first memory to her last, Helga and Carl Gundersen had formed a single unit. They’d been so close that even their own children couldn’t break past their tight bond. They’d truly been joined as one.

In that moment, Rebecca realized why she considered marriage to Pete such a lonely prospect. She’d viewed it from the eyes of an ignored child.

Would marrying Pete be as lonely as she expected, or could she hope for something else, something that transcended her childhood memories?

“Scripture is clear about the purpose of marriage,” Reverend Preston continued. “As Genesis 2:24 says, ‘Therefore a man must leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife.’”

Rebecca cast a quick glance at Pete from under her lowered lashes. Would he cleave to her?

She could tell nothing from his expression. His eyes held a sad, distant look in them. Was he thinking of his first wife?

How could he not think of her now? After all, Pete had wanted to marry Sarah, while mean-spirited gossip had driven this union. Not love, not choice, but necessity.

Rebecca swallowed back a sob.

Pete turned his head to look at her then. His rich brown eyes seemed to see right through her, past every pretension and straight to the secret depths of her soul.

His gaze softened and he clutched her hand again. The gesture had a soothing affect on her nerves.

Reverend Preston cleared his throat.

Pete continued commanding Rebecca’s gaze. A moment passed, and then, slowly—very, very slowly—he let go of her hand.

Without his touch, despair threatened to press in on her again. She shook off the melancholy with a determined shrug.

“Do you have rings to exchange?” the Reverend asked.

Rings? Rebecca looked at Pete. He stood blinking at her in what could only be described as stunned silence.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca, I didn’t think.” His gaze filled with genuine regret. “It never occurred to me to provide rings.”

“Not to worry.” Mrs. Jennings scuttled forward, nudging the preacher aside with her hip until she was standing in his place. “It occurred to me.”

With a flourish, she pulled out two shiny gold rings from a tapestry satchel hanging around her wrist. “My dear Mr. Jennings purchased these on our wedding day thirty years ago. God willing, they’ll fit you.”

“Oh, Mrs. Jennings.” Rebecca’s throat cinched. “I…we can’t possibly take your wedding rings.”

“You most definitely will accept them. They’re my gift to you, freely given.” She cupped Rebecca’s cheek and smiled kindly. “I never had children of my own. You and Edward are as close as I’ll ever come.” She dropped her hand. “Take these precious rings with my blessing.”

“I…I…” Rebecca couldn’t push her words out in English.

A wave of desperation had her turning to Pete for help.

He stepped forward and pulled Mrs. Jennings into a loose hug. “We’d be honored to accept this treasured wedding gift.” He set her at arm’s length, his hands resting on her thin shoulders. “And I promise, before you and God that I will take care of Rebecca the rest of my days.”

Sniffing loudly, Mrs. Jennings waved a dismissive hand between them. “Oh, dear Mr. Benjamin, I know that.”

Pete stepped back and opened his hand.

Smiling through watery eyes, Mrs. Jennings dropped both rings into his outstretched palm.

Overcome with her own emotion, Rebecca stood rigid and trembling, unable to fathom how blessed she’d become in one day.

Realizing everyone was waiting for her, she stepped forward and hugged Mrs. Jennings tightly against her. “Thank you. I won’t ever, ever forget this.”

Dabbing at her eyes, the older woman patted Rebecca’s hand and then quickly returned to her seat.

Rebecca smiled ever so slightly.

The Lord had just provided her with a new beginning. Not the one she had expected. Certainly not the one that she’d dreamed of as a little girl. But a fresh start, all the same.

She would not waste this opportunity.

Chapter Six

Pete escorted Rebecca down the church steps, his large hand a whisper touch on her elbow. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the way he helped her down the stairs. But with him walking this closely beside her, and with his clean, woodsy scent wafting between them, the events of the past hour raced through her thoughts with excruciating detail.

One particular moment kept playing over and over again in her mind. It had happened when Pete was talking to the pastor at the back of the church after the ceremony was over. Her eyes had met his, and in that instant Rebecca had felt as though she truly belonged to Pete—as a wife belonged to her husband.

The sensation hadn’t lasted very long, but it had been enough to thread hope through her heart. Perhaps marrying Pete was a good thing.

Then again…

A rush of nerves made her miss the last step and she lost her footing.

Pete’s fingers tightened on her arm until she regained her balance. But still he said nothing to her.

What was he thinking?

She glanced into his face. His expression was a study in calm, as though they were taking a routine stroll down the street. A thousand questions flitted across her mind. She voiced none of them and continued walking silently beside him.

The night air stewed with the thick, oppressive heat of summer. Rebecca wanted to release a sigh—a big, loud, heartfelt sigh.

She refrained.

Pete directed her across the empty street, steering her around the worst of the ruts and wheel tracks that were illuminated by the full moon floating in the cloudless sky.

With her senses heightened, Rebecca noticed every sound around her. Crickets clicked. Frogs croaked. A horse whinnied from somewhere nearby. And was that a coyote howl in the distance? A snake’s rattle off to her left?

Night on the prairie could be a scary proposition for anyone, especially a woman. Potential dangers lurked in every shadow. Aside from wild animals, there’d been Indian unrest in the territory recently. Now, with eight-year-old Mikey and his twin sister Missy still missing, the dangers seemed more real to Rebecca. Add Edward’s fight over her with the Tully brothers, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to walk the streets of High Plains alone without at least a small amount of fear nagging at her.

Yet walking next to Pete—her big, silent, handsome husband—she knew she was safe. Truly safe.

Perhaps for the first time in her life.

She wanted to raise her hands and shout for joy. But Pete would probably think she’d gone mad. So she offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving, instead. Thank You, Lord. I trust marrying Pete was the right thing to do. I trust You will bring good out of this union.

Eventually.

Well, then. That last thought wasn’t one of a faithful Christian. But, glory. Glory. The silence between them was growing more awkward with each step.

Pete let go of her elbow, then linked his fingers through hers. The familiarity of holding hands with her new husband brought up a disturbing question.

Would their marriage be real? Or one in name only?

The fact that she didn’t know revealed how precarious the situation was between them. She was married to a stranger. Completely, irrevocably, married to him.

Pete came to a halt in front of the boardinghouse. Releasing her hand, he shifted until he stared directly into her eyes.

Rebecca swallowed.

“I figure you’ll want to organize your belongings before you move into my house.” He spoke with meticulous politeness. Did he really have to be that kind and considerate?

“Yes, I suppose I would,” she said. “But I should go to the livery and make sure Edward is comfortable first. He didn’t look well when he left the church ahead of us.”

“I’ll check on him before I turn in.”

She started to argue the point, then thought better of it. She’d fussed over Edward enough. If she pushed too much, he would shut her out just like their parents had.

“All right. I’ll let you check on him for me while I pack up my belongings.” Not that the process would take her much time. If pressed, she could pack every item she owned in less than an hour.

Pete must have known what little property she possessed. Of course he knew. But his words had alluded to something else entirely. I’ll check on him before I turn in, he’d said. Not we, but I. No matter how kind his tone sounded, he was excusing her for the rest of the night. Their wedding night.

Her stomach felt as if a heavy lump of day-old bread had settled at the bottom. “Are you suggesting I stay at the boardinghouse this evening?” She needed to be sure.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” He was so detached, but then he surprised her by placing both hands on her shoulders and smiling kindly. Softly. “It’s for the best.”

Mesmerized by his deep voice, Rebecca found herself unable to respond.

“You can move into my house tomorrow,” he continued, his palms resting lightly on her shoulders. “Or the day after that. I’ll leave the timing up to you.”

His words were so civilized, so careful. An odd rush of disappointment made her breathing feel heavy against her ribs.

“Mrs. Jennings gave me most of tomorrow off,” she said in an unsteady voice. “I’ll serve breakfast as usual, then I’ll pack.”

Eyes still locked with hers, Pete let his hands drop. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” She shrugged, desperately hoping she pulled off the casual gesture. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Rebecca. Wait.” He caught her hand as she tried to turn away. “We’ll talk tomorrow night. Really talk. We have much to discuss. It’ll go better after we’ve both had time to gather our thoughts.”

His voice sounded a little off, almost uncertain. She forced herself to look into his eyes and nearly gasped at what she saw. There was something different in him. Something remarkably vulnerable.

He needs you, Rebecca, more than he can admit.

Yes. She saw the truth in his gaze. This strong, handsome man was lonely. He needed someone to love him. And she now had that privilege as his wife.

It took everything in her not to fling herself into his arms.

The thought should have scared her. After all, what did she really know about him? But there was no fear. No shame, either. During the ceremony Reverend Preston had said that God’s purpose for husband and wife, inside the holy sanctity of marriage, carried no disgrace.

Although this was no ordinary marriage, that did not mean it couldn’t be special. Unfortunately, Rebecca had no idea how to voice her hopes for their future. But she knew she had to try.

“Pete?” she began, and then clamped her lips shut. How did she broach the subject of intimacy between them with so much else left unsaid?

“I…that is…”

If only she could find it in herself to step toward him, just one, small step, then maybe—maybe—the next one would be a little easier.

But there’d been no talk of their life together, of children, of anything save the ceremony.

“Just so we understand each other.” She swallowed back a wave of trepidation. “I’d like to make our marriage…that is, I want…I want…”

She couldn’t make herself say the words. She couldn’t.

Smiling kindly, Pete lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to her palm. “Tell me what you want, Rebecca. I’m listening.”

His lightly spoken words sent a shiver through her and she knew, she knew, she could have a real marriage with this man.

“I want…” She lost her nerve. There were just too many obstacles standing between them. “I want to keep my job at the boardinghouse.”

She was such a coward.

“I’d expected as much,” he said, a soft, understanding look flashing in his handsome face.

He stepped closer, pulling her against him in a relaxed hug. It was their first intimate contact as husband and wife.

Rebecca’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might stop on her. Before she blurted out too much, before she clung to him and begged him to take her home with him tonight, she stepped back.

“Good night, Pete. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She started to turn away, but in a burst of madness, she lifted on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

She felt his jerk, and then his arms lifted by her sides.

Shocked at her own impulsiveness, and at his seemingly pleased reaction, she twisted on her heel and rushed up the boardinghouse stairs as fast as her legs could carry her.

Holding back a sob, she yanked the door closed behind her, but not before she heard Pete whisper after her. “Good night, sweet Rebecca.”

All things considered, it wasn’t the worst start for their future. But it certainly wasn’t the best, either.

Early the following morning, Emmeline Logan charged into the boardinghouse kitchen. Her sister, Bess, followed closely behind.

“Is it true?” Emmeline demanded. “Did you marry Pete last night?”

Rebecca’s fingers tightened on the tray of biscuits she’d just retrieved from the oven. She had known the news of her nuptials would spread through town faster than yeast could leaven a lump of dough, but she hadn’t expected word to reach the ranch so quickly.

She’d only been married twelve hours. How could the gossip have stretched all the way to the Circle-L in that amount of time?

“Well?” Emmeline asked, a little less patiently than before. Which hadn’t been patient at all. “Did you marry him or not?”

Gathering her thoughts quickly, Rebecca set down the tray and then wiped her hands on her apron. “I did.” She turned to face her friend. “I married Pete last night.”

“But, Rebecca, you’re here this morning.” Emmeline’s eyebrows smashed together. “I don’t understand.”

Rebecca slipped her thumb across the ring on her left hand. She was still amazed the gold band was a perfect fit. “I slept in my own bed last night.”

“Oh. I’m…” Emmeline’s face filled with feminine understanding. “Sorry.”

“Me, too.” With nothing more to say, Rebecca turned back to her biscuits.

“Not so fast.” Emmeline jammed her hands on her hips and began an annoying toe-tapping routine. “What made you change your mind? I thought you were dead set against marrying him.”

Rebecca lifted a shoulder, determined to keep some things secret. But her thoughts went straight to Edward and his fight with the Tullys. Her brother had been defending her honor. As a result, he now had an injury that would keep him in bed for days. “I had my reasons,” she said with a sigh.

“I’m sure you did.” Emmeline’s lips twisted. “Was one of those reasons the Tully brothers?”

News of Edward’s fight had reached the Circle-L, as well? What else had been discussed at the Logans’ ranch? Rebecca closed her eyes a moment and waited until she was certain she could speak without her voice hitching.

“They beat Edward pretty badly,” she said at last, blinking rapidly but saying nothing more. Despite Emmeline’s kindness, Rebecca resolved to avoid discussing the situation any further. For Edward’s sake.

“Well, that certainly makes more sense. Though you should know, Will ordered the Tullys to leave town. They won’t be bothering Edward—or you, or anyone else—again. But, Rebecca—” Emmeline touched her hand “—it doesn’t have to be a bad thing, you marrying Pete, I mean.”

“No, I don’t suppose it does.” But she’d spent hours staring at her ceiling last night, feeling more alone than ever, wondering if she’d done the right thing by marrying Pete.

Would she find herself lonely in his house, as lonely as she’d been in her childhood home?

Oh, please, Lord, not that.

After a moment of silence between them, Emmeline sighed. “Well, anyway, I brought someone to see you.” She shifted until she was able to wrap her arm tightly through her sister’s.

The girl had been so silent that Rebecca had nearly forgotten she was in the kitchen with them.

Trying to make up for the unintentional slight, she smiled broadly. “Hello, Bess.”

Bess nodded a greeting but didn’t make any attempt to speak.

Rebecca’s heart twisted for the poor girl.

According to Emmeline, Doc Dempsey had diagnosed Bess’s condition as female hysteria. Rebecca had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. Nor did it sound accurate. Bess was not hysterical, not if the English word meant what she thought. Quite the opposite. The girl was actually serene, oddly so.

And astonishingly pretty. Small like Emmeline, Bess had the same arresting blue eyes. But where Emmeline was dark-haired, Bess was blond. Yet as pretty as she was, as sweet as she seemed to be, the fifteen-year-old hadn’t spoken a word in a month and only barely interacted with those around her. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile. She didn’t even cry. Something had obviously traumatized the girl.

She needed a distraction. Rebecca hoped she could provide one.

With quick movements, she placed steaming biscuits into two baskets. “Let me deliver these to the dining room and then I’ll show Bess around.”

As she hurried out of the kitchen, Rebecca prayed for wisdom. Helping Bess find her voice was far beyond her abilities. But nothing was impossible with Christ.

Returning to the kitchen, she stopped next to Bess. The girl had lowered herself in a chair against the wall. “All right, then.” Rebecca looked down and spread a genuine smile across her lips. “Are you ready to get started?”

The girl nodded, but just as quickly her eyes turned cautious.

Emmeline rushed to her side. “Bess.” She brushed her fingers across her sister’s cheek. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Bess let Emmeline stroke her cheeks for only a moment before she ducked out of reach.

Undaunted, Emmeline proceeded to pet the girl’s long blond hair with slow, gentle movements.

Bess shifted away.

Setting a determined look on her face, Emmeline lifted her hand again. Bess twisted away from her—again.

Even as the girl silently fought off her sister’s attentions, her face held a slightly distant expression. Rebecca had never seen anyone look so normal on the outside yet still incapable of speech. Something had wounded her terribly.

Did her trauma have to do with the missing twins?

They would never know if Bess stayed in her current state.

Eyeing the guarded expression in the girl’s eyes, Rebecca wondered if this was how she herself had looked last night when Pete had escorted her home from the church. It was no wonder he’d sent her inside for the evening.

He’d been worried about spooking her.

She understood the sentiment.

“Bess, I would love for you to help me around the kitchen this morning. Would you like that?”

Bess nodded slightly.

“So you’ll stay?”

Another, firmer nod.

“All right, then.” Rebecca smiled at the girl. “It’s settled.”

“I don’t know.” Emmeline looked from Rebecca to Bess and back to Rebecca again. With each pass, worry spread across her face. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving her, after all.”

“Don’t fret, Emmeline. Bess will be safe with me.” Rebecca ever so gently ushered her friend toward the back door, nearly dragging her the last few steps.

At that point, Emmeline dug in her heels. “I don’t think I should leave her. She’s not ready.”

“Quit smothering the poor girl,” Rebecca whispered.

By her shocked gasp, it was clear Emmeline took immediate offense. “I am not smothering her.”

Rebecca set her hands on her waist and stared at her friend.

After a moment, Emmeline’s shoulders slumped forward. “Oh, all right. Perhaps I am smothering her. A little.”

“A little?”

Emmeline sighed. “I can’t help it.” She slid a brief glance toward Bess. “I’m so worried about her.”

“I am, too. We all are.”

Emmeline sighed again, then slowly walked over to her sister. “I’ll be back to fetch you in a few hours. Will that be all right with you?”

Bess shrugged.

Grimacing, Emmeline dropped a kiss on the girl’s head and then moved back to the door. Hand on the knob, she cleared her expression. “I’ll be at Zeb Garrison’s place, if you need me.”

“You’re going to the mill this morning?” Rebecca couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. What possible business did Emmeline have at the town’s sawmill?

“No. No. I’m going to his house. To help Cassandra organize her reading materials for the upcoming school year.”

“Oh. Of course.” That made sense. Cassandra was the town’s schoolteacher and obviously in the midst of preparing for her new students.

Rebecca had only met Cassandra a few times, but she considered Zeb Garrison’s sister a friend. Of course, Emmeline was better friends with the young woman. Which, at the moment, was a good thing. Rebecca prayed Cassandra could calm Emmeline’s anxiety over her sister better than she had.

“I’ll be back in two hours. Two.” Emmeline held up the appropriate amount of fingers and then proceeded to stare Rebecca down, as though daring her to argue.

Rebecca simply smiled. “We’ll be here.”

Finally, Emmeline left the boardinghouse.

Alone with Bess at last, Rebecca straightened her apron, smoothed her hair, then mentally prepared to help the girl as best she could. But when her eyes connected with Bess’s, she feared there was nothing she could do to nudge her out of her silent world. She was completely unprepared and entirely out of her league.

Good thing God was in charge.

A very good thing. And something Rebecca should remember in terms of her own life.

Chapter Seven

Pete trekked across the small expanse of dirt and rocks between his smithy and the livery. He ignored the late-afternoon heat, the burning rays of the sun, and focused solely on the consequences of Matilda Johnson’s gossip. At this point, it didn’t matter where the woman had received her information, or that she’d spread her gossip before having all the facts. His life was on a new course.

For the past year, he’d lived a predictable, uncomplicated existence. There’d been no thought of the future, no concerns over another person’s happiness, nothing other than the next project that lay ahead of him. He’d appreciated the simplicity as well as the opportunity to grieve in his own way, in his own time. But, as of yesterday, everything had changed.

He was married again. To a woman who deserved far more than he was capable of giving her.

Eyes full of grit and smoke, Pete wiped his face with a bandanna, then stuffed it back into his pocket.

He stepped into the stable, absently picking up a harness that had fallen to the ground and returning it to the hook on the wall beside him.

A gust of wind whistled through the hole above his head, reminding him of the damage not yet fixed. Pete switched his gaze to the ceiling. Soon, he promised himself. He would fix the roof soon.

First, he had a new wife to settle into his home. And no matter how many different ways he worked through the situation in his mind, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Rebecca made him uneasy. The problem was in the way she looked at him, with all that hope and optimism in her eyes.

Clearly, she’d misread who and what he was.

Somehow, he needed to make Rebecca understand that he would eventually fail her. Just like he’d failed Sarah.

Familiar grief enveloped him, followed by a wave of sadness. Would he ever think of Sarah without this unbearable pain in his heart? Would he ever be free of the terrible images of her last hours on earth?

He shuddered. Heaved in a deep breath. Then moved from stall to stall, methodically checking the horses.

The sound of a man’s low, off-key whistle stopped him short. “Clint?” he called out. “You still here?”

“Yeah.” The cowboy exited the stall on Pete’s left, carrying a well-worn saddle over his arm. “Just about done.”

“I thought you’d be gone by now.” Not that he wasn’t grateful for the cowboy’s assistance. Clint had shown up midmorning, with specific instructions from Will to help Pete until Edward fully recovered from his injuries. Pete had checked on his friend hours earlier. The man was doing exactly what he needed to be doing to heal. Sleeping.

A sudden burst of fury caught fire in Pete’s belly. Sal Tully and his brothers had better be long gone from High Plains by now. They had better be—

“I fed all the horses.” Clint’s voice cut through Pete’s thoughts. “Star, here—” Clint cocked his head toward the stall behind him “—was the last one.”

The mare in question stuck her long, elegant neck over the railing and nuzzled Pete’s shoulder.

“Hello, sweetheart. No apple today.” He rubbed his palm down the horse’s velvety nose. “Maybe later tonight.”

Checking on the horses would give him an excuse to give Rebecca some privacy while she unpacked. She’d probably welcome the solitude, especially after he explained his decision about the nature of their relationship.

Trying not to ponder the potential hazards ahead of him, Pete rubbed the horse’s nose a little harder than necessary. Star hitched her head in the air, and then blew out an impatient snort. “Sorry, old girl.”

She nudged his shoulder again. Pete continued petting her, running his hand along her sleek neck and then scratching the perfect five-point star on her chest. Hence the name.

“I’ll put this saddle away, then head back to the Circle-L,” Clint said. “Unless you need something else before I leave?”

Pete moved his hand back to the horse’s neck and gave her a quick pat. “I’ve got it from here.”

Clint set the saddle on a nearby sawhorse, his gaze scanning the livery from left to right, right to left. He turned suddenly, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, snapped it firmly shut, then shook his head.

The cowboy had something to say.

Studying him out of the corner of his eye, Pete gave the man a moment to gather his thoughts. Pete liked Clint. He was a decent man. Perhaps a little coarser and less refined than most men living in High Plains, but the cowboy didn’t drink, cuss or start fights. He was reliable and, most important in Pete’s eyes, a man of his word.

Lips pressed tightly together, Clint walked back to Star and rubbed her ear. “Why is it horses are so easy to understand, while women are so…” He shook his head and sighed. “Impossible to figure out?”

Pete instantly thought of his encounter with Rebecca outside the boardinghouse last night. She’d been incredibly sweet, lifting on her toes so she could kiss him full on the mouth. He’d nearly dropped from the shock. For all intents and purposes, they were strangers.

To say the woman’s behavior had baffled him would be an understatement. But behind his bafflement was something more disturbing. Fear? Dread? A mixture of both?

“I don’t think we’ll ever fully understand women,” he said, trying hard not to feel as defeated as Clint looked.

The cowboy fiddled with the latch on Star’s stall, the casual movements contradicting the furtive glance he shot from under the brim of his hat. “I hear you got married last night.”

“Yeah. Where’d you hear the news?”

Clint shrugged. “The Circle-L. The mercantile. Just about everywhere I went this morning.” He shrugged again. “You gotta know it’s all over town.”

Of course he knew.

“So, uh…” Clint bounced his toe off one of the stall’s low running boards. “How’d you ask her?”

Pete’s gut contracted into a tight ball. “Which time?”

Clint gave him an ironic twist of his lips. “The one where she said yes.”

The serious look in the cowboy’s eyes reminded Pete of the intense way Clint stared at Cassandra Garrison whenever she was within fifty feet of him. It was no secret the cowboy had his eye on the pretty schoolteacher.

Unfortunately, Clint had real competition. Percival Walker, one of the richest men in town, was openly pursuing Zeb’s sister. Aside from his wealth, Percival was refined, well educated and sociable.

No wonder Clint looked dejected.

But he was seeking advice from Pete? About women? The man had to be desperate. Feeling a sense of solidarity, Pete decided to go with the truth. “I asked Rebecca to marry me, instead of making demands of her.”

Clint’s face creased into a thoughtful expression. “And that was all you did? You just…asked?”

“I guess I was polite, too. Women usually prefer a mannerly approach.” Of course, it had taken a dismal first attempt for Pete to remember the necessity of that strategy.

Clint’s expression turned downright glum. “So you were polite and mannerly?”

“That’s right.” Pete didn’t add that he’d been far more nervous than he’d expected when he’d walked into the boardinghouse last night.

Nor did he bring up the fact that there’d been a moment in the kitchen, as he’d looked into Rebecca’s eyes, when everything had seemed simple between them. Settled.

“Polite. Mannerly. Ask, not demand. Got it. Thanks, Pete.” The cowboy’s voice was light, but his expression held a note of concern. “Guess I’ll be heading out now.”

“See you in the morning.”

“Yeah. See ya.” Clint turned to go. “Oh, hey. Wait.” He spun back around. “I almost forgot. I found this when I was mucking out that empty stall over there.”

Out of his back pocket, he retrieved a thin gold chain with a cameo attached.

At the sight of the familiar necklace, every muscle in Pete’s body locked up. He’d nearly forgotten the cameo’s existence. But there it was, gleaming in the stark daylight.

For a frightening moment, Pete lost all sense of time and place. All he could do was stare at the necklace dangling from Clint’s fingertips.

“Do you recognize it?” Clint asked. “I figure it belongs to someone who rented a horse recently.”

Unbridled memories slammed Pete back a step. Swallowing hard, he managed to rotate his wrist until his palm faced upward. “I’ll take it.” His voice sounded hollow and distant, like an echo in his ears.

Looking at him oddly, Clint dropped the chain into Pete’s hand. “You know who it belongs to?”

Pete nodded slowly. Very slowly. And somehow he managed to close his fingers over the last gift he’d ever given Sarah.

He struggled to subdue the memories blazing through his mind. But they came, anyway, licking at his composure like all-consuming flames.

Every precise, haunting detail of Sarah’s death was there in his head. Tormenting him. Reminding him of all he’d lost and all he’d done wrong leading to that terrible night.

He clenched his fist tighter around the cameo, his knuckles turning white from the gesture.

“Pete?” Clint asked. “You all right?”

He managed a dull nod.

“You sure? You look kinda…green.”

“I’m fine.” He swallowed again, slower, with a bit more effort than before. Finally, his heartbeat eased. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Positive.”

“Right. Tomorrow, then.” Clint headed toward the stable’s entrance. At the door, he stopped abruptly and then slid a long, worried glance over his shoulder.

Pete held himself frozen in place. He didn’t even blink.

Clint shook his head and left the building without saying another word.

Even as the door clicked shut, Pete’s mind was already racing back in time. To the worst moments of his life.

Sarah had never been fully happy in High Plains, but the weeks leading to the birth of their child had been filled with added tension.

In her last days, Sarah had alternated between shutting him out and begging him to take her back to Belville, back to her friends and family. Unfortunately, he’d made a commitment to High Plains. He hadn’t been able to leave just because Sarah wanted to go home. So he’d asked her to give their move a year, and promised that if she still wasn’t happy he’d find a blacksmith to take his place and they’d go home. That suggestion had only upset her further.

All his subsequent efforts to comfort her had failed. He’d tried to get her interested in redecorating their house. He’d encouraged her to build stronger friendships with the pastor’s wife and other women in town. When nothing worked, he’d given Sarah a wide berth, hoping she’d find peace with their move in her own time. That had, at least, ended the arguments, if not the tension.

He’d been confused and out of his league. In fact, he’d been praying for guidance, actually begging God to help him discern whether to stay in High Plains or return to Belville before the one-year stipulation ended, when Sarah had come to him here, in the livery, panicked and in obvious pain. The baby had decided to arrive a month early.

She’d collapsed at his feet. He hadn’t been fast enough to catch her, but he’d quickly scooped her in his arms and rushed her back to the house. That must have been when she’d lost the necklace. He opened his hand and looked down at the cameo resting in his palm without actually seeing it.

His mind was too focused on the past.

The endless hours of Sarah’s torment had been unbearable to watch, but Pete had refused to leave her side. Her agony had only worsened as time went by. Thankfully, Doc Dempsey had been the only other witness to her miserable torture.

Pete still remembered the dark curls of her hair matted to her forehead, the sweat running down the side of her face, the glassy look in her eyes when the doctor had declared their son dead.

He shuddered at the memory.

A need to rage at God kindled within him. He let the anger come.

Lord, why? Why did You make me so strong and Sarah so weak? Why didn’t You give me the wisdom to stay back East where she might have survived the birth of our child?

A soft mewing broke through his painful thoughts.

Pete jerked at the interruption, then looked down in time to see a tiny paw swat at his ankle.

Taking a deep breath, he stuffed Sarah’s cameo in his pocket and, with hands still shaking, picked up the barn cat. “Hello, Leroy.”

The cat eyed him with her usual wariness, as though debating the merits of protesting her ridiculous name with a swipe to his nose. Pete had called the cat Leroy after his grandfather, only to discover that he was a she when she’d birthed two healthy kittens a day later. He hadn’t thought to double check before then.

Despite the mistake, Pete hadn’t bothered to change her name. Leroy suited the ornery cat.

Just like their first meeting, Leroy’s big green eyes stayed focused on his nose. Decision made, she rubbed her head against his chin and proceeded to purr. Loudly.

So. Leroy was in a good mood today.

Pete hugged her closer. “Let’s go check on your babies.”

She responded with a jaw-cracking yawn, already growing bored with him.

He set the cat on the ground and let her lead him to the crate where she’d moved her kittens yesterday.

There was one constant in Leroy’s life. She was always on the move. This particular spot, in the back of the livery’s only empty stall, was the kittens’ fourth home in two weeks.

Pete lowered to a crouch.

For a moment, he simply stared at the tiny faces, their eyes blinking away an afternoon of sleep.

He rubbed the little heads one at a time. Neither kitten looked like its mother. Both were orange tabbies, while Leroy was all black except for her four white paws. Although the kittens were unexpected in every way, Pete knew they were a blessing.

He didn’t understand why death had come to his house a year ago. Or why his son had come early. Worse, he was no longer certain he could live with not knowing. Blind acceptance was coming harder these days.

But these tiny creatures reminded Pete to look forward, not backward. Just like Paul wrote to the Philippians, but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind.

Rising to his feet, Pete promised himself to look to the future more. With renewed resolve, he hooked the squirming bundles over his shoulders, one on each side of his neck.

They took turns batting at his ears.

Smiling, just a little, Pete kept the kittens with him as he went about closing up the livery for the day.

Kittens. Pete Benjamin, her big, strong husband, was wearing kittens around his neck. Captivated, Rebecca stared at the unexpected sight, her jaw hanging open.

With her mind puzzling over the spectacle, her bags hung loosely at the ends of her fingertips. The unbalanced load caused her to sway slightly to her left.

She didn’t make a sound, though, determined to watch Pete move through the livery with those tiny orange balls of fur tangling their paws in his hair.

He didn’t seem to mind their antics. In fact, he was talking to them. Softly, sweetly. In the kind of tone men used with the ones they adored.

There was no doubt in her mind that Pete would make a wonderful parent. He’d protect his children, of course, but watching him now she realized he would also love them.

And yet…

Something in his voice struck Rebecca as odd. She couldn’t make out his words, but she shifted into the shadows and listened, anyway. Sorrow. That’s what she heard in his tone.

Was he thinking of his dead wife and child?

Her heart bled for him, for the loss he’d suffered. And a little part of her—no, a large part of her—wanted to help him heal. The emotion was stronger than before, a mixture of longing and hope and possibilities.

Rebecca sighed, realizing she wanted to be the one to fill the hole in Pete’s heart and help erase his grief.

But how? What if he wouldn’t allow her that honor?

Afraid she would ruin the moment for him, and maybe even for herself, she quickly turned and tiptoed back to the house situated on the other side of the smithy. She would check on Edward later, once she was settled. Maybe he’d be ready to eat something by then.

She’d make sure of it. Food and rest were the best remedies to help her brother regain his strength.

Setting her bags on either side of her, Rebecca lowered to the bottom step and looked around her new home.

Severe was the first word that came to mind. Stark. Forgotten. This did not look like the kind of home where she could raise children. This was nothing more than a group of buildings constructed randomly next to one another.

The smithy on her left was small, its exterior dirty from soot. A stone chimney ran along the back wall. Various-size wagon wheels, tools and iron bars lay scattered near the entrance.

The livery wasn’t much better. It was bigger, and a little cleaner, but still nothing more than a clapboard building that housed a stable and feed store. The large, gaping hole in the roof told its own story. How could Edward stand to live in there? If the roof wasn’t fixed before winter set in, he would have to move. In that, she would accept no argument from him.

At least the livery was the only building of Pete’s that had suffered outward damage from the storm.

Or so she thought.

Just to be certain, Rebecca swiveled on the step so she could take in the house behind her. The structure was a smaller version of the livery. It looked sturdy and safe, but had no charm whatsoever.

Rebecca swung back around and sighed again.

Mrs. Jennings had been kind enough to give her the night off and permission to arrive later than expected in the morning. This was, after all, her first night with her husband.

But looking at her new home and the surrounding buildings that made up Pete’s life, Rebecca wasn’t sure that was a good idea anymore. This didn’t feel like a home. And now that the time had come for her to live with Pete—as his wife—she found herself dreadfully nervous.

What would her life be like here? Lonely? Or rich with love and affection in a way her childhood had never been?

She only had a few moments to consider the possibilities before Pete exited the stable. Without the kittens on his neck.

The moment he made eye contact with her, his steps faltered. But then he straightened his shoulders and continued forward with a more deliberate stride.

“Good afternoon, Rebecca.” His smile almost touched his eyes. Almost. She supposed that was something. Not quite a triumph, but close enough. For now.

“Hello, Pete.” She forced her lips into an answering smile, praying hers made it to her eyes.

His expression turned curious as he dropped his gaze to the two bags flanking her. “Is that all you brought with you?”

Her mouth went dry, leaving an unpleasant, rusty taste for her to swallow. “This is all I own.”

She quickly lowered her head, afraid he would consider her somehow defective with this new bit of information.

By no means was Pete the richest man in town, but everyone relied on him for something. Whether it be for the latches, tools or kitchen utensils he made in his smithy, or for a stall in his livery to board a horse.

She was just a cook, with all her earthly possessions able to fit inside two small bags.

“Well, good.” His voice filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. “That’ll be less for you to unpack.”

Because he touched her shoulder gently, she found the courage to lift her head. He was looking at her with genuine kindness in his eyes.

Her heart dipped.

With little effort, he lifted her luggage into his big hands. “Let me help you with these.”

Unable to form a coherent thought, Rebecca nodded her assent. She followed him silently inside the house and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight that greeted her.

Oh, Lord. What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Eight

Rebecca would not allow the hopelessness creeping down her spine to take root. Although…

Who could blame her for despairing?

Certainly no woman she knew. Nor most men.

How could Pete stand to live like this? The interior of his home was so…so…bleak.

If she narrowed her eyes—a necessary feat to get through the next few moments without breaking down into tears—this room could pass for a kitchen. A kitchen that was hardly serviceable.

A giant stove spread its squat body from end to end across an entire wall. Bulky, intimidating, the black beast had a menacing look about it, as though it was going to growl at her any minute. She wasn’t sure the ugly monster didn’t belong in Pete’s smithy.

The rest of her senses awakened with dangerous speed and Rebecca wrinkled her nose. What was that smell? She decided it best not to pinpoint its origin. She was pretty sure a dead animal was involved.

After another moment of utter speechlessness, Rebecca realized what disturbed her most.

She couldn’t find Sarah here.

Rebecca had expected to meet Pete’s first wife today, in the kitchen at least. But there were no signs of the woman. No frills or lace. No curtains to keep out the hot sun in the summer and the bitter cold in the winter. No cooking utensils hanging from hooks. Nothing to prove a woman had ever lived and worked in this room.

Had Pete removed all signs of his first wife? Or had there been none to remove?

“I…” She couldn’t form words into English. Or Norwegian, for that matter. What could she say, anyway? That she was sorry? Sorry for whom? Her? Pete? Both of them?

Her eyes started to sting as the reality of her situation began to inch through her efforts to hold her emotions at bay. No. She would not cry. Not now. Now she would simply absorb. She’d give into her emotions later.

She lifted her chin a fraction higher. Unfortunately, her audible intake of air ruined her attempt at putting on a brave face.

Pete cleared his throat. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

Eyes widening of their own accord, she turned her head. She’d nearly forgotten he was in the room. Blinking into his gaze, she was surprised to note the apology staring back at her. Clearly, he was seeing his home from her perspective and didn’t like what he saw any more than she did.

Feeling a need to reassure him, she reached out to touch his sleeve, but he broke eye contact and exited the kitchen ahead of her.

Rebecca reluctantly followed. Although better prepared this time, the next room still managed to fall below her expectations. She prayed the smile she forced on her lips didn’t look as false as it felt.

But again, there was nothing to recommend this part of Pete’s house. Was it a parlor? It wasn’t dirty, precisely. In fact, the home was rather neat, practically untouched. And painfully barren.

A stone fireplace with a clunky mantel filled a large portion of the far wall. An upholstered chair that had faded to a dull gray drooped in front of the hearth. An unremarkable wooden table was positioned next to the chair, while a threadbare carpet of indeterminable age rested off center in the middle of the room.

How long had Pete lived like this, in a house with no warmth?

Too long, Rebecca. He’s been alone too long.

Well, she was here now. If nothing else, she could make him a home to live in, rather than this miserable, depressing house. In the process, maybe she would help Pete pick up the shattered pieces of his life.

Her heart fluttered with resolve, convinced this was why the Lord had led her to this sad man. If she provided him with a home, he would come to appreciate her, to rely on her. And maybe, just maybe, in time, he would grow to love her as her own parents had never been able to do.

After all, she was older, wiser and more capable than she’d been as a child. Surely her efforts would have a better result this time.

Lord, I pray You give me the courage to rebuild and nurture this home. Use me as Your instrument of healing in Pete’s life and bring us closer through the process.

With her mind full of ideas, Rebecca looked around her once again. Her gaze stopped on a book sitting on the table next to the chair. How had she missed that?

Reaching out, she ran her fingertip along the foreign script on the cover. The leather binding was cracked and well worn, as though opened often. If only she could decipher the letters, she would know what sort of book it was. Sadly, she couldn’t read in English, and only passably in Norwegian.

Pete’s voice broke through her silence. “That’s the Benjamin family Bible.”

Ah, yes, of course. She flattened her palm over the scrolling, ornate letters. It was really quite beautiful.

Pete moved a step closer and peered over her shoulder. “My mother used to read the Scriptures to my father and me every night before bedtime.”

“What a lovely tradition,” she said without hesitation, her fingers shaking slightly. That one statement revealed much about Pete’s childhood. He’d grown up in a very different world from hers.

“It was a lovely tradition,” he said. “I miss those days.”

The wistfulness in his voice had her turning her head to look at him. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I’d like to carry on that tradition.” Desperately. It spoke of family in a way she’d never known, but craved deeply.

He looked at her oddly, with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. “That would be…nice.”

“Oh, but I…” She let her words trail off and stepped back. How did a woman go about telling her husband she couldn’t read in his language, especially after stating she wanted to do just that?

A hot fist of shame grabbed at her stomach. She ignored the unwelcome emotion and quickly redirected the conversation. “I’d like to see the rest of the house now.”

He nodded. “Follow me.”

In silence, Rebecca trailed Pete through one of the two doorways leading off this gray little room.

This time she wasn’t surprised to discover the lack of any signs that a woman had once lived here. The room had a bed, fully made, with a blanket draped over the end. A sturdy wooden chair held vigil at a position halfway between the head and foot of the bed. How long had it been situated at that odd angle?

There was a small dresser against the right wall. But most disheartening of all, a thin blanket had been nailed above a window in place of a curtain. As if in defiance, a sliver of sunlight knifed through the miniscule crack between blanket and wall.

Rebecca prayed she would become similar to that rogue sunbeam in Pete’s life, a ray of hope and a reflection of God’s light in this gloomy house.

Glory, she had a lot of work ahead of her, and wasn’t sure if she had it in her to accomplish the feat. She couldn’t even read—how could she expect to make a home for Pete and herself?

Chewing on her bottom lip, she turned her attention back to the bed. Her heart beat hard against her ribs. She wanted children and a husband that loved her. Would she get any of that from Pete?

There was one way to find out. “Are you…that is…” She broke off, realizing too many questions ran through her head to voice only one. But she commanded her mind to focus and continued as boldly as she could. “Will you sleep in here, too?”

“No.” His quick response said it all. “I’ll sleep in the room next door.”

“I…see.” Except, she didn’t see anything at all. How would they ever start a family if they didn’t share a bed? But maybe that was her answer. Maybe he didn’t want to build a family with her.

Pete must have sensed her concern, because he set her bags on the bed and moved closer to her side. In the process, she noticed that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. Had he taken it off to work in the smithy? Or had he decided not to wear it for another, more personal reason? One that kept them apart as profoundly as separate bedrooms.

Clearly, he was still in love with Sarah and couldn’t bear to be with another woman. How could she blame him for such devotion? It was one of the reasons she admired him. A sob broke through her effort to swallow it down.

Frowning, Pete reached out to drag his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “It’s for the best, Rebecca.”

What was for the best? That they had separate rooms? That they wouldn’t live as man and wife, ever? “But—”

“My decision is final.” The regret and sadness in his eyes made the chiseled planes of his face all the more compelling.

He dropped his hand and exited the room without another word. The click of his heels on the hard wooden floor echoed in Rebecca’s ears, matching the dangerous rhythm of her heartbeat.

“But what about my decision?” she whispered into the empty room. “What about what I want? Don’t I have a say?”

She couldn’t leave things as they were. She couldn’t allow her new husband to desert her after one day of marriage. She couldn’t lose him before she’d ever had the chance to win him.

Breaking into a run, Rebecca caught him before he could escape out the back door. “Pete, wait. I thought we were going to talk.”

His hand froze on the doorknob. “Another time. I still have to work in the smithy awhile before I close it down and head out to meet Will and some of the other men from town.”

He had to meet with Will Logan this late in the day? For what? “I…I don’t understand.”

He closed his eyes as if in pain, but his voice came out clear and steady. “We’re searching for the missing twins tonight, like every night.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.”

How could she object to his leaving her now? As much as she wanted to discuss their future together, Mikey and Missy Clark had been missing for a month. With each passing day, the likelihood of the children being found grew smaller. But the town couldn’t give up hope. They had to keep searching.

“When will you return?”

He didn’t turn around, and for a dreadful moment she feared he would leave without answering her. But then he blew out a long breath and said, “Late.”

Late? “As in, after dark?”

He took another deep breath, but still kept his back to her, his hand immobile on the doorknob. “Yes.”

A jolt of fear had her clutching at her throat. “Isn’t that dangerous with the Kansa Indians out there?”

At last, he glanced at her from over his shoulder. His eyes were sad, while his lips plunged into a frown.

“Yes, Rebecca.” He turned fully around. “It is dangerous for us to search at night, but not as dangerous as it is for Mikey and Missy to be out there alone.”

His eyes looked so tired, she thought. And yet very, very determined.

The search for the missing twins was obviously personal for Pete. If only she knew why. Was he thinking of his own child? Was that terrible loss what drove him to look for Mikey and Missy at such a hazardous hour?

There was so much she didn’t understand about her new husband.

“You’re right, of course.” She placed a shaky hand on his shoulder. “Will you allow me to pray for you before you leave?”

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it and gave her a short nod. The quick movement sent sunlight gleaming off something around his neck. Squinting, she leaned forward for a closer look. He was wearing his wedding band, on a piece of leather tied around his neck.

Why did something that simple give her such pleasure?

Sighing, she curled her fingers around his shoulder and then closed her eyes.

“Heavenly Father, I pray for Missy and Mikey. I pray You continue to protect them, wherever they are. I also pray for the safety of our men tonight. May they succeed in their search and return home unharmed. We ask this in Christ’s name. Amen.”

She opened her eyes to find Pete gazing down at her with an unblinking stare. Smiling slightly, he closed his hand over hers. “Thank you, Rebecca.”

Before she could respond, he spun on his heel and exited the house without a backward glance or a single word of farewell.

Alone in her new kitchen, Rebecca had nothing left to do but stare at the closed door and worry. Neither activity would do any good.

“I might as well make myself at home,” she said to the empty room.

What a miserable prospect.

Pete couldn’t get out of his house and away from his new wife fast enough. He’d married Rebecca to stop Matilda Johnson’s mean-spirited gossip, and to protect her good name from further scandal, but he hadn’t thought much further than the immediate. He should have known she would have expectations for their marriage. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give Rebecca what she wanted. At least, not yet. Too many memories stood between them. Too many failures on his part.

He wasn’t even sure he had what it took to make any woman a good husband.

Weren’t the last few moments proof enough? He hadn’t thought to prepare Rebecca for what she would find once she entered his home. And now that he’d seen the house through her eyes, he felt ashamed. Embarrassed.

His pretty new wife deserved a home of her own, a real home, not a rented room in a boardinghouse or a dreary little building with only a few pieces of worn-out furniture to recommend it.

He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d run right back to the boardinghouse.

And yet not only was she staying, she wanted to read to him from the Bible like his mother had done for his father. He didn’t know what to think about that. Sarah had never offered, and Pete had never thought to ask her. But now he wondered…

Would something as simple as reading Scripture together have made a difference in Sarah’s final days? Would she have been happier and thereby stronger, strong enough to survive the birth of their child?

He would never know.

Heavy-hearted, Pete went through the motions of shutting down the smithy. He moved mechanically through his routine, first clearing away the debris and impurities that had formed into worthless clinker and then pulling apart the fire. While the heat dissolved, he sorted the coke from the coal, setting the coal farthest away from the pot.

As he worked, his mind returned to Rebecca. He hadn’t been fair to her. There’d been plenty of time for them to have their talk. But he hadn’t known where to start, hadn’t known how to tell her why he’d lived in such pitiful conditions.

If he started with the “why,” then he’d have to explain the rest. How Sarah had refused to decorate their home for reasons he still couldn’t discern, but figured had to do with her desire to get him to take her home to Belville. It was as if Sarah had been holding out for him to change his mind, to admit that this wasn’t really their home. If only he had, perhaps she would still be alive.

No, not perhaps. Definitely. No matter what others claimed, Pete knew that he hadn’t tried hard enough to make Sarah happy.

And now he was married again, to a woman forced to be his wife this time around. Would Rebecca grow to resent him, as Sarah had?

Frowning, he returned the tools he’d left spread across the forging table to their respective hooks on the wall, then exited the smithy.

He glanced at the house, wondering what Rebecca was doing right now. Probably unpacking.

At least he’d thought ahead enough to make sure the main bedroom was clean. And in a last-minute stroke of genius, he’d nailed a blanket above the window to give Rebecca some semblance of privacy.

His efforts hadn’t been enough. He knew that now. He’d seen the horror in her eyes. And then the sorrow. And then the pity.

He slammed his fist against his thigh in frustration. He didn’t want his new wife pitying him.

What would she think if he told her his house had never been a home, that Sarah had never had the energy or the will to put her mark on any of the rooms? Not even the one that had been set aside for their newborn child.

Thoughts of his dead son spread conviction through him and he turned his focus to the missing twins. Rebecca had been unmistakably worried about the children a few moments ago in his kitchen. He’d heard the genuine fear in her voice as she’d prayed. Perhaps tonight would bring success to their efforts at last.

With renewed resolve, Pete strode toward the official meeting place for volunteers—the sidewalk in front of the skeleton that would eventually become the new town hall.

Over the past month, the members of the search party had varied night by night, with one exception. Pete was always among them. Even last night, after he’d said farewell to Rebecca and checked on Edward, he’d joined the search.

There’d been too much loss in his life, too much tragedy in this town, for him to sit in his home while others searched for the twins. Perhaps if they found the children, real healing could take root in High Plains and put everyone’s mind on the future instead of the past. Including him.

Rounding the west end of the mercantile, Pete caught sight of Will and Zeb talking together in front of the town hall.

Zeb noticed him first and lifted a hand in greeting. “There he is, the man we were just discussing.”

Ignoring Zeb’s remark, Pete looked around him, focusing on the empty sidewalk with a sick feeling in his gut. “Where’s the rest of the search party?”

“You’re looking at it.” Will crammed his hands in his back pockets and rocked on his heels. “It’s just the three of us tonight.”

Like all the other nights this week.

Frustration surged through Pete. Over the past two weeks, the search parties had dwindled in size.

“So.” Zeb bounced his shoulder off Pete’s. “I hear congratulations are in order, but why didn’t you tell us about your marriage last night?”

“There never seemed to be a right time. I was focused on finding the twins.” Which was true, but not the whole truth.

Pete hadn’t told his friends about his hasty wedding last night because his emotions had been too raw and confusing to put into words. And, as much as he knew his friends would support him, he also knew they would have expected an explanation. How could Pete explain matters he was still having difficulty explaining to himself? His sudden marriage to Rebecca was making him feel emotions he couldn’t easily define. The experience wasn’t altogether bad, just different. In a matter of days, she’d changed him. Time would tell if the new Pete was a better man than the one who had married Sarah.

“That’s all you have to say to us?” One of Will’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “We hear about your wedding from a third party and you stand there with that stoic expression on your face like nothing’s out of the ordinary?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say something. Anything. Doesn’t the gossip bother you?” Will sounded disgusted for him.

“Yeah, it bothers me.” Pete rolled his shoulders in frustration. “But given the choice, I’d rather people were talking about my hasty marriage instead of questioning Rebecca Gundersen’s moral character.”

“Benjamin,” Will corrected him with an annoying gleam in his eyes. “Rebecca Benjamin.”

“Right.” Pete grimaced at his unintentional slip. “Rebecca Benjamin.”

“No matter how we found out or what certain people are saying—” Zeb looked pointedly at the mercantile across the street “—your new wife is a lovely woman. Her cooking puts her in a class of her own.” He nudged Pete again. “I hope you’ll take pity on the rest of us and encourage her to continue working at the boardinghouse.”

Oddly annoyed by his friend’s teasing tone as well as the question itself, Pete grunted out a response. Although he’d made it clear to Rebecca that their marriage wouldn’t be a normal one, he didn’t like the idea of sharing his wife with anyone, not even the diners at the boardinghouse. What did that say about him? Surely nothing good.

“Well?” Zeb persisted.

“She’s going to continue cooking for Mrs. Jennings.”

“On behalf of the entire town, might I say—” Zeb dragged the back of his hand across his brow with an exaggerated swipe “—thank goodness!”

Another ugly sensation spread through Pete’s gut. But before he could ponder the source, Will moved into his line of vision.

“Regardless of how your marriage came about, you deserve some happiness, Pete. I pray Rebecca helps you find it.”

At that bold statement, a pall of uncomfortable silence enveloped them all. No one spoke his thoughts aloud, but each knew what the others were thinking. There’d been no love lost between Pete’s friends and Sarah.

But Pete couldn’t blame Will and Zeb for the discord. They’d tried their best to welcome Sarah into the community. She, on the other hand, had made little effort. She’d been especially nasty to Zeb. Pete still couldn’t figure out why, unless it was because Zeb had been the one to contract Pete as High Plains’s blacksmith.

Thoughts of that fateful letter brought Zeb’s other search to mind. “How’s the hunt for the new town doctor going? Any more applicants answer your ad in the Kansas Gazette?”

“Afraid not. Dr. Gruesome was the last.”

Dr. Gruesome, indeed. Pete shuddered at the reminder of the man who had answered Zeb’s advertisement two months ago. Scarecrow-thin with dirty fingernails and small, creepy eyes, the doctor in question had put all of them on edge.

Blessedly, Zeb had refused to hire the man. No one had argued, especially after the fiend had expressed an interest in exhuming some of the graves in the cemetery for his “research.”

“Despite my lack of success, I don’t regret starting the search.” Zeb’s eyes turned apologetic. “Maybe Sarah would still be alive if—”

“No, Zeb, Doc Dempsey did his best.” And even if Sarah had survived the birth, Pete wasn’t sure she would have ever been truly happy with him. He’d failed her long before that night.

“You can defend Doc all you want, but I still believe a younger man might have been able to save her.”

Pete looked sharply at his friend but didn’t respond. There was no use arguing a point in which they would never fully agree.

Zeb shook his head. “All this talk of death is making me edgy.” He turned toward his wagon and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s focus on why we’re here. Tonight’s the night. We’re going to find the twins before sunset.”

After climbing onto the front seat, he gave Pete a questioning stare. “You riding with me?”

“As always.”

While Pete settled in next to Zeb, Will mounted his horse. “I figure we’ll start on the north end of town.”

Zeb nodded. “Sounds good.”

Pete glanced at the empty flatbed and then fixed his gaze on the horizon. Lord, he prayed, may we fill this wagon with two healthy eight-year-olds before the night is through.

Chapter Nine

Thanks to a fitful night’s sleep, it took Rebecca twice as long as she’d planned to light the stove in Pete’s—her—kitchen. It hadn’t helped that she’d started the day feeling groggy and out of sorts. As a result, she’d dressed slower than usual, her fingers fumbling over the remaining two buttons.

Stirring the oatmeal with a methodical rhythm, she eyed the black beast in front of her with mild trepidation. She could have sworn she heard it growl twice already this morning. “Don’t you dare bite me, you big ugly beast.”

“Hadn’t planned on it.”

“Oh.” She jumped at the sound of Pete’s amused voice coming from the doorway. Embarrassed, she kept her back to him. “I didn’t know you were standing there.”

“I assumed.”

Finally turning to face him, she took a deep breath and admitted, “I wasn’t talking to you, you know.”

He lifted a single eyebrow.

The laughter in his eyes had her fumbling for words. “I was talking to this…beast of a stove.”

“A beast, huh?” Pete angled his head to glance around her. “It does look a little large in this room. I can get you another one, if this one is—”

“No. Oh, no. It’s fine.” She hadn’t meant to insult his furnishings on their very first morning together as husband and wife. “We just need to get used to each other, that’s all.”

She was talking about her and the stove, but Pete nodded sagely, as though she’d been speaking about them.

This is not going well, she thought.

“Sit.” She pointed to the small table against the wall. “Your breakfast is ready.”

“You made me breakfast?”

His shock would have been disheartening if she hadn’t recognized the genuine confusion behind the emotion. Hadn’t Sarah taken care of him? Or had it been so long he’d forgotten? “Of course I made you breakfast. It’s what a wife does for her husband.”

Blinking absently, he sank in the chair with a thud.

She quickly spooned oatmeal into a bowl and tried not to notice the dark smudges under his eyes. He looked so tired this morning, more than she’d expected. No wonder. He’d arrived home late last night, just as he’d warned.

She’d been desperate to find out how the search for the twins had gone last night, but hadn’t possessed the nerve to leave her bedroom when he’d arrived home. Surely he would have woken her if the search had been successful.

Wouldn’t he?

She decided to ask him herself. Setting the bowl in front of him, she waited for him to take his first few bites before broaching the subject. “How did your search for the twins go last night?”

His hand froze for only a second before he placed the spoon very carefully onto the table. “We came up empty. Again.”

“Oh, Pete.” She placed her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” He swallowed. Hard. “Me, too.”

There was nothing more to say. And so they ate the rest of their meal in silence.

Rebecca nearly despaired they wouldn’t speak at all, but then Pete set his spoon down one final time and turned to look her straight in the eyes. “Would you like a tour of the rest of your new home?”

“The rest?” She looked over her shoulder, confused. Surely she’d seen everything there was to see last night.

“I meant the livery and smithy.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I would.” She rose quickly. “Let me clean up in here and then I’ll meet you in the…smithy?”

“No.” He shook his head. “The livery. Horses need tending first.”

“The livery, then.” She smiled at him, suddenly shy under his quiet scrutiny but determined to hold his gaze. “I’ll be there, as soon as I’m finished here.”

Fifteen minutes later, Rebecca found Pete in the livery feeding the horses. For a moment, she simply watched him move from stall to stall. With his voice pitched just above a whisper, he seemed at ease with the big creatures, and they with him. But there was something sorrowful in the way he held his shoulders, as though he carried more than his share of burdens. She wondered what was really on his mind.

She feared she’d never know. So many silent thoughts lay behind those beautiful eyes of his. And if breakfast was any indication of his tendencies, Pete was not a talkative man.

Will he ever share his secrets with me, Lord? Will we ever have a marriage filled with trust, tenderness and honesty?

Not if she didn’t take the first step. Breakfast had been awkward, but not terribly so. The thought gave her the courage to move in Pete’s direction. But just as she stepped forward a little black cat swiped at her ankle.

“Oh.” Rebecca jumped away from the attacking paw and softened her voice. “Hello, baby.”

The cat eyed her cautiously, but then rubbed its face against her calf. That was all the encouragement she needed to reach down and pick up the little creature.

“Don’t touch that cat,” Pete warned in an oddly panicked voice as he hurried toward them. “She’s feral. She might hurt you.”

His advice came too late. Rebecca already had the cat in her arms. Purring loudly. “I think she likes me.”

“Well, what do you know?”

The wonder in his voice pleased her. Deep in her heart, the secret place that longed for love, Rebecca wanted her new husband to like and admire her. But he was looking at her with such intensity, she lowered her gaze and proceeded to pay fervent attention to the bundle of fur in her arms.

For her part, the cat rubbed her head against Rebecca’s chin.

“She really does like you.” Pete’s voice slipped over her like a caress.

Entirely too aware of him, Rebecca raised her head again. And instantly lost her train of thought. Pete’s deep brown eyes were so savagely beautiful. And staring straight at her.

“Her name is Leroy,” he said.

“Leroy?” Rebecca forced herself to focus on their conversation, but she couldn’t seem to think clearly now that she had her husband’s undivided attention. “Isn’t that a boy’s name?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Oh.”

He smiled at her then, with unmistakable tenderness filling his gaze. There was something heady about having all that affection concentrated on her.

Mesmerized, Rebecca leaned forward. The movement was only a fraction of an inch, just a small shift of her shoulders. But Pete’s eyes darkened and he reached toward her.

Rebecca nearly forgot to breathe.

His hand stopped a whisper short of her face before he shifted and ran his fingertips along the cat’s fur. “It’s no wonder Leroy adores you.” His voice shook slightly as he spoke. “You’re a kind woman, Rebecca. Extremely likable.”

“You…you think so?”

“I do.” The back of his knuckles grazed her cheek for only a second, the touch so light she feared she’d imagined it.

Out of reflex, her grip tightened on the cat.

Leroy instantly struggled for freedom. Rebecca set her on the ground.

Nose in the air, tail sticking straight up, the cat proceeded to scamper off toward a far corner of the stable.

Rebecca watched until Leroy ducked inside an empty stall. Feeling suddenly shy, she returned her gaze to Pete. Alone with him now, her heart pounded wildly against her ribs.

“Pete, I—”

“Rebecca, I—”

They laughed uncomfortably at each other.

Pete nodded for her to proceed. “You first.”

“All right.” She ignored the dull drumming in her ears. “I’m ready for my tour.”

“Follow me.” For the next few moments he walked her through the stable, pointing out various places of interest, and then introducing her to the horses by name.

“And, finally, this is Star.” He stopped in front of the last stall and stroked his hand down a long, brown nose. “Do you want to help me groom her?”

“I…yes, I’d like that.”

He tossed her a brush he retrieved off a hook by the stall. In the next instant, he raked his fingers through his hair.

Turning the brush over in her palm, Rebecca followed the movement of his hand with her gaze. She couldn’t help but wonder what the thick waves would feel like between her own fingers. She would probably never know, of course. Married or not, an intimate gesture like playing with her husband’s hair would be entirely too bold, especially given the unusual circumstances surrounding their union.

Sighing, she waited until Pete led the way into the stall. Side by side, they brushed the horse’s hide in slow, downward strokes. Neither spoke for several minutes.

Then Pete stopped abruptly and turned to face her. “Now that you’re here, maybe we should talk about last night.”

Her hand stilled.

He stepped closer to her, sweeping away a curl that had fallen across her forehead. “I need to explain myself better.”

There was regret in his eyes, the kind of silent apology that meant nothing would change between them, no matter what he said in the next few minutes. “I originally asked you to marry me to stop the gossip and restore your good name. But after Edward’s fight, I realized there were dangers far worse than wagging tongues. I knew if you were living in my house, as my wife, I could protect you from all the threats. Threats that wouldn’t have existed had you not spent time alone with me in my storm cellar.”

His declaration came as no surprise. She’d already suspected the reasons behind both of his proposals. What she didn’t understand was his uncertain tone and the apology in his gaze.

“I know all this, Pete.” She reached up and touched the wedding band hanging around his neck. “But now that we’re married, what’s to say we can’t have a real marriage?”

“No, Rebecca.” He took a step away from her. His gaze was full of mixed emotions. “Let me finish before you say anything more.”

She nodded, but found she had to pull her bottom lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling.

After a moment, he took a deep pull of air and continued. “I didn’t allow myself to think beyond the immediate problem at hand. I…” His words trailed off and he blinked at her.

“Go on,” she urged.

“What I’m trying to say is that we need to get to know one another better before we make any decisions about the future of our marriage.”

Even though she knew what he meant, and somewhat agreed with the sentiment, even though she knew it would be best to leave the conversation alone, she found herself asking the obvious question aloud. “And what if we decide we don’t like each other? What then?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s—”

“Hey, Pete,” a deep voice called out from the livery’s doorway. “You in there?”

With a look of masculine relief on his face, Pete moved another two full steps away from her. “Yeah, Clint. We’re back here with Star.”

“We?” The sound of footsteps accompanied the question. “Is Edward feeling good enough to get out of bed today?”

“No. I’m showing my wife around the livery.” The soft look in his eyes, coupled with the confident way he said “my wife,” sent a shiver through Rebecca.

“Oh. I see.” The footsteps stopped and Rebecca pivoted around to face the newcomer.

Looking at her directly, the cowboy’s face turned bright red. “Hi, Rebecca. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

Remembering the last time she’d seen the lanky cowboy, her heart filled with compassion. He’d been undeniably miserable as he’d watched Cassandra Garrison riding in her buggy with Percival Walker.

“Don’t worry, Clint.” She hoped her smile spread to her eyes. “I was just heading over to the boardinghouse to start preparations for lunch.”

His eyes lit up. “You wouldn’t happen to be serving apple pie for dessert?”

She laughed at the obvious interest in her cooking. “Oh, I think I could arrange to bake an apple pie or two this morning.”

“Now, that’s what I like to hear.” He slapped a hand on his thigh. “I just might have to make time for lunch at the boardinghouse today. If that’s all right with you, Pete?”

“It’s fine. Just fine.” But the look on Pete’s face said it was anything but fine.

Confused by the sudden shift in her husband’s mood, Rebecca eyed him curiously. His shoulders were set at a stiff angle while a muscle twitched in his jaw.

The change in him didn’t make any sense. Unless. Unless he didn’t like watching her converse with another man in such a casual manner. Maybe Pete cared for her, after all. Maybe just a little? Was that why her heartbeat had picked up speed?

Puzzled, Rebecca continued staring at her husband.

Unfortunately, he’d already turned to face Clint. “Now that you’re here, I’ll leave the horses to you.”

Clint nodded. “I’ll get right to it.” He shifted his hat to the back of his head. “Nice seeing you again, Rebecca.”

“You, too.”

The cowboy headed toward the back of the livery with long, easy strides.

Once Clint was out of sight, Pete cleared his throat. “I need to get to work, too. We’ll finish our tour another time.”

“Oh, all right.” Had she done something wrong?

As though understanding her concerns, Pete’s expression softened. That was something, she supposed.

“I’ll be in the smithy if you need anything.” He turned to go.

Desperate to hold on to what little camaraderie they’d had before Clint arrived and ruined the mood, Rebecca called out, “Pete, wait.”

He stopped.

She hurried to him and touched his sleeve. “Would you like me to bring supper home tonight? We could share it together.”

His brows scrunched together as though he didn’t quite understand what she was asking. Then, Oh, thank You, Lord, he smiled. “Yes, Rebecca, I’d like that very much.”

“Then it’s settled.” She lifted on her toes, just as he leaned forward. Her lips connected with his cheek.

They both jerked back, eyes wide. And then…

Pete grinned. A full, heart-stopping, teeth-flashing, genuine grin. “Until tonight, Rebecca. We’ll finish our tour. And our conversation.”

Frozen in the moment, she simply stared at him. And stared. At last, she managed a slow nod.

Without another word, Pete exited the livery.

Rebecca watched the empty doorway for a full minute after he was gone. Regardless of how much she told herself not to read too much into Pete’s behavior just now, hope filled her. They’d made real progress this morning. And it was only their second day of marriage.

An hour later, Rebecca’s heart was still full of hope. Perhaps…maybe…possibly…she was on the right path to building a true marriage with Pete. Ah, but hope was a tricky emotion, one that could bring pain as quickly as joy. In fact, she’d been disappointed by her parents too many times during her childhood to trust the emotion growing in her heart now.

Exasperated with herself, she shoved her hair out of her face and smiled at Emmeline’s younger sister. “Well, Bess, you and I are going to make kringler this morning.”

Bess nodded.

“We’ll get started as soon as I put away this last pot.”

Bess sat down, folded her hands together in her lap and lifted an expectant gaze.

Still smiling, Rebecca wiped her palms on her apron and then went to the pantry to gather the ingredients she would need for their baking project. She chattered to Bess as she went. But without the girl responding, her own mind worked as fast as her lips, bouncing from topic to topic, worry to worry.

With so many thoughts colliding with one another in her mind, Rebecca felt unusually helpless. There was too much she couldn’t control. But she didn’t have the luxury of time to worry.

After a brief pause, Rebecca gathered what she needed to make the pastry, only to come up one ingredient short.

“Looks like we’re low on flour,” she said aloud for Bess’s sake. “Low” being an understatement. Rebecca was sure to run out before the end of the day. Normally she wasn’t so careless with her supplies, but thanks to the chaos of the past few days, she’d forgotten to place an order with Mr. Johnson.

“We’ll have to run to the mercantile.”

Bess calmly unfolded her hands, rose from her chair and walked straight for the back door. Rebecca couldn’t fault the girl’s cooperation.

There was a spiritual lesson here—Rebecca sensed it—but she was too busy dreading her trip to the mercantile to grasp what it could be. This would be her first trip back to the store since Mrs. Johnson had turned her away.

As much as she would like to avoid another altercation with the woman, Rebecca had to buy flour. Surely now that she was married to Pete, Mrs. Johnson wouldn’t refuse her service.

“Let’s get this over with,” Rebecca muttered as she opened the back door.

Bess followed quietly behind her.

The girl’s ongoing silence had Rebecca fighting off a good sulk. Even the weather was plotting against her. A sharp drizzle had started below a dreary gray sky.

Desperate to shake her bad mood, Rebecca tried to lure Bess into conversation. “Are you enjoying life on the Circle-L?”

Bess marched on without answering.

Well, all right. Maybe a more pointed question was in order. “Did Will say anything about the search for the twins?”

Bess’s shoulders stiffened, but she continued walking, her head bent against the pinpricks of rain assaulting them both.

Rebecca let out a long breath. Perhaps she was overstepping her bounds, but she felt compelled to push Bess a little harder than usual. “Do you think Mikey and Missy are nearby?”

Bess’s chin trembled, but no response. Not a sound. Not even a sob.

Guilt reared at the sight of the girl’s obvious discomfort. Rebecca stopped trying to break through Bess’s silence. They were at the mercantile, anyway.

Just as the wind picked up, Rebecca stepped inside the store. Bess scurried in behind her, nearly attaching herself to Rebecca’s back. Only when the door was closed to the weather did the girl lengthen the space between them.

It didn’t take medical training for Rebecca to see that Bess was still traumatized from her experience in the tornado.

Rebecca gripped the girl’s hand and squeezed. “This won’t take long, I promise.”

Bess gave an uncertain nod. Rebecca tugged her into a tight hug, then stepped back.

The aroma of apples and cinnamon filled the air around them. Breathing in the pleasant scent, Rebecca scanned the store only to end up biting back a sigh when her eyes locked with Abigail Johnson’s narrowed gaze.

Like her mother, the girl often treated Rebecca with open hostility, without provocation. Rebecca had no idea why.

On the surface, Abigail had all the advantages. Small-boned and ridiculously petite, she was considered High Plains’s greatest beauty. Her features were perfectly symmetrical, her eyes were a startling shade of green and she had hair the appealing color of golden wheat.

Nevertheless, Abigail had chosen to dislike Rebecca. And with her face scrunched into a hard, unforgiving glare, she looked ready to battle once again this morning.

Rebecca stifled another sigh. At least the store was empty today, save for Clint Fuller.

She shot a swift glance in his direction. He waved at her absently. He seemed intent on studying a row of colorful ribbons. What could he possibly need with ribbon? Maybe he was looking for a gift to buy Cassandra?

How sweet.

Not wanting to embarrass him, she focused on Bess. “We’ll just purchase our flour and go.”

Abigail slapped her hands on the counter. Sneering, she dropped her gaze over Rebecca and then sniffed rudely.

Rebecca bristled. How many times had Matilda Johnson looked at her like this?

“If you’re here to buy flour—” Abigail’s words dripped with disdain “—you should know we only have a few kegs and the large sacks for sale today.”

Neither of which Rebecca could transport on her own.

A wave of frustration crested, but Rebecca kept her expression blank as she gazed at the fifty-pound sacks lined up against the back wall. “I can’t carry one of those.”

“That’s not my problem.” Abigail lifted an indifferent shoulder, then proceeded to study her thumbnail with rapt attention.

Resentment grabbed at Rebecca’s stomach, tying itself into a hard knot. “Could you sell me a portion of—”

“No.”

“Not even—”

“No.”

“You would turn away my business?”

Abigail lifted her gaze. “Apparently so.”

Rebecca had no idea what to say.

Lips curled in an unattractive pout, Abigail continued watching her, her green eyes steady, intense. And mean.

Refusing to be intimidated, Rebecca held Abigail’s stare without flinching. “Perhaps if I could speak with your father…”

She let her words trail off, hoping the thinly veiled threat sounded more like a request. Mr. Johnson always treated Rebecca with respect. He’d even reprimanded Abigail once, when his daughter had been openly rude to her in front of other customers.

“My father is not available. He’s pounding nails over at the town hall.”

“When he returns, will you have him—”

“He’ll be gone all day.”

Rebecca refused to give into Abigail’s obvious attempts to thwart her. “Then could you arrange to have the flour delivered to the boardinghouse this morning?”

Jamming her hands on her hips, Abigail rolled her gaze to the ceiling and clicked her tongue in exasperation. “We are not running deliveries at the moment.”

“But, surely—”

“Come now, Rebecca. What’s a little sack of flour to you?” A quick, mean-spirited grin flashed across her face. “You’re as big as a cow.”

Rebecca gasped.

A cow? Had Abigail actually called her a big, dumb animal? Rebecca ducked her head, her fury building. Granted, she wasn’t as small as the petite blonde, but she wasn’t huge, either.

Was she?

She looked down at her waist. Twenty-eight inches was not large, not by most standards in her country. But maybe the expectations were different in America. She hadn’t lived here long enough to know. Pete hadn’t mentioned anything about her weight, certainly nothing negative, anyway.

Bess squeezed her arm in a reassuring gesture, but nothing could keep the shame from building. And behind the shame came rage. Blinding rage.

Rebecca was fed up with the Johnson women and their ongoing attempts to humiliate her. But no matter how furious Rebecca became, she could not—must not—react out of anger. That would make her no better than her tormentors.

Despite her resolve, Rebecca lifted her head and glared at Abigail. The pain from holding her tongue rolled over her, and she had to grind her teeth together to keep the words from spilling past her lips.

Something hot and ugly rolled through her.

Hate. That’s what she was feeling. The same strong emotion she’d struggled with when Matilda Johnson had refused her service.

When will this end, Lord? How do I overcome my anger and hurt? How do I resist spewing my own poison in return? Help me. I don’t think I—

Clint’s voice interrupted her prayer. “Sell Mrs. Benjamin the flour, Abigail. I’ll carry it to the boardinghouse.”

Abigail’s eyes widened as she stared at the man standing somewhere behind Rebecca. “Clint Fuller, you stay out of this.”

Boot heels clicked on the wooden floor behind her, the sound moving closer and closer. “You’ve had your fun, Abigail.”

“But, I…I…”

“Quit stuttering, girl. It’s unattractive.” Clint’s voice came out condescending. “Give Mrs. Benjamin what she came for.”

“Fine.” Abigail’s glare turned vicious as she refocused on Rebecca. “You can have your flour.”

In the face of Abigail’s capitulation, Rebecca gathered enough courage to pivot around and connect her gaze with Clint’s. “I thank you. But I…I don’t think this is a good idea.” What would people say if they knew she was allowing this man, a man not her husband, to champion her like this? And so soon after her hasty marriage with Pete.

Bess squeezed her arm hard enough to get her attention.

“What? What is it?” Not wanting to be distracted, Rebecca’s words came out clipped and impatient.

Certainty filled the young girl’s gaze as she cocked her head toward the cowboy and nodded.

Of course. Bess would know Clint, since she lived at the Circle-L. Yet…

“Are you sure?” She lowered her voice.

If Pete was standing here, championing her like this, she wouldn’t hesitate. But what did she really know about Clint other than he helped out in the livery every now and then?

Bess tugged on her arm and nodded a bit more vigorously than before.

“All right, then.” Rebecca focused her attention back on the cowboy. “Thank you, Clint. I would greatly appreciate your assistance.” She gave him a weak smile.

Abigail snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “Figures you would accept an unmarried man’s help.”

Rebecca gasped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ignore her,” Clint said in a disgusted tone. Grinning broadly, he looked down at Bess. “Hey there, half pint.”

Bess’s answering smile spread across her face.

Rebecca blinked. Emmeline’s sister was actually smiling. At Clint. And her eyes had a look of undeniable affection in them. In fact, Bess’s expression reflected the same emotion Rebecca felt whenever she thought of Pete.

Well, if Bess thought that highly of the cowboy, then Rebecca would take a chance on him, too. “Thank you, Clint. I’d be grateful for your assistance.”

“I’m glad to help.” Shooting Abigail a warning glare, he walked to the back of the store and then hoisted a sack of flour over his shoulder.

Rebecca went to finish her transaction. Throughout the exchange, Abigail’s face remained pinched in a sour expression. But instead of feeling threatened this time around, Rebecca had to bite back a smile. High Plains’s most notorious beauty didn’t look quite so pretty at the moment.

The thought kept Rebecca smiling all the way out of the store.

Chapter Ten

Once they were all gathered on the sidewalk, Clint insisted Rebecca and Bess lead the way. Bess kept sending the cowboy quick glances from under her lashes. Unfortunately, her fascination didn’t translate into speech. And since Rebecca had no idea what to say to Clint after Abigail’s open nastiness, the journey from the mercantile to the boardinghouse was accomplished without a word.

Just as they entered the kitchen, Clint spun in a circle. “Where would you like me to put this?”

“On the table, please.” Rebecca pointed to the end closest to the pantry. “And thank you again for your help.”

“Happy to assist.” He set the flour where she’d indicated.

Bess sank in a nearby chair. But instead of lowering her head, she kept her gaze locked on the cowboy. Rebecca didn’t fault Bess her fascination with the man. Now that she looked, she realized Clint was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with masculine features, dark hair and blue, blue eyes. But she wasn’t surprised she hadn’t noticed before. After all, the last time she’d seen him, he’d been standing next to…next to her husband, and who could blame her for not noticing Clint Fuller when Pete was in the room?

“Rebecca, I—” He straightened and looked awkwardly around him, landing his gaze everywhere but on her. “The way you handled Abigail this morning, well, it was real mannerly.”

“Mannerly?” She enunciated the word carefully, puzzling over its meaning in her mind. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that word.”

He took off his hat, then ran his hand down his face. “What I meant is that no one would have blamed you if you’d told Abigail what to do with her, uh, bad manners. You were real polite.”

Polite? Rebecca wasn’t sure that was the correct word for her earlier behavior. She couldn’t allow Clint to think she was a better person than she was. “Telling Abigail what I thought would not have been right, but make no mistake, my thoughts were extremely ugly.”

“Which is my point exactly.”

Rebecca didn’t understand. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“I guess what I’m saying, or rather asking, is—” his gaze darted away from her “—would you teach me how to act like that?”

Act like what? Her mind wasn’t making the connection with the English words Clint spoke. She pressed her fingertip on a spot between her eyes and tried to focus. But she was unable to organize her thoughts. She looked at Bess for help, but the girl’s gaze was still riveted on the cowboy’s face.

Rebecca dropped her hand and took a deep, fortifying breath. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“I want you to teach me how to be mannerly.”

“Mannerly?” She repeated the word with more confidence than before, finally understanding what the awkward-sounding word meant. “Are you asking me to teach you manners?”

He gave her a big, boyish grin. “Exactly.”

He couldn’t be serious. What he asked was beyond strange. And what would Pete think? She doubted he would want her spending time with an unmarried man, no matter how innocent. More to the point, Rebecca didn’t feel right about it.

“Clint, I’m not at all sure such a thing would be proper.”

Mrs. Jennings chose that moment to enter the kitchen. “What wouldn’t be proper?”

Rebecca twisted her hands together, only just realizing the mistake in her word choice. It wasn’t that Clint had asked her to do something inappropriate. Yet surely, such a thing wasn’t done in this country.

“Are either of you going to answer my question?”

Before Rebecca could organize a suitable response, Clint spoke up. “I was just asking Rebecca if she would kindly teach me manners. Nothing fancy, mind you, just the basics. But she told me that wouldn’t be proper.”

“Well.” Mrs. Jennings sniffed. “She’s perfectly correct.”

Shoulders slumping forward, the cowboy scrunched the brim of his hat between his fingers. Bent over like that, he looked like a sad little boy. Rebecca felt instantly sorry for him. His request, odd as it seemed, was important to him. And she had a good idea Cassandra Garrison was the reason. He wanted to impress the pretty schoolteacher. How could she fault the man for that?

Mrs. Jennings must have sensed something similar, because she patted him awkwardly on the back, much like she did when she was trying to comfort poor little Alex whenever he was sad over losing his brother in the tornado.

“Now, now. Don’t fret,” she said. “I see no problem with Rebecca teaching you a few basic manners, as long as I am in attendance during the lesson.”

A smile lit across his face. “You’d do that?”

“My dear young man.” Mrs. Jennings tapped him lightly on the nose. “It would be my pleasure. We’ll meet again next week, right here in my kitchen, you name the day.”

“Tuesday afternoon?”

“That sounds perfect.”

He jammed his hat on his head and smiled at the older woman. Mrs. Jennings grinned back.

Rebecca stared at the two in horror. “But I didn’t—”

“Thank you both.” Clint nodded at Mrs. Jennings and then at Rebecca. “You have no idea how grateful I am.”

“But…” She couldn’t make her mind organize words in the proper order. Or language. “I can’t. It’s not…”

Ignoring her completely, Clint moved to Bess’s side and ruffled the girl’s hair. “See ya, half pint.”

“Wait, I…” Why couldn’t she get the words out? “I…”

He strode to the door. “I’ll be back Tuesday afternoon.”

“Clint,” Rebecca called after his retreating back. “You must not misunderstand. I did not agree to—”

The door banged shut behind him.

“—teach you manners,” she choked out a moment too late.

She gaped at the back door still rattling on its hinges. What had she gotten herself into? Thanks to Mrs. Jennings’s interference and her own inability to speak up, Rebecca was committed to teaching basic manners to a man she hardly knew.

Could her life get any stranger?

Shifting from foot to foot, Pete waited for Rebecca at the bottom of the stairs leading out of the boardinghouse kitchen. He tried to concentrate on what he would say to her, but his mind kept returning to the information Clint had shared this afternoon. Abigail Johnson had been rude to Rebecca in the mercantile.

It was bad enough that he hadn’t been the one to protect her from the attack. But when he’d heard that Abigail had called his wife a cow, Pete had set out to give that girl a piece of his mind. He’d stopped himself just outside the store. For Rebecca’s sake, he’d held back from entering, resolved never to act rashly on her behalf again.

After his disastrous confrontation with the girl’s mother, Pete knew that no matter how gratifying it would be to confront Abigail, the best way to protect Rebecca was to focus on presenting their marriage in a positive light to the town.

Not that he knew how he was going to pull that off. He wanted to help Rebecca, not hurt her any further. He wanted to make her life easier, happier—fuller. But he’d failed to do so for Sarah. How could he expect anything different this time around?

Lord, help me to discern the best way to provide for my new wife. I don’t want to make any more mistakes.

The obvious first step was to present a united front as a married couple. A wave of nerves filled him at the thought, followed by a hint of expectation. Despite the awkwardness between them, he was looking forward to seeing Rebecca this evening. She made him feel less burdened, less soul-weary. Less…something, something stronger and harder to define.

Feeling guilty at the direction of his thoughts, he tried to form a picture of Sarah in his mind. Unfortunately, the image of her beautiful dark hair and soft features wavered just out of reach. He felt as though he was losing her all over again. He didn’t want to forget her—the memory of their life together deserved more—yet lately thoughts of her came in a blurry haze, if at all. Was Rebecca taking Sarah’s place in his mind, now that she was in his life?

Guilt dug deeper, setting him to pace.

What would it mean to Sarah and their life together if he allowed himself to open to Rebecca, just a little? Yet how could he hold on to the one he’d lost without hurting the one to whom he’d pledged the rest of his life?

He didn’t have long to consider the question before Rebecca exited the house and caught sight of him midway down the steps. “Oh, Pete, I…what are you doing here?”

He stopped pacing. He wasn’t sure why her obvious surprise at seeing him sent a wave of sorrow through him, but he pasted a smile on his face and resolved to change that look in his wife’s eyes. After only a day of marriage, he already knew he liked her smiles far better than that wary expression staring at him now.

“I came to escort you home.” He reached for the picnic basket she held, brushing his palm over her knuckles as he took most of the weight from her.

Her fingers trembled under his light touch, but she relinquished the handle without argument.

“What a nice thing to do,” she said.

Her pleased tone told its own story. She was happy he’d come for her. His heart gave one solid kick in his chest and he vowed to put the past out of his mind and focus on the present. At least, for tonight.

“Is this my dinner?” He lifted the basket slightly.

“No. It’s our dinner. We’re eating together, remember?”

The shyness in her manner was so sweet, so unaffected, he found himself wanting to pull her into his arms and…well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, exactly. All he knew was an ache clutched his chest whenever he looked at his new wife.

Lord, don’t let me hurt this woman.

“I remember.” He tugged her hand in his. Thankfully, she didn’t pull away.

As they set out, a comfortable silence spread over them, giving Pete a chance to think. Although their marriage was unusual, and may never be normal if he didn’t figure out how to let go of Sarah and his past mistakes, he liked to think they could at least have a friendship. He’d seen many marriages built on less.

Lord, I pray You guide this union. I…

He wasn’t sure what else to pray for. Time, maybe? Patience? Wisdom?

“Pete?” Rebecca glanced at him with that cautious look back in her eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

He nodded, expecting the worst. Hundreds of possibilities came to mind, most including Matilda Johnson and her mean daughter.

“Clint Fuller asked me to teach him manners next Tuesday afternoon.”

A small amount of relief washed through him. Not that he was happy about Rebecca spending time with the younger man, but Pete knew Clint was solely interested in Cassandra Garrison. That made the situation almost bearable. Almost. “He told me. He wanted to make sure I approved.”

She lifted her face to his. “And do you?”

No. But he held on to the rash answer and lifted a casual shoulder. “As long as Mrs. Jennings is there, I don’t see a problem.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “All right.”

She didn’t sound happy with his answer. Had she wanted him to say no? Did he have that right? They were married, yes. But he didn’t believe that meant he had to control every part of his wife’s life. Regardless of the reasons for their wedding, he wanted a marriage of mutual respect. He’d become her husband to protect her, not to tell her what to do.

Which reminded him. “Clint also told me about your trouble with Abigail Johnson in the mercantile.”

Shame filled her eyes and she lowered her head.

“No, Rebecca. You don’t need to feel embarrassed.” He maneuvered directly in front of her, softening his voice. “You did nothing wrong. Abigail did.”

“She called me a cow.”

“That was wrong of her. Very wrong.” He waited until she looked up at him. “You’re the perfect size.”

Her expression said she didn’t believe him. But she gave him a shaky smile, anyway. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“It’s not kindness. It’s the truth.”

Her smile wobbled, then held. An improvement.

“Rebecca.” He moved a step closer, determined to make her see the person he saw—an attractive, kind, sweet-tempered woman.

“You’re beautiful.” He traced one of her eyebrows with his fingertip. “Any man with a lick of sense would be happy to call you his wife. I’m certainly proud that I gave you my name.”

Without giving her a chance to reply, he lowered his head toward hers. He wasn’t sure what he had planned, but friendship was not the first thing on his mind.

When his face was inches from hers, she drew in a sharp, frightened breath.

He was scaring her.

Angry at himself, he quickly stepped back. Clearly, he hadn’t learned his lesson. He was a big man. He must be more careful with her. “We should get home.”

“Yes, of course.” He hated the dejection in her voice, but couldn’t think how to erase it.

Turning toward home, he let her set the pace. They covered the last two blocks in complete silence.

This was not the way Pete had planned the evening to go, but that did not mean he couldn’t rescue the situation. Perhaps if he asked Rebecca questions about herself, if he focused on her for a change, she would see he didn’t mean her any harm. That he really wanted to be her friend, if nothing else.

Placing his hand on her elbow, he guided Rebecca up the back stairs and into the kitchen. He knew the exact moment she saw the surprise he’d left for her because she stopped abruptly and twirled to face him. “Oh Pete, you picked flowers.”

The wonder in her voice, along with the pleasure in her eyes, told him he’d done the right thing. His nerves settled. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I love them,” she said, blinking up at him for a long, uninterrupted moment.

His heart beat hard against his ribs. No woman had ever looked at him like that, with the embodiment of pure, uncomplicated joy on her face.

Who would have thought such a simple gesture as picking flowers and placing them in a glass jar would bring a moment of peace and understanding between them?

He allowed a sense of unexpected pleasure to spread through him. But just as he started to relax into the moment, her expression changed. She looked sad. Worse, the distance was between them again, only this time he hadn’t been the one to put it there. “What’s wrong, Rebecca?”

She swung away from him. Even with her back to him he could see her dabbing at her eyes.

He tried not to lose hope. But was he destined to make every woman he married cry?

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. You see, I don’t know how to thank you. I…” She spun around to face him again. Tears wiggled on the edges of her lashes. “No one has ever done anything this sweet for me before.”

They hadn’t?

What sort of bleak life had she led before coming to America? He knew there’d been poverty in her childhood, but a few wild flowers in a jar cost nothing but a little time and thought. “You deserve pretty things, Rebecca.”

She sniffed. “Thank you, Pete.”

Wanting to lighten the mood, and needing something to do with his hands, he stepped away from her and began rummaging through the picnic basket.

She’d packed enough food to feed a family of ten boys with a few ranch hands on the side. “I see you brought my supper,” he looked up and winked at her, “but what are you going to eat?”

A smile quivered at the edges of her lips then slowly spread until it reached all the way to her eyes. “Funny.”

He grinned. “I thought so, anyway.”

She moved closer to the table and leaned over the basket to have a look herself. She smelled of spices and home.

He took a quick breath.

“Out of my way, big man.” With a gentle bump of her hip, she shoved him aside. “I have supper to prepare.”

Suddenly needing a little more distance between them, he was only too happy to comply. As he silently watched her set the food on the table, a thought occurred to him. His wife had a sense of humor.

And, apparently, so did he.

Like most July mornings in High Plains, Sunday dawned bright and hot. Alone in her bedroom, Rebecca pulled aside the blanket nailed above the window, then looked out. The sun’s harsh rays paled the wretched scenery of dirt and rocks and desolate buildings that made up her new home.

Sighing, she dropped her hand and went back to dressing. After four days of marriage, the awkwardness between her and Pete was slowly dissipating. And because of that, she realized she was growing to like her husband. His sense of humor was a surprise, especially since it seemed to emerge whenever things got tense between them.

Yet, something was keeping them from becoming closer, moving beyond friendship. If only she could figure out what stood between them, maybe they could take the next step in their marriage.

Then again, maybe things were about to change.

At breakfast, Pete had suggested they attend church together this morning. Rebecca had liked the idea. She wanted to worship the Lord with Pete by her side. But also, the town needed to see them together as a married couple.

The gossip hadn’t settled down since their wedding. In fact, it had turned in a different direction. Now the speculation was whether or not Rebecca was already a month or more with child.

She shook her head in disgust and proceeded to lace up her shoes. If only the people of High Plains knew the true nature of her marriage they wouldn’t think anything so vile.

On the surface, matters looked like they were progressing. Pete escorted her home every evening, but they hardly spoke about anything beyond the rebuilding of the town and what each of their days had been like. They were making progress, slow and steady, but their relationship still felt far too similar to the one she’d had with her parents.

At least there was one thing she could celebrate since her wedding day. Edward was up and moving around. He’d made it to the house for supper last night, after Pete had gone out to search for the twins. Of course, Edward was a long way from recovering completely. The Tully brothers had hurt him more than she’d realized. Her stomach rolled, but she shrugged off the sick feeling. Edward was alive. And the Tullys had left town.

It was time they all focused on the future.

“Rebecca,” Pete called out from the kitchen. “Are you ready to go?”

“Almost.” Staring at herself in a tiny mirror, she adjusted her skirt, tugged on her collar and then hurried out of her room. Because of the special nature of this first official appearance as husband and wife, Rebecca had put on the same dress she’d worn for their wedding. She wanted to look her best. Or, rather, as nice as she could with what little she owned.

The moment she stepped into the kitchen, her gaze connected with her husband. For a moment, her heartbeat slowed to a thick, painful thump, thump, thump, and then quickened to a breathtaking speed. Just like her, Pete had dressed in the same clothes he’d worn for their wedding.

“I see we thought alike.” His face split into a grin, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

Her heartbeat slowed even more.

Glory, Pete Benjamin was a handsome man. And so big. She had to crane her neck to look into his face. She didn’t feel big and clumsy next to him. And certainly nothing like a cow.

With a trembling hand, she tucked a loose tendril behind her ear. She didn’t wear a bonnet like most American women. As a concession, she’d chosen to wear her hair twisted atop her head. She hoped it would be enough to silence any criticism.

Smiling, Pete offered his arm to her. “Shall we?”

“Yes, of course.”

As he placed her hand in the crook of his arm, she caught sight of the wedding band on his left hand.

Pleased he wore his ring where others could see it, Rebecca walked outside with a genuine smile on her face. She breathed in the clean air and looked up to the heavens. Puffs of cottony white clouds skidded at a leisurely pace across the blue sky.

“Shall we walk?” Pete asked.

“I’d like that.”

She wanted every moment she could get to know this man better. But as they set out toward the church, she had no idea how to speak to him. Although they’d shared a life for four days, and they were starting to fall into a comfortable rhythm, it was awkward moments like these that still occurred too often for her liking.

She knew she couldn’t force the matter. She had to trust that the Lord would sort out the particulars of her unusual marriage in His time.

For now, she would attempt another step on her own. Tapping into her resolve, she opened with a safe topic. “I’ll be cooking Sunday dinner for the boarders, as usual.”

“You work on Sunday?” He sounded surprised.

“I take my Sabbath on Monday.”

He nodded but didn’t respond further.

She wanted to lighten the mood, but a more important topic came to mind and so she continued in a more somber tone. “Edward was able to get out of bed last night, after you left to search for the twins. He made it all the way inside the house without my help and then sat at the table to eat his supper.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Pete patted her hand with a distant look in his eyes.

What was he thinking? Why wouldn’t he look at her?

She bit down on her bottom lip, forced back a rush of conflicting emotions and focused on her brother once more. “Like I said, Edward is on the mend, but not completely. He didn’t make it through the entire meal.”

Pete’s steps faltered. “So he’s still in pain.”

“I’m afraid so.” Genuine worry punched through her. “But he’s planning to go back to work in the morning just the same.”

Pete must have heard the concern in her voice, because he stopped walking and looked down at her with a question in his eyes. “You don’t think he’s ready?”

“If sitting up to eat a meal exhausted him, how can he possibly work at the livery?”

“Rebecca, I know Edward fairly well. If he’s determined to return to work, you won’t be able to stop him.”

She sighed. “He said as much himself. And then he accused me of acting like a mother hen.”

Pete made a noncommittal sound in his throat, one that sounded a lot like a stifled laugh.

“Of course, I won the argument when he couldn’t make it back to the livery without my assistance.”

He did chuckle then. “I bet he hated that.”

“You have no idea.” She sighed again. Edward’s defeat had only made him more determined to prove her wrong.

“Tell you what.” Pete’s gaze slid over her face. “If your brother shows up tomorrow, I’ll keep him busy with tasks that won’t require too much physical effort on his part.”

“You’d do that for him?”

“No, Rebecca. I’m doing this for you.”

Her fingers flexed on his arm. “For…for me?”

“Yes.” His gaze bore into hers with an emotion she wasn’t quite able to decipher. “For you.”

“Thank you, Pete.”

“My pleasure, Rebecca.” He lifted her hand so he could touch his lips gently to her knuckles.

Her breath skidded in her lungs.

This tender-hearted blacksmith was maneuvering his way into her heart one kind deed after another. But whether she would end up with a broken heart or a happy marriage was yet to be determined.

Chapter Eleven

Pete nodded to several members of the congregation, but didn’t stop to speak to anyone as he led Rebecca up the church steps. Even if he wanted to talk, he wasn’t sure he could force words past all the difficult thoughts vying for his attention.

An odd sense of expectancy raced through him. Longing, as well. Yearning, perhaps? But, oddly enough, guilt was not one of the emotions he experienced as he settled into one of the middle pews with Rebecca.

He wondered why. Why didn’t he feel the usual onslaught of guilt and misgivings whenever he found himself softening toward his new wife? What was different about today?

Hoping to find his answer, he cast a quick glance in Rebecca’s direction. Instead of guilt, instant fear gripped his heart and his pulse hammered savagely through his veins.

He was going to fail. Again.

He’d done something wrong in his marriage to Sarah to create such unhappiness in her. There’d been a fatal flaw in him that had made him a terrible husband, a man unable to bring his wife simple joy. And if he didn’t figure out what was wrong with him, in him, he would repeat his mistakes with Rebecca.

He gnashed his teeth together and stared straight ahead. He didn’t want to hurt his new wife. Something about her made him want to be a better man. And despite the way their marriage had come about, he wanted to be good to her. More than that, he wanted to be good for her.

His thoughts were cut off when a horrible, off-pitched whine rent the air—Mrs. Preston banging out the refrain for the first hymn. Cringing at the awful sound, Pete scrambled to his feet with the rest of the congregation.

He wasn’t a singer. Nor was he a man to pretend to be something he was not. So instead of attempting to force out the words of the unrecognizable tune, he allowed the music—such as it was—to flow over him.

Closing his eyes, he offered up his praise to the Lord in silence. When the second hymn began, he ran his thumb along the wedding ring on his finger. The gold band felt different from the one he’d worn to symbolize his union with Sarah. It felt comfortable. He supposed it was because the ring was thirty years old and well worn. What else explained the sense of reassurance it gave him?

Whatever the reason, he liked the feel of the simple gold band around his finger.

Pete opened his eyes as the final hymn began. Aware others watched him and Rebecca, he scanned the congregation for friendly faces.

The church was fuller than usual. Edward, Mrs. Jennings and ten-year-old Alex Henning from the wagon train sat in the front pew together. Directly behind those three, Will and Emmeline Logan, with their extended brood, filled an entire pew.

Fortunately for everyone, there were three particular people he did not see in church today. The Tully brothers. Not that he’d expected them to attend worship. But their absence was a concrete reminder that the “boys” had moved on. The trio hadn’t been seen in town since their fight with Edward.

The thought did not bring Pete much peace. There were other threats sitting in this church. Evil thoughts about Rebecca still filled the minds of some, spilling out in ugly insinuations about a coming babe.

Of course, time alone would prove that particular piece of gossip false.

Before Pete could turn to see who sat at his back, the pastor took his place at the lectern and opened his Bible. “You may be seated.”

The congregation obeyed the request with a rustling of clothing and muffled murmurs.

“Our text is from the Book of Philippians, chapter three, verse twelve through fourteen.”

The pastor paused. This time, the sound of flipping pages filled the silence.

Pete didn’t need to open his Bible. He knew these verses by heart. They were the same ones he’d remembered when he’d checked on Leroy’s kittens four days ago. The night Rebecca had moved into his home.

He repeated the words in his mind as the pastor spoke them aloud. “But this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before…”

The Lord was trying to tell him something, calling to mind this verse twice in one week. But Pete had no idea what the message might be.

He considered himself an obedient Christian, a man who honored and revered the Lord. But he was not someone who talked to God as one would a friend.

Was the Lord trying to tell him to look deeper in what He could provide?

Pete slanted a look at Rebecca. She was leaning slightly forward, listening with undivided attention. She was so beautiful, with an innocence about her that called to him. He reached out and took her hand in his.

Peace filled him. He waited for the guilt to follow. When it didn’t come, he wondered what that meant. Was he forgetting Sarah, or slowly letting her go?

Rebecca squeezed his hand.

He settled back into the sermon.

“There is no denying we have all suffered pain and loss since the storm,” Reverend Preston continued. “But it’s long past time we heed the Lord’s words in this passage. We must not continue to look backward, either as a town or as individuals.

“We must not continue to hold on to past hurts. Funerals have taken place. And people have made mistakes.”

Several heads turned toward Rebecca and Pete. A loud, feminine sniff came from behind them. Pete knew that sound all too well. Matilda Johnson had chosen the pew directly behind them.

Pete glanced over his shoulder. His gaze landed on Abe Johnson, Matilda’s husband. The man looked more haggard than usual. His jowls seemed to hang lower. His balding head appeared shinier. Even his eyes looked more fatigued and blood-shot. Most surprising of all, there was an apologetic glint in his weary gaze as he stared back at Pete.

For the first time since moving to High Plains, Pete wondered what life must be like for Matilda’s husband. Certainly not easy.

Frowning over the thought, Pete turned back around and clutched Rebecca’s hand tighter. She moved a fraction closer to him in return.

They both focused on the sermon once more.

“There have been false testimonies and misunderstandings, pointed fingers, fights and angry words.”

Another sniff rose up, followed by a spattering of harsh whispers. “He doesn’t mean us, my dear. How can you say such a thing? Abigail and I have done nothing wrong.”

As if the pastor had heard Matilda’s comment, he lifted his voice a little higher. “I speak to all of us, including myself.” He nodded directly at Pete. “I stand before you now and boldly say that this behavior must end. Today.”

Several people sat up a little straighter. Others lowered their heads. All remained silent. Even Matilda Johnson.

“I implore each of you to think before you speak. We must, as a town and members of the Christian community, draw together as a family. We must work together to rebuild our homes, our lives. And our reputations.” He looked out over the crowd, his gaze resting on a spot directly behind Pete. “Let us pray.”

Heads bowed, some slower than others.

“Father God, may You have mercy on High Plains and all our members. May You teach us to forgive one another as You have forgiven us. We know Your grace is sufficient. Like waves on the shore, Your love never ceases. May You cover this town with Your all-consuming love. In our Savior’s name, amen.”

After a collective “amen” and a closing hymn, people began shuffling out of the church. Holding several interested stares, Pete silently dared anyone to say something nasty to Rebecca.

Glaring at anyone who opened their mouth, Pete remained seated with Rebecca until Edward, Mrs. Jennings and Alex drew close to their pew.

Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, they rose together.

Smiling broadly, Mrs. Jennings raised her voice above the chatter going on around them. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin. It’s so lovely to see you in church together.”

Pete smiled at the woman’s obvious attempt to alert the congregation to their new marital status, not that everyone hadn’t heard the news already. It was a nice gesture, nonetheless.

Once the way was clear, Pete joined Rebecca in the aisle. He noted Matilda and Abe Johnson sweeping toward the doors, their pouty-faced daughter following closely behind.

Pete couldn’t understand why the people of High Plains called Abigail Johnson a great beauty. He hadn’t once seen her smile. How could anyone deem a woman like that beautiful?

“Well, that was certainly an interesting sermon.” Edward ruffled Alex’s sandy-blond hair. “What do you think, little man?”

The boy frowned. “I didn’t understand any of it. The preacher used too many big words.”

Edward chuckled. “Don’t think the message was intended for you.” He glared at the back of the church. “Wonder if it made any impact with certain other people we know.”

Following the direction of Edward’s gaze to Matilda Johnson’s retreating back, Pete lifted a shoulder. “Only the Lord can determine that.”

“True enough.”

The five of them continued down the aisle in silence. Outside, Pete and Edward moved away from the milling crowd while Rebecca moved closer.

Pete liked that about her. Her courage. Her strength. Her ability to face hardships head-on. He’d never met a woman quite like Rebecca Gundersen—Benjamin. Rebecca Benjamin.

Eyes suddenly burning like they often did in the smithy, he squinted into the sun, noting that it had moved to the middle of the sky and begun its brutal assault on the land. There was no wind today, only heat and sticky air. The smithy would be sweltering.

“I’m coming back to work tomorrow,” Edward said. There was a belligerent edge to his words.

Pete lowered his gaze. The big Norwegian leaned slightly to the left, favoring his injured ribs. He started to tell Edward to stay home, but then remembered his earlier conversation with Rebecca. “If you think you’re ready.”

“I am.”

Pete nodded. “Then I’ll meet you in the livery at sunup. I have a few things I’ll need you to do right away.”

He didn’t add what those “few things” were. Edward would find out soon enough, when he spent the day running light errands.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a distracted look on his face, Edward moved toward the dwindling crowd. “There’s someone I need to speak with for a moment.”

“Good enough.”

In a wobbly yet determined line, Edward headed straight for Mrs. Morrow and her daughter, Winifred. He had an intent look on his face, which made little sense to Pete. What could Edward possibly want with the dressmaker and her shy daughter?

Shrugging, Pete gazed over the dissipating crowd. He was glad people left him alone this morning. He was in no mood to speak to anyone, not even Will Logan.

From his vantage point, he watched Rebecca talking to Alex Henning. She spoke with her hands, gesturing wildly as she made some important point. The boy’s face lit up and then he laughed. It was nice to see the joy on Alex’s face. After losing his older brother in the tornado, he’d been withdrawn and quiet.

Sadly, no one from the wagon train had taken him in. Although Mrs. Jennings agreed to be the boy’s temporary guardian, Pete sensed Rebecca was the one who gave the kid motherly attention.

As if to prove his point, Alex laughed again and then hugged her, almost desperately, around her waist.

Watching them together brought an ache to Pete’s heart. But instead of thinking about what he’d lost, he thought of what he wanted. A future, one with smiles and laughter and maybe a few desperate hugs. He was tired of all the sorrow in his life.

Like so many others had already said, Rebecca would make him a good wife. If he gave her a chance.

He didn’t know how. Every time he took a step toward her, the jolt of happiness he experienced was instantly replaced with guilt.

He felt a blinding pain just below his collarbone at that last thought.

Maybe, rather than using his past failure to prevent him from having a normal life with Rebecca, Pete had to let go and believe. Maybe he needed to give his new wife a chance. Maybe he needed to give them a chance.

Rebecca released Alex, kissed him on the head and then shooed him toward the boardinghouse. Pete kept his expression blank as she turned and strolled back in his direction.

“Will you be eating at the boardinghouse or should I bring your food home for you?”

“Home. I have to work in the smithy this afternoon.”

The corners of her mouth lowered into a slight frown. “But it’s the Sabbath. From our conversation earlier, I thought you’d be taking the whole day off.”

“I can’t.” He pushed the guilt away. Before the storm, he’d honored the Sabbath without question. But now that so many homes and businesses had been destroyed, he couldn’t afford to take off an entire day. Sunday mornings were the best he could do. “It’s the way it has to be.”

She bent her head, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. Did she think he was using work to avoid her?

He needed her to know that wasn’t true. Placing his finger below her chin, he applied light pressure. Once her gaze connected with his, he lowered his hand, but not before he noted the flash of hope in her eyes.

“Bring your supper home, as well,” he said. “I’d like to share a meal with you, and when I say share, I mean talk, too. About important things. It’s time we got to know each other better.”

“I’d like that.” An echo of a smile trembled on her lips. “Very much. But I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

He looked into her beautiful, hope-filled eyes and realized he wanted to make this woman happy.

“It doesn’t matter when you get away,” he said. “I’ll wait for you, for as long as it takes.”

“I…” She twisted her hands together. “I’m glad.”

Ribbons of sunlight threaded through the golden hair piled on top of her head, tugging him a step closer. Aware they had a small audience and uncaring what they thought, he lowered his head toward hers. He wasn’t completely sure what he intended to do, but he wasn’t sure he could stop himself, either.

With his face inches from hers, he smiled. Really smiled. Perhaps for the first time since Sarah’s death. And thus, he took a metaphorical step toward Rebecca. “I’m looking forward to eating with you.”

“I am, too.” Her voice came out melodious and smooth.

Feeling strangely undone by that sweet sound, the Scripture from Philippians came back to mind.

But this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind.

It was time to look toward the future and stop dwelling on the past.

Of course, Pete knew it wasn’t that simple. Wanting something wasn’t the same as having it. Freedom may not be within his reach.

But what if it was?

He took a step toward the cemetery. “I’ll meet you at home later.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can get away.”

He spared Rebecca one final glance before setting off toward Sarah’s grave. Resolve forced one foot after another.

Would he finally be able to let Sarah go?

He wouldn’t know until he tried.

Chapter Twelve

Rebecca watched Pete circle around the church. He stopped at the gate leading into the cemetery, hesitated there, head down, hand poised over the latch. Then, with a jerk, he lifted his chin and shoved forward. His long strides ate up the ground, making him look very purposeful. And yet, somehow, sad, as well.

Rebecca’s heart constricted painfully at the picture Pete made. He seemed so…so…alone.

She wanted to run after him, to stand in support by his side. But she recognized the futility of such a gesture. Pete would not welcome her company, not in the cemetery beside his wife’s and child’s graves.

Her eyes watered at the sense of helplessness she felt, but she held back the tears and exhaled slowly. The pain in her lungs had everything to do with…anticipation. Anticipation for Pete, for what he was attempting to do.

Apparently, the sermon had moved him as much as it had her, and now he was trying to make peace with his past.

She only wanted him to do so if he was ready, not out of guilt brought on by a passionate sermon.

Lord, I lift Pete up to You. Be with him today. Bring him comfort as he sits at his wife’s grave.

“Rebecca.” Edward patted her hand. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Oh.” She jumped away from her brother’s touch. “I didn’t see you standing there. I thought you were still talking to Mrs. Morrow and her daughter.”

“I was.” He took a quick glance over his shoulder, then cleared his face of all expression. “But they have to return to their home, something to do with a sewing project.”

“I see.” Except she didn’t see. Not really. “What were you talking to them about?”

“Nothing special.” His shrug was filled with his usual lazy confidence, but his eyes held secrets. “I was just being friendly.”

Friendly? Rebecca narrowed her gaze in suspicion. Something was different about Edward this morning, something she couldn’t quite describe. “I didn’t realize you knew the Morrow women.”

He shrugged again. But this time, an off-center smile spread across his lips. “I know them well enough.”

“Hmm,” she said. And then she remembered the night of her wedding, when he had complained over the fact he couldn’t provide her with a new dress for the occasion. “Oh, Edward. You weren’t ordering me clothing, were you?”

“Ja. Ja. That’s it.” He gave her a tentative half nod. “I was ordering you a dress. Ja. That’s what I was doing.”

No. She could see the guilt written all over his face. Her faithful, steadfast brother wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling her the whole truth, either.

But to what end? Edward never kept secrets from her.

Until today.

Looking slightly nervous, he let his gaze wander slowly away from her. And then it merged with Winifred Morrow’s timid stare.

He smiled at the girl, broadly, the big, silly grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. Winnie blushed in return, sucked in a short intake of air, then quickly lowered her head.

Rebecca blinked at the revealing exchange.

Did Edward have his eye on the dressmaker’s daughter? It was not an unpleasant thought. Winnie Morrow was a nice girl, painfully shy and a little ordinary with her light brown hair and commonplace features, but nice. Really nice.

Rebecca hadn’t expected this. Of course, she’d always wanted her brother to find love one day.

Had that day come? Had the sermon pushed Edward to make a move in Winnie’s direction? Was her brother attempting to build a new life like the pastor had suggested?

Rebecca wondered if she and Pete would be able to do so, as well.

She gazed at the cemetery again. Her heart constricted as Pete lowered to his knees in front of a gravestone, his proud shoulders slumping forward.

Pain. Rebecca felt genuine pain on her husband’s behalf. The force of emotion was so fierce she staggered back a step.

“Don’t worry.” Edward patted her hand again. “Pete doesn’t strike me as a man comfortable staying rooted in the past. Give him time. He’ll come around.”

But would he come around to her? And if he didn’t, would their marriage become nothing more than two polite people coexisting side by side?

She’d never thought of friendship as a prison. Until now.

“I mean it, Rebecca. Stop worrying. Have a little faith. The Lord has a plan.”

The Lord has a plan.

Edward was the second person to remind her of that truth in less than a week. But what if God’s plan didn’t include a fairy-tale ending for her and Pete? Could she live in a home lacking in love?

Lord, please don’t condemn me to that sort of misery again.

Seemingly unaware of her troubled thoughts, Edward wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her against him. He leaned heavily on her, indicating he wasn’t yet fully healed.

“Pete has a lot to sort through,” he said. “But he will sort through it.”

“Oh, Edward. I just want him to be happy. No. It’s more than that.” She stepped out from under her brother’s hold. “I want to be the one to make him happy.”

Grinning, he chucked her under the chin. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re married to the man.”

Unwilling to make light of the situation, Rebecca scowled at her brother. She knew her wish to be the source of Pete’s happiness made her selfish, but she couldn’t help how she felt. She couldn’t help the way her dreams started and ended around her husband. There was pain in admitting that, in admitting that she was falling in love with a man who was still in love with his dead wife.

“Quit frowning, Rebecca. I have no doubt you’ll make Pete happy.”

She wasn’t so sure, not if the past few days were any indication. But her marriage was not yet a week old. It was too early to lose hope, too early to accept that friendship was all she could have with Pete.

Rebecca was many things, but she was not a quitter.

And truly, what had she done to make a life for her and Pete? Nothing. She’d done nothing. Nothing except fret. And worry, worry, worry.

Well, there were a few things she could do immediately. Things that centered around the dismal little house she now called home.

Yes, that was it. She’d focus on their home. One miserable room at a time.

Angling her head toward the cemetery, Rebecca squinted to get a better look at Pete, but Edward moved in front of her, cutting off her view.

“Stop spying on him.”

Embarrassed, she lowered her head and twisted her hands together at her waist. “You’re right. He deserves his privacy.”

“Ja, he does. And besides…” Edward paused until she lifted her head again. “There’s a house full of boarders and guests, me included, who want a hearty Sunday dinner.” He pulled her into a quick bear hug. “How about making a few of us happy?”

Smiling at last, she gave him a good-natured tap on his nose. “Selfish man.”

“Only when it comes to my stomach.”

“Then we had better seat you in the first round.” There were so many mouths to feed on Sunday afternoon, Rebecca did so in two sittings, sometimes three.

Edward rubbed his belly with glee. “Now you’re talking.”

She laughed, content to see him feeling better, even if he leaned far too much to his left as he set off across the street to the boardinghouse.

Following a few steps behind him, Rebecca sent one final glance in Pete’s direction. He looked deeply engrossed, dragging his hand over the pristine gravestone before him.

There was such sorrow in his movements. Her heart ached for him.

But as much as she wanted to rush to his side, she knew she had to follow Edward’s advice and give her husband time.

For now, she would concentrate on the house full of hungry people waiting for a hot meal. People, as Edward so eloquently put it, she could make happy right away.

Pete had no idea how long he stared at Sarah’s gravestone. Minutes? Hours? He’d lost all sense of time after he’d lowered to his knees and set about telling her goodbye.

Unfortunately, the words wouldn’t come.

Rocking back on his heels, he lifted his gaze to heaven and begged for help. Lord, show me the way. Reveal to me the first step.

He gazed at the sky for several more moments, but still no words came to him. No clarity. Only soul-deep anguish.

And a rush of irritation.

He was tired of the grief. Tired of the sorrow. He wanted…

He wanted…

Freedom.

That was why he’d come to Sarah’s grave this morning, not because he wanted to be free of her, but because he wanted to be free of the guilt that came with his final memories of her.

One small step. That’s all he needed to take. Then maybe the next would come easier.

He leaned forward and dug a hole in the hard, parched earth. His hands shook throughout the process, but he kept at his task. Ripples of dust swirled around his hands, blurring them in a brown haze. But he soon had a small hole in reward for his efforts.

For a long moment, he simply stared into the shallow depths. Despite the heat, his skin felt ice cold. His heart felt numb in his chest.

With hands still shaking, he pulled out Sarah’s necklace from a pocket in his jacket and coiled the thin chain into the ground. He began refilling the hole with a fierceness in his movements. He practically clawed at the dirt.

There was uncharacteristic desperation in him now. But he didn’t know where the emotion came from.

And still no words came to mind. Telling Sarah “goodbye” seemed too simple, trite even.

Perhaps if he stopped thinking about the end and started at the beginning, he could finish what he came here to do.

His mind remained barren.

But finally, after concentrating, the truth of the matter hit him and he understood why the words stayed mute in his mind. He and Sarah had never been suited, not really, despite the happiness they’d shared in the early days of their marriage. The realization made his breathing come in hard, painful pants.

Pete had been acquainted with Sarah all his life, but he’d never truly known her. She’d been adored by everyone in their small town back in Massachusetts—pampered and coddled by her parents, favored by her teachers and friends.

With her rich black hair, pale, ivory skin and deep green eyes, she had been the beauty of Belville. And when she’d finally noticed Pete, when she’d turned her affection to him at last, he’d given her no chance to change her mind.

Frowning, he picked up a stone and rolled it in his fingers. The dirt covering the rock felt hot and dry against his skin. Bleak. Like his long-ago dreams of a happy marriage with the beautiful Sarah Ross.

Here he was again, four days into a hasty marriage with a woman he hardly knew. Dare he hope this marriage might have a happier conclusion?

He couldn’t face the possibility that he might fail Rebecca, too. She didn’t seem to want much from him, not as much as Sarah had needed in the end.

Pete had to remember that Rebecca was stronger than Sarah. Both in mind and body. And that they were united in their desire to stay in High Plains. Would that be enough? Or would he—

He swallowed, disgusted with himself.

He was brooding.

Pete hated brooding. No good came from it. He forced himself to focus on the reason he’d come to the cemetery in the first place.

It was time to say goodbye to Sarah. Even if all he could see in his mind was the image of her last hours.

A shadow blackened the sun overhead, complementing Pete’s foul mood. And then a craggy voice broke through his concentration. “Pete, don’t do this to yourself.”

Pete blinked. A quick spark of hope flickered in his heart at the sage words spoken in that familiar, quivering voice. He wanted to follow the command, but a wave of despair stole his ability to think clearly.

“You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

Pete kept his gaze averted. “Yes, I do, Doc. You know why.”

“You weren’t the only one in the room when Sarah died. I was there, too.”

Which was why Pete had avoided contact with the man over the past year as much as possible. Looking into Doc’s regretful expression only reminded Pete of all he’d lost that night. But now he was trapped as Doc stood over him, addressing the one issue he wanted to avoid most.

Pete craned his neck and looked into Doc’s weathered face.

They stared at each other without speaking.

Sorrow lurked in Doc’s tired, red-rimmed eyes. His thick mane of gray hair poked out in several directions as though he’d been combing the white mass with his fingers.

The man looked exhausted.

At eighty-two, he should be enjoying a peaceful existence, bouncing a few grandchildren on his knee. Instead, he worked eighteen-hour days, tending to the sick and injured of High Plains. He faced death daily. Sometimes hourly. The work was too much for one man, especially one of such an advanced age.

“You look more tired than usual,” Pete said.

“I am.” He gave a heartfelt sigh and stepped to his right. The sudden shift sent a blinding ray of sunlight into Pete’s face. He squinted. Thankfully, Doc moved back into a position that blocked the sun and Pete opened his eyes again.

“I have to admit—” Doc let out a weary sigh “—I hope Zeb finds my replacement soon.”

The statement took Pete by surprise. “You don’t mind that he put an advertisement for a new town doctor in the Kansas Gazette?”

“Mind? On the contrary.” He plowed his fingers through his hair, his hand shaking slightly. “I encouraged the boy to start the search almost as soon as I arrived in High Plains. This town needs a young man full of energy, not an old, run-down horse like me.”

Pete heard the fatigue underlying Doc’s words. “I’m not sure ‘run-down’ is the correct assessment. Not from what I’ve personally seen. You’re an honorable man,” Pete said. “I’m glad you were with Sarah in her final hours.”

He meant every word.

“I’m sorry she died—” a shadow crossed Doc’s features “—in so much pain.”

“I am, too. But you did everything you could that night. I’ve never thought otherwise.”

Yet, Pete found himself swallowing back a wave of condemnation all the same. Not at Doc. At himself.

He was no longer able to keep his fears silent, not from this man. A year had been too long to wait to speak of this. And now Pete’s inner turmoil outweighed his outer dignity. He released the last scraps of his pride.

“Doc, I have to know the truth. Did I do everything I could?”

“Of course you did.” The answer came too quickly.

Pete looked at the tiny grave next to Sarah’s, the one that housed his infant son. Too much loss had come into his home. “Could I have done more to save them? I don’t mean that night. I mean, before.”

“Pete.” Doc lowered to the ground slowly, his bones creaking every inch of the way. “Sarah was not a happy woman in her final days, you know that.”

Of course he knew that. Pete had been the sole cause of her unhappiness. He’d brought her to High Plains. He’d insisted she give their move a full year when she’d begged to return to Massachusetts after a month. At least in Belville Sarah had had friends. And family. Lots of family.

Here, she’d only had him.

He hadn’t been enough.

“Do you think unhappiness was the reason the baby came early?” he asked quietly. “If I’d taken Sarah back to Belville when she’d first asked, would she be alive today?”

“I don’t know, Pete.” Blowing out a shaky breath, Doc rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Modern medicine doesn’t have all the answers. Sarah was never a physically strong woman.”

Not like Rebecca.

Pete drew back from the thought. It wasn’t fair to compare the two women. It wasn’t right.

“Was carrying my child too much for Sarah? Was she too weak to bear our son?” The question was a valid one. One he’d avoided asking for a long time, even in the privacy of his own mind. But the truth could not be denied. Sarah had been tiny, nearly half the size of Pete.

“You know the realities.” Doc brushed dirt off his sleeve and grimaced. “Childbirth is dangerous for a healthy woman. Your Sarah was not a healthy woman.”

Pete’s throat constricted, growing tighter and tighter with each swallow. “Are you saying the baby killed her?”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying. It was probably a combination of factors that killed your wife. Her lack of physical strength. Her unhappiness.” Doc shot him a sorrowful look. “Perhaps even the harsh conditions here on the frontier played a role. But the journey back East would have been a strain on her, as well. I don’t believe she would have survived it.”

Pete heard what the older man was trying to say in his roundabout way. The land on this side of the Mississippi had been too brutal for Sarah’s delicate nature. By bringing her to High Plains, by creating a life that left her so unhappy, Pete had aided in her death.

And that of his son.

“Thanks, Doc.” He rose slowly, his joints protesting after staying in one position for so long. “You’ve cleared things up considerably for me.”

“Wait.” Doc hastened to his feet and grabbed Pete’s arm. His grip was surprisingly strong. “I don’t like that look in your eyes. I’m afraid you didn’t hear what I said at all.”

Pete lowered his head. “I heard you.”

“No.” Doc’s voice turned anxious and his grip grew tighter. Painfully so. “Sarah’s death was not your fault.”

It didn’t matter how fiercely Doc said the words or how tightly he grasped Pete’s arm, he knew the truth.

Sarah’s death was his fault, and consequently so was his son’s, all because of his desire to make a new life for them in High Plains.

He would not repeat the same mistake with Rebecca. He would keep their relationship based solely on friendship, nothing more.

After all, if he didn’t build up her hopes, then he wouldn’t let her down. And if he didn’t let her down, then she wouldn’t have cause to become unhappy with him.

He knew his logic wasn’t entirely sound. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that. But Pete couldn’t figure out any other solution that would protect Rebecca from suffering Sarah’s same fate.

“Pete,” Doc began. “You can’t—”

“I have to go.” Realizing how cold he sounded, he softened the harshness in his voice. “We’ll talk again. Sometime soon.”

Or perhaps they wouldn’t. Pete wasn’t sure there was anything else they needed to say to each other. At least, not about Sarah. Or his son.

Right now, Pete needed to be anywhere but in this cemetery, surrounded by all he’d lost. He needed to walk, to think, to let his thoughts settle. Maybe then he would know what to do about Rebecca and their marriage.

Chapter Thirteen

Rebecca made it home well before dark, only to discover the smithy closed. Pete was nowhere in sight. Disappointment tapped a painful rhythm against her ribs. Her husband must have changed his mind about wanting to share a meal with her today.

The wind chose that moment to whip straight into her face. Surely that explained the tears leaking out of her eyes.

Readjusting the basket of food in her grip, Rebecca set her shoulders against the attack and tried to think what to do next.

In an attempt to avoid her dreary home a little longer, she decided to check on her brother.

A few moments later, she found him sleeping. Soundly.

Good. He needed the rest.

Before turning to leave, she studied the tarp that had been flung over the massive hole in the roof. One good rainstorm and Edward would need to sleep in a boat rather than a bed.

That would not do.

She needed to arrange better accommodations for him, assuming her stubborn, proud brother would agree to move.

Not looking forward to another argument, Rebecca decided to tackle the subject tomorrow. When both of them were feeling stronger.

Unable to put off the inevitable any longer, she circled around to the back of the main house. A hot surge of uneasiness made her breath come in erratic spurts. Nevertheless, she must be brave. She must go inside.

Balancing the basket of food on her hip, she worked open the door with her free hand.

As always, her heart pinched tight in her chest as she stepped inside the house and shut the door behind her.

Despite the bright sunny day, the kitchen sat in shadows. Drab grays, blacks and whites danced around the dreary room.

The grim sight chilled her to the marrow.

Trying not to be discouraged—a staggering feat—she set the basket on the kitchen table.

A folded piece of paper instantly caught her eye.

Pete had obviously left her a note. That was something to rejoice in, she supposed, but her eyes filled with tears of distress. And shame.

She gave the paper a long, intent stare, puzzling over what to do with it. Dragging her finger across the unrecognizable letters, her humiliation dug deeper. If only she could read in English. Speaking the language was hard enough, learning to read it was simply out of the question. At least, for now.

Despite her embarrassment, Rebecca unfolded the note and peered at the symbols scrawled boldly across the page. Even on this small piece of paper, Pete’s striking presence was undeniably large. Rebecca sighed. She could no longer deny the truth.

Her husband had truly captured her heart. She loved Pete, as a wife loves her husband.

A jolt of pleasure shot through her at the realization, followed by a painful churning in her stomach.

What if he never returned her feelings? What if his love for her turned out to be as lukewarm as her parents’ had been?

No. She was finished with this constant, nagging doubt. She was not a spineless woman willing to accept her fate without a fight. She was a child of God, loved by Jesus, blessed by her Heavenly Father. That meant she was worthy of love from her earthly husband, as well.

All she needed to do was give Pete a reason to move in her direction, and away from the past.

Resolve firmly in place, Rebecca forced her shoulders to relax and set the paper back on the table. She gave the kitchen a full inspection. If she wasn’t mistaken, the room had grown drabber. Well, no matter, there was one thing she could do immediately. Clean.

Not more than an hour into her project, poised on her knees with scrub brush in hand, Pete charged through the back door.

His footsteps stopped abruptly.

“Rebecca. You’re home.” His voice was flat. And yet, she heard the controlled emotion beneath his words, the hint of defeat in his tone.

Something had changed since she’d seen him bent over Sarah’s grave.

Had he decided he could never love again? Was his heart so committed to Sarah and their child that there could be no room for Rebecca?

Afraid to look at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes, she set her brush on the floor and spoke directly to his feet. “I thought it was time to start cleaning my new home.”

“I see that.”

She wondered what had happened to make him sound so…restrained.

Marshaling her courage, she sat back on her heels and forced herself to smile up at him. “I’m glad you’re home. I was worr—” Her words backed up in her throat. “You haven’t changed clothes since this morning.”

He looked down and shrugged. “Guess not.”

Her heartbeat stuttered at his detached tone. Her first instinct was to pretend she hadn’t seen him walk around the church, to pretend as though this day was like any other.

But she was tired of pretending. Tired. Tired. Tired of it.

“Have you been at the cemetery all this time?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. “I mean—”

“You didn’t get my note?” His voice was calm enough, but his gaze was as distant as a stranger’s, as if he was consumed with private, painful thoughts he could never share with her.

She tried not to despair. “Yes. I got your note. But I—” she swallowed back her cowardice and admitted the truth “—I’m afraid I can’t read. Not in English.”

That got his attention. His eyes widened, but he only looked at her for a long, breathless moment. She couldn’t tell if it was shock, or pity, or simply disappointment on his face when he spoke at last. “But you said you wanted to read to me.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes. “Wanting and doing aren’t the same thing.”

“No, I don’t suppose they are.”

“I’m sorry I misled you.” Every word she spoke was soaked with shame.

“It’s fine, Rebecca. Not something to be concerned over. I never expected you to read to me in the first place.”

She dipped her chin. “But I want to.”

“That’s enough for me.” He touched the top of her head. The quiet gesture, more than the words, soothed her. The humiliation that had tightened in her throat relaxed.

When she had her breathing under control, she looked up again. “I brought your dinner home, just like I promised.” She glanced toward the kitchen table.

He didn’t follow the direction of her gaze. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Rather, he kept staring at a spot on the floor a few inches short of her knees. From her vantage point, she could see that his face was bleached of color and slightly contorted. He was back to the stranger she’d first married.

Something had clearly upset him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she couldn’t read.

Terrible possibilities ran through her mind. Had he been unable to let go of Sarah? Was he going to stay rooted in the past? Would he—

No. Speculation was pointless. She was married to this man. She was his wife.

That gave her certain rights.

“Pete.” She rose slowly to her feet, quickly drying her hands on her apron along the way. “What’s happened? You’re…different.”

Lips pressed tightly together, he turned his back to her.

“Please, Pete. Tell me what’s wrong.” She lifted her hand, but let it drop to her side without touching him. “Tell me what’s occurred since I last saw you at the church.”

With clipped steps, he paced through the kitchen, ignoring her completely. Thankfully, he didn’t leave the room, as she half expected.

“Pete?”

He yanked out a chair and sank into it with a loud thump. “I didn’t work in the smithy today.”

Yes, I figured that out already. But instead of commenting on the obvious, she said, “You didn’t?”

She waited for him to respond. When the silence grew thick between them, she searched his face for any sign of emotion.

His coal-black eyes revealed nothing.

“Pete?” she said again, knowing her voice had a desperate ring to it now. “Did you—”

“I went searching for the twins this afternoon.”

She hadn’t expected that. “By yourself?”

His vacant gaze locked with hers. “I needed to search for them, to prove they were still alive.” He lowered his gaze. “There’s been enough death in my…” He cleared his throat. “In this town.”

“Oh, Pete.” She rested her hand on his shoulder, unsure what to make of his mood, especially in light of this new information. He’d gone in search of life, after he’d faced the reality of death at the cemetery.

Her fingers flexed on his shoulder. “Did you find something?”

“Yes.” His hand shook slightly, but he dug into an outer pocket of his jacket without hesitation.

She watched in horror as he pulled out a child’s shoe, one most commonly worn by young boys like Alex Henning. And…And…

“I found this northeast of town.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “You…you don’t think…” Was it Mikey’s?

Hand steadier now, Pete placed the shoe on the table. “I found it about a mile out of town, under a bush near the river bank.”

He clutched the shoe in a hard grip.

Rebecca closed her hand over his, resisting the temptation to lean over and plant a soothing kiss on his forehead. But, glory, he looked so defeated.

She felt the same way.

In an attempt to hide her alarm, she released his hand and placed her fingertips across her mouth. But when Pete said nothing more, she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Do you think the shoe belonged to, I mean belongs to Mikey?”

“I don’t know,” he said in a halting tone, his hand shoving the shoe toward the center of the table. “But I know who will.”

“Emmeline.”

He nodded.

Rebecca stepped away from the table and looked out the lone, dingy window in the kitchen. Although the glass was smudged with year-old grime, she was able to gauge the sun’s placement in the sky.

“There’s still plenty of time to ride out and back to the Logans’ new cabin before dark,” she said aloud.

Pete stood, his chair scraping on the floor as he shoved away from the table and picked up the shoe. “I’ll head out now.”

He took two full steps, then stopped before he took the third. “Will you come with me, Rebecca?”

How could she not?

“Of course I will.” She took the shoe from him and turned it over in her hand. “Pete, what if…what if this shoe is Mikey’s? What does it mean?”

He peered at her with troubled eyes. “It could mean anything. However—” he placed a gentle hand on her arm “—let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t even know if the shoe belongs to the boy.”

He was right. They didn’t know. “There’s one sure way to find out.”

He opened the door and waved her forward with a broad sweep of his hand. “After you.”

“No. It can’t be. It just can’t be. But it is. It is Mikey’s shoe.” Emmeline Logan collapsed against her husband. “Oh, Mikey. Poor, poor little boy.”

Her grip went limp. The shoe rolled off her fingers and landed on the ground with a hard thud.

In the ensuing silence, Pete exchanged a helpless glance with Rebecca. And then another with Will. No one seemed to know what to say. Especially Pete.

He hadn’t expected Emmeline to react so violently after examining the shoe.

Why not? Hadn’t he felt similarly distraught when Clint had given him Sarah’s cameo?

Lord, please let this discovery be of little significance. Let this be nothing more than a missing shoe found.

“I’m sorry, Emmeline,” he said, regret coating his voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Eyes fixed on the fallen shoe, her response came out barely audible. “It’s not your fault, Pete.”

“That’s right.” Will’s gaze filled with worry as he clutched his pretty wife against his chest and locked gazes with Pete over her head. “You did the right thing bringing it here. Anything could give us the clue we need to finding the twins, even if it’s hard to handle at first.”

“I should have waited until tomorrow to bring it by,” he said.

“No. No.” Emmeline struggled free from her husband’s arms. “You were right to come this afternoon.”

She bent to pick up the shoe again, but her legs wobbled under her and she tumbled forward.

Pete reached for her. Will was quicker. With one swoop, he wrapped his wife in the band of his strong arms and pulled her against his chest. “You need to sit, darling, and catch your breath.”

Everyone fell silent as Will guided the trembling woman to one of the two rocking chairs on the front porch.

In the next moment, Rebecca rushed forward and dropped to her knees. “Emmeline. Take a breath,” she said in a gentle tone. “You have to breathe.”

“Please.” The woman clutched Rebecca’s hands in desperation. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Bess about this.”

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Rebecca rolled her gaze toward Pete.

He nodded his encouragement.

“Tell Bess what? All Pete found was one of Mikey’s shoes. It could mean anything.”

“She’s right, Emmeline. Let’s not panic before we consider all the possibilities.” Will maneuvered around the back of his wife’s chair and proceeded to brush his fingertips across her forehead.

When she didn’t relax right away, he bent over her and murmured soothing, unintelligible words in her ear.

She didn’t seem to be listening to him, but every so often she would nod her head at something he said. With each passing second, she visibly calmed.

The interaction between husband and wife spoke of familiarity, of affection, of shared intimacy that went far beyond the physical.

Pete hadn’t realized how much he missed the understanding that came from a deep loving relationship. He’d lost that sort of closeness with Sarah months before she’d died, which had made her passing that much harder to stomach.

But this wasn’t about him, so he battened down all thoughts and emotions that didn’t pertain to the situation at hand.

Will eventually straightened to his full height and tracked his gaze from Pete to Rebecca, then back to Pete. They shared a resigned look.

“Like Rebecca said,” Pete said to Emmeline’s bent head, “the discovery of Mikey’s shoe could mean anything.”

“Agreed.” Will gave him one firm nod, then continued to stroke his wife’s hair in an absent manner.

She leaned into his hand and sighed.

Feeling as though he was prying into an intimate moment between husband and wife, Pete looked away.

Will cleared his throat. “Start at the beginning, Pete. Where were you when you found the shoe?”

“I was walking along the riverbed, about a mile and a half northeast of town.”

“Northeast of town,” Will repeated, rubbing the back of his hand across his face. “That’s close to where the bulk of the wagon train was when the tornado hit.” Unspoken was the fact that Emmeline’s father had foolishly continued on after the rest of the wagon train had stopped, leading their wagon right into the path of the storm.

“You would know better than I would.” Pete shot Rebecca a quick glance, but she wasn’t looking at him. “I never made it out of town that day.”

“Right.” Will’s gaze turned thoughtful. “The shoe has probably been in that same spot since the storm.”

“That’s my conclusion, as well.”

Still kneeling in front of Emmeline, Rebecca made a sound of distress. “But Pete, I thought you and the others have been searching for the twins for more than a month. Wouldn’t you have found the shoe before today?”

“Not necessarily.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders forward. “We could have missed it in the dark.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“We need to keep this discovery between the four of us,” Will decided. “At least for now. No need to concern anyone else until we can decipher what this discovery really means.”

The words brought Pete’s thoughts back to this morning’s sermon. The pastor had all but begged the congregation to keep up their hope and to start living with their minds focused on the future. If it were up to Pete, especially in light of the pastor’s request, nobody else would hear about the shoe. Ever.

However, the decision wasn’t his to make. “We’ll leave that up to you and your wife.”

“In the meantime,” Rebecca said, “we’ll pray for the twins and their continued safety.”

“Would you pray now?” Emmeline asked, her voice squeaking with the dry, raspy sound of barely contained grief.

“Of course.”

Rebecca lowered her head and prayed softly. In fact, she spoke so quietly Pete couldn’t make out her words. He shut his eyes, anyway.

Please, Lord. Please hear all of our prayers for Mikey and Missy.

In a louder voice, Rebecca ended her prayer with “We ask this in Christ’s name, amen.”

“Amen,” Emmeline repeated in a quivering voice.

Pete opened his eyes to see the two women staring intently at each other.

“Thank you, Rebecca.”

“My pleasure.”

The women squeezed hands, then Rebecca turned her gaze to him. For a moment, everything around them seemed to stop. He wanted to soothe Rebecca’s distress, but he couldn’t build false hope. Not until they had more information.

Feeling helpless, he broke eye contact and looked quickly to his left. The sun had dipped dangerously close to the horizon.

“We should head home before it gets too dark,” he said.

“Of course.” With a rustle of skirts, Rebecca rose, but she continued holding her friend’s hands. “Will you be all right if we leave you now?”

“I…yes, thank you. I have Will.” She smiled up at her husband. Even in her sorrow there was an element of peace in her eyes.

In return, Will placed his palm on his wife’s cheek and smiled. “You do, indeed.”

As he watched the outward display of love, Pete felt his shoulders stiffen, and the beginnings of some unnamed emotion filled him.

Compelled, Pete turned his attention toward Rebecca.

But she wasn’t looking at him. She was watching the Logans intently. And then, slowly—gradually—she twisted her gaze to him.

A band of emotion tightened around his chest. For once, Pete knew exactly what his wife was thinking.

She wanted what Will and Emmeline had. She wanted a real marriage filled with love, trust and affection.

He waited for the wave of fear to come, waited for the unbearable pain of failure to overtake him. When the emotions arrived—as he knew they would—his heart tapped two solid thumps against his ribs.

Trapped between regrets from the past and hope for the future, he existed in a state of uncertainty. Pete wanted a real marriage with Rebecca. He truly did. He longed for the kind of loving union Will shared with his wife, the kind Pete had shared with Sarah in the early days.

But he’d failed miserably the first time around. How could he expect his union with Rebecca to be any different?

Chapter Fourteen

Just as twilight spread its purple arms across the sky, Rebecca allowed Pete to take her hand and escort her toward the front steps. This would be her first time entering her home from the front. Of course, this wasn’t her home yet. It wasn’t really “their” home, either. It was merely a bunch of bare walls, a few shabby pieces of furniture and too many memories.

After spending part of the afternoon with the Logans, Rebecca was more determined than ever to put warmth into this dreary house.

Watching the affectionate interaction between Emmeline and her husband—even in the face of tragic news—Rebecca had become sure of one thing.

She wanted a similar closeness with Pete.

And for an instant, she’d seen the same desire in his eyes. Unfortunately, the look had disappeared as quickly as it had come and an uncomfortable silence had fallen between them.

The ride home in the wagon had been suffered in silence.

However, she would not lose hope. What she’d seen in Pete’s eyes had been real, even if it had only been there for a brief moment.

Perfect love casteth out fear.

Rebecca clung to the truth in those words from First John.

But then her mind staged a mutiny and started racing toward a terrible thought. Had Pete’s love for his first wife been so strong that he would never be free to turn his affection onto her? Was that why he was so quiet now?

As he directed her over the threshold, still silent as a stone wall, she cast a quick glance his way. Shadows flickered across his face, making it impossible for her to read his expression.

At least he kept his hand wrapped around hers. That had to mean he cared for her. A little.

Without warning, his hand pulled away and he moved through the room, lighting one lantern and then another.

The resulting glow did little to illuminate the area. Rebecca waited for her eyes to adjust in the gloom.

“Would you like to eat now?” she asked, amazed she was able to keep the note of her rising desperation out of her voice.

“No,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”

He moved closer to the fireplace, and farther away from her. Every big, solid inch of his large frame spoke of loneliness.

“All right. I’ll save your food for later.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Rebecca.”

Why did he sound so certain he knew what she was thinking? Could he read her mind?

Surely not. Nevertheless, she cleared her expression as best she could. “How am I looking at you?”

“As though I’ve disappointed you with my answer.” He pushed away from the fireplace and moved in her direction. “Make no mistake, I do want something from you. I want…” His words trailed off.

He took three more steps, stopping inches away from her.

Her heartbeat picked up speed.

She tried to decipher his expression in the graying light. Sadness. There was such sadness in his eyes. And something else. Something she couldn’t fully interpret. She wanted to offer him comfort, but how?

“Pete.” She cupped his face with her hand. “I’m sorry.”

She had no idea what she was apologizing for, but the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Embarrassed, she pulled her hand away from his face.

He captured her wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip. “Sweet Rebecca.”

He buried his face in her hand, and then placed a tender kiss in the center of her palm.

She trembled in response.

“Are you cold?” he asked. His breath whispered gently across her fingers as he spoke.

“No.”

He lifted his head. “You’re shaking.”

“I…I think I’m…scared.”

He caressed her knuckles, then released her.

Unable to look away from all that intensity in his gaze, she continued staring at him. Her heart pounded at an unnaturally fast rate.

“Are you scared…of me?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

His eyes widened at her vehemence.

She softened her voice. “No. But I think…” Her voice stumbled over her words. “I think,” she said more forcefully, “that I’m scared of what I want, of what I might say, of what I…” Need from you.

How could she say those last words without pushing him away?

“Ah.” He gave her a tender smile, one that almost met his eyes. “I understand.”

“You…you do? Could you explain it to me?”

At the moment, she didn’t understand any of what she was feeling. She felt exposed, that much she knew for certain. But then his smile broadened and everything in her settled—her heartbeat, her confusion, her fear.

“Come here, Rebecca.” His words came out strong, but she saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

She wasn’t sure what he wanted from her. Perhaps he didn’t know, either.

“I…” Her heart pounded hard against her ribs, sending her blood roaring through her veins. “I am here.”

“I meant closer.” His smile wavered, just a bit. “Come closer.”

Closer? They were nearly touching as it was. And yet he wanted her to move closer to him? Oh.

Oh!

Understanding at last, she took a tentative step forward.

He tugged her into his arms.

She instantly tensed.

He lightened his hold.

They were both being so careful with each other, as though they understood the frailty of the moment.

“I, uh.” She locked her gaze on the corded muscles of his neck. “Maybe we should talk first. Maybe we should—”

“No more talk.” His arms roped tighter around her waist, his hold turning firmer.

“No talk? But—”

“Later. We’ll talk later.”

“We will?”

His head lowered toward hers in a bold move, but she felt the indecision in him. She’d never seen him look this vulnerable, and her trembles turned into bone-rattling shudders.

Yet, despite her own nervousness, her hands swept up his powerful arms, along his broad shoulders and then linked together behind his head.

They were married in the sight of God. This was allowed, expected even.

The moment their mouths touched her trembling stopped. Completely. Just like that. And then a transforming sense of peace slid across her soul.

This was where she belonged. With this man. In his arms.

Unfortunately, she could tell he was holding a part of himself back.

She pressed harder against him and whispered, “Pete, please. I—”

Suddenly her arms were empty and he was standing a full three feet away from her.

Both of them were breathing hard.

But where she blinked at him with hope in her heart, he blinked at her with horror on his face.

Worse, his eyes had a haunted look in them—there was no other word for that terrible expression in his gaze—and the stark planes of his face held regret.

Regret! Her own husband regretted kissing her. Or rather, he regretted wanting to kiss her, which was so much worse.

Looking more devastated than she’d ever seen him, he ran a trembling hand across his face until all emotion disappeared.

But nothing could erase the memory of what she’d seen in his eyes.

She staggered back a step, widening the distance between them all the more.

“I…” He gave her such a sorrowful look that her heart broke for them both. “I’ll be in the smithy.”

He was running away? Again?

“Now?” Her voice sounded hollow in her ears. “You’re going to work with fire at this hour?”

He took a step away from her, the face of a stranger firmly back in place. “Buildings can’t be constructed without nails, bolts and latches.”

Why did he sound so resigned? Hadn’t they just taken the first step toward making their marriage real?

“But we just…” She touched her fingertips to her lips. “I thought we…”

He shook his head and stepped farther away from her. “I’m sorry, Rebecca.”

No. She would not accept another cold apology from him this time. She would not let him to skirt the issues between them anymore. “Why? Why are you sorry?”

“Because I can’t give you what you want.”

Now she was angry. Angry at him for making up her mind for her…angry at herself for allowing hope in her heart despite his detachment…angry at them both for not being able to make their marriage move past this awful uncertainty. “How do you know what I want?”

“I can see it in your gaze.”

She narrowed her eyes into two, tiny slits. No matter what he said, or how many times he said it, he could not read her mind. “And what is it, exactly, that you see in my gaze?”

“Don’t make this any harder, Rebecca. Please.”

“Don’t make what any harder?”

“This.” He waved his hand between them. “You, me. Us. You don’t understand. I can’t be a husband to you.”

He was holding something back from her. She heard the truth in his voice. Saw the reality on his face, even in the poorly lit room. He wanted to be her husband, but something was keeping him from doing so.

“Why can’t you be a husband to me? Because of Sarah?”

He put his hand over his face, completely shielding his eyes from her. “Yes.”

His voice didn’t sound convinced. And after one long, searching look her anger transformed into sympathy. The man was hurting. But Rebecca needed to know the truth. She needed to hear it from his lips. “Because you…still love your wife?”

“You’re my wife.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He turned his back to her. “You don’t understand.”

That was the second time he’d said that to her. And now she had another reason to be angry at him. But how could she stay upset when he looked so bleak and alone, so obviously in need of her compassion?

“Just because I don’t understand all your English words doesn’t make me stupid, Pete. If you would try explaining it to me, I could—”

“It’s too complicated to get into now.”

“If not now, when?”

She saw the answer in his eyes. Never. Perhaps she didn’t have the right to know the details of his first marriage, but didn’t she at least deserve an explanation for his change in mood?

“I have to get to work.” Without a single glance in her direction, he headed toward the kitchen.

Too stunned to stop him, Rebecca stared after his retreating back. The sound of his heels clicking against the wooden floor mingled with the echo of painful memories that reverberated through this ugly, ugly house.

In that moment, she hated Sarah Benjamin. Hated the woman with as much passion as she loved Pete. What kind of person did that make her?

Lord, will Sarah ever go away? Will Pete ever open his heart to me?

The silence that greeted her was answer enough.

Pete might have kissed her—and oh, what a lovely kiss it had been—but he wasn’t willing to join her in this marriage.

If only he would explain about Sarah and their life together, maybe Rebecca would understand what held him back from committing to her fully.

Well, she wasn’t about to give up on Pete or their marriage. She rushed into the kitchen and caught him right before he opened the back door.

“I don’t want to replace Sarah in your heart,” she said softly.

He stopped walking, then turned slowly to face her. “That’s not what this is about.”

His gaze said differently. “Isn’t it?”

“No.” He came back into the room, curled her hair behind her ear and then let his hand drop away.

She trembled.

And waited.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Rebecca.”

“You only hurt me when you walk away like this.” She pressed her palm against his heart. “Please, Pete, don’t shut me out of your life like this. I don’t want much from you. Not really. All I want is a little of your time.”

The rest would follow.

“My time, you can have. But, Rebecca, there’s not enough of me left to be the husband you deserve.”

The devastation in his eyes sobered her. He truly believed what he was saying. His loss had deeply wounded him, more than she’d realized. And now he thought he had nothing to give her.

Oh, but he was wrong, so very wrong. He had a lot to give. Love, affection, tenderness, she’d seen them all in him, in the way he treated his horses. And a man who took a moment to play with kittens was a man who could be a good husband and father. Unfortunately, she knew no amount of arguing would convince him. Not yet.

She would have to try another tactic. “Would you read from the Bible to me?”

Confusion filled his gaze. “You want me to read to you?”

“Yes, I do. After all, it’s the Sabbath.” She pulled him toward the parlor. When he didn’t resist her tugs, she knew she had him.

“We can eat on a blanket spread across the floor in front of the fireplace. It won’t be fancy.” She kept her face bland as she reached for the picnic basket. “But you can read to me after we’re finished.”

She was rewarded with a smile, and Rebecca let out a long, slow sigh. She recognized the risk she was taking. She may never win Pete’s heart, and her marriage may very well end up as cold and distant as her childhood. But with time on their side, and a lot of patience on Rebecca’s part, everything just might work out between them.

And if not, it wouldn’t be because she hadn’t tried.

Clint Fuller arrived at the back door of the boardinghouse on Tuesday afternoon as planned. Oddly enough, Rebecca was thankful for the respite from all her conflicting feelings toward her husband. Pete had read to her from the Bible two nights in a row. He’d been friendly at breakfast, but he hadn’t kissed her again. And he still slept in the empty room next to hers.

Time, she reminded herself. It was going to take time. Patience, too. And a lot of prayer.

Today would be a nice distraction. Except, after studying Clint’s anxious expression, Rebecca realized she wasn’t going to get much relief this afternoon. She could feel the apprehension flowing out of the cowboy.

Well, all right, if she was being honest, this whole business left her uneasy, too. But Pete had given his blessing, and at this point Rebecca couldn’t disappoint Clint.

Struggling to keep her smile genuine, Rebecca released a pent-up breath. “You have excellent timing, Clint. Do come in.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He slapped his hat against his thigh, the gesture sending up a cloud of dust.

Rebecca stifled a cough and stepped out of his way. He must have rushed over as soon as his chores were complete. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No. Do you have any extra?”

She tried not to grin at the eagerness in his voice. “Of course. Have a seat at the table over there.”

After a short hesitation, he complied, tossing his large frame in the closest chair. He slumped in a lazy posture that wasn’t exactly suitable for mixed company.

Sighing, Rebecca heaped food onto a plate and then set it on the table in front of him. “Eat while I get Mrs. Jennings.”

He leaned forward and took a big whiff. “Smells good.”

She handed him a fork.

Placing his elbows on the table, he attacked the meal as though he was in a timed eating contest. She’d never seen such…enthusiasm for her cooking.

When his lips made a smacking noise between bites, Rebecca cringed. Clearly, she would have to begin with basic table manners, but not until Mrs. Jennings joined them. “I’ll be right back.”

She hurried out of the kitchen and met Mrs. Jennings halfway through the parlor.

“Is he here?” the other woman asked.

“Yes.” Rebecca fell into step with her former landlady. “I left him digging into a plate of food. And when I say digging, I mean digging.”

“Good grief.” Mrs. Jennings picked up the pace.

Rebecca trotted after her, nearly colliding into the woman when she halted just inside the kitchen doorway. “Mr. Fuller. What on earth are you—” She cut herself off and began again. “That is, I see you’re enjoying your dinner.”

“That’s an understatement,” Rebecca muttered.

The cowboy was still leaning on the table and shoveling food in his mouth as fast as he could. “It’s good.” He swiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Really good.”

Rebecca shuddered to think what other bad habits the man possessed. She could easily see where Clint could use a little—or rather, a lot—of refinement.

Oh, Lord, help me. I have no idea why You’ve brought this man to Mrs. Jennings and me, but You’ve certainly given us an interesting task. And I mean what I say. Help!

“Well, Rebecca.” Mrs. Jennings gave her an amused look. “I think table manners are an excellent place to start.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Clint ignored them both as he dragged a biscuit through a pool of gravy and then shoved the whole thing in his mouth. He proceeded to chew, for an entire two seconds, then swallowed.

Rebecca blinked in horror. Was he breathing between bites?

“Go on, dear.” Mrs. Jennings nudged her forward. “Get to work.”

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but her brother’s voice cut her off.

“Two more diners just showed up.” Edward poked his head through the doorway. “Oh. Clint.” He moved fully into the kitchen. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“I was just…” Clint’s face reddened. “Eating.”

“Then why aren’t you in the dining room?” Edward asked.

Before Clint could respond, Mrs. Jennings planted her hands on Edward’s shoulders and pushed him toward the back door.

“Now, that’s none of your business, Edward Gundersen.” She pushed harder than necessary and he stumbled. “See? You can’t even walk on your own without missing a step. You should be in your bed over at the livery, resting.”

Edward dug in his heels. “I can determine if I need rest.”

“Then start determining.” Mrs. Jennings shoved him again. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving.” He started for the back door, then stopped again. “Hey, Rebecca. Don’t forget to serve Percival and that pretty schoolteacher with him.”

“Get back to the livery.” Mrs. Jennings banged the door shut in his face.

“Did Edward say Cassandra’s here?” Clint’s chair scraped backward and then tumbled to the floor with a loud bang. “With Percival Walker? She’s really having dinner with that obnoxious priss?”

Not waiting for a response, he pushed his head past the doorway that Edward had just come through.

“Look at that fool.” His voice was filled with masculine outrage. “He’s wearing one of those citified suits, and in the middle of summer, no less.”

The man’s bitter tone had Rebecca looking at Mrs. Jennings with raised eyebrows. The woman lifted hers in return. “I take it you don’t like Mr. Walker?” she asked.

He flicked his wrist in dismissal. “Would you look at that? He just wiped his seat with a handkerchief. Like I said, a priss. And look at that. He didn’t pull out Cassandra’s chair for her. Even I know better.”

Mrs. Jennings’s eyebrows lifted higher. “I think he has his eye on Zeb Garrison’s sister.”

“Yeah, so what?” he flung over his shoulder. “Who wouldn’t? She’s smart, beautiful and…and…mannerly.”

“Nothing wrong with his hearing,” Mrs. Jennings said out of the corner of her mouth.

Rebecca ignored the comment and joined Clint at the doorway. She tugged him slowly back into the kitchen and gently directed him toward the table once more.

Sighing in defeat, he righted the fallen chair and then collapsed with a whoosh. “I ain’t got no chance against a man like Percival Walker.” He picked up his fork and began drawing circles through the remainder of his food. “He’s too rich and mannerly and, well, rich.”

Rebecca grimaced. “Cassandra has never seemed to me like a woman who cares about money.”

“Yeah, well, she does.” He tossed the fork onto the table and frowned.

“You know this for a fact?”

He gave a helpless shrug. “All women care about money.”

“Not all women,” she said. “I don’t.”

“Nor do I,” Mrs. Jennings added.

Clint’s eyebrows drew together. “Yeah, well, excuse me for saying this, but I don’t want either of you.”

Rather than feeling hurt by the insult, Rebecca bit back a smile. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

His eyes rounded in panic. “I didn’t mean that there was anything wrong with either of you.”

Chuckling, Mrs. Jennings patted his back. “We know you didn’t.”

Rebecca sighed again. She seemed to be doing a lot of sighing this afternoon.

She needed a moment to think.

“Tell you what,” she said. “Let me serve our new guests, and then we’ll discuss what to do next.”

Rebecca quickly filled two plates with food and went to serve the meals.

She caught sight of them at once. Cassandra wore the same hat she’d donned for Will and Emmeline’s wedding. The one decorated with lace, feathers and pink roses scattered around the crown. She looked very fashionable, as always.

Under the circumstances, Rebecca was glad to get this opportunity to converse with the couple. And, unfortunately for Clint, Cassandra and Percival were a couple. There was no denying they made an attractive pair. Both had dark brown hair, remarkable light-colored eyes and flawless, doll-like features.

Although beautiful together, Rebecca had never thought of them as belonging together. Not like Emmeline and Will Logan.

Rebecca wondered how people saw her and Pete. Did they notice the underlying tension between them? Did they feel sorry for Pete, having been forced into marriage with an immigrant when the woman he loved was dead?

What an awful thought. But no, she had to remember her resolution. She wasn’t going to give up hope on making her marriage work.

Pasting a smile on her face, she set a plate in front of each of her guests. “Good afternoon, Cassandra. Percival.”

Percival disregarded her completely, paying more attention to the placement of his napkin in his lap.

Cassandra, on the other hand, met Rebecca’s gaze. Her smile was wide and guileless, making her even more beautiful than before. “Hello, Rebecca. Good to see you again.”

The sincerity in Cassandra’s voice had Rebecca smiling back. “You, too.”

Percival pulled at the crease in his pants, tugging until it fell into a precise line along his leg. “That’ll be all, Miss Gundersen. We would like to eat our meal in private.”

“No, Percival, we would not.” Cassandra pursed her lips. “For one, I’m still conversing with Mrs. Benjamin.”

Ignoring the correction of Rebecca’s name, he dabbed at the corner of his lips with his pinkie finger. “By all means, my dear, finish your conversation.”

Rebecca had seen enough. There was no comparison between the two men vying for Cassandra’s affection. “I won’t keep you any longer.” She turned to face Cassandra directly. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you again.”

“And you, as well.” Cassandra’s eyes filled with silent apology, making Rebecca like her all the more. “I hope we run into each other again soon. Next time, we’ll talk longer.”

“I’d like that.” Rebecca quickly returned to the kitchen, determined to do her part to make sure the better man won Cassandra Garrison’s hand.

And after her short conversation with the competition, she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that the “better man” was Clint Fuller.

Chapter Fifteen

Pete went about his afternoon chores in the smithy with his head full of Rebecca and the state of their marriage. Something had to change. And it was clear it would have to come from him.

Accustomed to working in the dark, he mechanically sorted the dust from the coke and then added the largest clumps to the center of the pot.

A familiar surge of frustration shoved at him, making him pull on the billow’s cord with unnecessary force. Frowning, he released the cord and stepped back.

Since his mind refused to let go of thoughts surrounding Rebecca, he let them come.

From the start, she’d sparked a protective instinct in him. So much so that he’d considered it his Christian duty to marry her. He’d never expected to grow to like her, much less build a friendship with her. Yet here he was, struggling with emotions he’d thought had died with Sarah and their child.

Although he wasn’t hurting Rebecca, or making her unhappy like he’d done with Sarah, Pete knew he wasn’t bringing her joy, either. There was no denying that she wanted more from him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out how to give her what she wanted.

Lord, what’s holding me back?

At least some good had come to Rebecca outside of their marriage. Edward was working longer hours in the stable these days.

Even now, Pete could hear the man talking to the horses in the livery next door. Although Edward spoke softly, his thick Norwegian accent came through loud and clear, primarily due to the fact that the roof had yet to be repaired.

Despite their shoddy accommodations, the horses thrived under the Norwegian’s expert handling. Good thing Edward was back at work, if only for part of the day. Pete’s primary focus had to be in the smithy until the town was rebuilt.

Satisfied the fire was burning hot enough, Pete maneuvered around the quench tub and quickly chose the tools he’d need to make a batch of hinges. Ball hammer, tongs, chisel, an assortment of files.

Returning to the forge, he speared several iron rods into the center of the fire that had become a nice shade of yellow.

For the next hour he let all thought drain out of him and focused solely on his work. Eventually, he stepped back to study the effect of his efforts. The metal was taking shape at last.

Just as he raised his hammer again, the door to the smithy swung open, shooting a bolt of hard daylight through the darkened interior. Before he could complain, the door slammed shut.

Waiting for his vision to adjust, Pete set down his hammer and turned his attention to the man standing against the doorway. Although he couldn’t determine Edward’s expression, there was something in the way he held his shoulders that put Pete instantly on guard.

“Horses are all fed,” Edward said, his voice wrapping around his Norwegian accent with more force than usual.

“Any problems I need to know about in the livery?”

“Nei. I mean, no. No problems.” The last sounded decidedly American, but Pete recognized the underlying tension beneath the words.

He waited for Edward to continue.

“Star and Larkin still need grooming, but I…” Edward cleared his throat. “I need to go lie down first. I can’t stand how weak I am, I…” His words trailed off, but instead of leaving right away he moved deeper into the smithy.

“There’s no shame in taking time to heal.”

Edward didn’t respond. He simply stood blinking into the forge’s fire, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“Something else bothering you?”

“It’s…yeah, there is something.” The younger man spun to glare at him. “All I wanted when I sent for Rebecca was for her to be happy here in America. I thought High Plains would make her a good home. Aside from all the other troubles she’s endured, I never expected her to end up in a forced marriage.”

Pete pulled in a hard breath. A mixture of dread, acceptance and responsibility—mostly responsibility—filled him. Edward shouldn’t have been the one to start this conversation. But now that he had, Pete would continue with complete honesty.

“I didn’t want to force her, but there were no other options. We had to get married.” Pete wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “It was the only way I could protect her.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Edward slammed his fist against his thigh and turned to face Pete directly. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Pete. I do. You’re a good man. But are you the man for my sister?”

The knots tightened in Pete’s neck. Hadn’t he been wondering the same thing for days? “Rebecca and I are slowly finding our way together.” Was that frustration he heard in his voice? “It’s going to take time, that’s all. We just need a little more time.” No, it wasn’t frustration making his voice crack. It was desperation.

Pete hadn’t felt this out of control since the final days of Sarah’s life. In that moment, he finally accepted that time wasn’t going to be enough. He knew he had to do more.

But what?

As though reading his mind, Edward stepped to within a foot of Pete. Toe-to-toe, there was no mistaking the other man’s fierce expression. “Pete. You can’t just wait for things to change. You have to try harder to make my sister happy.”

“I know. And I will.”

Edward glared at him another five full seconds then finally stepped back. “That’s all I ask.”

Pete took a fortifying breath.

“Now that I’ve had my say, I’m heading to my room for a while.” There was obvious fatigue in the odd set of his shoulders. “I’ll groom the horses later this afternoon.”

“No need. I’ll take care of it myself.”

Edward hesitated. “You sure?”

“Go on,” he said. “I can handle it by myself.” He didn’t add that grooming the horses always helped him think. And gave him a chance to talk to God uninterrupted.

Yes, prayer was always a good place to start. But as Edward shuffled out of the smithy, Pete felt a growing sense of anxiety. He had no doubt that Rebecca deserved a happy marriage.

The question, of course, was whether Pete was capable of giving it to her.

Later that afternoon, Rebecca headed home earlier than usual. She took the back route, wanting to avoid conversation for as long as possible. In fact, she could use a few days without talking altogether. After successfully teaching Clint a few basic manners, she’d come away exhausted. Clint had been incredibly focused during the lesson, asking questions as fast as Rebecca could answer them.

In the face of such determination, she’d found herself comparing the cowboy’s efforts to Pete’s. Where Clint was working hard to earn Cassandra’s favor, Pete seemed to be moving at a slow, almost nonexistent pace. Where Clint was willing to push past the obstacles, Pete ignored them.

Lord, how do I break through Pete’s barriers?

A soft breeze kicked up, sending a warm wisp of air across Rebecca’s face. She felt instantly calmer.

Cast all your cares unto Him…

The remembered Bible verse brought yet another wave of comfort. “Yes, Lord,” she whispered as she rounded the north wall of the livery. “I cast this burden unto You. I—”

A loud, insistent mewing broke her concentration.

Rebecca looked at the cat rubbing against her calf. “Well, hello, Leroy.” She reached down and scrubbed the little white chin. “How are you this fine day?”

Another round of impatient meowing ensued.

“Aren’t you talkative? So, how are your babies?”

In answer, the cat trotted into the livery, stopped, looked over her shoulder as if waiting for Rebecca to join her, then continued forward.

Rebecca obediently followed.

But instead of leading her to the kittens, Leroy brought her to a stall where Pete was grooming one of the horses. The cat proceeded to dart back to the front of the livery.

Rebecca stayed behind.

Pete hadn’t noticed her yet. Which was a good thing. Rebecca wasn’t quite ready to talk to him. Stifling a sigh, she watched his hand sweep the brush across the horse’s hide in methodical, downward strokes. With each swipe, Rebecca’s heartbeat picked up speed, drumming wildly in her ears.

Well, if Clint Fuller could humble himself in front of her and Mrs. Jennings, Rebecca could be just as brave.

She took a deep breath and spoke. “Hello, Pete.”

His hand stopped and the brush fell to the ground. For one agonizing moment, she wasn’t sure he would acknowledge her. But then he shifted to his left, slowly, and locked his gaze with hers. “Rebecca. You’re home early.”

She nodded, unable to look away from all that intensity focused solely on her. There was something engaging about the way Pete looked at her today, as though she were the only person who existed in his world. The only person who mattered.

Had he been thinking about her just now?

How wonderful.

“Mrs. Jennings gave me the night off,” she said, surprised at the nerves she heard in her voice.

“Ah.” His gaze stayed locked with hers, communicating a hundred different emotions in a split second. He started toward her, ignoring the horse, ignoring the fallen brush.

His eyes never left her face.

She held her ground as he approached, waiting expectantly for him to speak, to act, to do…something. Her ears filled with the sound of her own breathing.

“Did you bring supper home with you?” he asked.

“I…no.” How could she have forgotten? “I’ll have to go back.”

He exited the stall, clicking the door shut behind him. And still, his gaze stayed locked with hers.

This time, however, she could read his thoughts. There was hope in him, a willingness to open his heart to her, a desire to love and be loved in return.

She’d never felt this close to him. She should be frightened by all that distinct emotion in a man who rarely revealed his feelings. But Rebecca knew the only danger was inside herself.

If she panicked, if she looked away from him now, the connection would be broken and they’d be right back where they were. No closeness. No bond. Just friendly strangers. A horrifying prospect.

“Would you like me to escort you back?” he asked.

Escort her back? Back where?

“To the boardinghouse,” he said, answering her unspoken question, moving until he was almost touching her. But not quite.

“I…no need.” Her voice came out a shade too thick. “You have work to do.”

“I can take a short break.”

He towered over her, but instead of being intimidated by his massive size, she felt safe. Cherished, even. It was an odd sensation. One that had her lifting on her toes.

His eyes widened, just a little, but not with shock. Glory, her restrained husband was looking at her with delight.

She wasn’t sure which of them closed the final distance, but then their lips were pressed together, touching softly. The kiss lasted only a few seconds before he pulled back. And rewarded her with one of his quiet smiles.

With that seemingly small gesture, their marriage moved a step closer to all she’d hoped it could be.

“I have an idea for tonight,” he said, still smiling.

“You…you do?”

“Yes, Rebecca.” His lips quirked. “I do.”

She nearly sighed. She’d never expected a slight half smile to hold so much power. Or depth of feeling. Pete Benjamin continually surprised her.

“While I was grooming Star, I was thinking about our nightly Bible-reading sessions.”

So he was thinking about her. Warmth spread through her nerves, settling them. A little. “What about them?”

“We could use them to teach you how to read in English.” His gaze softened. “It’s how my mother taught me.”

In that moment, Rebecca knew the fight was over. Right then. Right there. Battle lost. Surrender inevitable. Pete Benjamin was officially the love of her life. “I…oh, Pete. What a sweet offer.”

“Is that a yes?”

She smiled, really, truly smiled. “Of course it’s a yes.”

He looked pleased. “We’ll start right after supper.”

So soon? A jolt of worry threatened to overwhelm her. What if she proved to be a poor student? What if she let Pete down with her efforts?

No, Rebecca would not allow such thoughts into her head. She would not allow fear to overtake this special moment. There was one force more powerful than fear. Faith!

“That sounds perfect.” Rebecca tossed a nonchalant pitch over her words. “But, first, I’d better retrieve our supper.”

“I’ll be in the smithy. Come get me when you’re ready to eat.” His gentle, faintly amused tone was unbearable in its own way. And she’d thought his smiles held all the danger.

Faith, she reminded herself. She just needed a little faith. And trust, of course. The Lord would do the rest. It was with that encouraging thought that she managed to turn around and walk back to the boardinghouse.

Later that night, Pete sat at the ridiculously small table in the kitchen, Bible spread open. Rebecca perched on the edge of the chair next to him, twisting her hands over each other.

He could actually feel her nervous tension, so he gave her a soft smile. “Where would you like to start?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at the open Bible as though it was a snake ready to strike. “There are so many words, aren’t there?”

With that one statement, he realized how hard this must be for her. Yet, here she was, attempting to learn to read in a foreign language. Her courage awed him. “Do you have a favorite passage, maybe a favorite verse where you’d like to start?”

With a shaky hand, she reached out to touch the Bible, then snapped it back into her lap without making contact. “I like the Psalms.”

“Me, too.” He flipped to the center of the Bible, stopping at random. “Why don’t we start here?” he asked, without looking at the page directly.

She leaned forward, eyes scrunched in concentration. “Where is here?”

Her hair fell off her shoulder, creating a golden curtain between them. He caught the scent of her, a unique fragrance of apples mixed with soap. Shoving back a sudden wave of tenderness, he removed his gaze from her glorious hair and angled his head to look at the page.

His heart missed a beat. He blinked. Struggled for air. Lord, why that one?

“Pete?”

Staring hard at the page, he managed to say, “We’re at Psalm 23.”

The psalm read at Sarah’s funeral.

“Oh, Pete, no.” Rebecca gasped, fully understanding his sudden shift in mood, even though he hadn’t explained himself. “Not that one. We have to start somewhere else.”

But it was too late. Sarah was in the room with them now. Memories of the night she’d passed, her funeral three days later, the endless, dark days afterward—they were all in his head now, slamming through him with ruthless precision.

His composure threatened to crumble.

He jumped out of his chair, even as the opening words of the Psalm sped through his mind. The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…

A hand slid around his arm, gripping him gently. Tenderly. “Pete,” Rebecca whispered. “Pete. Please. Talk to me. It might help to talk about it.”

He looked down at Rebecca, who stared at him with obvious concern. She cared about him, he knew that. But it was too much to take in, too much to accept. He didn’t want her caring, not if it meant another failure and another round of pain like he’d suffered after Sarah’s death.

He finally accepted what was holding him back. Fear. For himself. And for Rebecca. Mostly for Rebecca.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, knowing he was becoming redundant by saying the same words again and again.

She stood motionless under his gaze, and then something in her eyes shifted and she looked at him with pity. No, not pity. Understanding. Soul-deep understanding, as though she’d just come to a revelation in that moment. “Pete, you’re not perfect. You’re human. Of course you’re going to hurt me.”

“No. Not if I don’t—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips and spoke over him. “And I’m bound to hurt you. That’s the price we pay when we choose to care.”

Then, he wouldn’t choose. He would keep their marriage based on friendship, nothing more, nothing that involved the kind of closeness that would result in harming Rebecca like he’d harmed Sarah.

He would keep his distance. It was the only way. After all, there could be no caring if there was no contact.

Even as the thought materialized, he knew it was too late. He already cared for Rebecca, deeply enough to want to protect her from himself. “We’ll do this another time, tomorrow or the night after that.”

He turned toward the back door. The blood rushing through his veins pounded loudly in his ears. The sound was so distracting he could barely hear Rebecca’s parting words as he walked into the dark, moonless night.

“I’m not giving up on you, Pete Benjamin,” she’d said to his back. “Or on us.”

He forced his feet to move faster, away from the utter panic he felt at the determination he’d heard in her words.

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, Pete went to work in the smithy before dawn broke over the prairie. Thankfully, he’d left early enough to avoid Rebecca. He knew he’d have to face her eventually, but not yet.

The heat of the forge was a comfort, the work a way to clear his mind.

Thoughts of Rebecca haunted him, anyway.

He wanted desperately to be the strong, courageous person he saw in her eyes. He wanted to believe in the dream, the possibilities. But he’d made too many tragic mistakes with Sarah and was afraid he would repeat them with Rebecca. A wave of despair threatened to overtake him.

Why art thee downcast? Hope in God…

Pete wasn’t sure he could put his hope in God anymore. He revered the Lord, obeyed His commands. But handing over control, especially when it came to Rebecca? Pete couldn’t do it. Blind trust was not his way.

Placing his mind back on the task before him, Pete yanked an iron rod out of the fire and situated it on the forging table. With each pound of hammer to iron, his resolve to clear his mind increased.

“You’re going to beat that piece of iron to death.”

Without breaking his rhythm, Pete shot a quick glance at Zeb standing in the doorway of the smithy.

“I haven’t seen you in days.” Pete blinked past the blinding light surrounding his friend. “You must be working harder than usual.”

Zeb swiped the back of his hand across his brow. “That’s the truth of it.”

Pete heard the underlying exhaustion in his friend’s words. Since the tornado, Zeb ran the mill five to six hours longer each day than he had before the storm. But it had to be that way. Families needed houses before winter. The town hall needed to be complete in time for the summer festival.

And they all needed a little more hope.

But hope seemed far away. Especially after the discovery of Mikey’s shoe near the riverbed, which Emmeline and Will had thankfully kept to themselves.

Lord, how many more hardships must this town endure?

After shutting the door behind him, Zeb strode deeper into the smithy and wiped at his brow again. “Do you have to keep it so hot and gloomy in here?”

Lifting a shoulder, Pete ignored the sweat trickling down his back. “The heat is a by-product. You get used to it.”

“And the gloom?”

“Can’t do anything about that. If I can’t see the color of the iron, I can’t determine its temperature. And if I can’t determine the temperature, I can’t forge it properly.”

“Ah.”

Pete raised his arm and whacked the iron again. “We both know you didn’t come here for a forging lesson. What brings you to town at this hour? Delivering more lumber?”

Zeb picked up a pair of tongs and turned them over in his hand. “Unfortunately, no. I busted teeth off one of the mill’s blades.”

“Another one?”

He gave Pete an apologetic grimace. “’Fraid so. When can you fix it?”

“Bring it by this afternoon.”

“Right. Speaking of which, I had better get back to it.” Despite his words, Zeb didn’t leave the smithy right away. He turned the tongs over in his hand.

“Is there another reason for your visit?” Pete asked, hammering as he spoke.

“Yeah, there is.”

Pete increased the pace of his pounding, but the iron was cooling too fast. He’d never mold it into a latch at this rate.

Best to start over.

He set his hammer down and dipped the metal into the quench tub. A loud hiss accompanied the rising steam.

Placing the rod aside, Pete crossed his arms in front of his chest. “All right, you have my attention.”

Zeb carefully set the tongs back on the forging table. “Of all the people in High Plains, Pete, I figure you have the most interest in me finding us a new doctor.”

“How do you figure that?”

Not quite meeting his eyes, Zeb fiddled with the tongs. “I started the search right after Sarah died. You must know why.”

Pete thought about his recent conversation with Doc Dempsey in the cemetery. “I don’t blame Doc for Sarah’s death. You shouldn’t, either. He did everything he could to save her.”

“Perhaps.” Zeb shrugged. “Perhaps not. I still believe a younger man might have been able to do more.”

Pete didn’t agree. Taking Sarah home might have made a difference, but he wasn’t sure a change in doctors would have.

“Anyway.” Zeb released the tongs. “I thought you’d want to know I received acceptance from another candidate.”

Surprised by the vacillation in Zeb’s tone, Pete eyed his friend thoughtfully. “You don’t seem pleased.”

“How can I be? After the previous candidates, I’m reserving judgment until I see Dr. Mitchell with my own eyes.”

Pete nodded in understanding. This was not the first physician to reply. This was the…fourth? No, fifth.

The first candidate had reeked of whiskey. The second had been more interested in selling his Red River Tonic than helping people. The third candidate had been missing all his teeth. His breath stank, too. If he couldn’t take care of himself, how could he take care of others?

The fourth man had been the worst of all. The legendary Dr. Gruesome. Not only had the man mentioned exhuming graves for his research, he’d shown them a jar of leeches and the saws he used for amputations. The man had liked the gory side of his job a little too much.

Pete winced at the memory. “Nothing could be worse than the last guy.”

“I don’t know.” Zeb ran his hand along the edge of the forging table, clearly checking the line of construction and finding it wanting. “There’s always worse.”

“When did you get so cynical?”

“I’m not cynical.” Zeb snorted. “I’m cautious.”

“Right. You keep thinking that.”

“What I do know is how much a new doctor means to you, Pete. You’re married to Rebecca now. Someday you’ll have a chance to be a father again. Don’t you want your wife and future child to be in good hands?”

Unwanted memories of Sarah’s last hours clawed for release. She’d deserved a better ending to her life with him. For that matter, so did Rebecca. He couldn’t stomach the idea of her suffering a similar nightmare as Sarah.

He swallowed back a sudden jolt of fear and focused on Zeb again. “Did you bring the letter with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me see it.”

Zeb dug in his back pocket, then handed the crumpled piece of paper to Pete.

“No matter what you say to the contrary,” Zeb began in a careful voice. “I still think it’s time to get a new doctor.”

Since Doc Dempsey agreed with him, Pete didn’t bother commenting on Zeb’s statement.

Apparently misreading his silence, Zeb continued, “I remember those early days after Sarah’s death. You were too stricken with grief to eat or sleep. We played checkers to pass the lonely hours at night, but you said little. Sometimes you didn’t speak at all.”

No, he hadn’t, because there’d been nothing to say.

Talk had never been his way. He’d found consolation in work and strict obedience to God’s commandments, the only things he could control in life. Pete doubted Zeb would understand, so he didn’t try explaining himself.

Holding to his silence, he unfolded the paper and read the acceptance letter. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the plain, bold script. It was signed, Dr. N. Mitchell. “Looks legitimate to me.”

Zeb looked over Pete’s shoulder. “I don’t know. Something feels wrong about this one.” He stepped back. “But enough about my problems.” Zeb’s eyes held a glint of provocation.

Pete braced for an onslaught of loaded questions.

“How is it being married to the lovely Rebecca?”

Needing air all of a sudden, Pete shoved the letter back into Zeb’s hand and started for the door. “I have to check on the horses.”

Zeb followed hard on his heels. “You gonna answer my question?”

Pete increased his pace. “Married life is fine.”

“Fine?” Zeb trotted after him. “Will seems to enjoy marriage, if you ask me.”

“I’m not asking you,” Pete said, but then he remembered the unbridled affection between Will and Emmeline on Sunday afternoon. “All right, yes. Will does enjoy married life.”

“He says marrying Emmeline was the best thing he ever did.”

“Marriage can be a blessing,” Pete agreed. If a man marries the right woman, a woman filled with joy, kindness and caring. A woman like Rebecca.

His steps faltered. Was he being fair to Rebecca, choosing to keep his distance in their marriage? Was he being fair to himself?

Without missing a beat, Zeb stopped next to him. “I have no doubt marriage can be good.” He elbowed Pete in the ribs. “Especially when a man’s wife can cook as well as yours does.”

Pete smiled at that particular truth. “Especially then.”

In silent agreement, they started walking again.

Matching each other step for step, they crossed over the shortcut through the dirt and rocks behind the smithy.

“Now that I have a new doctor on the way and buildings are slowly being raised—” Zeb’s gaze turned thoughtful “—maybe I should find myself a wife, too.”

Pete chuckled at that. His friend was clearly joking. When it came to women, Zeb Garrison was the most gunshy man Pete knew. Ever since Frannie had left him for Paris to study art, he’d grown cynical when it came to love and romance. It would take a special woman to get past all that distrust. “Got anyone in mind?”

“Not yet.”

They rounded the corner in time to see Mrs. Johnson standing at the back door of the mercantile. She blinked at them with large, owllike eyes.

Her wide-eyed gaze shifted past Pete with lightning speed, then connected with Zeb. For the first time in days, Pete did not warrant a moment’s consideration from the woman.

As she eyed Zeb, a calculating smile slid across her lips.

Zeb returned the look with his own measuring glint. Hunter versus Hunter.

“Why, good afternoon, Mr. Garrison.”

Zeb nodded. “Afternoon.”

A long, tense moment passed, all the while Mrs. Johnson’s gaze staying locked with Zeb’s. Pete had to give the man credit, he didn’t flinch. In fact, he looked ready to engage in battle.

Another moment passed, then the woman’s eyes acquired that beady-eyed gleam Pete knew all too well.

Much to his surprise, Zeb took a step forward.

Didn’t the poor sucker know he was caught in Mrs. Johnson’s crosshairs? The man didn’t have a prayer of escape, which meant he had his own plan in mind.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” the odious woman purred. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Garrison?”

“Quite lovely. Prettiest day we’ve had in weeks.”

What was Zeb doing? He was stepping into trouble. Big trouble.

“I think it’s getting a little hot myself,” Pete muttered.

Zeb glared at him.

Pete smiled back. At last, someone else stood on the receiving end of Matilda Johnson’s plotting. And wonder of wonders, Zeb didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he appeared thrilled.

“Well, I better be off.” She gave Zeb a merry wave. “My daughter—you know Abigail—will be wondering where I am.”

Zeb didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch.

Mrs. Johnson had met her match.

“You do know my daughter, don’t you, Mr. Garrison?”

Zeb spread his lips into a wolfish grin. “I know her.”

“Good, good. She was just commenting on the lovely weather. I think a nice ride with a…friend might be in order sometime very soon.”

“Not a bad idea,” Zeb agreed.

“Well, Abigail’s waiting for me inside. Feel free to stop in and say hello to her anytime. Anytime at all.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With a satisfied gleam in her eyes, Matilda Johnson scurried back into her store. But not before she tossed one final, devious glance at Zeb.

“You think she heard any of our conversation?” Pete asked once they were alone again.

“Yep.”

“Think she heard the part about you wanting a wife?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Pete’s mouth dropped open. Zeb looked entirely too satisfied with himself.

“It doesn’t bother you that the biggest gossip in town just heard you say you’re in the market for a wife? In case you might have forgotten,” Pete reminded him, “her lovely daughter—you know, Abigail—is of marriageable age.”

“I know.” Zeb nodded sagely. “Maybe it’s time I became better acquainted with the girl.”

“Have you gone mad? Make one step in Abigail’s direction and every matchmaking man, woman and child will think you’re serious about finding a wife.”

Happier than he’d looked in weeks, Zeb slapped Pete on the back. “Let the hunt begin, my friend. Let. The. Hunt. Begin.”

The next morning, as the predawn light slid across the freshly washed floor, Pete’s steps halted just inside the kitchen. By the caged look on his face, it was clear he hadn’t expected to find Rebecca making breakfast before the sun had even risen.

Good. She’d wanted to surprise him. She’d come to an important decision last night and needed to put her thoughts into action before she lost her nerve. “Good morning, Pete.”

He gave her a feeble smile. “Good morning, Rebecca.”

She liked how his voice shook over her name. It meant he was feeling more emotion than he was willing to admit.

The thought added a cheery note to her own voice. “I’m glad I caught you before you left this morning. I have something I want to say. But first, sit.” She nudged him toward the table. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Rebecca, I—”

“Sit.”

Scowling at her with a mixture of confusion and masculine frustration, he plopped into his usual chair.

She quickly spooned oatmeal into a bowl and set it on the table in front of him. He didn’t eat. Well, then.

“I’ve made a few decisions about our marriage,” she said.

He eyed her cautiously. “What sort of decisions?”

“For one, we can’t keep going on like we have been. It’s not good for either of us.”

“Rebecca, I—”

“No, let me finish.”

He nodded. She could see him creating distance between them, in the way he held his shoulders stiff and unmoving. Ah, but she also saw a flicker of hope in his eyes, as well. That alone gave her the courage to continue. “Neither of us came into this marriage willingly. Gossip, rumors and the evil-minded Tullys forced our hands.”

The regret on his face, and the sorrow that followed, nearly had her rethinking her decision. She pressed on instead. “Of course, the how and the why aren’t important anymore. We’re married now.”

She paused, nearly losing her nerve as she stared into Pete’s severe gaze. No, she’d come this far. She had to say the rest.

Pete spoke first. “Rebecca, I’m sorry you were forced to marry me. I know I’m not an easy man to live with.” He looked deeply concerned, and genuinely apologetic.

Her next words came out in a rush. “Do you remember when we were in your storm cellar and I told you about my parents, how they banded together when the hard times came?”

He nodded, cautiously.

“In my mind, if not in my heart, I’ve come to understand why they left me out. I know it wasn’t intentional. Nevertheless, I led a lonely childhood. Pete—” she swallowed “—I don’t want to be lonely in my marriage, as well. I want us to be close. But I also want more than friendship and camaraderie. I want a real marriage.”

He opened his mouth to speak. She stopped him. “No. Don’t respond. Not yet.”

He lifted an eyebrow, waiting obediently for her to continue.

“All I ask is that over the next few days you think about what I’ve just said.” She stepped closer to him, touched his shoulder with a gentle hand. “Think about what you really want from me and our marriage. And then give me an honest answer when you’re ready.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the top of his head. She tried not to linger. Nearly succeeded. “I’ll see you tonight.”

His long intake of air and then fast exhalation was the last thing she heard as she rushed out of their house.

Chapter Seventeen

Several hours later, Rebecca washed dishes while Bess dried them quietly beside her. Used to the girl’s silence, Rebecca took the opportunity to mull over what she’d said to Pete in their kitchen that morning.

She didn’t regret giving him what boiled down to an ultimatum. She wanted her husband’s love and affection and figured it was up to her to nudge him in the right direction. And if he didn’t come around?

Not worth considering.

Her next step was to provide him with a real home. She’d started the process this morning. She’d stopped at the mercantile and ordered material for new curtains from Mr. Johnson. Matilda and her mean daughter had been nowhere in sight, so Rebecca had taken the time to pick out wallpaper, as well. Both items were in stock, but because of Mr. Johnson’s workload she would have to wait a day or two for delivery.

More confident than she’d been in weeks, Rebecca handed a wet dish to Bess for drying. Picking up the next dirty plate, she let the words of one of her favorite hymns flow softly from her lips.

It felt good to sing. Bleakness was not in her usual nature. Reverend Preston was correct. The people in this town needed to focus on the future. Rebecca needed to focus on the future. And she only knew one way to do that.

By focusing on the Lord.

She called to mind one of God’s promises in Jeremiah. I will turn their mourning into joy.

It was time to take the Lord at His Word. Time to tap into her characteristic joy rather than allow sorrow in her life. Time for singing rather than weeping.

She passed off the next plate to Bess. “What do you say we go on a picnic? Neither of us has eaten yet. It might be nice to do so outdoors.”

Rubbing the plate with slow circles, Bess looked pointedly at the ancient clock mounted on the wall above their heads.

Right, Emmeline was due any minute. “Not a problem. We’ll ask your sister to come with us.”

Bess’s hand stilled, as though she was thinking over Rebecca’s suggestion. Then she nodded.

“Will you finish these dishes while I pack our food?”

Bess moved into Rebecca’s spot. Rebecca continued humming as she gathered the picnic food. Emmeline arrived just as she closed the lid to the basket.

“Bess, honey,” Emmeline called out. “Are you ready to go?”

Forgetting all about the picnic, Rebecca studied her friend with concern. Emmeline’s eyes were red-rimmed and ringed with lines of worry. Poor Emmeline. She’d probably been up all night crying over the missing twins.

Rebecca drew in a breath, recognizing the pain in her chest as anxiety she herself felt over the lost children.

“What’s that?” Emmeline asked, pointing to the basket.

Rebecca shook off her sadness, only just remembering her promise to turn her sorrow into joy. “We’re going on a picnic.”

“Who’s going on a picnic?”

“The three of us. You, me and Bess.”

“What a lovely idea.” A shadow of regret flashed in Emmeline’s eyes. “But I promised Cassandra that Bess and I would help her clean the schoolhouse this afternoon.”

At the mention of Cassandra, Rebecca thought of Clint Fuller. She had no doubt the cowboy was a good man under all his gruff ways, far better than that snooty Percival Walker. But did Cassandra agree? Why not find out?

“Cassandra can join us, as well,” Rebecca offered.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask her.” Emmeline’s voice was quiet and contained, but her gaze lit with excitement.

Inspired by her friend’s change of heart, Rebecca pulled Emmeline into a tight hug. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

Emmeline clung longer than usual before stepping away and looking over at her sister. “What do you say, Bess? Want to go on a picnic this afternoon?”

Bess set the final plate on the stack she’d been building, put the dish towel on top of the pile, then picked up her bonnet. She tied the ribbons under her chin as she moved toward the back door. Hand poised on the doorknob, she waited for Emmeline and Rebecca. Mild impatience flickered in her eyes.

“I suppose we know her answer,” Rebecca said, smiling.

“I suppose we do.” Emmeline joined her sister at the door.

Now both young women looked eager to go.

Rebecca couldn’t have been more pleased.

As they made their way to the heart of town, the heavy breeze carried a faint scent of sawdust and tar. Given the hour, Rebecca wasn’t surprised to hear the sound of hammers pounding nails.

As if to add its own profound statement, the schoolhouse stood bold and unflinching against the backdrop of the clear blue sky, telling all who cared to look that it had withstood the tornado without a scratch.

Smiling at the reminder, Rebecca followed Emmeline and Bess up the front steps. They found Cassandra dusting an empty shelf in the back of the building.

The pretty schoolteacher wore a lilac dress in a simple striped pattern. The soft color complemented her dark hair and light eyes, making her look beautiful but still approachable. It was no wonder two men were vying for her affection.

“Want to join us for a picnic?” Emmeline asked, looking more lighthearted than she had when she’d first arrived.

Cassandra’s hand stilled. “Now? I—” Her eyes widened as she scanned the rest of their group. “Oh, hello, Bess, Rebecca. Did you do the cooking?”

“I did. With Bess’s help.”

“Well, then, count me in.” She set down her duster and proceeded to put on her bonnet and gloves. The four women exited the schoolhouse wearing matching smiles.

As before, the streets were filled with the activity of a typical summer afternoon. Along with the sound of hammering, the lazy clip-clop of horses’ hooves mingled with children’s laughter. A dog yapped in the distance.

Cassandra linked arms with Emmeline. “Where are we eating this picnic of ours?”

“I know a place, just on the edge of town.” Emmeline swung her gaze to Rebecca. “Unless you have somewhere else in mind?”

“I’m sure your spot will be perfect.”

The day pulsed hot, but Rebecca didn’t mind. It felt good to be outside with her friends. Breathing in the thick, sticky air, she looked to the cloudless sky and smiled. Nothing bad could happen under such pristine, unmarred blue.

Humming softly, she kicked aside a rock just as Cassandra released Emmeline and slowed her pace to match Rebecca’s.

“So.” Cassandra peered at the basket in her hand. “What are we eating this afternoon?”

“Scones and blackberry jam.”

“That sounds wonderful.” She clutched Rebecca’s arm with glee, but then stopped abruptly. “Oh. Hello, Clint.”

The cowboy’s chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm. His mouth worked, but no words came forth. Rebecca could feel the tension in him, even as she willed him to say something.

Unaware of the awkward moment, Bess scooted to his side and gave him a look of pure adoration. When he didn’t acknowledge her, she tugged on his arm. He dropped a quick, paternalistic smile, then locked his gaze onto Cassandra once again.

A pretty pink colored the woman’s cheeks in return.

“Hello, Clint.”

He grinned. “Cassandra. You’re looking mighty pretty today.”

Her blush deepened. If Rebecca had any doubts as to how her friend felt about Clint, she had her answer now.

“The four of us are going on a picnic.” Cassandra pointed to the basket in Rebecca’s hand to punctuate her statement.

He nodded, but then his eyes widened in alarm. “You’re planning to stay close to town, right?”

“And if we weren’t, what would you do?” She blinked rapidly at the man, while her tone was a mix between teasing and goading.

What game was Cassandra playing?

Clint’s tone took on a hard edge. “Promise me, Cassandra, promise me you’ll stay in sight of town.”

“Yes, of course we will.” But her eyes said differently, and her stance dared him to force the issue.

Shocked at her friend’s behavior, Rebecca waited for Clint’s next response.

“Right.” He shook his head as if to clear out the mush. “Remember to stay close to town,” he yelled after them.

Cassandra tossed him a dismissive wave.

Once they passed the last building, Cassandra’s nonchalant expression changed. She looked frustrated one moment, pleased the next, and then her face scrunched into a scowl. The scowl stuck.

Studying Cassandra with an amused grin, Emmeline directed their group to an idyllic spot under a large cottonwood tree spitting white, fluffy wisps into the air.

Rebecca spread their blanket over a flat patch of grass under the tree. A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead while the musical sound of water bubbling over rocks tickled the air.

She loved this land. The harsh beauty charmed her. She tolerated the heat, welcomed the cold, appreciated the fertile land and generally enjoyed the frontier. This was home.

With Clint’s warning fresh in mind, she forced her attention back to town. They were close enough to see the church. The boardinghouse was visible, as well.

“Emmeline, you were right,” Rebecca said with satisfaction. “This is a perfect spot for a picnic.”

Emmeline’s grin turned smug. “I know.”

Bess smiled.

Cassandra, however, made a strangled sound in her throat. If possible, her scowl deepened as she proceeded to march around the blanket. After completing a full pass, she pitched out a huff, spun around and retraced her steps. This time, her arms flapped at her sides in obvious frustration.

“Is something wrong?” Emmeline asked innocently.

Head down, arms pumping, Cassandra glowered. “That man makes me so mad.”

Rebecca and Emmeline shared a meaningful look.

“And what man would that be?” Emmeline asked.

“You know what man. Clint. Clint Fuller.” She stalked around the blanket. “Did you see him back there?”

“Oh, we saw him.” Still grinning, Emmeline took the basket from Rebecca and set it on the ground next to her feet. “But I don’t remember him doing anything wrong.”

“Ha. The man treated me like a child, ordering me to stay close to town.”

“He was concerned for your safety,” Rebecca pointed out.

“Well of course he was concerned.” Cassandra slapped her thighs. “It wasn’t what he said, precisely. It was how he said it, all bold and demanding…and…and…brotherly.”

Rebecca hid a smile behind her hand. “And brotherly is a bad thing?”

“It’s awful. I already have a brother, I don’t need another one. I mean, really. Would it kill Clint to show a little more interest in me? Would it hurt him to treat me like, say, Percy does?”

Cassandra sank to the ground on a huff. Emmeline lowered to the blanket, as well, carefully arranging her skirt around her feet. “Not to state the obvious, dear, but Clint’s not Percy.”

“That’s right,” Rebecca agreed. “Clint is kindhearted, full of integrity and—”

Cassandra’s gaze whipped to Rebecca. “How do you know Clint so well?”

Raising her hands in surrender, Rebecca adopted what she hoped was a nonthreatening expression. “I don’t know him well at all. He comes to eat at the boardinghouse occasionally.”

Cassandra did not look happy at that answer.

Nor did Bess. The girl dropped to a spot on the edge of the blanket. A lone tear escaped her eye. Rebecca twisted her lips into a frown. Unrequited love was an awful business. She knew all about that sort of pain firsthand. Her morning discussion with Pete was still fresh in her mind.

Deep down, she’d expected him to proclaim his love right there in the kitchen. But when he’d looked at her with that stunned expression, she’d known she’d pushed him too far. So she’d given him a few days to think about what she’d said. Had that been a mistake? Probably.

But now was not the time for her to dwell on her problems. She’d made a conscious decision to champion Clint in his bid to win Cassandra’s hand. There might not be another chance.

“Cassandra, I think you should know that Clint asked me to give him manners lessons.” She swallowed her nervousness. “Mrs. Jennings is helping, as well.”

“Manners lessons?” Cassandra rose and started marching around the blanket again. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

“Why would Clint care about manners?” Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. “And why would he go to you and Mrs. Jennings? Why not ask Emmeline? Or her mother, for that matter?”

Rebecca thought over her answer while she unloaded the picnic basket. She had no idea why Clint had turned to her. The Lord often used unlikely vessels to accomplish His work.

“I don’t know why he asked me,” she admitted. “But, Cassandra, his only goal is to impress you.”

She stopped in midstomp. “He told you that?”

Rebecca nodded. Bess sniffled. Loudly.

Patting the girl’s hand, Rebecca continued, “He was at the boardinghouse on Tuesday when you and Percival arrived. The sight of you with another man made Clint miserable.”

“It did?”

Rebecca nodded again. “Very miserable.”

“Oh. Well. Hmm…” Her scowl relaxed. A little.

With a shuddering sigh, Bess rose from the blanket. She wandered away from their group and then leaned her shoulder against the tree’s trunk. Hugging her arms around her waist, she dug her toe at an exposed root.

The poor girl looked so unhappy that Rebecca’s heart clunked against her ribs. But she couldn’t stop now. “Cassandra, Clint really likes you. He told me so.”

“Well, I wish he would tell me how he feels.” Cassandra wore a frustrated expression. “I can’t read his mind.”

“Like I said earlier, he’s not good with words.”

“He’s like your husband,” Emmeline offered with a cryptic note in her voice. “Isn’t that right, Rebecca?”

Rebecca opened her mouth to deny the comparison, then shut it just as quickly. Why hadn’t she made the connection before? Clint Fuller was very much like her husband, a little rough at times, often soft-spoken, but inherently kind—deep at the core, where it counted.

And both men had too many unspoken words in them, words they couldn’t seem to say to the women they cared about.

In that moment, Rebecca realized the truth. Pete cared for her. He just didn’t have the words to tell her. Was it enough to know her husband cared for her?

The answer, sadly, was no, she couldn’t live like that. She needed to hear the words. Because no matter what Pete felt, if he wouldn’t open his heart to her, if he wouldn’t at least show her he cared, they could never have a fulfilling marriage.

Rebecca feared she was losing Pete. One silent, unspoken word at a time. She sympathized with Cassandra’s frustration.

“I suppose,” she said with a sigh. “The two men—”

A high-pitched shriek filled the air. Followed by another.

Rebecca and Emmeline jumped to their feet. Cassandra froze on the far edge of the blanket.

The piercing cries came again. From the direction of the tree. And—Rebecca gasped—they were spilling out of Bess’s open mouth.

Bess Carter was screaming.

Emmeline rushed to her sister. “Bess, what’s wrong?”

The girl continued filling the air with high, shrill howls.

She was clearly terrified and pointing frantically across the riverbank. Rebecca looked in the direction she indicated.

On the rise, a few hundred yards away, three Kansa braves stared at them from horseback. She suppressed her own answering scream, even as her heart took a fast dip in her chest.

The Indians were close enough for Rebecca to see their hard, angry faces. All of their hair had been plucked from their heads, except for a long, fearsome strip down the middle.

Blind panic slithered along her spine, stealing her ability to take a proper breath. She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from crying out. One of them had to remain composed.

Lord, please fill me with Your courage.

Emmeline gripped her sister’s arms. “Bess, calm down. What’s gotten into you?”

Emmeline had yet to notice the Indians.

Bess continued screaming, but instead of pointing to the rise, she now clawed at her sister’s hands, slapping them frantically away from her.

“Cassandra,” Rebecca whispered. “Help me pack up.”

“What about Bess?” she asked. She stared at the girl with a concerned expression, but without a spot of panic in her eyes.

Cassandra hadn’t seen the Indians, either.

As calmly as possible, Rebecca motioned to the braves.

Cassandra gasped. Fear instantly filled her gaze, but she had the presence of mind to remain outwardly calm. She gathered their scattered picnic with quick, jerky movements.

“Emmeline.” Rebecca raised her voice over Bess’s terror. “We must return to town at once.”

As quickly as she’d started, Bess stopped screaming.

At last, Emmeline looked in the direction her sister had originally pointed her finger.

The rise stood empty. The Kansa braves had disappeared.

“What is it?” Cocking her head, Emmeline looked back at Bess in confusion. “What on earth do you see out there?”

Bess gathered in a large gulp of air. And another. With each panting breath she took, her gaze turned more and more vacant. After another round of gulps, she was back to the silent Bess they all knew.

Sensing the immediate danger was over but not taking any chances, Rebecca maneuvered between the sisters and turned them in the direction of town. “Let’s get moving.”

Emmeline yanked away from Rebecca and grabbed for Bess. The girl jerked out of her reach.

With a helpless look in her eyes, Emmeline focused her frustration on Rebecca. “Do you know what made her scream?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Emmeline started to argue, but Clint Fuller came running up to their group. He skidded to a stop in front of Cassandra. “I heard shouting. Are you all right?”

Cassandra dropped the picnic basket and vaulted into his arms. “Oh, Clint. It was awful. On the rise. We saw…” She heaved in a mouthful of air. “Indians.”

“Bess.” Emmeline gasped. “You saw Indians?” She yanked the girl into her arms. “That’s why you screamed?”

Bess didn’t answer any of Emmeline’s questions. But she didn’t struggle free from the choking hug, either.

For his part, Clint kept Cassandra in the safety of his arms only a moment longer. Then he set her away from him and searched her face. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

She shook her head. “Just scared. Bess saw them first.”

Eyes filled with worry, Clint walked over to the girl and touched her shoulder. She stepped away from her sister and blinked up at him.

“Is that why you screamed? Because you saw Indians?”

Bess’s face crumpled. Tears spilled unchecked down her cheeks, but she didn’t respond directly to his question.

“Have you seen them before?” he pressed.

She lowered her head, the gesture neither confirming nor denying his suspicions.

“Well, either way.” Clint gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Thank God you’re safe. Thank God you’re all safe.”

“Yes. Yes.” With shaking fingers, Emmeline adjusted Bess’s bonnet, fussing over her like a mother rather than a sister. “We better get Bess back to the Circle-L. Maybe she can tell us more once she’s feeling safe again.”

Bess kept her head down, effectively shutting them out of her silent world.

Frowning, Clint turned to Rebecca. As though sensing she was the most composed of the group, he asked, “Do you think the Indians are still out there?”

Even though the initial fright was over, Rebecca’s panic still battled for release. “Probably not,” she said in a surprisingly steady voice. “They were only there for a moment, and left almost as soon as Bess started screaming.”

“All right.” He swept his gaze over the others, focusing on Cassandra longer than the rest. “Let’s get all of you home.”

“I…” Emmeline hesitated. “Maybe we should take Bess to see Doc Dempsey first.”

“That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “I’ll escort you myself.”

“No need.” Emmeline visibly relaxed as she focused her gaze toward town. “Here comes my husband.”

Sure enough, Will Logan was running flat out in their direction. His face was void of emotion, but his eyes were hard as iron.

“I heard screaming,” he said, stopping directly in front of his wife. His gaze searched her face, while his hands ran along her arms and shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

In a halting tone, Emmeline told him everything, starting with Rebecca’s suggestion of a picnic and ending with Bess’s screams. By the time she finished, they’d drawn a small crowd.

Will grimaced at the gawking faces staring back at him.

“Clint, let’s get the women to safety and then meet back here. We might still have time to catch up with those braves.”

Clint’s nod signaled his agreement.

Rebecca didn’t think they needed to search for the Indians. What had the braves done, anyway, other than stare at them with harsh, severe expressions? Of course, no one asked her opinion on the matter. Clint had moved back to Cassandra’s side. Will Logan bent over Bess and Emmeline and whispered softly to them.

Rebecca stood alone. All alone.

There was no one to ask her how she was doing, no one to care that she might still be frightened. Not even the gawking crowd gave her notice. She was ignored completely. Forgotten.

Like so many days in her youth.

She couldn’t help but wonder why her husband hadn’t rushed to her side. Why hadn’t Pete sensed she was in trouble?

She knew her thinking was probably skewed because of the fright she’d just had. Nevertheless, as she scanned the crowd for her husband’s face, one dreadful thought emerged.

Pete didn’t care for her. Not enough. Not like Will cared for Emmeline, and Clint cared for Cassandra. If he had, she wouldn’t have needed to give him an ultimatum this morning. And he would be standing here now, with genuine concern on his face.

She’d been foolishly holding out hope that things would change between them, that their marriage would be more than a way to stop nasty gossip. She’d prayed Pete would come around and consider her more than a friend. Instead, her greatest fears had come to pass. She was living her childhood all over again, with a man who was nothing more than an affable stranger.

There was nothing left to do but accept defeat. Companionship was the most she could expect from her husband now.

She should have never prayed for more.

Chapter Eighteen

Pete heard the screams just as he made his afternoon trek from the livery to the smithy. The terrible shrieks tumbled on top of one another in a constant, gut-churning sound of utter panic. Human panic.

Poised between the two buildings, he held himself perfectly still until he could decipher the direction of the cries.

They came from the east.

He set out at a dead run.

Each jarring step he took sent unbridled fear blazing through him, cutting past his calm with the power of an unquenchable fire.

Please, Lord, he prayed. Please, let Rebecca be safe.

Without breaking stride, he rounded onto Main Street.

The screams stopped abruptly and an unnatural hush fell over the town. Something in the eerie silence frightened Pete far more than the shouting had.

He pumped his legs faster.

As he ripped past the town hall, his strides attacked the ground in a ruthless cadence that matched the thrashing of his heart.

Up ahead, just on the edge of town, a crowd had gathered in a tiny grove.

He couldn’t stop the horrifying feeling that Rebecca was in danger. Perhaps the Tully brothers had returned to follow through on the threat they’d made to Edward.

Rage followed the thought. Rebecca was his. His. Pete had been a fool not to make that clear to her. He’d had the chance this morning. He should have never honored her request “to think” about what sort of marriage he wanted. He should have told her he loved her. Right then. Right there.

Now it might be too late.

He pushed himself harder, even as defeat wavered in his mind. All his life, his strength had been enough to control his fate, and that of those he loved. He’d been the protector in his communities, a sentinel of raw, physical power for those weaker than himself.

He’d never failed in his role. Until Sarah.

And, if the roiling in his gut was a premonition of things to come, he faced yet another situation where his outward strength might not be enough.

Lord, this is too big for me. I call on Your strength.

Careening to a stop along the perimeter of the assembled crowd, he searched for Rebecca. She was here. He could feel her presence.

For a moment, he thought he saw the top of her golden head just inside the circle of onlookers—no one had hair that glorious shade—but people shifted in front of him, effectively obscuring his vision.

“Move aside,” he barked, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs.

The knot of people coiled tighter together.

Snarling with impatience, he shouldered his way forward. “Let me through.”

Desperation had him scanning every face as he went.

No Tullys in sight.

No Rebecca, either.

Pete swallowed his rising panic and broke through the bulk of the crowd.

On the other side of the grove, Will bent over Emmeline and her younger sister. To their left, Clint Fuller gripped both of Cassandra Garrison’s hands. He spoke calmly, yet earnestly to her. And to their left…

Rebecca stood alone. All alone.

Pete’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of her dejection.

Too paralyzed with fear to move his feet, he willed her to look at him. But she kept her head lowered, making it impossible for him to see her face.

He straightened his shoulders and lunged in his wife’s direction.

“Rebecca,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Her head lifted, slowly, and then their gazes met. Locked. Held.

Her lips wobbled. Just a little. And then, one silver tear slid down her cheek.

“Rebecca?” he said again, surprised at the rustiness of his own voice.

She moved her head from side to side. The gesture made her look disoriented, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was standing in front of her.

Pete gripped her shoulders gently. “Are you hurt?”

It was the wrong question to ask. He knew it by the soul-deep disappointment in her gaze. How many times had Sarah looked at him like that after he’d moved her to High Plains?

The crowd closed in around them.

Pete didn’t care. Let the nosy people gawk all they wanted. He had nothing to hide. He loved his wife. It was time he told her. But first, he had to make sure she wasn’t injured.

Keeping his hold light, he rolled his gaze over her, taking in every lovely, gorgeous, untouched inch.

She was all right.

Except…

She wasn’t.

As if to prove him correct, the rest of her tears erupted from her eyes, trailing one right after another down her cheeks.

He’d let her down. He didn’t know how, didn’t know why, but his failure was there in her tears.

He was losing his beautiful, kindhearted wife with each silent moment he let pass between them. And yet, words continued to back up in his throat, strangling his ability to speak.

He rubbed his thumb across one of her wet cheeks and put his feelings into his eyes. Surely she could see how much he loved her. Or…

Maybe she couldn’t.

He knew what he had to do. He had to say the words. And he had to do it in front of all these people.

So be it.

“Rebecca, I lo—”

“Rebecca.” Edward heaved Pete out of the way and yanked her into his arms.

She stood unresponsive in her brother’s hold. The insight brought Pete no consolation. Something was wrong with his wife and he knew he was the cause.

“Rebecca.” Edward patted her back as though she was a small, frightened child. “Tell me what’s happened.”

All the while her brother urged her to speak, Rebecca’s eyes never left Pete’s face. She silently pleaded with him for…for…what? What did she want from him?

A wave of frustration shook his entire frame.

Edward stepped back and studied her blank face. “Are you all right? I’ve never seen you this upset.”

This moment was all wrong. Pete should be the one holding his wife. He should be the one asking the questions. He should be the one offering comfort.

Enough.

Prepared to battle her own brother, Pete reached for his wife. His wife. But as soon as he pulled her against his chest, Clint Fuller joined them. His face carried a stern expression.

Obviously, the cowboy had important information to share. Pete released Rebecca, but he kept her within reach.

“Clint,” Edward said. “Tell us what happened.”

In a staggering voice, Clint explained about the women’s picnic and how it had been cut short by the appearance of Indians on the rise across the river. “The screaming you heard came from Bess,” he added. “Emmeline’s kid sister.”

Pete’s heart stuttered to a stop. “You were—” he touched his wife’s arm with a trembling hand “—that close to Kansa braves?”

“It was nothing.” But her eyes were distant. Empty.

Pete knew that look.

She was shutting him out. Just like Sarah had done in those final, awful days.

But Rebecca never shut him out. Hadn’t she bravely spoken her mind just his morning?

In the face of her confusing behavior, Pete couldn’t summon a single word in response.

Edward had no such problem. “Well, thank God you’re safe.” He tugged her closer to him, and farther away from Pete. “I don’t know what I would have done had I lost you.”

At her brother’s declaration, Rebecca’s face crumpled into a look of pure gratitude. In that awful moment, Pete realized those were his words. The ones he was supposed to say to his wife. The ones she’d been waiting for. But her brother had beat him to the punch.

“Don’t fuss, Edward.” She patted his arm, her smile soft and sisterly. “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Pete saw the devastation in her eyes, simmering below that brave face of hers. She turned her gaze back to Pete and all pretense of courage disappeared, replaced by a look of total defeat.

She’d given up on him. On them.

If she thought he’d let her go without a fight, she was mistaken. Pete knew exactly what he wanted now.

He wanted Rebecca. By his side. Always. He should have told her when he’d had the chance.

Hand out, he stepped forward, moving in the same, careful manner he would use on a spooked horse. “Let’s go home, Rebecca. Please, come home with me now.”

“Not now.” She took a small step away from him. “I…I have to cook for the boarders this evening.”

What?

The crowd strained closer, as though sensing Pete’s next words would seal his fate.

He glared at a few of the boldest. “Mrs. Jennings can do without you tonight.” He practically growled his words.

It was a mistake.

Rebecca lowered her head and twined her fingers together at her waist. “No. She can’t.”

Pete’s heart thundered in his chest. Rebecca was acting just like Sarah had during her final days of life with him. But Rebecca wasn’t Sarah. She was stronger.

She needed to hear why her strength was important to him. She needed to know about his past. All of it. How he’d let Sarah down, how unhappy she’d been in High Plains and the mind-numbing fear that he would make Rebecca equally miserable.

He’d been wrong to keep the truth from her this long. Out of pride he’d withheld too much.

He’d allowed fear of the unknown to stop him from embracing his marriage to Rebecca.

That ended. Today.

“Come home with me,” he said.

“I’m going back to the boardinghouse.” Her words were barely above a whisper, yet full of conviction.

“All right. Later, then. We’ll eat together. We’ll talk and—”

“No.” Her gaze whipped to his. “We won’t.” He’d never seen such anger in her eyes. “We never talk. I talk. You walk away.”

With a collective gasp, the crowd pressed closer.

Pete ignored their interest and kept his gaze firmly on his wife. “You’re right. But not tonight. Tonight I’ll stay with you.”

“You know that’s not true.” She shook her head sadly. “Under the circumstances, I think it’s best if I return to the boardinghouse for…a while.”

He glanced at her uneasily. Her words sounded final. “A while?”

A sob broke free from her lips. She pressed her fingertips to her mouth and stared at him with horrified eyes.

“Rebecca, please, I—”

“No.” Without another glance in his direction, she spun on her heel and shoved through the crowd.

Once free, she broke into a run.

Pete set out after her, but Edward’s powerful grip on his arm stopped him. “Let her go.”

“I can’t.” Pete shook off the big Norwegian with a hard flick. “I need to tell her I’ll come this evening and escort her home.”

Edward met Pete’s gaze with an unbending glare. “Maybe you should wait a day or two, give her time to settle down.”

“She’s my wife,” he ground out. “She’s had a scare. I should be the one to help her settle down.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Edward looked at the interested faces surrounding them, then slammed his lips into a hard, grim line.

Jerking his head toward the riverbank, he directed Pete to follow him to a secluded spot near a large cottonwood tree.

Once they were relatively alone, Edward began again. “Let me ask you a question.”

Pete swallowed back his impatience. “Yeah, all right.”

“Do you love my sister?”

Of course he loved her. It might have taken this frightening incident to highlight the truth in his mind, but he did love Rebecca. More than he thought possible. If something—or someone—threatened Rebecca, Pete would do whatever it took to protect her. Even fight to the death.

He couldn’t lose her now that he’d discovered the depth of his feelings. He—

“Pete.” Edward’s voice cut through his thoughts. “It’s not a complicated question. A one-word answer is all I need.”

“Yes,” he said without reservation. “I love her.”

“I’m glad you’re able to admit it.” Edward nodded his approval. “But you better think of a way to show her, because right now she doesn’t think you care.”

Of course she didn’t. He hadn’t given her cause to believe in him.

He’d missed his opportunity this morning. And now he knew words wouldn’t be enough to convince Rebecca he loved her, not anymore. He’d have to make a grand gesture.

“I need to go.”

“Fine. But, Pete.” Edward’s voice stopped him mid-stride. “Whatever you have planned, it better be good.”

“It will be.” I hope.

Edward wasn’t through. “If you don’t convince her, if you let her down, I’ll take her away from here. To a place back East where people won’t hurt her anymore, including you.”

The heavy feeling in his gut warned Pete that Edward meant every word. But the big Norwegian was wrong to make that threat, and misguided. Maybe Sarah would have been happier back East among her family. But Rebecca’s family was here, with Edward and Pete. They could provide all the love she needed. He just had to prove that to her.

Fortunately, Pete had a good idea what he needed to do. Unfortunately, he couldn’t pull it off on his own.

But maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t alone. Maybe it all came down to whether or not Pete could submit his will to the Lord’s.

This is it, Lord. I place my future with Rebecca into Your hands.

Rather than feeling weak in his moment of submission, Pete felt strong. Stronger than he’d ever felt in his life.

He would pull this off.

Two days passed before Rebecca could think rationally about her marriage. Pete had yet to come for her at the boardinghouse, but she didn’t hold that against him. In fact, she bore a large share of the blame.

Now that her emotions had settled, she could look back over their last meeting with a logical eye. Pete had been filled with worry that day on the riverbank, worry for her. He hadn’t said the right words, no, but he’d tried.

She’d been too stubborn to accept his efforts for what they were—a genuine attempt to express his feelings, his caring, maybe even his love.

The truth had been right in front of her and she’d ignored it.

A knock sounded on her door an instant before Mrs. Jennings pushed into Rebecca’s room. “You have a visitor.”

Her heart dipped in her chest and she smiled.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry, dear.” Mrs. Jennings gave her an apologetic smile. “It’s only your brother.”

Rebecca sighed in disappointment. “I’ll be right down.”

Taking the steps slowly, she wondered when Pete would come for her.

What would she do if he didn’t come?

No. She couldn’t think like that. He would come. In his own time and in his own way.

Resolve firmly back in place, she joined Edward in the front parlor.

He stood with his back to her, looking rumpled and dusty, but physically strong. He was nearly healed from his battle with the Tully brothers.

Thank You, Lord.

“Edward? You wanted to see me?”

His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn around.

“What’s happened?” Fear made her voice shrill. “Is it Pete? Has he been hurt?”

“He’s fine.”

She blew out a sigh of relief just as Edward turned to face her. An odd expression filled his eyes.

“What is it?” she asked. “I can tell something’s wrong.”

He trooped over to the fireplace with big, clunky steps, leaned his forearm against the mantel, then dug his toe at a crack in the hearth.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I’ve just been wondering. Was it a mistake to send for you? Should I have left you in Norway?”

What a ridiculous question. Surely he knew her answer. “Of course it wasn’t a mistake. I love living in High Plains.” This was her home, perhaps more than Norway had ever been.

“What about all the trouble you’ve had in the past month? Don’t you have any regrets?”

Regrets? Over what? She’d experienced difficulties, yes. But she’d gained so much more. She’d made friends. Good friends. And she’d become Pete’s wife. Despite the current rift between them, Rebecca was glad she’d married him. Perhaps she’d allowed her fear to rule her heart these past two days, but she was through with all that. She was going to be strong now, bold.

To fortify her resolve, she called upon her favorite verse from the Book of Joshua, the one she’d recited throughout her travels to America, the same one she’d called upon when she’d finally decided to marry Pete. Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid.

“No, Edward. I have no regrets.”

His gaze filled with disbelief. “Your husband has left you here for two full days.”

“Pete will come for me.” She had no doubt her husband wanted her with him. And she wanted to be with him. Pete might not have pretty words in him, but he was a good man. A noble man. He was also kind and faithful and…glory, she really was in love with her husband.

Edward’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe he will come for you. But is that enough? What about Matilda and Abigail Johnson? They’ve treated you terribly from the start.”

Rebecca braced for the rage that always came at the mention of the Johnson women. But this time, when the terrible emotion came, the feeling didn’t overwhelm her. Her anger was slowly dissipating.

Rebecca knew it would take time for her to forgive the two fully, but she believed she would.

With the Lord’s help.

“Oh, Edward,” she said. “Not everyone has to like me.”

“Why are you so good?” he asked, his palm extending to touch her cheek.

She laughed. “I’m not good, just realistic.”

“No, you’re good. What else explains why you don’t hold a grudge against Matilda Johnson and her nasty daughter?”

“You want to know the truth?”

He dropped his hand and nodded.

“For weeks I’ve struggled with crippling anger toward those two.”

“Understandable.”

“Perhaps. But if I allow my anger to turn to hatred or, worse, bitterness, then I’m the one who loses. I won’t give either woman that kind of power over me. Besides, if the Lord can forgive me, I need to learn to forgive Matilda and Abigail.”

Edward didn’t look convinced by her argument. “But if it wasn’t for their mean-spirited gossip, you wouldn’t have been forced to marry Pete.”

With that one simple statement, all the pieces of the past weeks fell into place for Rebecca. “Who’s to say marrying Pete wasn’t God’s will for my life?”

And who was she to question God’s methods for bringing about His will?

“God’s will?” Edward spat the words. “What sort of God allows His child to be forced into an unhappy marriage?”

“My marriage isn’t unhappy.” Not completely. And hopefully not for much longer.

“Then why are you living here again?” Shoving away from her, Edward paced around the tiny room. “And why haven’t I seen you smile since your wedding day?”

Two very good questions, the last easier to answer than the first. “I haven’t smiled because I’ve been putting my own selfish concerns and needs ahead of my husband’s. Pete’s wife died a little over a year ago. It was wrong of me to expect him to get over his loss in such a short time.”

Edward stopped. “What if he never gets over her?”

“Then I live with that, and love him, anyway.”

“I won’t condemn you to such a fate.” Returning to her side, he stared intently at her. “Let’s leave High Plains. Tonight.”

She reared back. “What?”

His hands fisted at his sides. “Let’s move back East somewhere. Maybe Boston. Or New York.”

“But High Plains is my home. It’s your home, too. You love working with the horses at the livery.”

He lifted a shoulder. “So I’ll find a job as a farrier somewhere else. My training is complete. And you can work in a restaurant, or a boardinghouse like this one.” He swept his arm in a wide arc. “We’ll start over. In a place where people won’t judge you for something you didn’t do.”

Rebecca considered his suggestion for less than a second. “Oh, Edward, you’re sweet to offer, but I can’t run away simply because a few people in this town treat me poorly.”

“It could be different in a big city. Better.”

No, not better. It would be worse, because she wouldn’t have Pete by her side.

She knew what she had to do.

“I’m sorry, Edward.” She squared her shoulders. “I won’t leave my husband. I said vows before God and several witnesses. It’s time I lived up to those promises.” For better or worse.

She headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To find my husband.”

This time Pete would not walk away from her. And she wouldn’t walk away from him. Never again.

Chapter Nineteen

Rebecca burst out the door of the boardinghouse so quickly the handle whipped from her grip. The door bounced off the wall and then swung straight for her. She moved out of the way just in time, cringing at the sound of the door banging shut behind her.

Poised on the top step, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. A gentle breeze tickled her face, lifting her hair off her shoulders. She could not find pleasure in the moment.

Her emotions came too fast, one on top of another. Norwegian words fumbled over English ones in her mind. Yet every thought pinpointed to one goal—find her husband and make matters right between them.

She had no plan, just hope. And a lot of determination.

Lord, go before me. Smooth my path.

Tapping into every last scrap of courage she had, she hurried down the boardinghouse steps. She shoved at her hair, remembering another time she’d taken this same route—more than a month ago, when the tornado had blown through town.

On that fateful day, a similar sense of urgency had flowed through her.

Hurrying down Main Street, she cast a quick glance to her left. The town hall was taking shape, as were several other homes and businesses. The rebuilding of High Plains was more reality than talk now.

The town would survive the destruction left by the storm.

But would her marriage?

Yes. She would not allow any other ending to what had started out as a way to silence gossip.

Blinking past the bright afternoon sun, she realized she was not alone on the street. Navigating the labyrinth of activity, Rebecca rounded the corner of the mercantile with her gaze firmly planted at her feet.

Oh, Lord, please, she prayed, give me the words to convince Pete our marriage can be real. Help him believe that I can make him a good and honorable wife for the rest of our lives.

She broke into a run as soon as her feet hit the expanse of dirt and pebbles between the mercantile and Pete’s domain.

One, two, three. She counted each step. Ten more and she was outside the smithy.

“Pete,” she called into the gloomy building.

No answer.

She rushed to the livery. “Pete.” Her rising anxiety made her Norwegian accent heavier than usual. “Are you in there?”

Still no answer.

There was one final place to check.

She turned toward the house, but only covered a few yards when the object of her quest came circling around the back of the livery.

His steps were hurried, clipped. And his face was set in a determined scowl. She’d only seen that raw emotion in him once before. When he’d set out to save her life.

Her heart skidded to a stop, lifted and then stuck in her throat.

“Pete.” She gave him a shaky smile when he stopped a few feet away from her. “I, I wanted to say…” Her voice didn’t sound right. Why couldn’t she make her voice sound right? “I…hello.”

“Hello, Rebecca.” His eyes were unreadable, even as he circled his arms around her waist. He didn’t pull her close, rather he searched her face, then lowered his gaze and frowned. “You’re breathing hard. Are you hurt?”

“No, no. I was just rushing a bit to get here.” Her worry was finally receding, and now she felt a little foolish at her earlier surge of emotion.

He pulled her a step closer, his intense eyes never leaving her face. “Why were you rushing to get here?”

His voice was smooth, deep. Hypnotic.

Her breathing tripped in her lungs.

“To get to you.”

“I see.” The genuine pleasure in his voice sounded so natural, so easy. Unfortunately, his arms remained loose around her.

That would not do.

She pressed her palms against his chest and lifted onto her toes.

“I want to come home, Pete,” she whispered, right before she placed her lips against his.

At last, his embrace tightened.

After a wonderful, blissful moment, he stepped away and blinked at her. “Do you mean for good?”

“Yes.”

A softness filled his gaze, making him look more relaxed and approachable than she’d ever seen him. In fact, he looked somewhat smug.

“Come with me,” he said. “I have something to show you.”

He led her across the short distance to their home. “You might not believe me when I say this, but I was just at the boardinghouse looking for you.”

She hadn’t expected that. But she should have, especially when she realized he was just as out of breath as she was. “You…you were?”

“Your brother sent me back here.”

“He…he did?”

“He did.” He gave her a very masculine wink. “But I don’t want to talk about Edward, I have a surprise waiting for you in our home.”

“You…you do?”

She was starting to sound like an idiot. For once, she couldn’t blame her lack of witty responses on any language barrier. Her husband was confusing her, and filling her with joy at the same time. She rather liked the heady feeling.

“I’ve been working on this for two solid days,” he said. “I wanted to finish before I came to fetch you.”

“You were really coming for me.” She could hear the surprise and wonder in her voice.

Drawing to a stop, he rocked back on his heels.

She didn’t like his sudden silence. “Pete?”

“Was I wrong not to come for you sooner?” He skimmed his gaze over her face.

She knew that look in his eyes, had seen it in her own mirror just this morning. Her big, strong blacksmith husband was feeling vulnerable. “I think we both needed the break.”

“It’s our last one,” he said firmly. “You belong with me.”

“I know.” She placed her hand on his arm. “And I promise, I won’t leave you ever again.”

He heaved a relieved sigh. “And I’ll try not to give you a reason to go. Now, come. It’s time you saw what I’ve been up to in your absence.”

With a lopsided grin, he directed her up the front steps and then stopped again on the edge of the threshold. He stared at the door for a long moment. Clearly, he was contemplating how best to present his “surprise” to her.

She decided to help him out. “Should I close my eyes?”

“That would be nice.”

“Consider it done.” She slapped a hand over her eyes. “But you’ll have to guide me.”

“My pleasure.” He took her hand and tugged her forward.

His warm grip was a solid reminder of his steady, constant presence. Rebecca would never be alone again.

“Keep walking,” he said. “No, not that way, a little to your left. That’s it. Watch your step.”

She placed a tentative toe in the direction he indicated. “This way?”

“Precisely.”

She smiled, feeling surprisingly light-headed as his grip moved past her wrist to rest on her elbow.

“Follow my voice,” he urged.

Taking short, shuffling steps, she continued forward.

“Turn to your right.”

She did as he suggested.

“Okay. Stop.” His hands closed over her shoulders, his touch both firm and tender.

“Now, shift a little more to your right,” he said.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“No.”

She waited a heartbeat. “Now?”

“No. I’m going to let go of you. But whatever you do, don’t move until I tell you. And don’t open your eyes.”

She nodded.

He released her. Without his support, she swayed a little, but caught herself with a jerk. Now that her eyes were shut, her other senses took over. She could hear Pete shuffling around the room. The sound of a match striking was followed by the unmistakable odor of candle wax. He was lighting candles? How…sweet.

There was another scent in the room, not unpleasant but strong. She wrinkled her nose. Glue, perhaps?

Hmm.

Fighting back her impatience, she drew in a breath. “Can I open my eyes yet?”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Have a little patience, my love.”

His love? Did he just call her his love? Surely, she’d heard him wrong.

Disoriented, she flayed her arms out, trying to grasp for a piece of furniture or some other solid object. “What room are we in?”

“The one with the fireplace.”

What could he possibly have for her here?

“All right.” He moved behind her and whispered in her ear. “Open your eyes.”

Feeling suddenly anxious, she blinked, gradually focusing on her surroundings. For a moment, nothing looked out of the ordinary. Same fireplace, same mantel. And then she looked at one of the windows and gasped.

Curtains. Pete had put curtains over all the windows in the room. Not blankets nailed over the casings, but real curtains. And they were made out of the same material she’d ordered from Mr. Johnson.

Pete had done this for her?

Her eyes stung with an onslaught of grateful tears.

Blinking furiously, she held on to her emotions, barely, and turned in a full circle.

Not only had Pete mounted curtains, he’d hung wallpaper on all four walls. The wallpaper she’d ordered last week.

Glory.

“How did you know?” she whispered.

Without waiting for his answer, she rushed to the closest wall and traced the familiar flowered pattern with a shaking fingertip.

“Do you like the changes?”

“They’re…Oh, Pete, they’re wonderful.”

She heard him blow out a relieved breath. “The same day as your picnic, Mr. Johnson delivered the items you’d ordered. I hired Mrs. Morrow and her daughter to make the curtains. After a little convincing, they graciously agreed to make the project their first priority.”

Oh, Pete, you marvelous, glorious man.

“And the wallpaper?”

“Zeb helped me hang it last night. We finished right before sunup this morning.”

He’d worked all night hanging wallpaper? Her head swam with the realization that he’d done this for her. For her!

She pressed her palm against the wall to steady herself. A tear slid down her cheek, followed by another. And another. “I…I don’t know what to say. I—” She swallowed, her hand still flat against the wall. “Thank you so much.”

He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, then pulled her back against his solid chest.

I’m home, she thought, not just in this house, but with this man.

As though sensing the direction of her thoughts, Pete said, “You deserve to live in a home, Rebecca. A real one.” His voice was whisper soft against her ear. “I’m honored to be the one to give it to you.”

Placing her hands over his, she continued staring at the wall, suddenly afraid to turn around and see what was in his eyes. “I was thinking the same of you.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I’ve been making plans, you know.”

“I suspected as much when Mr. Johnson delivered your items. I took it upon myself to order several pieces of furniture, and a new set of bed linens. They’ll arrive in a few weeks.”

She relaxed her head against his shoulder, but then her mind latched onto something he’d said and she straightened. “You only ordered one set of bed linens?”

Sucking in a deep pull of air, he turned her slowly around to face him. “I was hoping we’ll only need one.”

She saw the love in his eyes. The hope. The promise.

Pete was finally asking her to be his wife, in the only way he knew how. Not in words, but in a bold gesture.

It was no wonder she loved the man. He was trying so hard.

But, in this, they had to speak plainly. “Are you asking me to share your bed?”

“Yes.” The intensity in his gaze took her breath away. “But I want to share more than just a bed with you. I want to share your life. I want a real marriage with you, and all that that implies. I should have told you this before now. I’m sorry.”

She’d never heard that many words from him. It must have cost him a great deal to speak his feelings that plainly. She owed him equal candor. “You don’t have to be sorry, Pete. I’m the one who should apologize. I never let you tell me how you felt, not that morning at breakfast or out in the grove after the picnic.”

“Sounds like we’ve both made our share of mistakes.”

She nodded. “I suppose we have. It’s all behind us now.”

“It is. But, Rebecca, I have to warn you.” His lips pressed into a sorrowful line. “I’m not good at making women happy. You’ll have to guide me. I don’t want to hurt you ever again.”

The pain and vulnerability in his gaze was real. She lifted her hand to cup his cheek. “It goes both ways. I don’t want to hurt you, either. So we’ll just have to figure out life and marriage together, with the Lord’s help every step of the way.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she stopped his words with a finger to his lips. He’d taken almost all of the steps so far.

This one was hers.

She lifted on his toes and pressed her lips to his. He stood rigid, his mouth hard and unmoving.

And then, his arms were around her and he was kissing her back. With enthusiasm.

She relaxed into him, sighing contentedly. They had finally destroyed that invisible line standing between them.

Only…

Pete pulled away from her again. His eyes weren’t regretful like the last time they’d kissed. But they were haunted. And filled with unspeakable pain.

“Pete?”

“We can’t go forward until we talk about the past.” He stepped back and raked his fingers through his hair. “I have to tell you about Sarah.”

Dread filled her. “Do you still love her? Is that what you have to tell me?”

“Sarah was my first love. There will always be a special place in my heart for her.”

Rebecca fought back a sick feeling at his words. Of course he would hold Sarah in his heart. It was the kind of man he was, and one of the reasons why she loved him so much. “I think I understand.”

“I’m glad. But, Rebecca, I’m afraid it’s more complicated than whether or not I loved Sarah, or even if I still love her. There’s room in my heart for you both. I know you know that. However…” He turned away, but not before she saw his grief.

She held her breath for the rest.

“There are things about Sarah and our marriage that I never wanted to tell you. But if we’re going to be happy I have to share the whole story, for your sake. And maybe even for my own.”

“Oh, Pete, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“I know. I’m not making myself clear.”

She saw the aloofness in him. There, in the way he held his body away from her. He was halfway out the door without moving a muscle.

Refusing to give up on him again, she reached out.

After a slight hesitation, he took her hand.

With her fingers wrapped in his solid grip, she knew whatever he had to say, no matter how horrible his story turned out to be, she wouldn’t stop loving him.

Perfect love casteth out fear.

Tugging on her hand, he directed her to the lone chair in the room.

Eyes focused on his, she sat, folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to begin.

He knelt in front of her. “I’ll start by telling you what most everyone in town already knows. Sarah was not a healthy woman. She was small and frail. This rough land was hard on her, perhaps too hard.”

Rebecca took his hand and squeezed.

“With Sarah’s physical limitations, she wasn’t strong enough to carry my child.”

She heard the defeat in his voice and her heart bled for him. “Oh, Pete.”

He drew in a ragged breath. “There’s more.”

Rebecca nodded, wishing he didn’t have to suffer through the pain of telling her this story.

“Sarah hated High Plains. She was miserable almost from the start. She begged me to take her back East, back to Belville, but I’d made a promise to this town. I couldn’t return home simply because she wanted to leave. I asked her to give our move a year, hoping she’d grow to love this land as much as I did. But if she didn’t come around, I was willing to leave. I waited too long. I realize that now. I—”

He cut himself off and swallowed, looking as though he wanted to be anywhere but here, in this room, telling this painful story. But he was telling the story. Rebecca had never witnessed such inner courage.

“Go on,” she urged.

“I think her unhappiness played a role in her death.” He swallowed. “Maybe that’s why the baby came a full month early. Maybe that’s what killed her.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” she said, desperate to wipe that terrible look of guilt from his eyes.

“That’s what Doc said. But Sarah was in such pain. All I could do was watch her agony. God forgive me, I couldn’t help her. Everything I did made matters worse. Doc couldn’t help her, either. We were both rendered helpless.”

“That must have been terribly frightening,” she said.

He shut his eyes. “You have no idea.”

But Rebecca did have an idea. She knew exactly what he’d witnessed. In that moment, she realized that what had seemed to be nothing more than following her favorite grandmother around as a child, had prepared her for this very moment in time.

God’s providence, along with Rebecca’s personal experiences, had brought her to this opportunity to offer her husband genuine comfort in his time of need. “Pete, listen to me, there was nothing you could have done to help her.”

“I made her miserable. That’s something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.” He glanced at her sadly. “Maybe if I’d taken her back to Belville she might have survived childbirth. Maybe if I had tried harder with her, talked more.”

“No, Pete.” Urgency made her words come out too fast. She forced herself to slow down. “Your guilt is misplaced. My grandmother was a…a…” What was the English word for jordmor? “She helped women birth their babies. As a young girl, I accompanied her on many of her calls.”

He cocked his head in confusion. “What does that have to do with Sarah?”

“Everything. I saw women die in childbirth, not often, only twice. But both times I was terrified. My grandmother explained that sometimes a mother isn’t strong enough to endure the birth of her child. It’s not something easy to predict.”

“Doc Dempsey said almost the same thing.” He turned his back to her. “But I can’t stop thinking I could have saved her.”

“Oh, Pete, only God has the power of life and death.”

“I can’t accept that.” He swung to face her. Raw panic filled his eyes. “Rebecca, sweet Rebecca, I couldn’t bear to watch you go through what Sarah did.”

She jumped to her feet. “I can’t guarantee I won’t, but I promise you, I’m very strong.”

The panic continued shimmering in his eyes. “I love you too much to lose you.”

“You…you love me?”

“With all my heart.” His words came out strong. Yet, still, the panic remained in his eyes.

“Oh, Pete, I love you, too.” Rebecca walked to him, placed her palms on his chest. “But there are no guarantees in life. We have to trust God. His grace is sufficient. That’s the promise we have as His children.”

Pete stared at her for a long, tense moment, the panic slowly dissipating with each silent breath he took. “Are you saying we have to take each day as it comes and praise the Lord for every blessed moment we have together?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Hope slid into his gaze, closing around the remaining shreds of his despair. “You’re willing to take that chance with me?”

She flexed her fingers into his shirt. “It’s why I came home.”

Smiling at last, he wrapped his arms around her. “I’m humbled by your strength.” His smile widened. “I love you, Rebecca.”

Glory. “I love you, too. Very much.”

His lips descended toward hers, but he stopped a whisper short and pulled back once more. “Should we get married again? As an outward sign of our new beginning?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She reached up and fiddled with the wedding ring tied on the leather string around his neck. “I kind of think our first wedding was rather perfect. The hand-picked flowers, you in a suit, Mrs. Jennings’s wedding rings. All of it.” She smiled. “Even the awful organ music.”

“You don’t mind that you were forced to marry me?”

She continued running her fingertip along the gold band. “I have only one thing to say to that.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“God bless Matilda Johnson and her ornery, gossiping soul.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” His head descended again. This time, when his lips were a whisper away, he said, “I love you, Rebecca, I pledge my life to you, always.”

Sliding her hands behind his head, she twined her fingers into the hair just above his collar. “I pledge my life to you, as well. For as long as I live, I’m yours.”

At last, he pressed his lips to hers, giving her the first in a lifetime of happily-married kisses.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing Heartland Wedding. I hope you enjoyed reading Pete and Rebecca’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. One of my biggest pleasures throughout the research phase of this book was learning how to cook some of my favorite Norwegian dishes.

No, I’m not Norwegian. But my darling husband is, all the way down to his blond hair, blue eyes and Nordic good looks. Every time he mentions a new adventure that involves a cross-country trek, I find myself thinking about his Viking ancestors. I must point out, however, that my husband grew up in a fine Christian home under the guidance of loving, godly parents who taught him good values and a strong work ethic.

Since I knew how much my husband enjoyed hearty dishes from the old country, I took it upon myself to make a few of the easier recipes in my own kitchen. An added benefit to this culinary undertaking was a newfound appreciation for my mother-in-law, Dee.

Because of distance, Dee was unable to guide me personally through the cooking process. However, she was gracious enough to send her most treasured recipes to me. I was determined to do each and every one of them justice. Unfortunately, I managed to fail more often than not. I will never master kumla, one of my husband’s favorites, and a very difficult dish to make. I bow to Dee’s expertise on that one.

I continue to attempt some of the easier recipes, with questionable success. For more information about my upcoming releases, or for a Norwegian recipe or two, please contact me at www.reneeryan.com.

Blessings,

Renee Ryan

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. Why is Rebecca concerned about her brother prior to the tornado hitting town? Do you think she’s overreacting? Why or why not? Would you put yourself in danger for someone you love? What would the circumstances have to be to do so?

2. Why do you think Matilda Johnson assumes the worst about Rebecca’s time alone with Pete in his storm cellar? Are her assumptions valid? Have you ever been on the receiving end of unfair judgment? How did that make you feel?

3. Pete’s first proposal manages to fall short. What did he do wrong? What could he have done differently? Do you think Rebecca was right to refuse him?

4. Do you think Edward was right to fight with the Tully brothers? Do you think Pete should have gone after the brothers once he knew the cause of the fight? Why or why not?

5. What did Pete do differently during his second proposal? Why do you think Rebecca agreed to marry him this time? What changed for her?

6. Why do you think Pete sends Rebecca back to the boardinghouse on their wedding night? If you were in Rebecca’s shoes, would you have been relieved or disappointed?

7. What do you think was in Pete’s mind when he decided to carry the kittens on his shoulders as he closed up the livery for the night? What do you think the kittens represented to him, especially after Clint gave him the locket?

8. Were you expecting the condition of Pete’s house to be quite that bad? Could you sympathize with Rebecca’s shocked horror? Why do you think Pete lived like that?

9. Abigail Johnson clearly learned her manners from her mother. How strong do you think we influence our children and others around us with our behavior? What sort of legacy do you want to pass on to future generations?

10. Why do you think Pete was reluctant to commit to Rebecca throughout most of the book? Have you ever held on to something from the past that hard? Why? What helped you let go? What advice would you give someone experiencing a loss like Pete’s?

11. Why does Rebecca give up on Pete after the incident with the Kansa Indians? What changes her mind three days later? In this time of disposable marriages, does Rebecca’s decision to stand by Pete seem old-fashioned or courageous?

12. What did you think of Pete’s grand gesture to win Rebecca back? Did you expect it, especially after he’d been so willing to live in squalor prior to that time? Was it enough to prove his love? Why or why not?

ISBN: 978-1-4268-4868-1

HEARTLAND WEDDING

Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This edition published by arrangement with Steeple Hill Books.

® and TM are trademarks of Steeple Hill Books, used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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[*]Charity House

[*]Charity House

Table of Contents

Cover

Books by Renee Ryan

About the Author

Title Page

Acknowledgments

Epigraph

Dedication

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Discussion Questions

Copyright