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

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.

Heartland Wedding
Renee Ryan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.