Page 38 of Wild Spirit Revival

“I know,” she murmured, following his gaze. “It seems we’re both safe.”

Elijah nodded, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders. He knew he should let go and maintain the proper distance propriety demanded. For reasons eluding him, he couldn’t bring himself to break contact. The warmth of her body against his was a tangible reminder they’d survived, and the danger had passed.

“Your camera.” He looked at the box on the boardwalk. “Did you manage to get any pictures?”

Molly’s eyes lit up, her passion for her craft overshadowing the gravity of the situation. “A few. Not as many as I would’ve liked. Still, what I have will be on the front page in every paper from here to Chicago.”

He couldn’t help chuckling at her enthusiasm, marveling at how fast she bounced back from danger. It was one of the things he admired most about her. Molly possessed an indomitable spirit, refusing to be cowed by the harsh realities of frontier life.

“You’re something else, Molly O’Sullivan,” he said, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “A good number of women would be swooning or crying after what happened.”

She raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in her eye. “Well, I’m not most women. Besides, someone has to document the truth of life out here. Might as well be me.”

Elijah’s expression grew serious once more. “Just be careful, all right? I can’t always be around to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting, Elijah Beckett,” Molly retorted, her chin jutting out. “I can take care of myself.”

He sighed, knowing better than to argue. “I know you can. The same as I’m certain there are a few people around here who’d miss you if you got yourself killed.”

Their eyes met, an unspoken current passing between them. The moment was broken when the church doors slammed open.

“Look at that,” Molly murmured.

Elijah followed her gaze, his tolerant expression softening as he observed a large group of people spilling out from the church’s double doors. Men helped women down the steps while children darted between the adults’ legs, their laughter a welcome contrast to the recent gunshots.

As they watched, more people began to emerge from various storefronts. The door to Jennings Mercantile creaked open, revealing the round face of Mrs. Jennings, the shopkeeper’s wife. She blinked, clutching her shawl around her ample frame before stepping outside. Spotting Elijah, she waved, a broad smile transforming her face.

Before Elijah could respond, a commotion near the center of town drew their attention. Mayor Carl Jurgen had appeared, his thinning brown hair ruffled and his waistcoat slightly askew. Despite his disheveled appearance, the mayor’s voice rang out clear and strong.

“Good people of Mystic!” He spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “I assure you, the danger has passed. Our brave sheriff and his deputy have dealt with the miscreants swiftly and decisively.”

Elijah and Molly exchanged a look, a mix of amusement and respect passing between them. The mayor, for all his faults, knew how to command a crowd.

“Furthermore,” Jurgen continued, his words tumbling out in his characteristic rushed manner, “I see no reason why this unfortunate incident should derail our plans for celebration. The Fourth of July festivities will proceed as scheduled!”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the gathering crowd. Molly’s eyes widened, her earlier tension melting away. “Oh, Elijah, isn’t that wonderful? We’ll still have the fireworks and everything.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile, unable to resist her infectious enthusiasm. “I suppose it is,” he admitted. “Though I reckon the real fireworks happened a bit early today.”

She laughed, the sound clear and bright in the afternoon air. “Always the cynic, aren’t you? Come on, admit it. You’re looking forward to the fireworks as much as anyone.”

His features softened as he looked at her, marveling at her ability to find joy, even in the aftermath of danger. Elijah’s gaze shifted to the heavy camera equipment at Molly’s feet.

“We should get your camera to the jail,” he said. “I’m certain Brodie will let you take a photograph of the outlaw.”

Molly nodded, her earlier excitement tempered by the gravity of the task ahead. “You’re right. Afterward, I’ll move the camera out here for the puppet show.”

Elijah lifted the camera equipment and strode to the jail. As they made their way along the boardwalk, Molly scanned the town for other opportunities to capture with her camera.

“You know,” Molly mused. “I never thought I’d be taking pictures of outlaws when I came out west. It’s all quite exciting.”

Elijah grunted, his expression neutral. “Excitement’s overrated, if you ask me. Give me a quiet day on the ranch any time.”

They arrived at the jailhouse, where Brodie stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the weathered wooden interior. He nodded at Elijah before shifting his attention to Molly.

“What can I do for you, Miss O’Sullivan?”

Inside the jail, the atmosphere was tense. The captured outlaw sat hunched on his cot, his gaze darting between Molly and her camera.

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