Page 35 of A Secret Heart
Rebekah rode toward the lone McGraw working in the yard. Ed. Her heart pounded.
She pulled up on the reins to halt Mabel a few feet from where Ed pushed a wheelbarrow of dirt, sweat leaving his dusty shirt clinging to him.
He settled the wheelbarrow next to the old well. When he lifted his face, she caught a glimpse of his expression from beneath the brim of his worn hat. A sort of curiousness mixed with anticipation.
As she dismounted Mabel, she let the reins drop to the ground. Her legs felt unsteady from her nerves as she landed on the ground not ten feet from where he’d been shoveling dirt into the old well.
“Afternoon.” He lifted his hand, brushing away the trickle from his forehead with the back of it.
With him standing there, the budding friendship between them having grown so precious to her, she couldn’t even choke out a greeting. Ed’s expression morphed in the silence. A sort of shadow falling over the eyes that had been so warm only minutes before.
Every part of her insides trembled at what she had to do. Asking Ed to give these letters to Isaac loomed ten times harder than rehearsing it in her head as she’d ridden out here. But the upright, impartial journalist she’d come to envision herself as had to do this. For her job. For her family. For herself. Her hand shook as she reached for the saddlebag, barely able to lift the flap. The letters must be delivered to Isaac. She had to tell him. Had to right this.
“You’re filling in the well alone?” The letters slid easily from the saddlebag into her hand.
He sent her a sharp look, then went back to shoveling.
“How is everyone feeling?”
Ed’s shovel raked through the dirt. A bird fluttered in the nearest tree. A light thump filled the air as the dirt hit the bottom of the hole. Lightning offered a nicker from the corral.
He kept his head down. “Better.”
“Has Isaac come off the mountain yet?” The letters weighed heavily in her hand as a flutter raced in her chest.
A soft snort escaped from him as he dug the shovel in again. “No.”
A little niggle of unease twisted inside her. How had Isaac’s letters been delivered to town if he was always away from the main house? And from his family? She knew how important the summer grazing was for the cattle. Every rancher around did.
When she saw him next, she’d find out how he’d managed it.
“Can we talk? Can you stop working for a few minutes, please?” Why was Ed making this so much harder on her?
Ed dug the shovel into the dirt, leaving it standing there. He turned to face her. The intensity of his stare further unnerved her. His expression reminded her of the old Ed. How she longed to see the man she’d befriended.
“If I can’t deliver these to Isaac, then…can I give them to you?” She thrust the bundle of ten letters toward Ed.
With one hand, he worked to pull off one of his gloves, then reached out to take the bundle. Questioning eyes met hers as he shifted.
“Those letters. They were addressed to the box you rented. Isaac’s box.” The words came out in stammers.
“All of these came today?” He knit his brows together in confusion.
She ran her hands across the front of her skirt, smoothing it even as she stood there, trying to force the words out of her mouth. “I held them back for reasons of my own. Selfish ones. I’ve explained it all in a letter to him. There on top.”
Ed ducked his head. Why didn’t he say anything? His jaw worked instead. He darted his eyes back to her again. “You’ve been writing to him?”
His mouth was set in a grim line, just like whenever he’d glanced at her back in their school days. He didn’t look surprised. He must’ve guessed.
When Rebekah nodded, Ed went back to staring at his boots.
“I know you’re not Isaac’s keeper”—to her horror, she began to ramble—“but the last few times I’ve been out to the ranch, I haven’t seen him. It’s important that he gets those. Will you give them to Isaac? I’d consider it a favor to me.”
His eyes lifted to scan the fields. A muscle in his jaw ticked. She’d proposed marriage to Isaac in the letter she’d written him—the letter that Ed was now holding in that bundle. The absurd thought intruded. How could she face this tension between them at a supper where the McGraw family gathered? She couldn’t bear it now, much less in a hazy, imagined future.
She gathered her skirt in one hand. “Will you tell Isaac that I’m sorry?” Her words tumbled out in a rush.
His nostrils flared. “You should tell him yourself.”
