Page 23 of A Secret Heart
“Not that day, at least.” Before she could go on, he held up a hand.
“I always felt like I was in Isaac’s shadow. When you started reading your story, all I saw was Isaac being made out to be a hero again.” His jaw worked in a different sort of way. Not like when being forced to do a task he didn’t want to do. More like trying to hold on to a piece of himself to keep it from escaping for her to see. “I laughed to hide my hurt. It was never meant to hurt you. And I’m sorry for it.”
Her stomach dropped as she registered the fear in his face as he glanced at his family again. Here was the evidence that he was only human. He’d made a mistake.
As they sat together in the night’s quiet, all those years of promising herself she’d never forgive Ed McGraw faded away as so much foolishness. The mistake of a hurting boy clashed against the tenderness of the man sitting across from her now.
“You were just a kid.” She’d made her own mistakes, hadn’t she? Played her own part in this ongoing spat?
“Still. It wasn’t right.” He ducked his head. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she imagined him carrying her letters in his saddlebag after picking them up in town to unwittingly deliver them to his brother who rode the herd. Imagined him bringing Isaac’s letters back in return. Always doing whatever his family needed.
This Ed she’d seen today was so unlike the image she’d carried for so long. This man had ridden around with her all day as she’d pursued her story, then returned home to a sick family and put off sleep to care for them. This man had chosen to offer a truce. How could she not freely give him the forgiveness he asked for?
Rebekah straightened up in her chair and reached her hand out over the table. “Friends?”
A slight smile tilted up one side of his mouth. He swiped his hand across his britches to dust off crumbs from his sandwich, then lifted it to wrap around hers. A feeling beyond warmth, almost a tingle, jolted from his hand to hers. “Friends.” Her stomach tumbled even further.
Ed withdrew his hand slower than she’d expected, leaving her to contemplate this strange new sensation.
With his eyes averted, he cleared his throat. “You best try to get some rest. I’ll ride for the doctor in the morning.”
Chapter7
I’ve enclosed a pressed flower from a field near where I live. It is a favorite of mine…
…There are many things I dream of. Dreams are wonderful things that give us hope. And no man can live without hope. One dream I hold very dear involves you…
The delicate scrawl of the handwriting stared up at Ed, pulling him in to read the words one more time. He brushed the sawdust from his hand before picking up the softly scented paper. A pressed columbine fluttered to the ground. As he bent to grab it, the unfinished display case beckoned. He ran his fingers over the soft petals before placing the flower back on the bench. How well he knew the power of dreams. Only now, he’d added dreams of her, the woman intended for his brother.
After three days filled with running Rebekah to town, chasing down elusive clues for her story, and caring for a sick family, he finally had a moment to make progress on the display case. But he’d spent more of this early hour pondering Isaac’s latest letter.
He smoothed out the paper. This letter may have been intended for his brother, but in the moments Ed wrote to her, the letters belonged to him. As if she saw him, with all his hopes and dreams. Surely the woman on the other end felt it too. That connection with the real man behind the letters. So why did Ed also feel a pang of guilt? Guilt at writing under a pretense.
A light rap sounded on the door as it swung open, letting in the fresh morning light. Drew stepped inside, his face still as pasty-colored as the dough their mother used to leave out to rise.
“Morning. Wondered if you have a minute.” Drew’s eyes skimmed the sight of the half-finished display case.
Maybe he wouldn’t ask about it, but if he did, Ed might as well give him the speech he’d been rehearsing for the day when he would confront his brothers about a furniture business. A day he’d planned for the future, but why not today?
“Sure. C’mon in. How are you feeling?” Ed reached around to grab a stool for Drew, unsure if his brother had the strength to balance himself there for long.
“That another letter?” Drew pointed at the paper on the bench before settling himself on the stool.
“Same girl. Not so sure she’ll make a good fit for Isaac though.” How could she? He didn’t want to discuss this with Drew. Didn’t want to face the fact that she was intended for Isaac. Not when the letters sank into his heart like they did.
“Hand it here. I’ll take a look.”
Ed swallowed hard. “Not necessary. I’m taking care of it. You’re looking a little under the weather still.” He hurried to push the letter into the drawer of the bench before taking up a piece of wood for his display case. “Should you be up and around?”
Ed slid the plane over the wood intended for the side panel of the cabinet. The soft scraping worked to soothe his tension. Let his brother ask about the furniture. It’d be easier to explain than how he felt when he read the words in that letter. He lifted the plane to run his hands over the smooth wood.
“Keeping a homestead running doesn’t afford any time off. You know that.” Drew rubbed the back of his neck. Ed bristled. No doubt his comment meant to hint about the furniture.
Ed knew good and well that Drew was right. But no man could live without dreams. Without hope. He took another swipe over the wood. This was Ed’s dream.
Drew coughed, the action making him look a little green. “Doctor confirmed a poisoned well was why we all ended up sick. Said he’d let the marshal know and confirmed we can’t use the well again.”
“Quade?”
