Page 3 of A Forgotten Heart
“You want me to hold your letters?” Merritt asked.
“Better you holding on to them than any of my brothers getting hold of one. That is, if there are any.”
Merritt stifled a smile. “Of course there will be letters. You’re a good catch, Nick McGraw.”
He wasn’t so sure.
Footsteps sounded on the front porch, followed by someone stomping the snow off their boots.
Nick quirked an eyebrow. “Expecting someone?”
Merritt shook her head. “No. Since I know you need to leave, do you mind seeing who it is outside while I get something from the kitchen for Kaitlyn? It’s a new book for Jo that I’d like to send home with you.”
She didn’t give him a chance to answer as she disappeared into the kitchen.
He reached for the door just as it swung open. Nick stumbled backward to keep it from knocking into him.
“Sorry, Merritt!” But the woman with snow dousing her black coat and blonde hair peeking out from beneath a lopsided hat didn’t sound sorry.
She turned away and closed the door before he could get a look at her face. He felt a beat of recognition, even as she said, “Brrr, the temperature is dropping fast.”
She patted away the clumps of snow from her coat, the motion somehow familiar, then peeled off her gloves and shoved them into her coat pocket. “I sent the kids home early today withthe snow settling in. It’s the last day before break anyway. I hope it was early enough for them to get home.”
She turned while unbuttoning her coat. “I really need to talk to you.”
Her head tilted up and their gazes collided.
Nick’s breath seized in his lungs. He couldn’t move, his heart frozen mid-beat.
The overdone Christmas decorations faded away as he looked at the only woman who had ever noticed the real Nick McGraw.
Elsie.
Even thinking her name released a rush of memories from the place where he’d barricaded them. They rubbed against something so tender, so raw within him, that all his nerves fired at once.
Her face paled as she gave a heavy blink—as if she, too, wanted to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.
A drip of melted snow slipped from her hat. Her hand trembled as she brushed away the drop from her cheek.
His hand twitched, as if it remembered the softness of her skin, her hair, and longed for the connection. He clenched his hands until his nails cut into his palms.
Her jaw slackened before she said, “Nick?”
What was she doing here? In Calvin, Wyoming. At Merritt’s house.
The door—his means of escaping this torturous moment—was behind her. He couldn’t hear Merritt in the kitchen, but she was only steps away. He didn’t want to wait for a book or for anything.
He just wanted out of here.
Elsie fiddled with the pleat of her skirt, the same way she always had when nervous. “What are you doing here in Calvin?”
He forced out the words, though they cut his throat like glass. “I live here.”
Moments before reaching her friend Merritt’s house, Elsie Atchison had leaned into the wind working against her and shoved the letter deeper into her pocket.
I’d hoped to tell you in person, but I can’t wait any longer. I love you.
Love her? How could Arnold Nelson love her? He didn’t even know her. Not the real her hidden beneath layers of expectations she worked hard to meet.
