by Cat Cahill
Jack lifted his fork to his mouth and nearly groaned with happiness. “I don’t know,” he said after he swallowed. “We could take a walk along the river, or climb the bluffs.”
Celia grinned, and he could see his own wild abandon begin to take over her thoughts. “The river is beautiful, no matter the time of year. Though the bluffs provide quite the spectacular view.” She paused. “I don’t know. Oughtn’t we do some work here? I need to make some more preserves . . . there certainly aren’t that many—”
“Celia.” Jack stood and set his napkin on the table before walking around to her. He took up her hands. “Play hooky with me today.”
“Play hooky?” She raised her eyebrows, clearly unfamiliar with the word.
“I mean leave the work for tomorrow. It isn’t going anywhere. You deserve a break from your worries.”
Her gaze flicked from him to the preserve jars waiting on the little wooden counter that sat against the wall. The morning light made her eyes look even paler than normal. He’d never seen eyes like that, not in his entire life.
“All right,” she said hesitantly.
He yelped in happiness, drawing her up in a little jig.
“Jack!” Celia laughed, her curls bouncing about her face as he took her across the kitchen floor. “I didn’t know you could dance.”
“I haven’t shown you anything yet,” he said as he turned her about.
She giggled. He turned her again, right back into her seat. She sat, still grinning as he held her fingers in his hand and bowed. “Thank you for the dance, my lady. Now eat up so we can take in the sights.”
He saddled the horses, feeling almost competent in the task, while he waited for Celia, who’d insisted on cleaning up the breakfast dishes. When they finally set off, Jack felt as if he were seeing everything for the first time. From Celia’s lovely form to the way the plains seemed to go on forever to the fluffy clouds in the sky. Even the chill here, as sharp as it was, seemed more bearable than it had been in New York. In fact, everything from New York seemed to be a distant memory, with the fear of Sullivan and Garrity Shane—along with the guilt he felt about his other investors—destined to slip into a forgotten place.
He shook his head. What was wrong with him? He was beginning to think of this as a place he wanted to be.
A home.
Chapter Fourteen
The North Platte wasn’t frozen yet, although with the air as cold as it was, it would happen soon. The banks were muddy from the light snowfall they’d received a few days ago, and bits of debris from the blizzard and subsequent flooding still lay strewn about on either side of the river between the trees. Despite the remnants from the flood, it created a lovely scene against the brown grasses, bare trees and firs, and blue sky that reflected in the water.
“It won’t be long before this begins to freeze over,” Celia said as they walked. They’d left the horses tied to a couple of trees, and Jack had taken up her hand as if it were the most natural thing to do. And Celia supposed it was for a married couple. She couldn’t remember Ned ever holding her hand, except for helping her into the wagon or other occasions that had required it. It was a wonderful, comfortable feeling, and she wished he might never let go.
“I’ve never seen a river this clear,” Jack said. He’d been looking at the bright blue water as they walked—when he wasn’t looking at Celia. “The rivers that border Manhattan look nothing like this. Although from the very tip of the island, you can see the ocean, and that was always my favorite. It’s hard to imagine how large it is from that vantage point. Once, when I was very young, my father took my mother and me out to picnic on a beach. From there, it looked as if the ocean went on forever.”
Celia listened to him in awe. Faith had been right after all. All she’d had to do was ask him a question or two, and everything she’d wanted to know came tumbling out. He hadn’t pulled farther away, as Ned had. In fact, it seemed as if he were eager to share more with her.
“I’ve never seen the ocean,” she told him as he led her around a large tree limb. “We lived too far from the Gulf to make it a worthwhile journey.”
“That’s too bad.” Jack glanced down at her, a smile in those dark eyes. “It boggles the mind, to see so much water with no land on the far side.”
“Didn’t you have any siblings?” The more he’d told her, the more Celia’s curiosity grew. She wanted to know about everything that made up this man she’d married.
He shook his head. “None at all. I made friends in our neighborhood for entertainment. My mother says that’s how I grew to be so good at speaking with people.” He laughed before growing somber.
“What is it?” Celia asked gently after a moment passed.
“It’s nothing.” He squeezed her hand and her heart jumped. “I lost both my parents not too long ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” Celia’s heart broke for Jack. It felt extravagant, having two parents alive and well back in Mississippi, while he had none at all.
“They tried hard to keep me out of trouble,” he said with a wry grin. “Tell me more about your family.”
“There isn’t much to tell.” Celia glanced out at the slow river and the copse of trees on the far side, thinking of home. “I miss my parents dearly, and my younger brother. But I’m thankful to be here with Faith.”
“And me?”
She turned to see him watching her with a cheeky smile, and she laughed. “Yes, with you.” She paused, assessing him for a moment. “I think my mother and father would like you.”
“You do?” He seemed to stand taller, as if that truly meant something to him. “I’m certain I would like them too, especially considering the wonderful daughter they raised.”
Celia couldn’t think of anything to say to that. The riverbank was high here, the river itself cutting into the land just a few feet below. A single tree grew precariously on the side of the steep, short hill. “Jack—oh!”
Her foot had slipped almost the second she’d begun to speak. And the moment she began to slide down the bank, the mud seemed to want more, pulling at her until she’d slipped to her knees, her hand yanking away from Jack’s and the cold water looming closer.
“Celia!” he shouted and tried to reach for her, but the mud was slick, and she couldn’t stop sliding downward toward the lazy, but freezing, river. She shrieked when her foot hit the water. It was as if she’d plunged it into ice.
He leapt forward and grabbed hold of the tree, sliding as he went, his feet going out from underneath him. But he caught himself and stretched an arm out to her. “Grab hold!”
She reached out her hand, trying desperately to catch his fingers, but the tips of hers only grazed his. “I can’t reach!” The motion made her slip further down. She pulled one knee upward, trying to climb and keep it out of the river even as her other leg seemed to go numb from the cold water.
Jack hauled himself up, just far enough to snap a large branch from the tree. “Here!” He slid back down and stretched it out toward her.
This time, her hand reached around the branch.
“Both hands!” he shouted.
Heart pounding, Celia tried to gather the courage to move her other hand to the branch. It seemed as if her fingers digging into the muddy bank were the only things keeping her from sliding entirely into the water below.
“Trust me,” he said, pleading eyes locking with hers.
She gulped, and, placing every ounce of her trust in Jack, let go of the bank to grab hold of the branch. With a strength she didn’t know he had, Jack pulled her upward with one hand, the other still locked around the tree’s trunk.
Slowly, she moved farther away from the water. When she was close enough to Jack, she grabbed hold of his arm, and then, the tree trunk.
Breathing hard, he scrambled up the bank until he was on the opposite side of the tree. “Here,” he said, and motioned to her to follow him.
Celia pushed against the ground, finding little bits of purchase here and the
re until she was crouched next to Jack. He pressed his feet against the trunk and then reached for her. Wrapping his arms around her legs, he lifted her upward. She crawled easily onto the little path on which they’d been traveling earlier.
She turned immediately as her body fought to catch its breath. Jack was balanced on the trunk, his head just barely clearing the top of the hillside. With a leap, he threw his arms over the top and hoisted himself upwards until he was lying next to her, both of them mud-covered and breathing hard.
After a moment, he turned to her. “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind for a day of fun and relaxation.”
Celia laughed so hard she began to choke. Jack reached over and gently rubbed her back until she stopped. His eyes caught hers, and suddenly she felt as if she couldn’t breathe all over again. They were alive. Jack had saved her. One of her shoes was entirely soaked through, but she could feel her toes and she was alive.
She lifted a hand and pushed the hair from his face. He lay perfectly still, as if her touch had some sort of power over him. Hesitating, but fueled with the sheer joy of simply being here, whole and breathing, next to this river with him, Celia let her finger drift down to touch the scar that sat nestled in the corner of his mouth. She wanted to know how he’d gotten it, but it was too hard to muster words at this moment. She’d ask him later. Right now, she simply wanted to be.
His hand clasped itself around the back of hers, but he didn’t stop her. The scar felt no different from the skin around it, although it lacked the barely-there stubble of hair that he must have shaved this morning.
Slowly, Jack pulled her hand down but didn’t let go. He kept it safely inside his, protective. Celia felt her worries drift away, every single one of them, as if they were only old, bad memories, sailing away on the Nebraska wind.
He rose up on his elbow and leaned over her. Celia’s breath seemed to tangle in her throat. He leaned closer, until his lips were but an inch above hers. Celia’s eyes fluttered shut, and despite the rapid and loud beating of her heart and the fear it might explode if he came any closer, she wished with all her might that Jack might kiss her.
A very feather-like touch against her lips sent a shiver up her spine, and then it was gone. In fact, he felt gone despite the fact that he still held her hand. Her eyes flew open to find him leaned back on his elbow and searching the path along the river behind her.
Celia sat up, her hand pulling away from his, and turned to see what he was looking at.
It was a pair of people, strolling along the path. Celia glanced at Jack, and without a word, they both scrambled to their feet. He offered her a muddy elbow, and she wrapped an equally muddy arm through it.
He paused a moment before they began walking, and brushed a curl from her face before bestowing her with the happiest smile she’d received in her entire life.
And together, they walked back to their horses, nodding hello and offering a warning about the muddy bank to Pastor Collins and his sister Beatrice, who both stared in horror at the mud covering their clothes.
Giggles rose in Celia’s throat after they passed, and she and Jack laughed the rest of the way back to the horses, the mud drying stiffly on their clothing and coats.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack drove the wagon to the livery, a few bales of precious hay stacked in the bed. McFarland had given him step-by-step instructions on how to hitch the horses to the wagon, and after a painful hour attempting to execute those directions as Celia pretended not to watch from the windows, Jack had headed to town to deliver the hay and a few items for Celia.
A chill wind was whipping into Last Chance across the river from the northwest when Jack left the wagon and horses at the livery. As he headed down the main road following the directions Celia had given him, something seemed . . . different. He passed several people before he realized what it was.
Men.
Last Chance had grown a sudden population of men. It seemed all sorts had answered the advertisement the ladies had placed—well-dressed and dapper men, farmers and ranching fellows, working men, and some less than savory sorts. He wondered what women in their right minds would go for the last when there appeared to be plenty of the others around.
He ducked his head against the wind. It felt like snow, and yet he hadn’t seen a single flurry yet. To be truthful, he was anxious about snow in this place after hearing the stories of the blizzards. He’d stood staring at the sky during the light snow that had fallen the week before, wondering if it might suddenly turn into a blizzard. He’d be the poor fellow stuck outside with a wagon and two horses, left frozen to death and widowing Celia for a second time. He shuddered and wondered if it were possible to remain at the farm for the entire winter.
He made a quick left onto Third Street and at the end of the road took another left. And there stood the leaning home Celia had directed him to. He knocked on the door, and a haggard-looking woman, likely only a few years older than himself but looking decades his senior, answered the door. Two children peered around her skirts, while a baby rested in her arms and an older girl held a toddler on her hip. Jack held up a small parcel and offered it to Mrs. Zack. “I’m Jack Wendler, Celia’s husband. She sent me with this into town for you. It’s salt pork.”
Mrs. Zack stared at the parcel for a moment before a tear leaked from her eye. “Thank you, Mr. Wendler. Please give Celia my thanks too. These little ones need meat, and this is such a blessing to us. Please tell your wife that I’ll send her some tea leaves as soon as I can.”
Jack smiled, his heart lifting. It was funny how such a simple act could make someone else so happy. And despite the fact that he’d been leery of parting with some of the precious little meat they had, the truth was that this family needed it more. At least he and Celia had no children to feed.
His mind spinning at the very thought of having children, a thought he’d barely spent more than a minute on here or there his entire life, Jack strode from the little home back toward the main road and his sister-in-law’s post office. He took the longer route, down the Grand Platte Road to the Stage Coach Road. He sidestepped a couple of fellows loitering outside the boardinghouse and nodded to another gentleman he passed. After crossing Main Street, he slipped inside the post office’s door, grateful for the heat emanating from the fireplace in the front room.
“Mr. Wendler,” Faith greeted him with an impassive look. He figured that was at least a step better than the outright disdain she’d shown him before.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Thornton,” Jack said formally. Celia’s sister made him feel as if he’d never live up to expectations. Whose expectations, he didn’t know, but Faith made him feel as if they were far, far out of his reach. “Celia wrote you. She asked me to drop the letter off while I was in town today.” He handed the folded letter to Faith, curious for the first time what was inside. Was she writing about him? He hoped it was something good. It had to be after the moment they’d shared by the river a couple of days ago, and the sly smiles she’d given him since then.
Faith took the letter and set it down as she walked around her counter. “It’s good you came by,” she said as she sorted through a stack of envelopes. “The stage yesterday brought in some mail and there’s something here addressed to you—here it is.” She held out a cream-colored envelope as if it were perfectly normal for someone to send Jack a letter.
He blinked at the letter in her hand. She shook it a little, seemingly impatient for him to take it. He obliged. It crumpled some in his hand as he gripped it.
“I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but I’m awaiting a response to a telegram.” Faith glanced at the telegraph machine.
The letter burning a hole through his hand, Jack bid her goodbye and stepped back out into the cold. A few steps from the post office, and he couldn’t take it any longer. He held up the letter. There was nothing that identified who it was from. But there was his name, plain as day, on the front with Last Chance as the address. The last name was a scrawl, but he cou
ld just barely make out the W. The postmark was from New York.
Who knew he was here?
Jack glanced about him as if the letter writer were right here in town, watching him. Absolutely no one should know where he’d gone. He’d left so quickly, he hadn’t time to tell a soul beyond the clerk at the newspaper office and the ticket seller at Grand Central. No one should have a reason to talk to the former, and the latter didn’t know him from any other man.
Had someone followed him that night? Found him at the depot where he’d sat, wrinkled and damp from the rain? Overheard him purchase his ticket? Peered into the newspaper office where he’d collected the letters?
Jack swallowed, glancing over his shoulder for Garrity Shane. The nightmare he’d left behind in New York had followed him here. How had he been so naive to think it wouldn’t?
He drew his glance back to the letter as the ferry made its way across the river. It was no use putting off the inevitable. With a deep breath, he tore the envelope open with a half-frozen finger. Inside, a single sheet of paper awaited him. Jack opened it and skimmed the few words.
It wasn’t a letter at all.
It was a receipt, for the purchase of some ranching equipment to be shipped from New York, for a Jack Williams.
Jack’s shoulders slumped as the paper fluttered to the ground. It wasn’t him. No one knew. He was safe. Celia was safe.
For now.
He scooped up the receipt from where it sat lodged against a clump of dead grass. He’d return it to Faith as soon as he had his head on straight again. But now, he wanted more than anything to gather the horses and get out of town, back to the farm, back to Celia.
As he drove out of town, something that felt oddly like guilt seemed to ride alongside him in the wagon. Celia had asked him directly why he’d chosen to come here, and he hadn’t given her a complete answer. He’d thought it didn’t matter, that no one would ever find him here. That he’d left all of his troubles behind in New York.
And despite that letter being nothing at all, he couldn’t shake the fear that had raced up his spine upon seeing that envelope. Nor could he forget how badly he felt leaving all those men in the lurch with his failed ideas.
