She'll be here tomorrow to help with whatever you need. That night, lying in the unfamiliar bed, Rebecca listened to the sounds of the ranch settling for the night. She could hear distant laughter from the bunk house, the occasional loing of cattle, the whisper of wind through the cottonwoods outside her window. For the first time in weeks, she felt safe. The next morning brought Mrs. Fenton, a nononsense widow in her 50s, who arrived with fresh bread and a determination to fatten Rebecca up.
Too thin by half, she declared, setting a tray of food beside Rebecca's bed. Mr. Harding said, "You're to eat everything I bring you. Mr. Harding seems to have strong opinions about my welfare," Rebecca observed. Mrs. Fenton's expression softened. He's a good man.
Lost his wife and baby to child bed fever 5 years back. Threw himself into building this ranch afterward. Rebecca felt a pang of sympathy. I had no idea. He doesn't talk about it, Mrs. Fenton said, but it changed him, made him more mindful of those who need help.
Over the next week, Rebecca's strength began to return. She ventured from her room to the veranda where she spent hours watching the activity of the ranch. Nathan would tip his hat to her each morning as he rode out and again each evening upon his return. Their conversations were brief but increasingly comfortable. On the eighth day, Rebecca made her way carefully to the piano.
Her ribs still achd, but the desire to feel music beneath her fingers again was overwhelming. She began with simple scales, then progressed to a chop-in knockturn that had always soothed her. She was so absorbed in the music that she didn't notice Nathan standing in the doorway, hat in hand, listening with an expression of wonder. "That's the most beautiful thing I've heard since coming west," he said when she finished. Rebecca startled, then smiled.
"Music was my refuge growing up. My father was strict. The piano was the one place I could express myself. Nathan moved into the room, setting his hat on a side table. My mother used to play hymns on Sundays.
House hasn't heard music since she died. Would you like me to play something else? Rebecca offered. I'd like that very much, he said, settling into a chair. Rebecca played for nearly an hour, moving from classical pieces to folk songs to hymns.
When she finally stopped, her fingers tired but her spirit lighter than it had been in months, she found Nathan watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. "You should be the school teacher here," he said abruptly. "What? Redemption Springs needs a teacher. Towns growing.
"Families settling, railroads coming, children need schooling. "I came west to teach in Santa Fe," Rebecca said, confused by the sudden suggestion. Santa Fe's got plenty of teachers. We've got none. Nathan leaned forward.
Town council's been looking to hire someone for months. Schoolhouse is built sitting empty. Rebecca considered the idea. I'd need somewhere to live. Town has a small house for the teacher.
Nothing fancy, but it's yours with the position. Nathan hesitated. Or you could stay here. It's a bit of a ride to town, but that wouldn't be proper, Rebecca interrupted, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. Nathan looked away.
No, I suppose not. The next day, Nathan drove Rebecca into town to meet with the council members. The schoolhouse was indeed built, and waiting a simple one- room structure with rows of desks, a teacher's desk at the front, and a small bell tower. The teacherage next door was snug but tidy with a bedroom, kitchen, and small sitting room. The council, consisting of the general store owner, the saloon proprietor, and surprisingly, Doc Sullivan hired her on the spot.
"School would begin in 3 weeks, giving her time to prepare and fully recover. "I'll have your things brought from the ranch tomorrow," Nathan said as they left the meeting. Rebecca felt an unexpected pang at the thought of leaving the double H. Thank you for everything you've done. Nathan merely nodded, his expression unreadable.
The following days were a flurry of activity as Rebecca settled into her new home and prepared for the school term. Children appeared at her door bearing gifts, fresh eggs, a jar of honey, a handmade quilt sent by parents eager to make a good impression on the new teacher. Nathan came by only once to deliver her trunk and carpet bag as promised. He declined her invitation to stay for tea, citing work at the ranch. The brief encounter left Rebecca feeling strangely bereft.
2 days before school was to begin, Rebecca was arranging books on the shelves when the door burst open. A man stumbled in, unshaven and wreaking of whiskey. It took her a moment to recognize Charles, his once handsome face now bloated from drink. There you are, he slurred, advancing on her. Thought you could hide from me, Rebecca backed away, her heart pounding.
How did you find me? Stage. A coach driver remembered dropping a pretty lady in this miserable excuse for a town. Charles grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully. You're coming with me.
Still need a respectable wife for my business ventures. Let go of me, Rebecca demanded, struggling against his grip. Charles backhanded her across the face, sending her sprawling against the desks. Still haven't learned your place, I see. Rebecca tasted blood as she tried to crawl away.
Charles caught her ankle dragging her back. No one refuses Charles Winters, especially not a penalous orphan I rescued from Spinsterhood. The schoolhouse door crashed open again, and Charles was suddenly lifted bodily away from her. Rebecca looked up to see Nathan holding her attacker by the throat, his face a mask of cold fury. "You touch her again, you're a dead man," Nathan said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Charles struggled in his grip. "This is none of your concern. She's my fiance. "Former fiance," Rebecca corrected, rising shakily to her feet. And the man who beat me half to death before robbing me and abandoning me.
Nathan's grip tightened. That true? Charles clawed at Nathan's hands. She's lying, hysterical woman, always making up stories. Nathan looked to Rebecca, who pushed up her sleeve to reveal the fading bruises that still circled her wrists.
"He did this," she said quietly. "And worse. Without another word, Nathan dragged Charles outside and threw him into the street. You've got 1 hour to be gone from this town, he said. If I see you again, I won't be so generous.
Charles scrambled to his feet, his face ugly with rage. You'll regret this, both of you. He reached for the gun at his hip. The shot rang out before Charles could clear leather. Nathan's draw had been too fast to follow, but the smoking gun in his hand told the story.
Charles crumpled, clutching his shoulder where the bullet had struck. Doc Sullivan, who had heard the commotion from his office across the street, hurried over. "What happened? "Man drew on me," Nathan said simply. "I suggest you patch him up and put him on the next stage out of here.
The doctor nodded, summoning help to carry the moaning Charles to his office. Nathan turned to Rebecca, holstering his weapon. "Are you hurt? "Just shaken," she said, though her cheek throbbed where Charles had struck her. Nathan gently tilted her face to examine the reening mark.
His touch was careful, his eyes troubled. I should have killed him. No, Rebecca said firmly. You're not a killer. I've killed before, Nathan admitted.
During the war, afterward protecting what's mine. This is different, is it? Nathan asked softly. Because the thought of him hurting you makes me want to drag him back and finish the job. Rebecca placed her hand over his.