Satisfied, she stood and stretched her cramped muscles. Writing rebuttals to Mr. Wade’s editorials was nothing short of challenging. She could hardly wait till he read her latest column. No doubt he’d fire back with a barrage of forceful wordage, though she’d noticed that her sister had been right—Wade avoided directing any disparaging language toward her. It was always the idea he objected to and railed against, never her personally.

  The war of words was proving to be more popular than she’d thought possible. Subscriptions to the paper poured in faster than she could fill them. Everywhere she went, people commented on how much they enjoyed reading her rebuttals. It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she took over the newspaper, but she’d gained a certain satisfaction in watching her paper fly off the stands. The success of her “Love Links” column was the icing on the cake.

  Just as rewarding was the fact that people were taking an interest in community affairs like never before, and a new civic pride had emerged. No longer were Two-Time residents content to sit back and leave the mayor and town council members solely in charge. Town meetings were now packed to overflowing, and debates often raged into the wee hours of the morn.

  Following Josie’s strongly worded editorial regarding the need for electricity, people had stormed the town council meeting demanding to know why Two-Time was still in the Dark Ages. Instead of posing a contrary viewpoint, Wade had criticized the lack of a telephone system in the town. The resulting mayhem forced beleaguered council members to promise to consider the matters.

  She only wished Papa wasn’t so stubborn and could appreciate the positive ways she and Brandon were changing the town.

  She and Brandon.

  Just thinking about her unconventional relationship with the handsome publisher of the Lone Star Press made her giggle. She had to admit she enjoyed their banter, both in print and in person. His feigned indignation at what she’d written, even as he egged her on, made her laugh.

  Never could she remember having so much fun.

  Yawning, she stood and, after making sure that Mr. Whiskers’ bowl was filled with water, turned off the gas lantern. Pulling her cape tight around her shoulders, she stepped out of the tent and into the cool night air. The street was deserted, and a thin crescent moon hung from a star-studded sky.

  Before she reached her horse and wagon parked in front, she heard footsteps. Startled, she whirled about.

  “You’re working late, Mrs. Johnson,” shot a voice out of the dimness. “Thinking of nice things to say about me, no doubt?”

  Catching her breath, she waited for Brandon to move into the yellow circle cast by the gas streetlight. “You’ll just have to read Friday’s paper to find out,” she said with a coquettish toss of her head.

  He flashed a smile, his teeth gleaming like lustrous pearls. “While I’m waiting, perhaps you would favor me with an explanation as to why I’m now in possession of the deed to lot eleven.”

  “I told you, I have no use for it. You have a daughter, and I’m sure you’d much rather raise her in a proper home than a boarding house.”

  “At least let me pay for your half.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “It’s rightfully yours. You won it fair and square.”

  “As I recall, so did you. And I’m sure you have good use for the money.”

  “Perhaps you haven’t heard, but I now have enough money to rebuild, thanks to the generosity of the town.”

  “I did hear. Congratulations.” he said. “I’m sure that takes a load off your mind.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “But it still doesn’t explain why you handed over a deed that is rightfully part yours.”

  Hesitating, she considered her answer. His journalistic instincts no doubt told him there was more to the story than she’d let on. That meant he would keep hounding her till he knew the full story. Might as well get it over with.

  “That’s where you’re mistaken,” she said at last. “About my winning the land, I mean. You see, I wasn’t even in the race.”

  “But that’s not true. I saw you.”

  “What you saw was me riding through town on the way to Austin. On the way, I saw a cloud of dust behind me and thought it was a cattle stampede.” It sounded dumb even to her own ears. Heaven only knew how it must sound to him. “I tried to outrun it, and my hope chest landed on the property merely by chance.”

  An incredulous look crossed his face before he threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I’m glad you find it so amusing,” she said coolly.

  He studied her, the streetlight turning his brown eyes into glints of fiery gold. “You have to admit, it is funny.”

  She hadn’t thought about it in those terms before, but now that he mentioned it she did see the humor. Now she laughed too.

  Suddenly aware they were staring at each other, she became flustered. “Yes, well . . . If you’ll excuse me, it’s late.” She turned toward her wagon and reached for the grab bar.

  “Let me help you.” He placed a hand at her waist. Rattled by how the impact of his gentle grip affected her, she missed the step and was suddenly in his arms.

  “Oh!” she gasped. She reached for her locket like she did whenever she felt insecure or apprehensive, only to find that for a second time in so many days she had failed to put it on. “I’m s-sorry.”

  “I’m not,” he murmured, his breath hot in her ear. Steadying her on her feet, he ever so gently swung her around to face him. His gaze dropped down to the hand still at her chest before meeting her startled eyes.

  “Don’t look so alarmed, Josie Johnson,” he said, his hands exploring the small of her back. “I’m not going to harm you. I’m simply going to grant your wish.”

  Locked in his embrace, her mind told her to resist, but her silent protests didn’t have a chance next to the need his touch awakened. A shiver of anticipation ripped through her, followed by a warm, tingling sensation.

  “My w-wish?” she stammered in a whisper.

  For answer he lowered his head. His lips brushed against hers once, twice, three times before taking full possession of her mouth. Startled, she raised her hand to ward him off, but her palm never reached its intended target. Instead, she found herself melting into his manly embrace and absorbing the full pleasure of his heated lips. Oh, sweet heaven . . .

  His lips were gentle at first as if testing her, but when she offered no resistance, he deepened the kiss until she could no longer hold back. Flinging her arms around his neck, she buried her fingers in the softness of his thick hair and succumbed to the sweet burning need his touch aroused.

  His kiss reached into the deepest depths, filling the void in her heart and healing the holes in her soul.

  “Papa?”

  It took a moment for the young voice to break through the dreamlike aura of their kisses, but when it did, they both pulled away with a guilty start, like two thieves caught with their hands in a safe.

  Brandon turned to his daughter, his face grim. “Haley? What are you doing here?”

  In the yellow glow of the gaslight, Haley looked scared, and Josie’s heart went out to her. Dressed in a thin muslin nightgown, she also had to be cold.

  “I had a bad dream, Papa.”

  Brandon gave Josie a look of apology.

  “Go,” she whispered. As much as she wanted to continue where they’d left off, his daughter needed him, and that was where he belonged.

  Regretting the interruption, she watched him wrap the shivering child tenderly in his coat. He then lifted Haley in his arms and carried her across the street to his tethered horse.

  Josie pressed her fingers against her still-heated lips. Oh, my! What had just happened?

  ***

  Brandon was still reeling when he settled Haley in his horse’s saddle. After making sure his daughter was secure, he mounted behind her, the leather squeaking beneath his weight.

  Before riding away, he glanced across the street to where Josie stood in the shadows of the night where he’d left her. He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t begin to know what she was thinking. Was she as stunned by what had happened as he was? Stunned by how easily they had locked embraces and given of themselves?

  From the moment he’d captured her sweet, sweet lips, never once had he thought about his late wife. That was the worst part. Even now, as guilt racked his soul, he ached to go to Josie, take her in his arms, delve into the depths of her lush mouth once again, and—

  No, no, no! He had no right thinking such thoughts. Josie—Mrs. Johnson— was still a fairly recent widow, no matter how much it seemed that she welcomed his advances. If anything, he should fall on his knees and apologize to her. To Colleen.

  But for now, at least, his first consideration was to his distressed daughter. As if to remind himself where his loyalties lie, he pulled his gaze away from the lone figure across the street, but there was no stopping his thoughts. Nor could he ignore Josie’s flowery fragrance that clung to him like perfume. He couldn’t believe what had transpired moments earlier. Never again had he thought to feel the things he’d felt when Josie’s sweet, passionate mouth met his.

  With a sigh, he tugged on the reins and guided his horse down the dark alley toward the boarding house.

  “Papa?”

  Keeping one hand on the reins, he slid an arm around his daughter’s small waist. “What is it, muffin?”

  “Are you angry?”

  “No, I’m not angry.” Okay, maybe a little. At himself. For giving into his impulses. The editorial feud had provided a financial boom to both newspapers. Word about the heated exchanges had spread far and wide. Subscriptions had poured in from all parts of the county and beyond. Burying the editorial hatchet could be costly for them both. But how could he pretend to carry on the conflict knowing what he now knew lay hidden behind Josie’s brilliant smile.

  “I’m not angry at you, but I don’t want you wandering around by yourself after dark. Is that clear?”

  She started to cry. “I want to go home, Papa.”

  “We are going home.”

  Sobs shook her slight body. Fearing she would fall, he tightened his hold.

  “I want to go back to San Antone,” she cried in a muffled voice.

  He rested his chin on her head. It broke his heart to see his daughter so unhappy. She used to be such a joyful child, and this glum and miserable side of her completely baffled him. He had the feeling he was missing something, but what?

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her laugh. He’d thought she’d get over the camel scare, but her fears only seemed to grow worse with each passing day.

  “We’ve talked about this, Haley,” he said. This is our home now. I’m going to build us a house by the river. You’d like that, right? You can roll out of bed and go swimming and fishing.” It wasn’t that long ago that those had been his daughter’s favorite activities. “Think about what fun we’ll have.”

  His consoling words failed to produce the hoped for results. The more he tried to cheer her, the more distraught she became and the harder she cried.

  Chapter 21

  According to a recent dispatch, people are lining up to ride on Coney Island’s new switchback railway (or roller coaster, as it’s called). It’s hard to believe that anyone would willingly pay a nickel for a one-minute ride that goes nowhere.—Two-Time Gazette

  Josie jabbed her pen into the penholder. All effort to think of a way to make the photographer’s new ad more appealing had so far failed.

  Mr. Farthing had been so pleased with the increase in business resulting from the free ads he’d purchased advertising space in both newspapers. Each ad was to run on alternative weeks.

  “Okay.” Elbow on her desk, she closed her eyes and held her head. “The power behind the picture.” She shook her head and tried again. “Shutter up.” She groaned. “Let Farthing Photography help you put your best face forward.” She opened her eyes and jotted those exact words on a piece of paper. “What about this?” she called to Hank and read aloud the latest copy she’d come up with.

  “Better,” he said. “Beats the one about framing your loved ones so you can hang them.”

  Satisfied that at last she had something to work with, she stared down at the unfinished ad on her desk. But her mind refused to cooperate as once again her thoughts drifted back to the previous night.

  She still couldn’t believe the pleasure derived from Brandon’s kiss. But how was that possible? After Ralph had died, she’d never thought to be with another man. Had never wanted to. True love came only once in a lifetime. Or so she’d believed. But being in Brandon’s arms had opened up the possibility that lightning really did strike twice—a thought that was as scary as it was intriguing.

  The intriguing part sent shivers rushing through her, reaching all the way to her toes, followed by a feeling of such utter guilt she could barely breathe. Guilt had been a constant companion since Ralph had died. Like an ever-present chaperone, it had reared its ugly head with every laugh and grief-free moment. Ralph was dead, and she had no right to happiness, no right to feel pleasure in another man’s arms. Such were the dictates of the heart.

  In her mind she knew that wasn’t true. Life was for the living. But the heart always spoke the loudest and required the most attention.

  Today, when she reached for her locket, it was on her chest where it belonged. She’d made certain of that.

  She could never have romantic feelings for Brandon. Or for anyone else, for that matter. Ralph was the only man she’d loved, the only man she could ever love. Last night was a fluke. A mistake. It would not happen again.

  Forcing her attention back to the ad, she quickly finished it and tossed it into the basket to be typeset.

  Earlier, Hank had asked for a filler. Maybe that would help clear her mind. She thumbed through her files and came across the article about the man who saw his initials in the clouds.

  “I have an idea about how we might be able to catch Miss Ruby’s killer.” She read the article out loud.

  Hank pushed away from his desk and swung his chair around. “Far as I know, no cloud ever spelled out a word.”

  “Which only proves that guilt does funny things to people.” Since Ralph’s death, she could write an entire book on guilt. “It was guilt that made this man think he saw his name in the sky. What if we can get the killer to think he sees his name in the paper?”

  “How we gonna do that?”

  She thought a moment and reached for her pen. “How’s this,” she read as she wrote. “‘A mysterious letter arrived at the Gazette yesterday. It contains information regarding the death of Miss Ruby.’”

  He shook his head. “No one’s gonna write an anonymous letter when there’s a reward to be claimed.”

  She tossed down her pen and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Guess you’re right.”

  “’Course I’m right. The killer would have to be a fool to fall for that trick.”

  She sighed. Why did Miss Ruby’s death continue to gnaw at her? She hadn’t even known the woman. Hadn’t even been living in Two-Time when it happened.

  “Have you got a better idea?” she asked.

  He turned back to his desk “Nope. Can’t say that I do.”

  ***

  That afternoon the fire alarm rang. The persistent bell clawed the air with great urgency.

  Josie grabbed her notebook and ducked out of the tent.

  Hank looked up from where he was fighting with the printing press. His limp prevented him from joining the volunteers, and today, as always when the fire bell rang, he watched with a look of yearning.

  “Do you suppose it’s another hotel fire?” she called.

  For answer Hank shrugged and turned to give the printing press another resounding bang with his hammer.

  Josie took off with a wave of the hand. Moments later she joined the growing crowd that spilled from the boardwalk and onto the street like a bunch of worker ants. Horses and wagons were forced to stop, their drivers joining the thong on foot.

  Running along the boardwalk, Josie couldn’t see any smoke or flames. Instead she spotted people gathered in front of the sheriff’s office. Scooter stood on the boardwalk, waving his arms for quiet. Puzzled, Josie moved closer. If not a fire, then what?

  “Okay, folks. Listen up,” Scooter yelled into a speaking horn. “We got ourselves a missing child.” A hushed silence followed his announcement, and he continued. “Haley Wade hasn’t been seen since morning.”

  Josie covered her mouth with her hand. Oh, no!

  Scanning the crowd, she spotted Brandon and shouldered her way toward him.

  After giving a description of Haley, Scooter continued. “If anyone knows her whereabouts, now’s the time to step forward. Otherwise, I want every square inch of this burg searched. Like my grandpapa liked to say, ‘That which is hidden under a rock is best found in daylight.’” Ignoring the groans of the crowd, he yelled, “Let’s get to work!”

  Murmuring among themselves, search volunteers disbanded, taking off in all directions. Josie hiked up her skirts and ran.

  “Brandon!”

  He stopped and spun around, his face a wooden mask as he waited for her to catch up.

  “Oh, Brandon, I’m so sorry,” she said, stopping in front of him. “We’ll find her. We will.” And when we do, God, please let her be safe.

  “Mr. Wade, Mr. Wade!”

  A boy ran up to them. Josie immediately recognized him as Charlie Hatcher, a newsboy who had worked for her before jumping ship and taking a job at the Lone Star Press. A flat cap with a stiff peak and buttoned crown flew off his head and he stooped to retrieve it before addressing his current boss.

  Holding his cap with both hands, Charlie said, “I saw her.” He puffed out his chest with a look of importance.