He stood and stretched. Maybe a short walk would clear his head.

  Outside, he was greeted by the squeaky sound of a fiddle wafting from one of the saloons. It was dark, and a sliver of the moon hung against a velvet-black sky. The soft glowing stars reminded him of the way Josie’s eyes had shimmered the night he’d kissed her. Gritting his teeth, he shook the thought away, only to find his gaze lighting upon the horse and wagon parked across the street.

  Josie was still working? Was she having the same trouble with her editorial as he was having with his?

  The Gazette’s new adobe building was halfway built, but the uppermost tip of the tent was still visible from the boardwalk. The light shining from beneath the canvas roof confirmed her presence, and his breath caught in his chest.

  The urge to go to her was so strong he practically had to hold on to the post to keep from doing so. The success of both newspapers depended on keeping up the editorial wars. Business aside, there was a much more personal reason why the two of them couldn’t be together. She was still mourning her husband and he was still . . . what? Grieving for his wife? Yes, that was true, but not in the same way as before. Sadness still washed over him whenever he thought of Colleen, but no longer did grief hit him like a punch in the stomach. God forgive him, but a lot of that had to do with Josie.

  Heaving a sigh, he was just about to go inside when he noticed the tent had suddenly turned dark. A moment later Josie stepped out of the shadows and the last of his self-control deserted him.

  “Josie!”

  They met in the middle of the deserted street. Even in the dim streetlight she looked radiant, beautiful, her lips dewy soft. The sweet scent of lavender erased the smell of damp muck. It was necessary to remind himself that she was still a fairly recent widow, whether she dressed the part or not. He’d also promised that what had happened between them wouldn’t happen again. Such reminders didn’t lessen the desire to take her in his arms, but they kept him from acting on his impulse to do so.

  “You’re working late,” he said.

  “Yes, I . . .” She sounded breathless, as if she’d been running. “Trying to put Friday’s paper to bed.”

  “Trying?”

  She sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve hit a brick wall. The words won’t come.”

  “They won’t come for me either,” he said.

  “I can’t bring myself to say anything against you or your paper,” she admitted.

  “I’m having the same problem.”

  They both started talking at the same time.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You were saying?”

  “Just that this is a fine predicament. You and me agreeing on something. Now what are we going to do?”

  “I think you and I agree on a lot,” he said, his voice heavy with meaning. As he drew in his breath, he absorbed the sudden tension between them. It was as if their kiss still stretched between them like an invisible bridge waiting to be crossed.

  He swallowed hard. She looked so distressed he felt it necessary to relieve her mind. “The night I kissed you,” he said, his voice low, “was a weak moment on my part. It meant nothing.” Lies had never come easy for him, but this lie felt like acid on his tongue. “I meant what I said on the train. It was a mistake and it won’t happen again.”

  He’d hoped, he’d prayed that she would voice an objection. Say something. Oh, God, say something. Say that you feel some of the same things I feel. Say that the night we’d kissed was no mistake. Say that the man whose image you carry on your chest has finally been put to rest.

  Instead, her lips parted and her hand flew to the locket on her chest. It was as if her husband had suddenly materialized, ready to push him away should he give into the impulse to take her in his arms.

  Silence stretched between them, and his heart sank. Was that relief he saw on her face? In her eyes? He took a step forward, but she warded him off with her hand.

  “Have a good night,” she said and walked away.

  He called to her, but only because he didn’t want to let her go. She stopped but didn’t turn, her back rigid.

  Desperate to break down the barrier between them, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “What do you say you write my column and I write yours?” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it did the job, or at least made her turn to face him.

  “What?” She angled her head in the way that always made him think of a sunflower tilting toward the sun.

  Encouraged, he forced himself to expand on the thought. “We trade columns. I know how you stand on most issues, and I daresay you know my stance. I have no trouble writing disparaging remarks about myself. So, what do you say?”

  “I-I don’t know.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to cheat our readers.”

  “We won’t. Not as long as we stay true to each other’s opinions. Think of it as ghostwriting. If I write something you don’t agree with, tell me. I’ll do likewise.”

  “I guess it could work,” she said slowly, though her voice held an edge of doubt.

  “Just think,” he said. “You won’t have to struggle to think of something unflattering to say about me. I’ll do it myself. I have no problem pointing out the error of my ways. I know I can be pigheaded and shortsighted at times.”

  His self-depreciating remark brought a smile to her face. A beautiful, beautiful smile that made his heart skip a beat.

  “I can be stubborn and emotional,” she admitted.

  “I’ve been known to be over-confident.”

  “Ralph said that once I get an idea in my head I play it to the hilt.”

  Brandon clamped down on his jaw. Ralph again. He dropped his gaze to the ground. “What do you say?” he asked, his voice thick. “Deal?”

  She held out her hand. He took it in his own, and it was all he could do not to pull the rest of her along with it.

  “Deal,” she said, jerking her hand away as if it had suddenly caught fire. “Meet you back here in thirty minutes.”

  Chapter 24

  Notice: Due to the overwhelming success of the “Love Links” column, Reverend Wellmaker has announced that the church is booked solid. Couples wishing to wed will either have to pray for a cancelation or wait till next year.—Two-Time Gazette

  Meg walked into Josie’s new office and, after a quick glance around, clasped her hands to her chest and squealed, “It’s beautiful!”

  Amanda, who had arrived moments earlier, nodded. “And you have so much more room.”

  Becky-Sue was even more exuberant. Clapping her hands, she whirled around. “And there are no holes in the roof!”

  “Yeah,” Hank said, following her gaze upward. “Kinda takes all the fun out of life, don’t it?”

  Josie couldn’t stop beaming. It seemed impossible to believe that it had taken less than a month for the completion of her new building, but that was only because so many volunteers had turned out to help.

  Architecturally, the adobe building was plain as a breadbox. It had a rough-hewn floor and flat roof with no trim. Instead of a fireplace she now had a pot-bellied stove on which to make coffee or tea. Already the new printing press had arrived and now took up most of the space in the second room.

  The building wasn’t fancy by any means, but to her it felt like a castle.

  From outside came the sound of hammering as a workman stood on a ladder, nailing the Gazette’s new sign in place.

  Inside, the walls were bare, and Josie could hardly wait to add some personal touches. But a lot of work had to be done before she could start decorating.

  “It’ll be so much cooler working here,” Josie said. The tent was stiflingly hot, but then so was the old wood building.

  “Yeah,” Hank said with a grin. “And the best part is that adobe’s bulletproof.”

  Meg laughed and gave Josie a playful punch in the arm. “The way you and Mr. Wade have been slinging shots at each other, bulletproof is good.”

  Josie turned her back to hide the sudden flush of her cheeks. It irritated her that the mere mention of Brandon’s name made her heart beat faster. It made no sense. He’d made it perfectly clear that theirs was a business arrangement, nothing more. It could never be anything more, and that was fine with her. More than fine.

  Desperate to regain control of her traitorous heart, she reached for her locket, only to discover she’d forgotten to put it on that morning. Again.

  “I think it’s a disgrace what that despicable man writes about you,” Amanda said with a sniff as she picked up a box of supplies. To show her disapproval, she slammed the box back down onto the desk.

  “He’s not despicable,” Josie said, surprising herself with the emphatic response. She turned, hoping her sisters and Hank hadn’t noticed, but their surprised expressions immediately relieved her of that notion.

  Fortunately, the door opened and in walked Miss Read carrying a potted plant. “Just a little something for your new office.” She handed the plant to Josie, but her gaze remained on Hank, who was suddenly consumed with straightening his bow tie and slicking his hair away from his forehead. Meg and Amanda exchanged knowing glances.

  With everyone standing around, Josie spoke into the sudden lull in conversation. “Come on, we have work to do.” Mama had agreed to take care of her grandchildren, and Josie welcomed her sisters’ help.

  Amanda pulled a bottle of mucilage glue out of a crate. “Where do you want this?”

  “In the top drawer,” Josie said, pointing to her desk.

  Amanda made a face. “When’s your new desk coming?”

  “New?” Josie ran her hand along the purple desktop. Admittedly, it did look out of place, but it represented the town’s kindness, and for that she didn’t want to let it go. It also served as a reminder of the still unfinished business regarding Miss Ruby’s killer.

  “This one suits me just fine,” Josie said, tracing a finger over the splintered wood surface that resembled a relief map. Reaching into a box for a leather-bound blotter, she centered it on top of the desk.

  Amanda set to work arranging a paperweight, pen holder, letter opener, and bottle of ink in place. The box of brass paper fasteners she stuck in the top drawer next to the mucilage. “I don’t understand why you’re keeping this old thing. It really is an eyesore.”

  Becky-Sue looked up from a box she was going through. “Actually, I like the desk. It adds a lot of color. It’s all the rage in Paris, you know.”

  Meg looked up from where she was unpacking a box. “Purple desks?”

  “No, silly,” Becky-Sue said with a giggle. “Purple gowns.”

  They all set to work in earnest, soon setting everything to rights. When the last ream of paper had been stacked on the shelves and all the Farber #2s placed in a papier-mâché pencil holder, Hank clapped his hand to gain everyone’s attention.

  “I have an announcement to make,” he said, motioning Miss Read to his side. He waited until all eyes were on them. “This lovely lady here has agreed to be my wife.”

  Josie shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. It wasn’t like Hank to move so quickly. Even more surprising, he had managed to make the announcement without confusing his words.

  Meg, Amanda, and Becky-Sue were quick to offer congratulations. Becky-Sue lifted her skirts and did a little jig. “I can’t wait to write about your wedding gown.”

  Miss Read blushed. “Oh, my. I never thought I’d be getting married at my age.”

  Hank sidled up to Josie. Well? Aren’t you gonna congratulate me?”

  “Congratulations,” Josie said, embarrassed at being found remiss.

  “Okay, now say it like you mean it.”

  “I do mean it, Hank. It’s just so . . . sudden.”

  Hank turned to Miss Read and took both of her hands in his. “When you’ve waited as long as I have for the right person to come along, you don’t want to wait a minute longer.”

  The couple beamed at each other so lovingly that Josie’s reservations melted away. “Congratulations, Hank,” she said, and this time she really did mean it.

  ***

  The church was packed on Hank’s wedding day in late August, and Josie had a hard time finding a place to park. Due to the success of the “Love Links” column, the church was booked solid. Hank and Miss Read would have had to wait a full year to wed had it not been for a last-minute cancelation.

  Just as Josie stepped down from her wagon, Haley ran up to her, flushed with excitement.

  “Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson!” She whirled around. “What do you think?”

  Josie folded her hands to her chest. “Oh, I think you look beautiful.” Haley had worried that she had nothing to wear to the wedding, and Josie had offered to make her a new dress. Her sewing skills were nowhere near as good as her mother’s, but she was pleased with the results. The ruffled hem and flared, lace-trimmed sleeves suited Haley to a T.

  “Is my hair right?” Haley asked. “Papa has a terrible time with the curling iron.”

  Josie laughed. It was hard to imagine Brandon fussing with such a thing, but he’d done a decent job. Haley’s hair was brushed back from her forehead and tied with a blue ribbon. Lush curls hung loosely down her back.

  Josie straightened the bow and shaped one wayward curl around her fingers. “It’s perfect,” she said, stepping back.

  “I made a present for the bride and groom.” Haley held up a picture done in watercolors.

  Josie leaned over for a closer look. Haley had painted lot eleven. She had done an amazing job of capturing the river, rolling hills, and thick grove of trees. So much so that Josie felt a squeezing pain inside and her breath caught in her throat.

  A frown touched Haley’s forehead. “Don’t you think they’ll like it?”

  Josie gave her a reassuring smile. “They’ll love it.” Haley’s artistic talent never failed to amaze her, and today was no different. “Just as I love the drawings you did for my new office.”

  Seemingly pleased with Josie’s response, Haley skipped away to join her father waiting at the church entrance. Brandon gave Josie a lingering look before turning to his daughter.

  Since his promise never to kiss her again, a barrier had fallen firmly in place. As if by some mutual agreement, glances were now guarded and verbal exchanges monitored. Nothing could be left to chance. Even the physical space between them had to be carefully measured to avoid the slightest touch. But despite their best efforts, the blockade sometimes fell, the gates opened, and, for a moment, a second, a brief dot of time, their hearts beat as one.

  Josie reached for her locket and drew it to her trembling lips. Oh, dear heaven. How was it possible to have such thoughts about one man while grieving another?

  With a guilty start, she let her locket fall into place and quickly walked around the church to the back door. It was Hank’s wedding day, and that’s what she needed to think about.

  She found the groom in the anteroom pacing the floor and mopping his damp forehead with his handkerchief. Josie met his gaze in the mirror. “You aren’t having second thoughts, are you?” She still couldn’t believe how quickly he and Miss Read had decided to wed. Did love really bloom that fast?

  “No second thoughts,” he said and grinned. “I just hope I can be a good husband and do right by my beautiful bride.”

  Josie smiled as she reached up to straighten his bow tie. Dressed in a dark suit, he looked especially handsome today, and she suspected his ear-to-ear smile had something to do with it.

  “Do you realize that you hardly mix your words up anymore?”

  He grinned. “It’s amazing what love can do for you.”

  Josie felt a pang inside. She was happy for Hank, but she wished a little of his happiness could rub off on her. “How did you know she was the right woman for you?”

  “That’s easy,” Hank said. “When she said yes. Yes, she would marry me.”

  Josie hesitated. “Did you . . .”

  Hank’s eyebrows dipped and drew together. “Tell her what I’d done?” He nodded.

  “And she still agreed to marry you? Even knowing that you . . . ?”

  “Burned down a school?” He checked himself in the mirror and slicked back his hair. “Crazy, uh?”

  ***

  The bride wore a simple white wedding gown with leg-of-mutton sleeves and a layered lace overskirt that ended in a slight bustle in back, topped with a big bow. Amanda had designed the floral headpiece. The white silk flowers and satin ribbons softened Miss Read’s sharp features and made her look younger than her years.

  Josie couldn’t remember ever seeing her former teacher look more beautiful or happy.

  After Hank and Miss Read promised to love and cherish each other, Reverend Wellmaker pronounced them husband and wife. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Hank’s face turned scarlet before he shyly pecked his new wife on the cheek to thunderous applause. The newlyweds then led the way out of the church and down the street to the old Wilson barn. The structure had been decorated with white flowers, potted plants, and colored paper streamers. Since a spot had opened up on the church calendar at the last minute, friends had pitched in to make sure the wedding went off without a hitch. The ladies of the church auxiliary had provided the refreshments and decorated the barn.

  As soon as the bride and groom arrived, Harry Watson tucked his fiddle beneath his chin and sawed out a foot-stomping tune. Somehow Hank’s new bride persuaded him to lead off the dance. Despite his limp, the two made an endearing couple who couldn’t take their eyes off each other.

  It didn’t take long, however, for Josie to realize that she and Brandon were the real attraction.

  Gossip circulated from whispered lips. Expectant gazes bounced back and forth between her and Brandon as if waiting for one or the other to pull out a gun and start shooting. Josie couldn’t help but wonder what people would think if the truth behind the faux feud became common knowledge.

  She hadn’t seen Brandon much during the last couple of weeks. They still exchanged editorials, but the encounters were kept short for fear of being discovered. Or at least that was the excuse she used for keeping each contact short and businesslike. In actuality she didn’t trust herself to linger in his company one moment longer than necessary.