“Wait! You don’t understand.” She started after him, but her skirt snagged on the chair. By the time she’d worked it free and rushed to the door, Mr. Wade had already mounted his horse and started riding away.

  Mr. Troop glanced at his watch. “It appears that you are now the sole owner of a prime piece of land. If you would just sign on the line.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t. Ralph’s property— I mean . . . The prize should go to Mr. Wade. Please see that he gets it.” She turned to leave.

  “Since both you and Mr. Wade have refused to take ownership, in all fairness I will have to contact Pepper— eh, Mr. Kerrigan.”

  Her hand froze on the doorknob for a split second before she whirled about. “Whatever for?”

  “He came in second.”

  “Pepper came in second?” That despicable man?

  He nodded. “Right after you and Wade.”

  “That man ran me off the road.”

  Mr. Troop looked startled. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

  “Accident, my—” She thought for a moment before storming back to his desk. Tossing her parasol to the side, she grabbed the pen. “Never mind. I’ll sign.”

  Pepper would get his dirty hands on Ralph’s property over her dead body.

  ***

  Josie stood at the window staring across the street at the office of the Lone Star Press.

  For three days she’d debated what to do. That particular property would always hold a special place in her heart. And the thought of turning the parcel of land over to her nemesis made her shudder. But she couldn’t in good conscience keep a prize she hadn’t honestly won. What else could she do but turn the land over to its rightful owner?

  That wasn’t the only reason for her dilemma. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her, and that went double for Brandon Wade. Would he have suggested turning over the deed so willingly had he not pitied her? She doubted it.

  She was still debating how to handle the situation when the town carpenter, Mr. Woodman, entered the office, bringing with him the smell of sawdust and cedar.

  “’Morning, Josie.”

  “’Morning, Mr. Woodman,” she said, surprised to see him so soon. While she was recovering, Hank had driven horse and wagon out to the river to retrieve the broken pieces of the hope chest and deliver them to the woodshop for her. “Is there a problem?”

  He closed the door behind him and pulled off his felt hat. Dressed in overalls, his skin was the color of old oak. “I tried putting your chest back together, but there’s a piece missing. The lid.”

  Her heart sank. “Oh, no.” The lid contained the carving of the ship that had brought her grandparents to America.

  “I can make up a piece but it won’t have all that fancy engraving.”

  The idea made her cringe. The hope chest wouldn’t be the same without the original lid. The carved ship was a vital part of family history. No substitute would do. “I’ll drive out to the river and see if I can find the missing piece.”

  Nodding, he turned to leave, then paused, his hand on the doorknob as he cast a look over his shoulder. “Never saw a piece of furniture go through so many repairs. I thought your sister was rough with it, but at least she managed to keep the chest in one piece.”

  Josie sighed. The hope chest that had once harbored her dreams as a young bride now mirrored the pieces of her broken heart.

  Chapter 10

  Mr. Walters, whose attempted suicides failed when his gun jammed, the rope broke, and the “poison” he drank turned out to be castor oil, announced that he’s now in the life insurance business.—Two-Time Gazette

  No sooner had Woodman left her office than Hank sat himself down in the chair in front of her desk and handed her a sheet of paper. Never had she seen him look so earnest.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  She read what he’d written: Wanted: a wife. A dull but loyal man, slow of speech but not wit, wishes to share his life with the right woman. If interested, contact the paper.

  Josie raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t really thought him serious about advertising for a wife.

  “Is this wise? I mean . . . with your job in the air.”

  He shrugged. “A woman who’ll take a chance on an unemployed man would have to be very special.”

  “Or dumb,” she said and laughed. When he didn’t share her humor, she grew serious. “For your information, I don’t think you’re dull.”

  “Would ‘boring’ be a wetter bord?”

  “‘Boring’? No. You need to describe yourself in a more appealing way. Women like men who are intelligent and funny and—” A vision of Brandon popped into her head, rattling her for a moment. “And . . . and . . .”

  Hank’s brow creased. “I don’t want to make myself bound—sound—better than I am.”

  “But you are intelligent,” she insisted. “Or were before you decided to advertise for a wife.” She couldn’t help but tease him and was disappointed when the hoped-for smile failed to materialize.

  “Maybe I was before the war, but when I took that bullet, it shot a piece of my thinking cap clear off my noggin’.”

  Josie sympathized. The things most people took for granted posed a challenge for him. It would indeed take a special woman to see his fine qualities and to look past his speech difficulties.

  “You need to focus on your good points. I like that you mentioned loyalty.” He was the most loyal person she knew. “I would also describe you as kind, considerate, and dependable.”

  “I don’t know, Josie,” he said in that slow way of his. “I don’t want to sound like I’m braggin’.”

  “Telling the truth isn’t bragging,” she said and then clamped down on her jaw. She was a fine one to talk. She still hadn’t told Mr. Wade the truth about lot eleven. What earthly right did she have giving anyone advice on honesty?

  ***

  Josie woke early the next morning intent upon riding to the river and retrieving the missing piece of the hope chest before going to the office. After her morning ablutions, she dressed and ducked out of the house without so much as a cup of coffee and saddled her horse. Less than an hour later she reached lot eleven and dismounted.

  It was a perfect day, though it felt more like July or August than May. The blue sky was the same shade as the carpet of bluebells at her feet. The spring-fed river coiled around a grove of spindly cypresses and limestone cliffs. The water sparkled beneath the morning sun like a diamond necklace tossed carelessly upon a lady’s dressing table.

  It was no wonder that so many people wanted this particular lot. It sickened her to think that by tomorrow it would belong to Mr. Wade. Sometimes she hated the part of her that insisted upon doing the right thing.

  After tethering Maizie to a stake, she began the search for the missing lid, checking every tall clump of grass and prickly bush. With the precision of a Navajo weaver she walked back and forth, looking under or behind everything in her path.

  Careful to watch for snakes, she turned over a fallen log, then stopped to examine the cold ashes of a campfire. Her heart sank. Hoboes were known to roam the area. It was possible that the chest lid had been used as firewood. Hoping that wasn’t the case, she continued the search.

  When she reached the sprawling cottonwood of her memories, she stopped and ran her finger over the heart Ralph had carved onto the trunk with their initials. Grief squeezed her chest like a too tight corset. That’s when the tears came—a real toad-floating gully gusher. The sound of water rushing over rocks mingled with her sobs as she lowered herself to the ground. The swift current carried away leaves and other debris but not her grief.

  It wasn’t only her husband that brought her to bended knee, but also the thought of lost dreams and a scary future. What would she do if she lost the newspaper? She was too proud to depend on Papa’s generosity and had hoped to be totally independent by now. But what other options did she have?

  She allowed herself a good ten-minute, soul-wrenching cry before she rose, wet eyed and emotionally drained. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself and get back to work. She gave her head an emphatic nod. If there was any way to save her newspaper she would find it. Yes, indeed she would!

  With new resolve, she picked up her pace and forced herself to concentrate on the purpose of her visit. The sooner she accomplished her mission, the sooner she could leave the memory of shattered dreams behind.

  She found a piece of wood buried in the tall grass. A black stain covered one corner of the plank, and she wiped the gooey sludge off with a handkerchief. But the wood wasn’t part of the hope chest, and her heart sank. She tossed it aside and kept looking, but came up empty.

  Fearing another deluge of tears, Josie headed down to the river, where she lowered herself to the ground to pull off shoes and stockings. That done, she walked barefooted down the slight incline to the river’s edge, hiked up her skirts, and stepped into a pool of cool, clear water. Lifting her gaze to the sky, she let the water whirl around her ankles and carry her sorrows downstream.

  She had just bent to lower a cupped hand into the river’s depths and splash water onto her heated face when the sound of horse’s hooves reached her. A male voice called out. “Hello, there.”

  Recognizing the horsemen as Pepper, she straightened and lowered the hem of her skirt to just above the water’s surface. Her pale white feet were still visible, but nothing could be done about that.

  Pepper rode to the water’s edge and reined in his horse. His gaze told her he didn’t miss a thing, and that included her bare feet. Feeling unduly exposed, she glared at him. A gentleman he was not.

  “Congratulations on winning the race,” he said.

  “An apology would be more in order!” she snapped.

  The brim of his wide hat shaded his eyes, but not the grim set of his mouth. “An apology? For what?”

  “Don’t act so innocent. You ran me off the road. You know you did. I could have been killed.”

  He discounted her accusations with a wave of his hand. “That was an accident. I would never do anything so . . . unsportsmanlike. I simply lost control of my rig.”

  She studied him with narrowed eyes. Was it possible he was telling the truth? Everything had happened so fast, and she had been in a frightful state. Maybe she had misread his intent. Even now she had difficulty recalling the full details of that day. According to Dr. Stybeck, loss of memory and confusion wasn’t that unusual following a concussion.

  Pepper leaned forward in his saddle and rested an arm on the horn. “I planned on stopping by the Gazette later today, but you saved me the trouble. Troop told me that you’re now the sole owner of this fine piece of land. I’m prepared to make you an offer.”

  She stared at him, not sure she’d heard right. “Why would you do such a thing?” she asked. “You can purchase other lots.”

  “Ah, yes, that’s true.” Sitting upright, he ran a finger across his mustache. “But purchasing from Troop would cost an arm and a leg. Since you won the land, I thought you’d be willing to accept a more, shall we say, reasonable offer? Perhaps even half of what Troop is asking.”

  At half the price, he would be getting a bargain, but it would still add up to a handsome sum. “What makes you think—” She almost said “Ralph’s lot.” “—this property is for sale?”

  His goatee twitched. “I imagine it’s not easy running a business without a husband. Especially now that Two-Time has two papers. I dare say you would benefit from some . . . additional capital. You could probably use some new equipment and maybe even an extra employee or two. Under the circumstances, I would say you’ll find my offer quite generous.”

  Just thinking of what she could do with so much money was tempting. She could finally pay Hank what he deserved and buy a new printer to replace the old one. She could even hire enough staff to go twice weekly. That would give Mr. Wade a run for his money. Now wouldn’t that be something?

  He lifted his hat and wiped an arm across his forehead. “So, what do you say?”

  “I’m forbidden by contract to sell the land for a year.”

  His smile failed to reach his eyes. “I’m sure we can work around that little detail.” He replaced his hat. “Our business arrangement would just be between you and me. No one else need know about it. I’ll make no improvements to the land until the year is up.”

  “There’s just one little problem,” she said. “The property is not for sale.” It wasn’t rightfully hers to sell. Even if it were, she wouldn’t sell it to the likes of him. She still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t purposely tried to run her off the road. “Good day, Mr. Kerrigan.”

  “If you change your mind—”

  “I won’t.”

  He looked about to say something more, but instead raked her over with glittering eyes, his mouth a straight, thin line. Finally, tugging on the reins with a click of his tongue, he rode away. She watched him until he vanished beyond the trees, then stepped out of the water, her feet sinking into the soft soil. Despite the heat of the sun, gooseflesh traveled up her arms.

  ***

  On the way back to her office, she stopped at Mr. Woodman’s carpentry shop to tell him she couldn’t find the missing part of the hope chest. Unfortunately, the shop was located next to the saddle shop Ralph had once owned. The new owner hadn’t bothered to change the window, and the saddle on display had been made by Ralph’s own hands.

  Fearing another wave of grief to unravel her, she yanked her gaze away and dismounted, tethering her horse to the hitching post. Somehow, she would have to break the news to Mama that the beloved family heirloom was ruined and couldn’t be repaired. She groaned at the thought. Poor Mama.

  Poor her. The day she’d carved her initials into the side of the hope chest she’d still believed in “happily ever after,” just like in those fairy tales she’d read as a child. Little did she know “happily ever after” would last for such a short time.

  Oh, Ralph. How she missed him!

  Usually a good cry like the one by the river made her feel better, but today the benefits had been short lived. Now depression hung over her like a thunder cloud, and she could hardly catch her breath for the lump in her chest.

  “How come you look so sad?”

  Josie turned toward the young, thin voice. She’d been so deep in thought she’d failed to notice the little girl Haley on the boardwalk, holding what looked like a paper sack of penny candy.

  Irritated at being caught feeling sorry for herself, by a child no less, Josie forced a smile and drew her hands away from her saddle. “I was just . . . thinking of someone I loved very much.”

  “Was it your ma or pa?”

  “No, actually, he was my husband.” Josie swallowed the prickle in her throat and, not wishing to upset Haley, blinked back the threatening tears.

  “Is he dead?”

  Ah, the bluntness of children. Family and friends had all avoided saying the D word. Instead, they referred to Ralph’s passing as a journey or departure, as if death was only temporary. It was as if they thought that substituting some prettified euphemism would soften the reality. It did not.

  “Yes. Yes, he is,” Josie said.

  “Maybe he knows my mother in heaven.”

  Josie studied the child. Today she was dressed in a pretty pink gingham dress with a ruffled hemline and sleeves. Her hair fell to her shoulders in soft yellow curls and was tied with a pink satin bow.

  “Is . . . is that where your mother is?”

  Haley gave a solemn nod. “That’s where all good people go when they die.”

  Josie inhaled, and something caught in her chest. At a loss for words, she felt a strong sense of compassion stir inside. It was hard enough dealing with loss as an adult. How much harder it must be for a child, especially one as young as this.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m sure you must miss your mother very much.”

  Haley didn’t look motherless, at least not in the conventional sense. Her clothes were of good quality and her long blond hair well groomed. Her nails were neatly trimmed and her boots polished to a shine.

  “I guess you miss your husband too.”

  “Yes, yes, I do. Very much.”

  “Do you have a picture of him?” the girl asked.

  “What?”

  “A picture?”

  Josie nodded. No one had ever before asked to see a picture of Ralph. “I do.” She reached for the heart-shaped locket at her neck. “Do you want to see it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Josie undid the clasp and opened the locket, revealing a miniature photograph. Haley stepped to the edge of the boardwalk for a closer look.

  “That picture’s really small.”

  “That’s so I can keep it close to my heart.” Josie snapped the locket shut. “Do you have a photograph of your mother?”

  Haley shook her head. “Mama didn’t like having her photograph taken. But I drew a picture of her.”

  “That’s good,” Josie said. “I wish I could draw. Maybe one day you’ll let me see the picture you drew of your mother.”

  Haley held out the sack in her hand. “Want a peppermint candy? It’ll make you feel better.”

  This time Josie’s smile came unbidden. For some odd reason, she felt better already. Maybe it was because she didn’t feel so alone in her loss. “Then in that case, I guess I better take one.” She reached into the offered sack and pulled out a red-and-white candy stick. “Thank you.”

  “I gotta go,” Haley said. “My friend Susie is having a party. It’s her birthday.” With that she waved good-bye and skipped along the boardwalk in a whirl of ribbons and lace.

  Josie sighed. Oh, to have the resilience of a child whose moods could shift as quickly as the wind. Saddened to see Haley go, Josie watched her until she was out of sight.