in order to impress prospective families. Holly was neat and tidy, but certainly no sight to catch any eye.
Surely not Mason Wright’s eye, although a surprising smile did cross his serious face. “You did right fine, considering.” The smile quickly evaporated. “Although I’m never one for changing plans at the last minute like that. Too much risk.”
She’d wondered how long it would take his initial concern for her safety to yield to his annoyance that she’d been allowed to go at all. “And just how do you suppose I could refuse Mr. Brooks’s offer to get the funds so quickly? I did wire back word this morning. As I see it, arranging a stop in Evans Grove seemed far safer than going all the way to Greenville and taking the stage back.”
He gave her what Holly had come to call his “book look.” “That’s all fine,” he nearly muttered, “...in theory.” Truly, the only time Mason Wright ever seemed to give her any attention was to exercise his obvious opinion that “book learning” didn’t do one a whole heap of good in the real world. “Only that wire never came and I was saddling up to ride off toward Greenville.” Some days it felt like he viewed her as a dull, dry textbook best ignored. “Five more minutes and I’d have been gone when Liam came into town.” His brows furrowed. “I’d have been miles out of town with no way to help you all if...”
Today of all days she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “If,” she finished for him, “I hadn’t found a clever way to send Liam off for help.” She stared at him until he lifted his gaze from the reins and returned her stare. “You did say I saved the day, did you not?”
That was a fool thing to say, for a look of regret washed across his features. She should have known he didn’t really mean it. “Perhaps I ought to deputize you.”
It was the first time he’d ever paid enough attention to her to tease her, and she felt that unwelcome girlish fluster return. “Don’t talk such nonsense.” Still, a tiny new spark of confidence refused to be extinguished. She had been brave, even though she felt more fear than she could ever remember. She’d made a difference today, hadn’t she? A real difference. “I prayed as hard as I ever have and, well, I had some very clever help.”
He tipped his hat. “Nice to be appreciated.”
“And what if I was talking about Liam?” She’d teased him right back. She’d never done that, never even had enough of a conversation to have the chance. All these clever words didn’t change the fact that she knew—deep down knew—Sheriff Wright had walked into the line of fire for her life. There were a million serious words to be said about that, but she could find none of them in this moment. Still, she couldn’t leave it at a joke, a levity over something so solemn as a life—lives—saved. Finding that same pool of courage that had shown itself on the train, Holly extended her hand to touch the sheriff’s arm for the briefest of moments. With all the solemnity she could muster, she said, “Thank you.”
They’d never touched before today. Not even to shake hands. Today, when he’d grabbed her at the railroad clearing and hauled her away from Mr. Arlington’s dying body, she’d felt his grasp for the first time. She’d noticed how he steered clear of her at church picnics and town meetings and such. He spoke to her only when necessary or when she sought him out. He’d never paid her much mind.
And she just touched him. Every sensible bone in her body told her to regret it, but she found she couldn’t.
To her delight—or her horror, she truthfully couldn’t say which—Sheriff Wright held her eyes for a long moment before guiding the horse around a turn. “I was doing my job.” He’d closed up the moment so neatly and completely, Holly wasn’t even sure it had happened at all.
But today has happened, her frayed spirit wanted to yell. We can’t go back from it. “Mr. Arlington was just doing his job, and now he’s...gone.” The memory of his blood seeping into the ground produced a shiver. We can’t go back.
“Best not to dwell on that.” He cocked his head toward the back of the wagon. “Not with all those little ones about.” After a short pause, he asked, “I think it was smart not to send them on, but have you got any ideas how we’re going to manage it?”
She did. The plan fell solid into her head as if God had sent it by telegraph. “I asked Ned to get Miss Ward to round up the ladies’ society and see to supper. When I get in, I can ask Reverend Turner to meet with them while they eat. He’ll know how to ease their minds and such. While he does that, Charlotte Miller and I can make up pallets so we can sleep them all in the schoolhouse. I’d let Miss Sterling have my bed in the house next door and offer to sleep with the children, but I don’t think she’d accept.” Holly cast a glance back to see Rebecca’s cheek resting on the head of a little girl. “I imagine it’s hit her hardest of all, poor soul.”
“And you?”
She was startled he asked. Such surprise did little to dismiss the black knot of fear that hadn’t left her stomach since her first glimpse of the bandit’s eyes. Like peering right into evil, it was. “I’ll be fine.”
Sheriff Wright shook his head. “Your hands are still shaking.” Holly tucked her hands into the folds of her skirt. “See to yourself is all I’m saying.” His voice sounded uncomfortable with the words, as though letting them out by force rather than concern. He straightened his hat and shifted in his seat. “You’ve been through just as much as they have. Sleeping with a gaggle of fussy youngsters doesn’t sound too sensible to me.”
Sensible? There were days when Holly felt like hearing that word once more would drown her in dullness. Nothing about today—nothing about how she currently felt, or who was in the back of this wagon, or what body would be lying in the back of Doc Simpson’s office—felt sensible.
And as for sleep, Holly didn’t think sleep would visit her tonight. Not when the clamoring silence of Mr. Arlington’s lifeless body echoed every time she closed her eyes.
* * *
When the wagon pulled up on Second Street and the church steeple came into view, Mason finally let down his guard. He’d barely been able to speak after she’d said “Thank you” with all that frailty in her eyes, and the spot where she touched him fairly burned from the memory. The impulse to grab her up and pull her from harm’s way had been a primal reaction, one his body hadn’t yet released. Holly Sanders always made him jittery ten ways ’til Sunday, and today hadn’t helped.
“Oh, thank You, Jesus!” Her sigh echoed far too close to his shoulder. “I don’t know when I’ve ever been so glad to be home.” Mason was sure he could hear her big blue eyes flutter.
There were good reasons he sat far away from those eyes during church services—on the rare occasions he even darkened the church door. It wasn’t disinterest that kept Mason away from Holly Sanders’s endless classroom projects. He resisted the pull of that woman with every protective bone in his body, knowing her book-and-fairy-tale world had no room for someone with the dark tale his life told. He wasn’t blind to her admiration—he’d caught too many of her stares not to see she fancied him—but that was only because Holly Sanders didn’t know the full story. If he told her, it’d put an end to her admiration, surely. Only, some part of him liked that regard as much as the other part of him resisted it. Seeing her in danger today had jumbled up his insides too much to think clearly. “I’m glad to have everyone safe back in town,” he admitted, meaning far more than the words conveyed on their polite surface.
Evans Grove was a small town, laid out in a tidy little grid around the town square they were just passing. As the wagon
