Heartland Wedding. Renee Ryan
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with Pete in his cellar, she couldn’t get the reserved blacksmith out of her head.
She recalled the events of that day often. Pete’s concern as he pulled her to safety. His kindness as he calmed her panic. His help as she searched for her brother. For one brief afternoon, someone had put her needs above his own. And she now understood God’s design for marriage. It was unfortunate that the one man who had caught her attention was completely out of reach.
Pete’s loss of his wife and subsequent year-long grief was legendary in High Plains. Rebecca had spent too many years fighting for her own parents’ affection to set her sights on a man still in love with his dead wife.
Shaking her head at her unproductive thoughts, she smiled at Clint—who did not smile back in return—and hurried into the mercantile.
The smell of spices and burlap filled her nose, followed by the raw scent of buffalo hides and licorice. Her mind was too full of Pete Benjamin, unrequited love and poor Clint Fuller for her to take note of the vast range of improvements that had been made to the store since the storm.
Rebecca swept her gaze across barrels of dry goods, past sacks of flour and shelves filled with kitchen utensils and canned goods. Mrs. Johnson was standing alone at the back counter with bolts of material in various styles and colors lining the shelves behind her.
Rebecca shuddered as she locked gazes with the woman.
Why was the proprietress staring at her with such censure? It was true, Mrs. Johnson didn’t like her much, nor did the woman’s daughter, Abigail, but they usually kept their dislike hidden behind false smiles.
Not today. Today, Mrs. Johnson had a positively mean look in her eyes. And her lips were pressed into a hard, flat line.
Confused, Rebecca took slow, careful steps toward the back of the store. She would simply conduct her business and be on her way.
“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson, I’d like to purchase a—”
“Miss Gundersen.” The woman’s narrowed gaze swept over Rebecca with lightning speed. “I have just one question for you.”
Unsure what to make of the woman’s mood, Rebecca cocked her head. “You…you do?”
“I would like to know where you took cover during the storm.” The haughty demand took Rebecca by surprise.
What did it matter where she took cover? And why would Mrs. Johnson care about that? “I don’t think I understand what you’re asking.”
“Come now, girl. Don’t play coy.” The woman sniffed indelicately. “Just this morning, I heard Mrs. Morrow telling the pastor that she saw you and Pete Benjamin walking through town together after the storm.”
Rebecca blinked. “Yes, we were together. Pete was helping me locate my brother.” Praise God, Edward had survived the storm unscathed, but Rebecca didn’t think that was what the woman was asking.
Setting her hands on her hips, Mrs. Johnson lifted her chin at a proud angle. “How in the world did you end up in Pete Benjamin’s company that afternoon?”
Rebecca bit her bottom lip, concerned that her answer would only increase the woman’s condemnation. She had nothing to hide, but that truth didn’t give her much relief. Matilda Johnson wasn’t always one to focus on the truth if she thought she could twist it into gossip instead. Nevertheless, Rebecca would not lie. “We took cover in his storm cellar.”
“Just the two of you? Alone?”
Rebecca didn’t understand why the woman was looking at her with that odd mix of suspicion and glee. “Well, yes,” she explained. “When the storm blew in, I went in search of my brother at the livery, but he wasn’t there.”
She could still feel the fear. Losing Edward would have been beyond what she could endure, especially so close to the death of her parents. In her panicked state, she’d been far too upset to think beyond Edward’s safety and had nearly died because of it. Thanks to Pete, Rebecca had survived the storm. Perhaps that explained why he’d filled her thoughts so often since. He’d saved her life.
“Pete pulled me to safety,” she said aloud. “I wouldn’t listen to him at first, but, eventually, I went with him below ground to ride out the storm.”
“How…unseemly.”
Unseemly? Rebecca puzzled over the English word, unsure if she had the definition right in her mind. Surely Mrs. Johnson didn’t think that Rebecca and Pete had…that they would…that they…
Rebecca gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
Much to her chagrin, Mrs. Johnson read the gesture with a nasty mind rather than a grace-filled heart and seemed to take it as an admission of guilt. “I’m shocked at you, Miss Gundersen, luring that poor man in his storm cellar like that.”
Stunned by the woman’s mean accusation, Rebecca looked around her, thankful there were no other customers in the store to witness her humiliation. “But, Mrs. Johnson, I assure you. We did nothing wrong. Pete saved my—”
“Nothing, indeed.” The woman smirked at her. She actually smirked, as though she was enjoying Rebecca’s discomfort.
“Why are you intentionally misunderstanding me?” Confusion and shock sounded in her voice.
“How dare you question me.” The woman sneered. “Under the circumstances, you can have no further business to conduct in my store. I must ask you to leave.”
“Leave?” Rebecca sucked in a breath of air. “But I still have purchases to make.”
“We don’t serve your kind.” Muttering something about immigrants and their lack of morals, Mrs. Johnson turned on her heel and showed her back to Rebecca.
Choking down a sob, Rebecca blinked in stunned disbelief. The sound of the front door swinging open spurred her to action. Head down, she rushed past the two newcomers, women she’d seen in church but had never met. In the six months since Rebecca had arrived in High Plains, neither woman had acknowledged her, no matter how often she smiled at them. Well, she would not cry in front of these ladies. Not today. Not ever.
She made it two full blocks before she careened into a hard, unyielding wall of pure muscle.
“I. Oh.” She pressed her hands against the broad chest and looked straight into…Pete Benjamin’s eyes.
Could her day get any worse?
“Steady, now.” Pete’s voice held a hint of amusement, while his hands wrapped around her shoulders with a strong yet gentle grip. “You’re certainly in a hurry this morning.”
Rebecca lowered her head further still, afraid he would see her anger, her shame, if he looked hard enough.
“Rebecca. What’s wrong?” Pete stepped back and lifted her chin with his index finger. “What’s happened?”
Before she could censure herself, words spilled out of her mouth. “Mrs. Johnson said…She said…I mean, she implied that I…” Realizing who stood before her and too humiliated to finish, she let her words trail off.
What would he think if he knew that Mrs. Johnson had just accused her of luring him into his storm cellar? Would he think ill of her? Would he think she wanted the accusation to be true?
Glory. What a dreadful thought.
Pete’s face scrunched into a frown. “Did Matilda Johnson hurt you?”
Yes. “No.” Rebecca forced down a sob. There were some things better left unsaid, especially to this man. “I…have to go.”
Hoping Pete didn’t see the tears welling in her eyes, she quickly whirled around and hurried toward the boardinghouse.
She didn’t dare look back, not even when he called out her name.
When Rebecca didn’t turn around, Pete stared