Heartland Wedding

Emmeline let out an unladylike snort. “So he botched it.”

“I suppose he did. But his intentions were pure.”

If nothing else, Pete’s proposal proved that he was a man of Christian integrity and a true follower of the Lord. Unfortunately, the thought of his steadfast obedience made her a little sad. She didn’t want a marriage driven by duty alone.

“I don’t see the problem here.” Emmeline smoothed a hand down her dress, then plucked at a pleat until it fell neatly into place. “Marriage is a perfect solution to the gossip.”

“But Pete doesn’t know me. And I certainly don’t know him.” Not really. Not enough to build a life on.

“If you give it time, that could change.”

Time. The one commodity they didn’t have. Despite his noble intentions, Pete had told Mrs. Johnson of their impending marriage. The talk would get worse if they didn’t follow through.

She slumped forward, as reality settled over her. Her choices were limited now. No, they were nonexistent. What did it matter whether she and Pete knew each other well? By trying to defend her—which was really rather sweet—he’d tied her to him as no ceremony or vow before God could have done.

“I…” She fought back another onslaught of tears and stood. No. She would not cry over this horrible turn of events. Unfortunately, another lone tear made it past her defenses.

All right, maybe she would cry.

But not here. Not in front of Emmeline.

“I…” She glanced to the ceiling and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Have to check on my pies.”

“Oh, Rebecca.” Sighing, Emmeline pulled her into a fierce hug. “It’s going to be all right. I just know it.”

Surprised at the relief Emmeline’s words brought her, Rebecca clung to her friend. “What am I going to do?” she choked out.

“You’re going to pray for guidance, and trust the Lord. He already has the particulars worked out, you just can’t see the solution clearly yet.” Emmeline patted her back. “And if all else fails, follow your heart.”

“Pray. Trust the Lord. Follow my heart,” Rebecca repeated, chewing on each word as though she was learning the language all over again.

Emmeline pulled back and gave her an encouraging nod. “It’s really that simple.”

And that complicated, Rebecca thought.

How could she explain to her friend that her greatest desire was to be loved solely for herself? She’d spent her entire childhood second best in her parents’ eyes. They had loved her, in their own way, but they had loved each other more. And when the hard times had hit, they’d turned to each other, ignoring Rebecca completely. With Edward already gone, she’d been alone in her own home.

She couldn’t live like that again. Pete’s heart would never truly be hers. After all, he hadn’t chosen to marry her. And, to be fair, she hadn’t chosen to marry him, either. Their union would hush the gossip, but how could anything good come from something based solely on duty and obligation?

Rebecca flicked her gaze toward the kitchen, surprised at the little gasping sobs that slipped past her lips.

“Follow your heart,” Emmeline repeated. “And trust the Lord to take care of the rest.”

If Rebecca did what her friend suggested, if she followed her heart, she feared she would agree to Pete’s proposal. And spend the rest of her life in a forced marriage neither of them truly wanted.

She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t do it.

Chapter Four

With tension scratching under his skin, Pete pushed out the back door of the boardinghouse and set off at a brisk pace.

Rebecca might have just refused his proposal, but he wasn’t giving up. He would convince her to marry him. For her sake, not his own. It was not a matter of if, but when.

The how? Now, that was the problem.

Lord, I could use a little guidance here.

Eyes locked on the horizon, Pete rounded onto Main Street. The air was thick with the pleasant smells of summer, the scent equal parts sweet wildflowers and the tang of fresh-cut timber.

It was no wonder he loved July on the prairie. He loved every month on the prairie, even when the harsh snows hit in winter. Sadly, Sarah had never been happy in High Plains.

Pete should have known she wouldn’t adapt to life on the frontier. She’d always been fragile, frail even. Carrying his child had been the final blow to her uncertain health.

He flexed his fingers several times, clamped his lips tightly together. He hated thinking about Sarah. Memories of her always made him restless and uneasy. He missed her, missed what might have been, missed the child he’d lost along with his wife. There were too many regrets, too much blame, so he cleared his mind, a growing habit since Sarah’s death.

Tense, hands brushing his thighs, he prowled around the perimeter of what would eventually become the new town hall.

The original building had been leveled by the tornado. Miraculously, neither the church on its right nor the schoolhouse on its left had been harmed. Some said the tornado had chosen one building over the others, as though it had a mind of its own. Pete believed otherwise. The Lord had protected the church and the schoolhouse.

Pivoting on his heel, he retraced his path along the perimeter of the building. So far, only the frame, the east wall and several window casings had been constructed. There was a lot of work still to do to rebuild the town.

Frustration rose, strong and urgent. And then, as if to taunt him, his mind circled back to Rebecca and the gossip that had started about them. A sickening dread dropped in his stomach. Just as he had failed Sarah, he was going to fail Rebecca.

Marry her, a voice blazed through his mind. Today. Marry her today. Before it’s too late.

Shocked at the intensity of the thought, and the tightening around his heart, Pete paced to his left, back to his right, and then rounded to the front of the building. With his gaze unfocused, he lifted his face toward heaven.

Lord, how am I supposed to convince Rebecca that marriage is our best course of action when we hardly know each other? What if this doesn’t work out for her? What if she ends up hurt? What if—

“Brooding again, Benjamin?”

Unhappy with the interruption, Pete crammed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Don’t push me, Zeb.” He kept his gaze locked on the sky above. “I’ve already been pushed enough for one day.”

“Don’t doubt it for a minute.”

Unsure what he heard in the other man’s tone, Pete swung around to glare at his friend. But instead of judgment, or even sarcasm, he saw only rough understanding staring back at him.

As the owner of the town’s only mill and a town founder, Zeb Garrison was the wealthiest man in High Plains. Yet today, like most days, he was dressed in ordinary work clothes. Dark trousers, muslin shirt, broad-brimmed hat plopped over his black hair, all were covered with a thin layer of sawdust.

“Been hard at work, I see.”

Zeb shrugged. “Town can’t be rebuilt without lumber.”

Pete heard the determination below the mildly spoken words. He knew firsthand just how strong his friend’s commitment was to High Plains and its people. Zeb was one of Pete’s oldest friends, and he had been the one to coax Pete to move here as the town’s blacksmith, paying for his and Sarah’s passages when there wasn’t enough money to make the trek across country.

When Sarah died, Zeb had begun the search for a new town doctor. Not that Pete blamed Doc Dempsey for the tragedy, but it had been clear that the old man needed help. Zeb’s year-long search hadn’t proved successful—yet—but Pete knew Sarah’s death, Doc Dempsey’s advanced age and all the increased need for medical help since the tornado, kept his friend diligent in the ongoing pursuit.

For that alone, Pete valued Zeb’s friendship.