Heartland Wedding

“Think we’ll get the building done in time for the festival?” Zeb asked.

“We have to,” Pete answered with conviction. “The town needs a day of celebration.”

Zeb nodded. “Yeah. It’s about time we focused on High Plain’s founding principles of faith, love and fortitude, rather than all the tragedies and loss we’ve had to endure.”

Pete’s gut clenched, but he refused to think about Sarah or his son. He forced his mind on the town hall, and nothing else, especially his own loss.

“It’s a mighty task we have ahead of us,” Zeb added.

“We can do it.”

“Yes, we can.”

Of course, neither of them stated the obvious. If they wanted the town hall complete in time for the summer festival they would have to focus all their efforts on this one building. Even then, they would be cutting it close. The festival was scheduled for the end of August, a mere seven weeks away. There was at least nine weeks of work still to be done.

Pete recognized the curling in his gut as apprehension. Unfortunately, the emotion wasn’t due solely to the rebuilding task that lay ahead. Zeb wasn’t finished with him yet.

Feet braced, Pete swallowed back a sudden urge to return to his smithy, the one place where he could use work to free his mind and avoid well-meaning friends.

“I heard about your conversation with Matilda Johnson this morning,” Zeb said in a deceptively neutral tone.

Pete kept his gaze cemented to the window casing just to the left of the front door. “I suspect everyone in town has heard about it by now.”

“Does Rebecca know she’s marrying you yet?”

A pall of defeat enveloped him. “I informed her, yes.”

“You informed her?”

“Yeah.” Pete’s throat tightened. “She refused me.”

“Pete, Pete, no wonder she turned you down, you can’t—”

“Don’t, Zeb.” He lifted a restraining hand in the air. “There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t said to myself.”

That earned him a dry chuckle.

In the midst of his burning frustration, Pete experienced something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Peace. The kind of soul-deep serenity that came when he followed the Lord’s will for his life. He didn’t know why a sense of calm settled over him so completely. Nor did he know how he’d come to this point of acceptance. All he knew for certain was that marrying Rebecca Gundersen was the right thing to do.

“She will marry me,” he said with renewed confidence.

“Is that so?”

Before he could explain further, Pete felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He shot a glance over his shoulder.

“The Tully brothers.” He nearly spat the words.

A muscle twitched in Zeb’s jaw. “Those boys have just about worn out their welcome in this town.”

Pete made a sound of agreement in his throat, although “boys” was not an accurate term. Sal, the oldest and meanest, was in his late twenties. The other two were only a few years behind him. But no matter their age, with their filthy clothes, matted hair and raucous natures, the Tully brothers were walking, talking trouble.

They’d arrived a month ago with the wagon train that had been devastated by the tornado, and had chosen to stay in town when the rest of the train had moved on. From day one, the “boys” had accepted food and lodging while providing little in return.

“We’ve seen their type come through before,” Pete reminded Zeb. “They usually move on once boredom sets in.”

“Yeah, well.” Zeb’s eyes frosted over. “That blessed event can’t come soon enough.”

Pete nodded. He’d broken up more than one fight the brothers had instigated. Flashing the three a dark glance, he then went back to inspecting the town hall’s skeletal frame.

It would take everyone’s combined effort to get the building completed in time for the festival. Looked like his livery wasn’t getting a roof anytime soon.

“Here we go again,” Zeb muttered.

Pete turned in time to see Edward Gundersen rounding the corner of the mercantile. The glare on the big Norwegian’s face, along with the bunched shoulders and clenched fists, told Pete the man was spoiling for a fight. And, of course, Rebecca’s brother was walking straight toward the Tullys.

As if Pete’s day hadn’t been filled with enough conflict, now he had to break up another Tully fight.

“Leave this to me,” he said, looking to his right and then his left before stepping off the planked sidewalk.

“Not on your life,” Zeb said. “This is my concern, too.”

Pete and Zeb made it halfway across the street when Edward closed the distance between him and the brothers. Sal Tully, the oldest and meanest of the three, said something low and menacing. Pete was too far away to make out the specific words.

Edward raised his hands in a show of surrender, as though he was trying to behave rationally and stay calm despite the anger on his face.

The Tullys advanced on him anyway. Shoulder to shoulder, they created a wall of hard muscle and bad attitude.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw Will Logan heading toward the fight from the opposite direction. It was anybody’s guess who would get to the group first.

Edward pushed back.

Pete broke into a run. Zeb’s footsteps pounded behind him.

Just as Edward raised his fists in obvious defense, the two youngest Tullys grabbed him from either side and slammed him against the wall of the mercantile. Edward’s elbow broke through one of the store’s new windows. The high-pitched shriek of shattering glass rang out over Edward’s grunts.

The boys held Edward in place while Sal pounded his left side. The brute focused on the same spot, over and over again.

People spilled out of buildings from both sides of the streets. One woman in particular rushed forward.

“How dare you start a fight in front of my store,” Matilda Johnson said in an outraged voice.

In the next moment, Pete drew alongside her. He nearly clipped her on the shoulder in his attempt to rush past her. Matilda’s pinched-faced daughter, Abigail, yelled at him to watch his step. But then she saw Zeb and her face softened. She approached him, but he barked at her to stay back.

Unfortunately, the Tully brothers had Edward down on the sidewalk by then. The hard thuds of boots connecting with human muscle and bone were followed by Edward’s grunts.

Furious, as much by the underhanded tactics as the growing audience they were attracting, Pete grabbed the closest Tully by the shirt and waistband. One hefty swing and the man went flying into the street. Pete reached for the next brother, but Zeb already had his hands on him.

Tully number two landed on top of his brother.