Heartland Wedding

“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 after her in silence. From what little he could glean, Matilda Johnson had caused the pretty Norwegian a great deal of distress.

The thought sent a hot surge of emotion through him. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing Rebecca Gundersen hurting like that tied his gut into a tight knot of tension.

What was it about her that tugged at him? Even now, weeks after the tornado, the image of her rushing around the livery stable in search of her brother still haunted him. There’d been such love in her actions, such fear for her only living relative.

Up to that moment, Pete had spent the previous year locked in his own grief. Missing Sarah—and all that might have been had she survived—he’d merely existed, blindly walking though the motions of life. He hadn’t concerned himself with others or their pain. But when he’d seen Rebecca’s desperation to find her brother, even at the risk of her own safety, Pete had resolved to do whatever it took to save her life.

No, it hadn’t been resolve. He’d been driven by something stronger than that. He’d needed to save her life. He’d failed one woman. He’d vowed not to fail another.

In that instant, Rebecca had sparked a protective instinct in him. One he’d thought long dead, one that apparently still burned today. Which probably explained why the fact that Mrs. Johnson had just made her cry angered him so much.

Fueled by the surprisingly strong emotion, he turned in the direction of the mercantile. He knew he needed to handle the situation with the Lord guiding him, but Pete wasn’t feeling very charitable toward Mrs. Johnson at the moment. She’d hurt Rebecca, one of the kindest women in town.

He that refraineth his lips is wise…

Pete kept the proverb in mind. It would do Rebecca no good if he acted out of raw emotion. He would gather the facts first. Then he would know how to act.

So focused on his task, he nearly slammed into Will Logan, one of the town’s founders and Pete’s childhood friend.

“Whoa.” Will shifted directly into his path, forcing Pete to halt his pursuit. “Where’s the fire?”

“I’m about to quench it.”

Will eyed him thoughtfully, then shot a quick glance at the mercantile. “Let me guess. Matilda Johnson is up to her old antics, and from the look on your face I’m assuming you’re at the center of her latest gossip.”

“Not even close.”

“Well, whatever has you in such a mood, my suggestion would be to simmer down before you confront that gossiping old biddy.” Will lowered his voice. “But don’t tell my wife I called Mrs. Johnson that. Emmeline would be so disappointed in me.”

“Step aside, Will. My fight isn’t with you.”

When his friend held his ground, Pete took a calming breath. And then stepped to his left.

Will moved in the same direction.

“Get out of my way.”

“Pete, think this through. We’re talking about Matilda Johnson here. Whatever she’s said, there’s a good chance it’s not based in fact.”

“It’s not what she said. It’s what she did. She made Rebecca Gundersen cry.” Pete practically growled out the words.

Hearing the anger in his own voice, he realized he wasn’t furious with Matilda Johnson alone. After six months of cooking at the boardinghouse, many in High Plains still considered Rebecca an outsider. All because she was a foreigner. Some shunned her. Others treated her as if she was tainted. Very few actually accepted her.

That ended today, starting with Matilda Johnson.

“Rebecca deserves better than this town has given her since she’s arrived in High Plains,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud.

He couldn’t explain this strange need to protect the young woman. Perhaps it had to do with his failure to save Sarah and their baby. Perhaps this was some sort of self-imposed penance. Perhaps it was just the right thing to do.

Whatever was driving him, he didn’t have time to discuss the particulars with Will Logan.

He shoved forward.

Will stopped him with a hand on his arm. “If I’m hearing you correctly, you think Rebecca deserves to be treated decently by everyone in this town, including Matilda Johnson?”

“I don’t think.” Pete glanced in the direction of Mrs. Jennings’s boardinghouse, where Rebecca was the live-in cook. “I know.”

“Well, then.” Will cuffed him on the shoulder. “Let me be the first to welcome you back from the dead.”

Genuine confusion had Pete blinking at his friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Will waved him past. “Go on. Set Mrs. Johnson straight. I won’t stop you.”

Focused once more on his task, Pete stepped around his friend. Will turned on his heel and matched him step for step along the slatted sidewalk.