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.
Pete stopped walking. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”
“Pete. My friend.” Will spoke in the slow cadence he usually reserved for small children. “Aside from the fact that I wouldn’t miss this confrontation for the world, I’ve known you since we were boys back East in Belville.”
“Yeah? No kidding. Thanks for reminding me.” He didn’t bother hiding his sarcasm. It was no secret that Will was the most level-headed man among their group of friends. Even when they were kids, he had prevented more than a few fights in their small Massachusetts community.
Pete usually appreciated Will’s ability to remain calm and think through any situation. But not today. Not with Rebecca’s tears still fresh in his mind.
“Pete,” Will said. “We both know when you’re this angry, words fly out of your mouth that make matters worse.”
Pete didn’t argue. The man had a point. “Fair enough.” He relented with only a mild dose of animosity churning in his gut. “But remember. This is my battle.”
Will’s gaze filled with mock seriousness. “I wouldn’t dare interfere.”
“Right.” Blowing out a hiss, Pete pushed open the door to the mercantile.
He looked around the store until his gaze landed on his quarry, who was staring back at him from behind a counter.
Matilda Johnson had the broad shoulders of a man, the small, beady eyes of a rat and hair the muted silver-brown of a hawk. Balancing on her toes, with her shoulders hunched forward, the woman looked like a coiled viper ready to strike. Even her narrowed gaze had the requisite predatory sheen.
A formidable foe. Perfect.
“Mrs. Johnson,” he said through clenched teeth. “A word, if you please.”
Only as he moved in her direction did Pete notice the other two ladies in the store. They whispered together, sending odd looks in his direction, but neither made eye contact with him. Rather, they scurried around him like frightened mice in a barn full of cats.
Dismissing them from his mind, Pete maneuvered in front of Mrs. Johnson and opened his mouth to speak.
She beat him to it. “Why, good morning, Mr. Benjamin. How may I help you this fine day?” She smiled at him sweetly. Too sweetly. Clearly, she was up to something.
He couldn’t imagine what had put that look of pure glee in the woman’s eyes. He feared Rebecca was the reason.
The muscles in his shoulders bunched. “I want to know what you said to Rebecca Gundersen just now.”
His blunt question sent words sputtering out of her mouth. “I, oh. I didn’t expect you to—”
“Tell me.”
“Now, see here.” She hitched her chin at him, no longer playing innocent. “You don’t need to get upset with me. I merely confronted the girl about that day in your storm cellar.”
Pete narrowed his gaze. “What