Should she run?
“Rebecca, we need to talk,” Pete said from behind her. His urgent tone could not be ignored. Her options had dwindled to one.
“Please,” he said in a much softer pitch.
A chill navigated along Rebecca’s spine. The sound of that deep, gravelly voice lowered to a mere whisper reminded her of the last time they’d been alone together and how gentle his words had become when she’d been in a state of panic over Edward’s safety.
When she still didn’t move, Emmeline gave her a nudge. “Go on,” she mouthed. “Talk to him.”
Rebecca slowly pivoted around. It took considerable fortitude to hold Pete’s gaze. She’d seen that look on his face before. It was the same intense expression he’d had when he’d practically dragged her into the storm cellar.
He remained silent, unmoving, holding her stare with unwavering concentration. A sure sign he was trying to hide his emotions behind an unreadable mask. But it was a mask. She’d seen glimpses of the real man behind the facade, the one who had put her fears ahead of his own in the storm cellar. Today, however, there was no softness in him, no warmth.
And just like that, she had her confirmation. He’d spoken with Matilda Johnson. Or…
Had something else happened, something far worse?
“Is it Edward?” Her stomach rolled inside itself. “Is he—”
“He’s fine.”
In spite of Pete’s quick assurance, something was wrong.
Her heart gave a momentary flutter.
In that instant, Rebecca understood why she’d avoided him ever since the storm. Something deep within her, something vulnerable and unrecognizable, wanted to know this man better.
She would never get the chance, of course. He was still mourning his wife and child. And no matter how noble his intentions were, Rebecca would not be second in anyone’s heart. Even if her suspicions about his reasons for calling on her proved to be correct.
This visit, so close behind her trip to the mercantile, could mean only one thing.
Pete Benjamin had come to do the right thing.
And she would have to tell him no.
Chapter Three
Think before you speak. Will’s advice echoed in Pete’s head, causing him to take a moment to contemplate his next words. He couldn’t make any mistakes with Rebecca. The consequences were too severe for her if he failed to convince her of what needed to be done.
Restlessly, he scanned the room, running his gaze past the sink to the spotless counters with canisters lined up in neat, functional rows. There was a pile of dough sitting on a wooden cutting board, and the smell of baking pies created the pleasant scent of home, a real home. The thought whipped an unexpected pang of sadness through him. He’d forgotten how soothing order and cleanliness could be in this chaotic world.
He wasn’t surprised Rebecca Gundersen kept her kitchen neat and free of clutter. She had that air of competence about her. He found himself admiring her all over again, which made the knot of regret forming in his gut all the more disturbing.
Lord, help me to clear up the muddle I’ve made with my rash behavior.
Pete continued staring at Rebecca.
He’d never looked at her like this before, head-on, without interruption, not even when they’d been alone in his storm cellar. He’d never noticed her fine, sculpted cheekbones. Her clear, pale skin. Her silvery-blue eyes that were not a run-of-the-mill blue as he’d always assumed. Her light blond hair and sturdy build spoke of her Nordic descent. Yet, in spite of her height, her soft curves made her seem feminine, almost delicate.
His stomach performed an unexpected flip and he nearly reached out to her.
He took a step back, instead. This was no time to forget why he was here.
A rustling of paper coming from his right captured his attention. Irritated by the distraction, he turned his gaze onto Emmeline Logan. He’d been so focused on what he’d come to do, he’d forgotten she was in the room with them. Bent over a small table in the middle of the kitchen, Will’s new bride was wrapping brown paper around some sort of blue material.
Even with her hands busy, she kept casting nervous glances at Rebecca, while Rebecca kept staring at him. And staring. And staring.
A clock chimed the hour. By the third note, Pete sprang into action. “Emmeline, would you allow Rebecca and me a moment of privacy?”
“Oh, yes.” She straightened and then smiled prettily at him. “Of course.”
Holding on to her smile, she picked up her package and glided closer to Rebecca. “I’ll just be in the next room if you need me,” she said, giving her the kind of meaningful look only another female could interpret.
Eyes still on Rebecca, Will’s wife turned only her shoulders in his direction. “Good day—” her gaze followed at last “—Pete.”
Pete forced his lips into an answering smile. He hoped. “Good day, Emmeline. It was a pleasure seeing you again.”
“The pleasure was mine.” She threw a brisk wave in his direction before exiting the kitchen through the swinging door.
Now that he was alone with Rebecca, Pete’s sporadic heartbeat eased a bit. He moved without thought. One step forward. Two.
He stopped.
What was he doing, advancing on the poor woman like a hunter stalking his prey? It was no wonder her eyes—those beautiful almond-shaped, silvery eyes—filled with alarm.
“You wanted to speak with me?” she asked in a quivering voice.
“Yes.” The word came out rougher than he’d intended. He was out of practice talking to a woman.
As if to prove his point, Rebecca took a noticeable step away from him.
Was she afraid of him? The thought was like a punch to his gut. Determined not to scare her, he broke eye contact. He had to remember that although she was no fragile miss, he was still much larger than she.
“We have a problem,” he said in a more contrite tone. “We…” Think before you speak, he reminded himself. “There’s gossip going around about our time together during the storm. And I’m afraid the things being said are not…nice.”
“So you’ve spoken with Mrs. Johnson,” she said, her tone resigned and more than a little cautious.
“Yes, I spoke with her just now.”
Guilt spread across her face, followed closely by shame. “I had no idea she’d take your effort to save my life and turn it into something depraved.”
Pete heard the apology in her tone, as though the situation was her fault. Knowing how Matilda Johnson worked, how she liked to twist the facts to suit her nasty mind, Pete wanted to reach out and soothe away Rebecca’s distress. He clasped his hands behind his back. “This isn’t your fault.”
“But it is.” She braided her fingers together and sighed. “I let it slip that we were alone in your storm cellar during the tornado.”
“It doesn’t matter how she found out. What matters is—” he banged his fist against his thigh “—that I made things worse.”
A confused look crossed her face. “You did?”
“We must marry at once.” He spoke more forcefully than he’d planned. Powerful feelings were cracking through his usually calm exterior, making him want to give this woman a stack of assurances.
There were none to give.
“You want us to marry?” She said the