“Ice factory?” Celia raised her eyebrows at that one. “How . . .?”
Jack shrugged. “I had grand ideas. I always have. But unfortunately, none of them were particularly feasible. I was either too late, or too imaginative, or found deals that were too good to be true. None of my plans ever actually happened.” He frowned at that, and Celia’s heart went out to him. It was clear he enjoyed thinking up new ideas.
“It must have been hard not to see any of your plans come to fruition,” she said, running a hand over Tiny’s shoulder. The mare was a good horse, easy to ride and calm. She’d do well in the fields come spring.
“It was.” Jack looked at her now, and a measure of understanding passed between them. “Thank you. Not many people understand that.”
“I do.” Celia felt as if she breathed the words out. She’d had so many wonderful plans for her life when she’d married Ned and they’d left for Nebraska. She got her farm and her horses and chickens . . . but not the family of her own that she’d craved. No caring husband and no children.
“I know,” he said. His hand reached for hers again, and Celia’s heart soared. His grip was reassuring, and she thought that maybe—just maybe—her dreams weren’t entirely dead at all.
“So what made you want to leave that behind and come here? You can hardly build a factory in Last Chance.”
His fingers intertwined with hers, and Celia’s heart thumped harder. “I disagree. Last Chance is rife with opportunity. I needed to go somewhere I could make a difference. Somewhere I could be forward thinking and not worry about ten other men beating me to the idea. Somewhere I could begin to understand what is feasible and what is not. Somewhere honest. I didn’t expect to find myself on a farm, but here I am.”
She smiled at him, but a new worry bloomed. What if the farm wasn’t enough? Sure, it was challenging for him now, to learn and strike deals for horses. But what if one day next spring, he became bored with planting, or next summer he grew weary of worrying over the crops? What would happen then? Celia drew her lip between her teeth.
“Besides—” he grinned mischievously at her—“the thought of a pretty widow woman needing my help was hard to pass up.”
His words immediately buried her worry. “You think I’m pretty?”
Jack’s eyes widened, and then he threw back his head and laughed. “I find it hard to believe you don’t know that.”
Celia looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I never thought of myself as such. Faith was the one who drew attention from the boys at home.”
“Are you telling me no man has ever fallen all over himself to spend time with you?”
He was teasing her, she was sure of that. Yet, when she gathered the courage to glance up at him, it was clear he was truly surprised. “No. Never. Why would they? Faith could charm them all with her easy laugh and conversation. Why would any of them work so hard to pry a word out of me?”
Jack blinked at her and shook his head. “Fools, all of them. Though I should be grateful for that.”
Celia ducked her head again. How had she gotten so lucky? Surely God had intervened. She’d prayed He might send her someone who truly saw her. And He had.
The sun was beginning to set and with it, the temperature dropped. They soon arrived back at the farm. Jack took the horses to the barn, brimming with excitement to put everything he’d learned from Mr. McFarland into practice. Celia went inside and began preparations for the evening.
They ate a meal of bread and butter, beans and ham. Celia tried not to fret over how many beans were left, or how they could afford flour once the last of the hay money ran out. Jack made it easy, entertaining her with stories from the city. He told of buildings so tall, one had to crane his neck back to see to the top. Of so many people, it was impossible to ever be on a street alone. Of the wealthy people he’d known and done business with. Celia listened to each word, enraptured. He coaxed a few tales from her of Mississippi and the perils of starting life anew here in Nebraska, but she felt none of them were nearly as fascinating as Jack’s life.
He finished and pressed his napkin to the table. “That was delicious, Celia. I’ve never eaten so well.”
And she’d never received so many compliments. It made her head spin, and she wondered if this was how people became egotistical. “I wish I’d made a dessert, but I fear using up all the flour.”
Jack leaned forward. “Please don’t fret about that. I’ll figure it out.”
But how? she wanted to ask. Food didn’t simply appear from nowhere.
“I know you’ve been up in the middle of the night.” His words caught her off guard.
“You do?”
“I hear you moving about. You’re still worried about having enough for winter?”
Celia looked down at her empty plate. She ought to start cleaning up. But instead, she remained where she was, and she found herself saying, “It isn’t just that.”
When Jack was silent, Celia glanced up to find him beside her. He pulled his chair over and sat right next to her. “What is it?” he asked, concern tracing his dark eyebrows and making that little scar at the corner of his lips more prominent. She longed to run a finger over that scar, to find out what it felt like.
Appalled at her own thoughts, Celia clasped her hands between her knees. “It’s nothing.”
“Clearly it’s something, else you’d be asleep in the wee hours of the morning.” He gently pulled her arm until she let
