Who knew he was here?
Jack glanced about him as if the letter writer were right here in town, watching him. Absolutely no one should know where he’d gone. He’d left so quickly, he hadn’t time to tell a soul beyond the clerk at the newspaper office and the ticket seller at Grand Central. No one should have a reason to talk to the former, and the latter didn’t know him from any other man.
Had someone followed him that night? Found him at the depot where he’d sat, wrinkled and damp from the rain? Overheard him purchase his ticket? Peered into the newspaper office where he’d collected the letters?
Jack swallowed, glancing over his shoulder for Garrity Shane. The nightmare he’d left behind in New York had followed him here. How had he been so naive to think it wouldn’t?
He drew his glance back to the letter as the ferry made its way across the river. It was no use putting off the inevitable. With a deep breath, he tore the envelope open with a half-frozen finger. Inside, a single sheet of paper awaited him. Jack opened it and skimmed the few words.
It wasn’t a letter at all.
It was a receipt, for the purchase of some ranching equipment to be shipped from New York, for a Jack Williams.
Jack’s shoulders slumped as the paper fluttered to the ground. It wasn’t him. No one knew. He was safe. Celia was safe.
For now.
He scooped up the receipt from where it sat lodged against a clump of dead grass. He’d return it to Faith as soon as he had his head on straight again. But now, he wanted more than anything to gather the horses and get out of town, back to the farm, back to Celia.
As he drove out of town, something that felt oddly like guilt seemed to ride alongside him in the wagon. Celia had asked him directly why he’d chosen to come here, and he hadn’t given her a complete answer. He’d thought it didn’t matter, that no one would ever find him here. That he’d left all of his troubles behind in New York.
And despite that letter being nothing at all, he couldn’t shake the fear that had raced up his spine upon seeing that envelope. Nor could he forget how badly he felt leaving all those men in the lurch with his failed ideas.
He had to tell Celia about all of it, even if it was only for his own peace of mind. And then he needed to figure out what to do to put it all behind him for good.
Chapter Sixteen
Celia had just pressed the last of the week’s wash when Jack came through the door. She carefully hung the shirt in the small wardrobe in the bedroom before hurrying out to meet him.
He was hanging his coat by the door when she entered the parlor. Just seeing him brought a smile to her face. When he was gone, she looked forward to his return. She couldn’t remember feeling much of anything when Ned would return from trips into town. It was strange—it was as if she’d been asleep for over a year, and had only recently woken up.
“How was town?” she asked, standing just inside the door from the kitchen.
He turned a smile toward her, but it was different somehow. As if something else occupied his mind. “Just fine. Your sister says hello. Mrs. Zack was grateful for the pork, and said she’d send tea soon.”
“I’m so glad she accepted it. I worry about her with all those children and no husband.”
Jack crossed the room in two steps and took her into his arms, holding her to him. Celia’s breath caught in her throat. Would he try and kiss her again? She nestled into his embrace, wishing he might never let her go. It was so comforting and yet . . . there was something urgent about it. He hadn’t done more than take her hand or tuck a stray curl behind her ear since they’d visited the river a few days ago. What had happened that caused this sudden display of affection? Not that she minded, but . . .
“Jack?” she said from against his chest.
He loosened his grip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I mean, I meant to but—”
“Jack.” She tilted her head back to see him better. Worry created lines she’d never seen before on his face. “What happened?”
He sighed and dropped his arms to take her hand. “Come, sit down.”
As he led her to the kitchen table, her heart thumped erratically. What was he going to tell her? What could possibly have happened? She chased terrible possibilities through her mind—one of the horses had gone lame, the cow was sickly, something had happened to Faith—
“Jack? Is Faith all right?” She felt as if she might be sick just saying the words.
He sat her down in one of the chairs. “She’s fine. In fact, she was almost kind to me today.”
Celia gave a wry smile. That was good to hear, and yet she still didn’t know what had happened.
Jack eased into a chair across from her and dropped his face into his hands. When he said nothing, she reached out and wrapped a hand around one of his wrists. He slowly let his arms fall to the table, and his dark eyes searched hers out.
“What is it?” she asked quietly, her fingers still loosely resting against his wrist.
He breathed deeply and exhaled. “You’d asked what made me leave New York.”
“And you told me.”
“I did . . . But I didn’t say
