There was nothing to do but set the food on the stove to keep it warm and try to occupy herself while she waited. Hannah snatched a slice of bread and butter to tide herself over in the meantime. She’d just sat down with the lamp turned up and the start of what would become a new skirt for herself when a knock sounded at the door.
The unexpected sound made her jump. Rafe wouldn’t knock, and none of her friends would come by this late unless it was an emergency. Hannah’s breath caught in her throat as she said a prayer. She fumbled with the lock on the door and opened it to find a boy of about sixteen on the other side.
He held out a small stack of envelopes. “Pardon me, missus, for stopping by at this hour. Only Mr. Forbes received two or three weeks worth of post just a few hours ago. He thought folks might be waiting for it, so I’m coming around to deliver it.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said as she took the envelopes from him. “Wait just a moment, and I’ll give you something for your trouble.”
She scrounged a coin from her reticule, took another slice of bread, and handed both to the boy.
He tipped his hat at her as he shoved the bread into his mouth. Hannah closed the door behind him before sitting at the table to go through the envelopes. She pulled the lamp closer to read the writing on each one. The first two were addressed to Rafe. One appeared to be a letter from his mother, and Hannah smiled at that. He’d read Hannah a previous letter she’d sent, and it was filled with all the gossip from Denver. Rafe didn’t care one whit about who Miss So-and-So planned to marry or what scandal Mr. So-and-So found himself embroiled in, but Hannah had thoroughly enjoyed the lengthy tales Mrs. Garland told. The fat envelope on the top of the stack promised more entertaining reading.
The second letter looked to be an invoice of some kind. Hannah set it aside on top of the letter from Mrs. Garland. She squinted at the return address on the third envelope—and froze.
J. Donahue.
She shoved it aside so quickly it almost slid off the other side of the table and onto the floor.
Heart thumping wildly, Hannah glanced down at the next envelope. It bore the same script as the previous one, and when she turned it over with shaking fingers, there was his name again. The last envelope was the same.
Hannah had never wished so much for Rafe to be home. She restacked the three envelopes apart from the two addressed to Rafe. But try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to open them.
She was sitting in the same spot when Rafe arrived home an hour later.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” he said.
Hannah turned around to watch him do exactly as he did each time he arrived home. He hung his hat and jacket on hooks by the door before unbuckling his gun belt and laying on a hook closer to the bed.
“I can’t wait to try that stew. I was thinking about it the entire time. Jackson and I had to get these buffoons off the steps at the diner. They were belligerent, and we ended up putting them in the jail—only to find out one of them is wanted over in Fremont County for horse thieving. I had to sit down and pen a letter to the sheriff over there, and then—” He paused by the table, where Hannah had turned her attention back to the envelopes in front of her. “What’s wrong?”
She wordlessly slid the unopened letters toward him. Rafe picked them up, one by one, his frown deepening with each one.
“The post finally arrived, I take it,” he said.
“There are a couple of items for you too,” Hannah replied in a small voice as she eyed the envelopes from Mr. Donahue in Rafe’s hand. “I couldn’t open those.”
“You don’t have to.” Rafe pulled out a chair, its legs scraping against the clean wood floor. He drew the lamp closer to him. Jaw set, he opened each one and drew out the letters. The only sound was the fire burning in the stove and the distant shouts of men through the windows that remained open at the rear of the house. The more he read, the harder his expression grew. “The man needs to be in an asylum,” he said when he finished.
Hannah drew in a deep breath, trying to prepare herself to hear any number of terrible things. “What does he say?”
“He insists you return to New York to marry him. He also professes his supposed love for you, after saying a number of things I won’t repeat. They only half made sense.” Rafe reached out and took Hannah’s hand. “I’m glad you didn’t open these.”
“What should I do?” she asked. She hated the tremor in her voice, but ever since she’d met him, Mr. Donahue had a way of frightening her so deeply she wanted to hide in a corner.
“Nothing. You’re safe here in Perseverance. However, I’m going to write to the man and tell him in no uncertain terms to cease sending you letters.” Rafe cast a scalding glance at the papers lying before him. “And if need be, I’ll write the police in New York and inform them. He won’t bother you ever again.”
Hannah was so grateful she jumped up and flung her arms around him. “Thank you,” she said as she buried her face against his hair.
Rafe stood, and her arms slid down his back. She looked up at him and wished she could find the words that said so much more than simply thank you. “I wish I’d known you months ago. Perhaps if I had, he never would have caught me in the garden or stood waiting outside every morning.”
“I wish I had too.” Rafe wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t pull her closer, but instead looked down at her as if he was waiting for permission.
Hannah’s heart swelled. She moved closer and rested the side of her face against his chest. He expelled a breath, making her think he feared she would never let him hold her. Little did he know, she thought of it more and more frequently ever since the day she’d hurt her ankle and found herself in his arms.
And it was just as wonderful as she’d imagined. He pressed his hands against her back, making her feel safer than she ever had. He smelled of cigar smoke and leather, exactly as she’d remembered when he’d had to carry her home. Hannah closed her eyes and reveled in the moment.
“You are the most wonderful man I’ve ever known,” she said, meaning every word. It felt important to say that out loud, after everything he’d done for her.
“I don’t know about that,” he said with a laugh that rumbled against her ear.
