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“Then the message must have arrived while she was asleep,” Jesse said.
Eden accepted the yellow slip with both hands. Her smile vanished as she unfolded it, and for a moment, he wished he was well enough to go to her.
She read silently. Then she sat on the edge of the empty bed, not looking frightened now, but astonished.
“Eden?” he asked.
She glanced up. “Josiah wrote it himself.”
She read the telegram aloud.
JOSIAH WELL. LAUREL WELL. MAMA WORRIED BUT SAFE. MARSHAL HAS SPOKEN WITH FATHER. WE WILL GIVE STATEMENTS HERE. DO NOT COME HOME FROM GUILT. COME VISIT WHEN YOU WISH. WRITE SOON. LOVE, JOSIAH.
For a moment Jesse heard only the clock ticking on Nate’s shelf.
“He wrote that?” he asked.
“Yes.” Eden’s eyes shone. “He knows they are looking into what happened. He wants me to know I can stay.”
“Sounds like a wise brother.”
“He can be infuriating.”
“Those things often go together.”
She folded the message carefully. Jesse could see she was thinking of Missouri: the wagon, the years beside Josiah’s bed, the family that had learned to call for her before trying anything themselves. Her brother would still have hard days. The investigation might bring more of them. Nothing in the wire promised otherwise.
It had come from Josiah, not from the fear of everyone who loved him.
Eden looked at Jesse. “I want to write him tonight.”
“Then do. Tell him there’s a fellow here eager to meet him.”
“He may take that as a warning.”
“Probably should.”
She rose, still holding the telegram. “You have not asked whether I’m leaving.”
He had wanted to. The question had been sitting behind his teeth since Tater arrived.
“Are you?”
“Not today. Nor tomorrow.” She came close enough to touch his cheek. “I want to see what comes next for us.”
He turned his face into her palm for an instant. “So do I.”
By December, Jesse had graduated from Nate’s clinic to the ranch, from two men holding him upright to a cane and one stubborn leg, and from wishing for Eden’s visits to wondering how he’d ever been content before her.
None of it had happened as quickly as he liked. There were mornings when his hand refused a button and afternoons when his leg dragged so badly that Buck might have outrun him at a walk. Nate had taught him to rest before exhaustion made decisions for him. Jesse had learned the lesson grudgingly.
The first time he managed the porch steps without anyone touching his elbow, he went straight inside and wrote to Eden.
The note was short.
Miss Whitcomb,
Today I made it down the steps. Buck was unimpressed. I believe he expects a man to do better before he takes him riding.
