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“And apparently the only one at the ranch with enough sense not to let Aunt Cleo hitch a horse by herself in the dark.”

Aunt Cleo gave Maddy’s hand a pat. “Good girl.”

Bass dragged his palms down his face, the stubble rasping under them. “This family will be the death of me.”

“No,” Aunt Cleo said. “Worrying over what you can’t control will. Family is the Lord’s way of keeping you too busy for despair.” She moved across the room, her cane tapping lightly on the floorboards. Bass shifted aside without a word.

She stopped near Nate. “Where’s Jesse?”

“Sleeping.”

“Good. Then I’ll pray from here and save my steps.” The admission was in the slight tremor of her hand as it settled on the back of a chair.

Nate brought it for her. She lowered herself into it slowly, with care. Her eyes traveled the room before landing on Izzy, who sat twisting the shawl in both hands.

“Come here, girl.”

Izzy blinked. “Me?”

“You see another girl in here shaking herself apart?”

Izzy rose and crossed to her, steps hesitant.

Aunt Cleo took her hand, the skin papery but firm. “Jesse’s always had more courage than sense. If he stood between you and harm, that was his choice. You don’t honor him by drowning in guilt over it.”

Izzy’s face crumpled. A sob broke loose, then another. Aunt Cleo pulled her down gently until the girl kneeled beside the chair, her shoulders shaking. Aunt Cleo laid a gnarled hand on her head while Izzy cried into the worn fabric of her skirt.

“Lord, You are near to the brokenhearted,” Aunt Cleo began, her voice gaining strength. “Be near now.”

Heads bowed. Nate found Carolina’s hand and laced his fingers through hers.

Aunt Cleo prayed for Jesse’s healing, for Flat River’s protection, and for wisdom without pride. Then she paused, her breath catching slightly.

“And Lord, if help is already on the road…let it come in Your time. Prepare us to receive it without pride getting in the way.”

Emily’s head came up.

Her eyes went to the mantel, to a cream envelope tucked beneath the clock. Nate had seen it earlier and dismissed it as one more piece of mail in a day gone wrong.

Emily walked over and picked it up.

Bass watched her. “What’s that?”

“A letter,” she said.

Simon let out a long, weary breath. “That much seemed clear.”

Georgia’s elbow connected with his ribs, a swift and silent correction.

Emily’s fingers traced the edges of the cream-colored envelope, turning it over and over. The paper rasped softly beneath her thumb. “Before Jesse was hurt,” she began, her voice barely above the hiss of the lamp, “I wrote to a woman. From the remaining letters.”

Bass went still, the lines of his face hardening into something grim. “Emily.”

“I made no promises.” Her thumb paused over the sealed flap. “Only told her the truth.”

“About Jesse?” Carolina asked softly.

“About who he was.” Emily’s throat worked. She blinked rapidly. “After they brought him back like that, I mailed a letter yesterday. Told her he might not wake. Said she owed us nothing. Wouldn’t have to come.”