KATHRYN QUICKENED HER pace, glancing back at the clock on the front of the Willow Springs Bank building. Ten minutes to get to her next job. Her hands ached from sewing all morning at the haberdashery, and the space between her shoulder blades burned with muscle fatigue. She reached up and massaged the tightness, reminding herself to be thankful despite the fatigue and long hours. The past week had seen her gain not only one job, but two, and a safe place to live. For the time being anyway.
The bell hanging over the entryway to Myrtle’s Cookery jangled when she entered, and as they had more than once in recent days, her thoughts turned to Matthew Taylor. Wondering how he’d been faring, she slipped out of her coat and shook off the droplets of water clinging to the wool before hanging the garment on the hook. Tying an apron loosely about her expanding midsection, she paused, realizing her condition would soon be evident to all. Still, somehow it felt right to keep it to herself for now. She wanted Larson to be the first to . . .
The bell above the door sounded, and she spoke without turning. “We’ll be serving lunch in about an hour. Today’s special is fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Can you come back then?”
“Well, that depends on who’s cookin’ today . . . you or Miss Myrtle.”
Kathryn turned at his voice. He stood in the doorway, his customary smile softening his eyes. Matthew Taylor removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh.
“Mr. Taylor.” The delight in her own voice surprised her, as did the warmth she felt at seeing him again.
He crossed the room. “I’ve been wondering how you are . . . Mrs. Jennings.”
“I’m fine.” She quickly decided by the eagerness in his eyes not to divulge she’d been wondering the same about him. “Did Jake Sampson at the livery give you—”
“He gave me your note. Yes, ma’am. And the money. But I came to tell you that I don’t feel right takin’ the money from you like this. I don’t feel like I did right by you.” He glanced down at the hat in his hands, his voice growing soft. “Or by your husband.”
The sincerity in his tone, coupled with the earnest look in his eyes, caused Kathryn’s heart to skip a beat. Such a fine man. “Mr. Taylor, you did everything you could to help me keep the ranch.” She swallowed against the tightening in her throat. “And you did right by my husband. Never doubt that. You’re an honorable man and I appreciate your friendship.”
He stared at her for a long moment, a muscle working in his jaw, looking as though he were weighing his words. “Yes, ma’am,” he finally answered quietly, and his soft brown eyes conveyed emotions that Kathryn prayed he wouldn’t give voice to. “If you need anything. Anything at all . . .” His gaze locked with hers. “You let me know.”
Unable to speak, Kathryn nodded and managed a smile. When the door closed behind him, she let out her breath.
Kathryn skirted down the darkened boardwalk toward the brothel, unable to keep from glancing behind her every few seconds. Though she’d stayed at the brothel for only two nights and had moved out several days ago, she was acutely aware of how her being seen there again would easily be misconstrued. And as much as she’d come to care for Annabelle and some of the other women in that short time, truth be told she didn’t want to be associated with what they did.
The boisterous shouts coming from the front parlor told her that business was going well that night. Clutching the cloth bag in her hand, she stopped just inside the back alley and tried to imagine what Jesus would do in this situation. He had befriended prostitutes and social outcasts, had loved them despite the vicious rumors that accompanied his befriending them, and then paid the price for it. Not a comforting thought at the moment.
With one last glance, she edged her way toward the back porch stairs.
Surprisingly, she’d moved past the point of merely being sickened by what went on here to feeling an ache so deep inside her she knew it was one only God could heal. She’d quickly come to recognize a depth of loneliness in Annabelle’s painted eyes, and in the diminutive dark-haired Sadie, that could only be filled by the Lover of their souls. God desired to fill them to overflowing with His love, while the evil lurking here sought to ravage their bodies of innocence and rape their souls of hope.
Kathryn opened the back door to find Annabelle seated at the kitchen table. Perfect timing. “Annabelle, just the woman I wanted to see.”
Annabelle turned, and Kathryn’s smile faded.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m all right.” Holding a bloodied cloth to her head, Annabelle waved Kathryn away when she came closer. “One of the men got a little rough is all. I was handling him fine until he threw that right hook.” She cursed softly, working her delicate jaw. Her tongue flickered to the left side of her mouth, where purpling flesh bordered her swollen lips. A dark circle was already forming around her left eye. “I didn’t see it comin’ this time.”
“This time?” Kathryn gasped.
Annabelle sighed and shook her head, her eyes mirroring disbelief. “You really are an innocent, aren’t you? Didn’t your husband ever hit you?”
The question took Kathryn by surprise. Though she and Annabelle had talked on several occasions, she’d not spoken of Larson yet. “No,” she whispered, laying the cloth bag on the table. “My husband never laid a harsh hand to me.”
“What about when the stew was burned or his clothes weren’t washed?” Annabelle’s eyes flashed with anger and a pain so raw that Kathryn felt sure few had been allowed to see it. “Or when you didn’t please him to his liking?”
Kathryn’s eyes watered and she shook her head. “No, not even then. We had our disagreements, don’t get me wrong, but . . . he never hit me.” She remembered Larson’s sullen moods. “He would withdraw and wouldn’t talk to me, sometimes for days. I wondered what was going on inside him and would’ve given anything for him to let me in.”
As soon as Kathryn said it, she regretted it. Seeing the bruises and cuts on Annabelle’s face, she knew there was no comparison between the existence Annabelle endured and the life she shared with Larson. Had shared. Her heart beat faster. No, not past tense. She would share it again. He would come home; she felt it inside her.
“What happened to him?”
Kathryn blinked.
“To your man.” Annabelle’s focus dropped to Kathryn’s abdomen. “Does he know about the child?”
Kathryn’s jaw went slack. “How did you know?”
Annabelle gave her a look. “I’ve seen lots of it through the years—the start of it anyway. So it’s not really so hard to tell.” Her smile grew wistful. “The full cut of your dresses and skirts, your visits to the water closet. And the way you’re shieldin’ the little one right now.”
Kathryn looked down to see her hand resting over the gentle swell she’d thought well hidden by the gathers in her skirt. She smiled and shook her head. “And here I thought I was keeping a secret.”
A shadow flitted across Annabelle’s marred features, and Kathryn had the feeling she was about to gain a glimpse into the woman’s battered heart. Then just as quickly, she looked away.
Annabelle cleared her throat and nodded to the sack on the table. “So what’d you bring me?”
Kathryn smiled. “Blackberry cobb—”
“Annabelle!” The door to the kitchen swung open. One of the other women ran in, out of breath. Her lacy bodice gaped open at the top. “Come quick, it’s Sadie!”
Kathryn climbed the stairs, right on Annabelle’s heels. She pushed through the crowd of half-dressed men and women standing in the hall and arrived at Sadie’s room. Sadie lay motionless on the bed, her naked body half draped in a sheet. Annabelle knelt beside her, her face ashen.
Kathryn moved to the other side and lifted Sadie’s limp wrist, checking her pulse. Relief trickled through her fear. “She’s alive. Did anybody hear what happened?”
The brunette who had so vehemently voiced her displeasure at Kathryn’s first night at the brothel leaned against the doorway. “Her next appointment just came in and found her like this. I saw Conahan with her downstairs a while ago, but I don’t know if he followed her up here or not.”
Annabelle’s hand shook as she pulled the sheet up to cover Sadie.
Kathryn brushed the hair back from Sadie’s delicate features. Sadie’s smooth brown skin glistened with perspiration and her breath was thready. She looked so much younger close up, where Kathryn could see past her heavily lined almond eyes and rouged cheeks. “How old is she?”
“Thirteen,” Annabelle told her.
Kathryn thought she was going to be sick. Someone handed her a cool cloth. She smoothed it over Sadie’s forehead and cheeks and beneath her chin. She pulled back the long dark strands of hair clinging to Sadie’s throat, and that’s when she saw them.
Faint red stripes flared out on either side of Sadie’s neck, extending around to the back. Kathryn placed her fingers in the subtle outline on the right side of Sadie’s slender throat and shuddered.
Silent tears coursed down Annabelle’s cheeks. Kathryn reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled away. Layers of hurt, betrayal, and anger twisted Annabelle’s pale expression. Her clenched jaw evidenced her resolve not to cry, and yet the tears forced their way out, as if there were no more room inside to contain the pain.
Kathryn had seen this look before, and her heart flooded with sudden understanding.
The debauchery she’d witnessed here, however brief, had branded her heart forever. How would being raised in this violence warp an impressionable child’s heart? She remembered the scars from a smoldering cheroot on Larson’s back. After he’d fallen asleep on their last night together, she’d kissed each scar and then had ached for the wounds inside him that he wouldn’t—or couldn’t— let her touch. Once again she had wondered how he had survived the brutal world of his childhood.
But now she understood. He had pulled everything in. Every need, every emotion, anything that could be used as a weapon against him. In a survival instinct, he’d stuffed it all down deep inside him. As Kathryn stroked Sadie’s cheek, it was Larson’s face she saw. Oh my beloved, if only I had understood. I would have loved your scars even more.
With the protective nature of a mama bear guarding her cub, Kathryn linked her arm through Annabelle’s as they walked to the mercantile. Secretly, and shamefully, she was glad that the boardwalk was mostly emptied of traffic at this early morning hour. She’d never been in public with Annabelle before, but she couldn’t help but know that others would easily detect Annabelle’s profession, and Kathryn wondered how they would treat her.
She chanced a look beside her, amazed at how her initial judgments about Annabelle had changed. The morning sun played off the aberrant scarlet hue of her hair, contrasting with her pale skin.
In the last week the swelling had gone down on Annabelle’s face and the bruised flesh was nearly masked by powder. Sadie had recovered physically as well, but had yet to speak about the incident to anyone. Betsy allowed Annabelle two days to recuperate, then promptly put her back to work. But Kathryn had quickly seized those days as an open door from God and had taken the opportunity to plant the seeds of friendship—and faith.
Annabelle had visited her after hours at the haberdashery, entering through the back door after the store was closed, and Kathryn had read to her—first from a book of Annabelle’s preference, then from her Bible. Kathryn purposefully chose the story of Rahab and had secretly delighted in Annabelle’s rapt attention.
As they now turned down an alleyway, Annabelle looked over at her and smiled. “You didn’t have to come with me this morning, you know. I’m used to doing this myself.”
“I know, but I wanted to come.” Kathryn didn’t share her former concerns or that she was thankful to have her mind occupied. Anything to keep from dwelling on the possibilities that haunted her, each day with stronger force. She’d awakened that morning long before dawn, unable to sleep. Surely Matthew Taylor was mistaken— Larson couldn’t have gotten lost in that storm. But something else must have happened. . . . Almost five months had passed since he’d left.
Annabelle’s huff pulled Kathryn back.
“You might just change your mind once we get there.” She waved her arm at the empty boardwalk. “And not many people are out yet, but later it’ll be a different—”
“Annabelle, I’m glad to be with you. All right?”
She nodded, but doubt lurked in her eyes.
Noticing the stubborn tilt of Annabelle’s chin, Kathryn smiled to herself, feeling somehow privileged to have glimpsed the wounded, fragile, yet remarkably resilient woman beneath the fac 
ade.
The back door of the mercantile was locked. Annabelle knocked twice.
Kathryn glanced at the stairs and thoughtfully remembered the night she’d been here with Gabe. She hadn’t seen Gabe since and wondered where he was. She wanted to thank him for introducing her to Annabelle, although, recalling her initial discovery at his choice of accommodations, she smiled, knowing gratitude had hardly been her first reaction.
The back door opened to a gray-haired woman waving them brusquely inside. “You’re late! Hurry. Hurry, already.” She scanned the back alley before she slammed the door shut. “We need to open for regular customers in a few minutes, and I want you both gone.”
The warmth in Annabelle’s eyes turned to frost. “And good morning to you too, Mrs. Hochstetler.”
Mrs. Hochstetler? Kathryn looked at the red-faced, tight-lipped woman standing before her. How could this woman be the wife of the kind gentleman who’d helped sell her goods?
“How are you this fine day, ma’am?” Annabelle continued. “You’re looking lovely for this early in the morning.” Her tone had acquired a chill to match her expression, and Kathryn looked at her, stunned. Annabelle’s words were as smooth as cream but as sharp as daggers, and Mrs. Hochstetler’s loathing only seemed to deepen Annabelle’s arsenic sweetness. This was a side of Annabelle Kathryn had not seen.
Mrs. Hochstetler glowered. “Give me your order and be quick about it.” She snapped her fingers twice.
“I left my order with your husband two days ago, just like you asked. Once we get those things, we’ll leave.”
With a huff, Mrs. Hochstetler disappeared through a side door and returned minutes later toting two burlap bags, stuffed full. She stooped under the weight of them and dropped them unceremoniously at Annabelle’s feet. Her husband followed behind her, shouldering a crate.
Mr. Hochstetler set his load on the counter and heaved a sigh. “We expect payment up front. Just like the arrangement you had with the previous owner.”
As Annabelle paid the man, his eyes flickered to Kathryn, then narrowed.
“Hello, Mr. Hochstetler,” Kathryn offered politely, hoping to ease the tension. “We’ve met before, if you remember, when I first arrived in town.”
He stared at her, his face reddening. He shot a look at his wife beside him, whose glare seethed venom.
Kathryn swung a glance beside her. Annabelle’s eyes clearly said “I told you so.”
Once outside, Annabelle burst out laughing as the door slammed behind them. “Did you see the look on that old bat’s face when you said you’d met him before?” She laughed so hard she had trouble keeping a grip on the crate in her arms. “Oh, that was priceless.”
Kathryn walked on ahead. “I don’t see what’s so funny.” The heat of embarrassment still tingled her upper body. She opted for the street instead of having to climb the stairs to the boardwalk. Her shoulders already cramped under the weight of the two bags. Not wanting to be late for work at the haberdashery, she quickened her pace. “It was horrible the way they treated you.”
“Oh, that doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it,” Annabelle said with a bit too much bravado.
But it bothered Kathryn. How could people be so hypocritical? So intentionally cruel? Thinking themselves better than . . . She noticed Annabelle’s steps had slowed. She turned back just as Annabelle set down the crate. “What is it?”
The woman’s expression grew watchful. “It wasn’t so much the way they treated me as it was the way they treated you . . . was it.”
Her words were like a blow. Kathryn started to respond but then stopped, surprised and ashamed to discover bits of truth in Annabelle’s observation. She glanced away, only now aware of how the few people already out that morning were staring at them as they passed. And going out of their way not to walk by them. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. Yes, that’s part of it, but it also hurts me to think of you being treated that way.” No doubt the same way the child of a prostitute would be treated. “That’s not the way God sees you. He sees us as we are, certainly, but He also sees us as what we can be with His grace.”
“But that’s the way you first saw me, when you realized what I was.” She uttered the same word Larson used when referring to his mother. “Wasn’t it?”
Kathryn looked into Annabelle’s eyes, and the truth deepening their blue depths daggered her heart. Oh, God, I’m so ashamed. How do I answer her?
But she already knew how to answer. With the truth.
After a moment, she slowly nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please forgive me, Annabelle, but that’s exactly how I saw you, until God showed me differently.”
A smile tipped Annabelle’s mouth. “Well, you’re honest. That’s sayin’ a lot.” Her smile spread into a grin. “I think we might just turn out to be good friends, Kathryn Jennings.”
Kathryn laughed in surprise, then set down her sacks and hugged Annabelle tight. The tiny seed of friendship had sprouted.
The next morning, Kathryn hurried to finish her duties at the haberdashery. She checked the clock, knowing that Myrtle would be expecting her soon. She had one last fitting, and the customer was waiting in the back room. She paused at the door to catch her breath.
A sharp pang stabbed her abdomen and she gripped the threshold for support. Annabelle had said she should feel the baby moving any day . . . a soft fluttering movement. But the pain she experienced now didn’t fit that description in the least. It soon passed and she calmed.
Drawing a breath, she opened the door and stepped inside. Her throat went dry.
“Mrs. Jennings, what a pleasant surprise.” Donlyn MacGregor crossed the room to stand before her. He reached for her hand and brushed his lips against her skin. “I’d heard you’d moved into town. Though I must say I was disturbed to learn of the circumstances. I’m sorry about your stock, and that you’re losing your ranch.” His dark brow furrowed. “If I may, I’d like to—”
“Thank you, Mr. MacGregor.” Kathryn had heard enough. “But I haven’t lost it yet. I’m still working with the—” Remembering what Matthew Taylor had said about MacGregor buying up all the land surrounding his ranch made her stop short. “I’m still working things out.”
Something vaguely resembling compassion ghosted his gray eyes, perfectly complementing the material of the fashionable waistcoat and trousers he wore. “Well, my apologies, again, Mrs. Jennings. I misspoke. I was under the impression you’d sold everything relating to your business.”
She indicated where she wanted him to stand and pulled her pincushion from her apron. Donlyn MacGregor seemingly feigned a look of concern as he eyed the pins in her hand. Normally Kathryn might have smiled, but not under the circumstances.
“I’ve sold everything pertaining to the ranch, Mr. MacGregor, but I plan on keeping the land, and the homestead. Now, please turn to the side.” Looking at the waistcoat, she clearly saw where the tailor had made his mistake, and it was one easily made. He simply hadn’t allowed enough taper for MacGregor’s lean waist. The side seams of the coat and the waist of the trousers were both too generous.
Being this close to him, Kathryn could smell the spicy scent of his cologne. “Please button the coat for me.”
“As you wish, my lady.” His brogue thickened in faint mockery.
“Extend your arms, please,” she continued, ignoring him. She pulled pins from the cushion and held them between her teeth. Standing in front of him, Kathryn gathered the extra material from both side seams of the coat. “There, how does that feel?”
“That feels . . . perfect.”
Hearing the tease in his tone, Kathryn also felt his eyes on her. Matthew Taylor hadn’t mentioned anything, but she suddenly wondered if MacGregor had a wife waiting at home, though she highly doubted that even marriage would be deterrent enough for a man like him.
On a whim, she decided to test the waters.
“Now lower your arms slightly,” she said around pins clenched between her teeth. She knew from seeing him before that he wore his suits fitted. “Perhaps you’d like your wife to see this before we make the final adjustments?” Thankfully, the question came off sounding more normal than it felt.
When he didn’t answer immediately, Kathryn secured the alteration with one last pin and stood. His expression stopped her cold. She took a half step back.
His eyes held hers for a moment and then cut away, focusing anywhere but on her, and she got the distinct impression that she’d wandered into forbidden territory. If Kathryn didn’t know better, she might have thought he was uncomfortable by the way he fidgeted with the coat sleeve and wouldn’t look at her. But surely not— this man was a silver-tongued devil if she’d ever seen one.
He turned back to the mirror and appraised the suit, giving each sleeve a gentle tug. “This will do nicely, I’m sure. Thank you, Mrs. Jennings.” An undercurrent played beneath the surface of his voice when he spoke her name, and Kathryn couldn’t shake the feeling of being somehow put in her place.
She hurriedly marked the lines for the tapered seams with a row of pins, doing the same for the trousers. “The suit will be ready next week.” She closed the door for him to change.
She put her supplies away and was halfway to Myrtle’s when she felt a touch on her arm.
“Mrs. Jennings.”
She turned and, seeing him, quickened her pace.
MacGregor fell into step beside her. “Mrs. Jennings, please . . . a moment of your time.”
“I’m late for work, Mr. MacGregor.”
“But you just left work.”
“Is there something else you need?”
This time he smiled, a sparkle lighting his eyes. Obviously he’d recovered from whatever he’d felt moments before. She walked faster, hearing his soft chuckle behind her.
“No, Mrs. Jennings, please. I just have a question for you. A proposition of sorts. Not the kind you’re thinking,” he added quickly. “It’s about helping you keep your ranch.”
Her steps slowed even as her defenses rose. “You want to help me keep my ranch.”
“Yes, and no. I’m a businessman, Mrs. Jennings. Not a philanthropist. I’d want something in exchange for my investment.”
She stopped and gave him a withering look. She should have seen this coming.
He smiled and shook his head. “That’s not what I had in mind, lass. Although I’m always willin’ to negotiate.”
She had to concede—this man had charm. But not nearly enough to entice her. Nor earn her trust. “Good day, Mr. MacGregor.”
“Will you not at least listen to my proposal?” he called after her.
Kathryn kept walking, feeling his stare. The jangle of the bell as she entered Myrtle’s sounded like the sweet ring of victory. She hung up her coat and walked back to the edge of the front window. MacGregor still stood where she’d left him. Absently, her hand covered the child nestled not far from her heart.
Everything she knew about this man screamed at her not to trust him. But God help her, she was so desperate to keep the ranch—the last remnant of Larson and the life they’d shared together, the legacy for their precious child—that for a moment, she’d actually contemplated asking him about his offer.
Later that night, Kathryn slid her key into the back door lock of the haberdashery when someone touched her from behind. She nearly jumped out of her skin.
In the instant it took her to turn, she imagined that it was Larson and a flurry of thoughts filled that hopeful moment. Why hadn’t she thought to leave him a note at the cabin? He’d probably been searching for her for days, and why had he thought to look for her here of all places? Then she imagined telling him that they were finally going to have a . . .
In the faint glow of the half moon Kathryn recognized the silhouette, and the fragile hope died in her chest.
“Betsy sent me out for more whiskey, so I thought I’d run over and see if you were home yet. Got somethin’ for me?” Annabelle cocked a brow, eying the cloth bag in Kathryn’s grip. Kathryn handed it to her, and she lifted the opening of the bag to her face and inhaled. “Mmm, bread pudding?” She followed Kathryn inside and leaned against a crate as she pinched off a bite with her fingers.
“A man was here when I came a while before, knocked on the door a few times. He didn’t see me though. Didn’t want him gettin’ the wrong idea about us being acquaintances and all.”
Annabelle smiled and Kathryn caught the sincerity in it.
“But I don’t mind tellin’ ya, that fella was mighty easy on the eyes.” Annabelle drew out the last part and licked her lips.
Kathryn glanced back at the door, her beleaguered hope wary of another false start. Could it have been Larson? “You didn’t recognize him?”
Annabelle shook her head. “No, and I’d remember him for sure. Tall, dark hair about to his shoulders, and had a certain—” she took another bite of the bread pudding and paused, as though trying to choose just the right word—“I don’t know . . . confidence about him. Not meanlike, mind you, just sure of himself. You know, like he knows somethin’ the rest of the world doesn’t.”
A knock on the door caused them both to jump. Kathryn forced a laugh at the comical wide-eyed look Annabelle was giving her, clearly saying she hoped it was that man. Kathryn’s hands were shaking so badly she could hardly manage the latch.
Matthew Taylor filled the doorway, hat in hand. He had a wounded look about him, his expression somber. “Mrs. Jennings.” The smile he managed looked forced. “I came by a bit ago but guess you weren’t home yet.”
The flatness of his voice drew Kathryn’s curiosity. “I just arrived a few minutes ago. Mr. Taylor, are you all right?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m fine. But . . .” He looked past her. “Would you mind if I came in for a minute?”
She nodded and pulled the door open. “Yes, certainly.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Annabelle move to leave. “Annabelle, please stay. Mr. Taylor,” she offered, extending a hand in Annabelle’s direction, thankful Annabelle was there but already wondering how Matthew would react. Matthew was a decent, God-fearing man and Annabelle was . . . well, Annabelle was Annabelle. And she was dressed for work, as she often called it, and her clothing, her rougetinted cheeks, and her painted lips bespoke a woman of easy virtue. “This is Miss Annabelle Grayson, a friend of mine,” Kathryn added with purposeful inflection, hoping Matthew might take her lead and extend Annabelle undue social courtesy. “Annabelle, this is Mr. Matthew Taylor. Mr. Taylor was the foreman on my husband’s ranch. On our ranch.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Taylor.”
When no reply came, Kathryn looked back at Matthew. She watched his gaze quickly travel the length of Annabelle’s body—not in a licentious way but as though struggling to make sense of her presence here. The somber edge of his expression gave way to surprise, then unmistakable shock. Little by little, another emotion emerged through the fog of Matthew’s responses. He glanced back at Kathryn and she recognized the look in his eyes. She’d experienced the same affront to her sense of dignity the first time she’d realized what Annabelle was, what she did for a living. Kathryn turned her attention to Annabelle and watched, silently hurting for her friend, as the smile on Annabelle’s face gradually slid away.
Kathryn tried to think of something to say, still absorbing Matthew’s reaction and the thick layer of silence that weighed the room.
Matthew finally managed the briefest of nods. “Miss Grayson . . . it’s nice to—” He hesitated, lips in a thin line, as though unable to force the words out. “It’s nice that you have such a good friend in Mrs. Jennings.”
Matthew’s response had been honest, yet painfully devoid of warmth. But could Kathryn really blame him? After all, Annabelle wasn’t someone Matthew would normally associate with. And if she had been, Kathryn thought again, looking between the two of them, she wouldn’t have thought as much of Matthew as she did. Unable to fault him for his reaction, Kathryn waited for the frost to move into Annabelle’s eyes, as she’d witnessed yesterday with Mrs. Hochstetler at the mercantile. Or for Annabelle to have a quick comeback, something she’d say to put Matthew squarely in his place. Kathryn’s ears burned just thinking about it.
But Annabelle didn’t say a word. The silence in the room became oppressive as she openly searched Matthew’s face for a moment before slowly lowering her eyes to the floor.
Sharing her friend’s hurt, Kathryn tried again to think of a way to ease the moment.
Matthew glanced down briefly, then turned back to face her. “Mrs. Jennings, I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this . . .”
The seriousness in his tone caused the thoughts forming in Kathryn’s head to evaporate.
“I’ve just come from the sheriff ’s office.” He blew out a breath. “A body was discovered late this afternoon.”
Kathryn felt something anchored deep inside her give way. She clutched her waist and felt Annabelle’s hand on her shoulder.
Taylor’s eyes filled with emotion. “They think it’s your husband.”