Despite numerous scrubbings, Tad’s blood was still under Rebecca’s fingernails the next morning. She’d washed untold times, cleaned dishes, and rubbed bloodstains from the blue dress she wore yesterday when she stitched Tad up. Now that she’d finished breakfast and baking three dozen cookies, she stood at the sink, poking, scraping, and scouring before she dumped out the water, marched upstairs, and took a paring knife to her nails, cutting them to the quick.

There. Now all physical traces of yesterday were gone from her sight.

Too bad she couldn’t say the same about the remaining traces that another person couldn’t see: the memory of Tad, his shirt soaked in blood, his flesh ragged from the graze of a bullet. The way her stomach clenched all night, thinking of what might have happened if the bullet had been a few inches to the right, or if he’d fallen down a slope. Not to mention, embarrassment over chiding him.

Not that she didn’t still feel justified for giving him what for, though. He should learn to think twice about risk and the effect his dangerous job had on people who cared about him, like his father. He wasn’t as invincible as he probably thought he was. Knowing Tad, he’d probably disregard her instructions and already be working, busting his stitches.

She should check on those stitches and change the bandage. With a sigh, Rebecca donned her bonnet and scooped up the nursing bag she’d prepared last night, containing needle, thread, scissors, bandages, and balm.

“Mrs. Horner?”

“In the parlor.” Mrs. Horner was curled up with a crochet hook and a skein of yellow yarn. “My niece in Nevada is in the family way. I thought I’d send a blanket for the little one.”

“How thoughtful. She’ll love it.” The just-begun project didn’t look like a blanket yet, but the yarn seemed fuzzy and soft. Rebecca smiled. “I’m heading to the livery to check Tad’s wound—”

A firm rap sounded on the front door. “Perhaps not yet.”

Mrs. Horner offered a wheezy laugh before she fell into another coughing fit, poor thing. She tried to stand, but Rebecca waved her down and strode to the door.

The sight of the lean gentleman on the porch made her stomach swoop. Why would he be here, hat in hand, if he didn’t have bad news? “Uncle Giff, is Tad worse?”

His brows shot up to his hairline. “No, Becky, he’s fine.”

The grip that had clutched her stomach all night loosened. Tad was hale. Whole. Thank You, Jesus. She stepped back. “Forgive my rudeness. Please, come in.”

“Forgive me for worrying you. Say, is that cinnamon I smell?” Tad’s father stepped into the parlor. “Hello, Jolene.”

“Giff.” Mrs. Horner bolted to her feet, dropping her duckling-yellow yarn and hook in her haste.

Uncle Giff bent to retrieve the bundle. “How’s your cough?”

“Much better.”

Not exactly. Mrs. Horner did seem better, but that cough still lingered and—oh. She and Uncle Giff grinned sheepishly at each other, their fingers lingering over the exchange of the yarn and hook.

Rebecca would give them a moment to themselves. “Care for coffee and cookies?”

“I can’t say no to good cooking and the company of two fine ladies.” He sat beside Mrs. Horner, and Rebecca hurried to the kitchen to fix a plate and pour cups. She could hear their voices from the parlor as Mrs. Horner inquired about Tad. Rebecca couldn’t help straining to hear.

“Wilkie stopped by. He says Tad’s wound looks good and that Becky did a fine job with the stitches and the bandaging.”

Fine praise indeed, from the barber. Rebecca chuckled. Now that she knew Tad fared well, everything felt lighter, from her spirits to her limbs. She filled the cream pitcher and added spoons to the tray.

“Wilkie’s good enough at doctoring, when he’s not drowning his sorrows.” Mrs. Horner sighed. “My heart breaks for him.”

“You and I know what that sort of loss feels like, don’t we, Jolene?” Uncle Giff’s tone was softer than Rebecca had heard it. “It’s only been three years since your Herbert passed.”

“But we never had any children, not like you. Losing them when they’re small like that? And then your wife?” She tutted.

Tad had siblings? Rebecca chewed her lip.

It got quiet in the parlor, and Rebecca had been gone too long already. She carried the tray into the parlor.

“Thanks, dearie,” Mrs. Horner said with a sigh. “I wish we could help Wilkie.”

“Tad’s tried getting him to join us when the preacher comes through every few months, but so far, he’s refused.” Uncle Giff took a cup of coffee. “In the meantime, I’m glad God brought you to Ruby City, Becky. We sure needed you yesterday.”

They needed her? But she’d come to Ruby City for Theodore. No, that wasn’t quite right. She’d wanted a family, since she didn’t know where Johnny was or if he got her letters. She’d come to Idaho Territory for herself, so God could make her whole and full and warm.

Maybe God didn’t bring her to Ruby City just for her sake. Maybe she could give something to this community, which was full of folks who’d seen troubles of their own.

Wilkie grieved a wife and baby. That mining family who’d come into the mercantile, the Evanses, knew lack. Ulysses flirted and teased to ease his loneliness. Mrs. Horner and Uncle Giff might be lonesome, too, although the way they were sneaking glances at each other indicated they might not be for much longer. Longbeard Pegg wasn’t just lonely; he stayed apart from the others.

Cornelia might not be Rebecca’s favorite person in town, but Rebecca couldn’t know what ache she hid in her heart. It might not bother her that she wore too-large dresses, but she seemed to no longer wish to be viewed as a child. If Mrs. Horner was right, Cornelia experienced unrequited affection, which was sure to be painful.

Then, of course, there was Theodore and Tad, who’d let Dottie come between them months ago and hadn’t spoken much since.

Rebecca couldn’t fix a single one of those hurts, but she could be a friend to the members of her new community, remembering that each, like her, held hurts and griefs.

It was a small thing, but she knew just where to start. She stood, drawing Uncle Giff’s and Mrs. Horner’s surprised gazes. “Excuse me, but I have some errands to run.”

She wasn’t the least surprised that neither Uncle Giff nor Mrs. Horner seemed mournful at her departure.

Tad winced. Good thing he’d been grazed in the left shoulder, or he wouldn’t have been able to work. Not that this was really working.

“What do you say, Lady? Lift.” He gently pushed the sorrel mule’s shoulder blade, watching for the animal to respond by raising her hoof off the ground.

Lady’s hoof elevated, an inch, maybe, but it was enough. Tad removed his hand from Lady’s bony shoulder. “Good job, following instructions already.”

“That’s more than I can say for you.”

He looked up. Rebecca strode into the livery with a basket on her arm, her mouth twisted. At least she wasn’t as angry as she’d been yesterday. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am.” Tad patted Lady’s broad neck.

“Doesn’t look like it to me.”

“This? It’s easy. Even you can do it. Come here.”

She hesitated, but after a moment, she set the basket on one of the workbenches and joined him. She stood close enough that her flower-soap scent filled his senses, a nice contrast to Lady’s smell.

“So, who’s this?” She patted Lady’s side.

“One of the new mules Pa bought last week. He named her Lady.”

“She’s pretty, like Madge.”

Only Rebecca would find a mule pretty. “She might be stronger, though. A mule kick’s a powerful thing. They do it because they’re scared, in pain, or remembering pain, and sometimes because they’re just ornery, so we need to teach Lady not to kick us, for whatever reason, when we tend to her legs or she gets shoed. This is how we do that. Here, push on her shoulder blade.”

Rebecca’s hands pulled back from Lady. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“It doesn’t hurt. Here.” He captured her small warm hand and returned it to Lady’s back. He manipulated her hand over Lady’s shoulder blade. “Feel the sharp bone? Now when we press it, look down and see if her hoof lifts off the ground.”

“It did!” Rebecca swiveled to look back at him, grinning.

He removed their hands from Lady’s back but didn’t let hers go. “Now we do it two more times, so she gets used to the idea.”

Once, twice. Lady lifted her hoof each time.

“Good job, Lady.” Rebecca’s encouraging tone was sweet in Tad’s ears. Probably Lady’s ears, too. “You’re so smart.”

A mule—pretty and smart. Tad snickered.

“What’s so funny?” She spun in his arms, her shoulder knocking the cut on his chest. He grunted, and she gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sound like a strangled cat. Sit down.” She pointed to the chair by the workbench where she’d left the basket.

“Wilkie changed my bandage already.”

“I heard. Sit.”

“Just a minute.” If she hadn’t come to check his bandages, why was she here? Before he could find out, he had to see to Lady, offering her a treat and then settling her in the paddock. When he returned, he peeked in Rebecca’s wicker basket. “What’s all this?”

“Willow bark tea for pain. Cookies for my apology.”

“Apology?” He plopped onto the chair. “For what, Rebecca Mary?”

She turned red as the flowers on her calico dress. “Yelling at you. Getting angry. I had no right.”

He’d been thinking the same phrase about himself. He had no right to think about Rebecca the way he did, first thing when he got up and last thing at night. No right to enjoy teaching her how to train Lady, with her close to his chest and his arm wrapped around her. No right to remember what it had been like to kiss her.

“I can handle you yelling at me.” What he couldn’t handle was the way her smile made his stomach flip.

God, take these feelings away. I beg You.

She unwrapped a dish towel, releasing the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon and sugar. “An offering. I promise I didn’t put just enough poison in them that you’d get sick so you couldn’t go out and get shot again.”

“Never crossed my mind.” The cookie melted in his mouth. Rebecca was an amazing cook, smart, pretty, and giving. Did Theodore know how blessed he was?

“You know, after what you just said about mules, I think I’m a lot like them. I lash out when I’m afraid or in pain or remembering pain.”

“Or when you’re just plain ornery.” He snatched another cookie.

“That, too.” She stared at her fingernails. “I want you and Theodore to be friends again.”

The name was like a splash of cold water to his face. “That wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”

“I know you two haven’t gotten along since that fiasco with Dottie—yes, I know who she is. But now, I’ve made things worse between you.”

“It’s not you.” Or Dottie, either. Little surprise Rebecca had heard about her. Ruby City wasn’t that big of a town, and memories weren’t that short. “I want to mend the rift between Theodore and me, too. Although I have to admit, I really don’t want to talk about Theodore right now.”

“Why not?”

He reached behind her to pull a bill off the worktable and handed it to her. It was in Theodore’s neat hand. Payment due for bandages, needle, thread, and other sundries. “Corny brought it over.”

Rebecca grunted and shoved the bill into the basket. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t you dare. I pay my bills.” His tone was light.

“That isn’t the point.” She helped herself to a cookie. “Me being married to you, after what happened with Dottie, has to stick in his craw. I don’t want to hurt him like that.”

Yet she brought Tad cookies and chatted with him in the barn, a contradiction—unless this was her way of saying good-bye to their relationship, whatever it was. Friends who accidentally married each other.

She was right to put distance between them, for Theodore’s sake. And for their own. It did no one any good for Tad to like Rebecca more than as a cousin. “Apology and cookie accepted. See you at the annulment?” He said it with a smile, although the stirrings of panic chewed at his innards.

“I’m certain I’ll see you every day, silly. One of these days I’ll remember to return your wedding ring.”

The thought of putting it on someone else’s finger gnawed at his gut. “No hurry. It’s just an opal I dug out of the dirt.”

Her brow quirked. “It’s more than that, Tad. It’s a symbol of your commitment, which doesn’t belong with me.”

He couldn’t argue with her about that, or about her staying longer when she stood and brushed off the back of her skirt. He chose to smile his good-bye. “You’re still mad at me about getting shot?”

“A little,” she said with a tiny smile. “See you around, Tad. I have more errands to do.”

“For Mrs. Horner?”

She shook her head. “You’re not the only person in Ruby City who could use a cookie.”