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her arms around his waist, sobbing. He immediately tensed but returned the embrace, patting her back soothingly, yet somewhat awkwardly all the same. His body was hard, warm, and comforting to Fallon. He smelled of hard work and lye soap and one other thing. She smiled through her tears as she recognized the aroma of peppermint. Quickly she regained control of her deep emotions and released him.
    “ I’m sorry. You must think me terribly silly and emotional,” she whispered.
    “ Not at all. I have only Patty left of any semblance of family. No more Stephen Foster for a while though, very well?” She nodded, feeling like a foolish child.
    “ I’ll be going into town tomorrow. Would you like me to get anything for you?” Fallon asked, turning away and attempting to lighten the dampened mood she had created.
    “ No, but take Ben with you.” Trader’s voice was too commanding.
    “ I’ll be all right. I know the way,” she assured him.
    “ You’ll take Ben, or you’ll not go,” he growled and turned, leaving. The tender moment they had shared was gone as quickly as was the man. Fallon felt lonely, disappointed. She loved Trader Donavon, and the knowledge he did not love her in return had begun to eat at her. But as had become her habit, she pushed the knowledge to the back of her mind, inhaled deeply, and left the piano in favor of Kelly and the freedom of the meadows.
    
    The ride into town was revitalizing. April showers had indeed brought May flowers, and the air was warm and fragrant. Fallon had ignored Trader’s demand to have Ben accompany her and rode alone. She felt irritated he would think her incapable of going without a guide, a chaperone. She had been to town many times alone when she lived with her uncle. Why should it change?
    Mr. Thompson was behind the counter in his store. As Fallon entered, she realized that, in her haste, she had neglected to bring her pocket purse.
    As she turned to leave, the storekeeper waved and called out, “Mrs. Donavon! What can I do for ya today?” He stood, smiling expectantly.
    Fallon smiled uncomfortably in return and stammered, “Um…I’ve forgotten my—I guess I’ll have to—”
    “ Nonsense! Mr. Donavon came in the day before the wedding and told me to give ya whatever ya need whenever ya need it. What can I get for ya today?”
    Relieved, Fallon smiled. “Well, I actually came in for some thread and cloth, and Patty is out of cinnamon,” she said.
    “ Wonderful! Gather what ya need, and I’ll get the cinnamon.”
    She smiled to herself. “And a large bag of those peppermint candies my husband is partial to.”
    The storekeeper chuckled. “Of course, of course. He hasn’t been in here to load those up in quite some time. I’m sure he has worn out his own supply.”
    Fallon smiled, delighted to be sure Trader had a taste for sweets. She wondered if the flavor of peppermint often donned his lips—wondered if his kiss were as sweet as the peppermint he savored.
    Squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment, for she knew it was not healthy for her mind to linger on such musings, Fallon shook her head and went to the sewing wares piled on a table nearby.
    Once Fallon had chosen a piece of white linen and some thread, she visited with Mr. Thompson, inquiring about his wife. He put her things in a cloth flour bag as they talked.
    “ There ya go, Mrs. Donavon,” Mr. Thompson said. But as he handed the bag to her, his face suddenly paled dramatically.
    “ What is it, Mr. Thompson?” Fallon whispered. He was so terribly pallid as he gazed past her. She feared he might drop at her feet of heart failure. A chill rushed throughout her body, and the hair at the back of her neck prickled. She slowly turned around and beheld a sight that sent fear piercing her very soul. Several horrid-looking and filthy men stood just inside the store. They evilly sneered, displaying brown, decaying teeth.
    “ Well, well, well. What kind of sweets is you sellin’ in