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pursuing the stableman. Minutes seemed to pass as she watched him approach. A smile creased his face.
    “Miss Faith. What a fine surprise.”
    “These are for you and Mr. Ripley.” She thrust the basket at him, her tone formal. “You helped us so much on Monday. I wanted to thank you properly.”
    Mr. Ripley stepped close and lifted the napkin. “Well, looky here, a heap of cookies.” He reached inside and removed a handful. “Mighty nice of you, Miss Faith. Anytime you want my help, just holler.”
    “Thank you,” she said, taken aback. This wasn’t going the way she’d planned. Mr. Saxon was the one who’d done the most on her grandfather’s behalf. Faith lifted her head and caught a glint of amusement in his eyes.
    “Looks like you brought plenty.” Mr. Saxon cocked an eyebrow at his employer. “Good thing too. Rip’s fast on the draw when it comes to food.”
    “Thought I’d take my share and go sit in my office so’s you two can visit.” Crumbs danced on Mr. Ripley’s beard while he spoke. He winked.
    The afternoon was going from bad to worse. She should have waited until tomorrow and left the cookies when she and Grandpa walked to the mercantile. Faith looked at Mr. Saxon, the flush on her cheeks hotter than ever. “I mustn’t keep you from your work.”
    “Can’t think of a more pleasant interruption. Matter of fact, I was planning to call on you and Judge Lindberg tomorrow.” He shifted the basket from one hand to the other. “Can I offer you a ride to church on Sunday?” The scar on his neck flared. “It’s a long walk clean across town. Might tire your granddad, being so far and all.”
    Faith drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She’d already wondered if they should miss church until Grandpa was steadier on his feet. Mr. Saxon’s suggestion would be a solution, as long as he realized she agreed only for her grandfather’s sake.
    “I’ll tell Grandpa of your kind offer. I’m sure it will be most welcome.” She extended her hand as though confirming a business arrangement. “Until Sunday, then.”

     
    After Faith left, Curt could still feel the daintiness of her fingers against his palm. Such small hands were better suited to cooking than commerce. Her blue dress fluttered in the wind as she hurried away.
    She acted like she couldn’t wait to escape him. It had to be his scar. He could come up with a dozen ways to impress her, but he’d never overcome the way his skin puckered around the place on his neck where an enemy saber had sliced down to the muscle.
    A wave of fear washed over him. He dropped the basket and whirled, staring at the underbrush growing behind the stable. Sweat prickled his forehead. Where was his rifle? Not again. He’d forgotten the first rule of combat. Don’t leave your tent without your rifle.
    Ducking, he ran into an empty stall for cover and threw himself flat on the straw. If he didn’t move, they’d pass by without seeing him. As soon as darkness fell, he’d find his unit.
    “Saxon!”
    Curt shuddered. How could the Rebs know his name?
    The door of the stall swung open and Curt sprang into a crouch, ready to fight with his bare hands.
    A short man with a full beard squatted in front of him. “Take it easy, son. It’s Rip.” He placed his hand on Curt’s shoulder, near the scar. “War’s over. You made it back safe.”
    The darkness inside Curt’s head vanished. Rip. The livery. Noble Springs. He took a deep breath, head falling forward as he exhaled. “Happened again, didn’t it? Sorry, Rip. I keep hoping each time will be the last.”
    Rip grabbed Curt under the arms and helped him to his feet. “Been a long while since the last one. Takes time. I wasn’t worth much for a couple years after Mexico.” He slapped him on the back. “Want to quit early? Go get some supper?”
    “Are you buying?” Curt managed a shaky grin.
    “Why not? Jake West owes me for a horse rental. We’ll see what he’s got at the restaurant