Chapter 10
The church hall was almost done.
Jonas stood right in the middle of the big open room, breathing in the thick scent of fresh-cut pine. Sunlight poured through the new windows, laying warm squares on the smooth floorboards.
The rafters above still gleamed from the polish he and Maeve had rubbed in yesterday. The place finally felt ready. It was the kind of room waiting for voices, for music or laughter.
Really, it felt ready for Maeve.
He brushed stray sawdust from his hands and took a step back to check out the stage. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a solid raised platform built out of good pine, but he’d made it imagining Maeve up there, her voice filling the hall like sunlight at daybreak.
Jonas swallowed and closed his eyes for a second. He could almost hear her singing now. The thought lit something in him, and at the same time, it left him a bit unsteady.
He caught the sound of footsteps behind him. Pastor Whitcomb strode in, cheeks flushed, and looking genuinely excited.
“Jonas!” he called, practically bouncing on his feet. “It’s time.”
“What?” Jonas blinked at him.
“The vote,” the pastor said, hands strong on Jonas’ shoulders. “The town council’s meeting right now. They’re about to pick the first event for the hall.”
“Already?” Jonas felt his stomach knot.
“They’re impatient to get started,” Pastor Whitcomb grinned. “And, if you ask me, I think I know what they’ll choose.”
Jonas figured he knew, too, and his heart started racing. He hurried after the pastor out the door.
Outside, a handful of folks gathered near the entrance.
Mrs. Hartley, Brigid, Fiona, a few ranch hands, and some of the older residents, all talking quietly.
Maeve stood just apart from them, hands clasped in front of her, looking more hopeful than she probably wanted to be.
Jonas noticed she appeared just as nervous.
Seeing her stopped Jonas cold.
She wore a plain blue dress that made her green eyes stand out. A few curls had slipped loose from her twist and braid, touching her cheek. She looked bright and delicate at once, like a candle flame if a breeze passed too close.
“Thank you all for coming,” Pastor Whitcomb raised both arms. “As you can see, the hall is nearly ready. We need to decide what event will christen this new fellowship hall?”
“A prayer meeting would be fitting,” Mrs. Turner spoke up first.
“Or perhaps a scripture reading?” Mrs. Caldwell agreed.
“Or a harmony recital,” Brigid piped up.
People murmured, and the energy shifted.
“Music? Who would perform?” Mrs. Turner frowned.
“Maeve, obviously,” Fiona smiled, then pointed to Maeve.
Everyone’s eyes landed on her.
Maeve blushed, glancing at Jonas. She caught his eye, and he nodded. It was quick, but certain.
“All in favor of a community performance, with Mrs. Maeve Webber?” Pastor Whitcomb’s voice carried over the group.
Jonas’s heart jumped. Mrs. Maeve Webber. He still stumbled on the name.
Hands shot up…Mrs. Hartley’s, Brigid’s, Fiona’s, even some ranch hands, farmers and a few of the older men who rarely turned up for these things. More hands followed, until even Mrs. Caldwell finally raised hers. Only Mrs. Turner stood firm, arms crossed.
“The motion passes,” Pastor Whitcomb looked thrilled.
A cheer went up. Maeve brought a hand to her heart, her eyes wide and shining.
Jonas felt proud. It was a quiet feeling, but fierce swelling in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to tell her she earned every bit of this, and that her singing was a gift for everyone. Still, he kept his hands in his pockets.
“Thank you all. I’ll do my best,” Maeve stepped forward, her voice shaky but thankful.
“You’re going to be wonderful,” Fiona grinned and hugged her.
“We’re here to help,” Brigid nodded.
Maeve’s smile burst through, full of relief. Seeing her finally welcomed, even celebrated, let something tight inside Jonas relax.
For a moment, anyway.
As people started to drift off, Jonas noticed a man at the edge of the street. He leaned against the hitching post, his hat low, and his coat dusted from travel. He hadn’t cheered or joined in. He simply watched.
He watched Maeve.
Jonas didn’t move, barely breathing.
The stranger’s look was sharp and persistent, holding too long on Maeve. When she moved just a little, he straightened, trying for a better view of her face.
Jonas edged closer to Maeve without thinking.
She caught the motion.
“Jonas?” she asked softly. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. Just...thinking.” He tried to steady his voice.
Still, he kept his eyes on the stranger.
The man caught him staring. He tipped his hat, but not really as a greeting, but more like he was marking Jonas. Cold and intentional. Then he turned and headed toward the livery stable.
Jonas’ heart pounded. He didn’t recognize the man. In Owl Flats, strangers always drew attention.
“Who was that?” Maeve tracked Jonas’s gaze.
“I don’t know,” Jonas said. “But he was watching us.”
Jonas saw Maeve’s face go pale.
A rush of protectiveness washed over Jonas—hot, fierce, impossible to ignore. He leaned in, voice low.
“Maeve...is there someone after ya?”
She paused. Just for a second. That tiny flash of fear in her eyes. Her jaw tightened.
Then she shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.”
But Jonas could hear the uncertainty.
He wanted to ask again, demand honesty, anything to get a straight answer. But he saw her hands shaking, saw her forcing a smile, and her trying to pull herself together.
He swallowed back his questions.
“Alright,” he murmured. “If yer sure.”
She nodded, but her eyes kept drifting toward the stable.
Around them, life carried on. Brigid laughed with Mrs. Hartley, and Fiona chatted with the pastor about decorations. But Maeve stood frozen, her happiness fading under something Jonas couldn’t name.
He wanted to sweep her fear away. He wanted to shield her from whatever ghosts clung to her past. He wanted to be the man who faced trouble head-on, who never hesitated, who spoke up.
But that wasn’t him.
He was quiet. Careful. The type who thought before he talked.
Still, watching the stranger slip out of sight, Jonas felt something change inside him.
He wasn’t bold. He wasn’t loud. But he’d protect Maeve.
No matter what.
“Jonas...thank you. For everything,” Maeve touched his arm.
“Ya d-deserve this. The performance, and the hall. All of it,” he turned to her.
But his heart hurt. It ached for Maeve.
She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
The sun dipped lower, shadows stretched across the street. The hall behind them glowed with hope, music, and the promise of belonging.
But Jonas couldn’t shake the sense that the stranger had flipped something upside down.
The news of Maeve’s upcoming performance felt fragile now. Like a flickering candle in the wind.
As Maeve slipped her hand into his, needing reassurance, Jonas knew one thing for sure…her past wasn’t done with her.
Neither was the danger tied to it.