Chapter 22
Jonas was after her before he had time to think.
Martha had already crossed the yard by the time he pushed himself to his feet, and for one brief second his injured leg threatened to slow him.
The ache that had been tolerable beside the river sharpened when he broke into a run, but he ignored it.
Martha was disappearing through the gardens, her skirts gathered in one hand as she hurried between the bare beds and dormant rows of plants, and whatever had happened to her after seeing the ruined inn had driven every other thought from her mind.
“Martha!”
She didn't turn.
Jonas followed, boots sinking into the softening ground. Winter had held the earth hard for months, but the first signs of spring were beginning to show.
Snow had disappeared from the sheltered places, and the ground beneath it had become a thick mixture of mud and thawing soil.
Water splashed around his boots as he ran, soaking the hems of his trousers.
Martha slipped once ahead of him, caught herself against the trunk of a small tree, and kept going.
His leg protested with every stride.
He kept going anyway.
“Martha, wait!”
She reached the edge of the gardens and headed toward the river. Jonas pushed harder, closing the distance until he was close enough to catch her arm.
She jerked away so violently that he nearly lost his footing.
“Leave me alone.”
He steadied himself, breathing hard. “I'm not going to do that.”
“You need to go back.”
“Back where?”
“To the inn.”
Jonas looked at her. Her face was streaked with soot, and loose strands of hair had fallen around her cheeks.
Her dress was singed near the back where the falling beam had caught her, and one hand still trembled from the effort of putting out the flames.
She looked nothing like the woman who had sat beside him only minutes before, calmly drawing his face beside the river.
“What are you running from?” he asked.
Martha's eyes moved toward the town. “I can't go back there.”
“You have to eventually.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I can't.”
Jonas stepped closer, though he stopped short of touching her. “Martha—”
“I can't stand there and look at it.” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “I can't stand there while everyone looks at me and wonders what I did wrong. They'll judge me. They'll talk. They always talk.”
“This wasn't your fault.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know you didn't start that fire.”
She looked at him sharply, then away.
Jonas watched the movement, unsettled by how quickly she had rejected the reassurance. There was something behind her words that he couldn't reach, something that seemed to have nothing to do with the burned stable itself.
“It's all gone,” she said. “Everything I've worked for.”
“The stable can be rebuilt.”
“And the inn?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Martha gave a small, broken laugh. “Exactly.”
Jonas looked back toward the town. From here, the inn was partly hidden by the trees, but the column of smoke still hung over it.
He could imagine what awaited them there—the ruined wall, the collapsed roof, the burned stable.
It was a great deal of damage, but damage was not the same thing as an ending.
“We can rebuild it.”
She shook her head.
“We can,” he repeated.
“You shouldn't have anything to do with this. This isn’t your problem.”
“Why?”
“Because you should go home.”
Jonas stared at her.
“Go back to your brothers. Go back to your ranch. Go back to the life you had before you came here.”
“There is no going back to that life.”
“There is.”
“No.” He shook his head. “There isn't.”
Martha's face tightened.
“My life changed when I met you,” he said. “I don't know what it's going to look like now, but I know it isn't the life I had before.”
“Don't say that.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't know me.”
“I know what you've shown me.”
“You don't know the real me.”
The words settled between them.
Jonas thought of the things she had admitted the night before. A past she wasn't proud of. Things she had been part of. A life she had left behind. She had promised that she had never hurt anyone, but there were still pieces of the story she hadn't given him.
He wanted to know them.
More than that, he wanted her to trust him enough to tell him.
But the fear in her eyes made him hesitate.
“You're right,” he said quietly. “I don't know everything.”
Martha looked down.
“But I know enough to care about you.”
Her eyes closed.
“Don't.”
“I mean it.”
“Jonas, please.”
He could hear the strain in her voice now. She was trying desperately to hold herself together, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her against him and let her stop trying. He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her she didn't have to carry every burden alone.
Instead, he waited.
“I need time,” she whispered.
Jonas nodded.
“I need to be alone.”
He looked at her for a long moment before stepping back.
“All right.”
Martha walked to the riverbank.
Jonas followed at a distance, but when she sat down near the water, he stopped beneath a nearby tree and leaned against the trunk. His leg was beginning to throb in earnest now, and he welcomed the chance to rest it. More importantly, he didn't want Martha to feel cornered.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
The river moved steadily past them, swollen with the first thaw. Water struck the rocks along the bank with a low, constant sound. Martha sat with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the current.
Then she picked up a stone.
She threw it into the river.
It struck the surface and disappeared.
She picked up another.
This one flew farther.
Jonas watched her gather another stone, then another. She threw each one harder than the last, her shoulders tightening with every motion.
He said nothing.
Eventually she screamed.
It wasn't a word. It was simply sound, torn from somewhere deep inside her.
Jonas's hands tightened against the rough bark behind him.
He wanted to cross the space between them.
He didn't.
Martha screamed again, then bent forward, covering her face with both hands. Her shoulders shook. Jonas remained where he was, giving her the space she had asked for even though every instinct told him to go to her.
When she finally lifted her head, she looked exhausted.
She sat beside the river for a while longer, breathing slowly until the worst of the storm inside her seemed to pass.
Jonas waited.
At last, she stood.
He straightened from the tree.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
They walked back toward the inn together.
Neither of them spoke much on the way. The mud clung to their boots, and Martha's pace was slower now.
Jonas stayed beside her, careful not to crowd her.
He wanted to say something that would make the ruin waiting for them easier to face, but there wasn't anything he could offer that wouldn't sound empty.
When they reached the edge of town, the crowd around the inn had thinned somewhat. People were still gathered in the yard, talking in low voices and examining the damage. The last of the smoke was drifting away, leaving behind the smell of wet ash and charred wood.
Martha stopped.
“I need to speak with the sheriff.”
Jonas looked at her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She didn't explain further. She simply walked toward the sheriff, leaving Jonas standing in the yard.
He turned when he heard a familiar voice.
“Jonas.”
Reuben was coming toward him with Tobias at his side. Tobias had remained slightly apart from the crowd, his attention moving over the burned stable and the ruined inn.
Fergus Dalrymple followed the brothers.
Jonas looked back toward Martha. She had disappeared into the crowd.
“You all right?” Reuben asked.
Jonas nodded. “I'm fine.”
Reuben glanced at his leg. “You don't look fine.”
“It'll heal.”
Tobias gave him a skeptical look but didn't argue.
Reuben looked toward the stable. “We're going to help rebuild it.”
Jonas followed his gaze.
“You don't have to.”
“Yes, we do,” Reuben said. “You'd do the same for us.”
Tobias nodded. “We'll start with whatever can be salvaged.”
Jonas felt something tighten in his chest.
He had spent years worrying about his brothers, making decisions for them and measuring his own choices against what they needed. Somewhere along the way, he had forgotten that they were men now. They didn't need him to carry everything for them.
They were choosing to help with shouldering the burden this time.
“Thank you,” he said.
Reuben clapped a hand against his shoulder. “Don't make it sentimental.”
Jonas smiled despite himself.
Fergus caught up with them, his face grim as he looked over the remains of the stable.
“Do you know who did this?”
Jonas's smile disappeared.
He looked across the yard.
People moved among the wreckage, gathering what could be saved and speaking quietly about what had happened. Eliza stood near the inn, and Reuben's attention shifted toward her for a moment before returning to Jonas.
Then Jonas saw Silas.
He stood at the back of the crowd as though the destruction had nothing to do with him. His posture was loose, almost casual, one shoulder resting against the side of the building. He lifted a flask to his mouth and took a slow drink while watching the people work.
Jonas's gaze stayed on Silas.
“I have my suspicions,” he said.
Fergus followed his line of sight, his expression tightening when he saw who Jonas meant.
Jonas said nothing more. He had no proof, and suspicion alone was not enough to accuse a man of setting a fire.
But Silas had been at the center of too many things that had gone wrong since his arrival.
The horses getting loose. The threats Jonas had witnessed.
The fear that came over Martha whenever Silas drew near.
Now her stable had burned to the ground.
One incident could be an accident. Two might be bad luck. Jonas was done believing that all of this was either.
Across the yard, Silas lowered the flask and looked toward the ruined stable with an ease that made Jonas's unease sharpen into something harder.
He didn't know what Silas wanted from Martha yet, but he was becoming certain of one thing.
This had Silas written all over it.