Page 17 of Heart of Mystic Valley
Joshua mounted Jupiter, the horse shifting its weight in anticipation. “Take care, Faith,” he said, tipping his hat.
“As you, Joshua.”
As Jupiter’s hooves took them toward the ranch, Faith watched them grow smaller, fainter, like the receding echoes of a heartbeat.
Faith stood for a moment longer, watching, until he was a speck in the distance. Their conversation replayed in her mind, each word and pause taking on new significance. Joshua had doubts, yes, but he’d also given her valuable insights and, most importantly, his support.
Turning toward her house, she walked up the steps to her front door. The house loomed like a sentinel over her dreams, its weathered facade a testament to the struggles and triumphs of her parents. Her father had fought similar battles, she reminded herself, and had often faced resistance from those who feared change.
Inside, the familiar sights welcomed her like an old friend. She walked to the desk in the parlor. Thoughts of the library, the tax, the upcoming council meeting swirled in her head.
Never one to sit idly and wait for the future to unfold, Faith pulled a sheet of stationery from a drawer and picked up a pen, tapping it thoughtfully against her chin. She began to write, the pen scratching out elegant curves and lines.
Dear Alliance Board Members,
We need to convene before the next council meeting. There are important matters to discuss, including the library and the proposed schoolhouse tax. I’ve received some insightful advice I believe could help us make a stronger case.
Let’s meet at my house on Tuesday evening. Your presence and input are crucial.
Sincerely,
Faith
She read over the letter twice, making sure her words conveyed the urgency without causing alarm. The Alliance was dedicated, but it was also fragile.
She hoped they would see the wisdom in Joshua’s suggestion and not view it as a retreat.
There was one more place Joshua needed to stop by before riding back to the ranch. He reined in Jupiter outside the Starlight Saloon. The building was one of the oldest in Mystic, its wooden planks bleached and cracked from years of Montana sun. He swung a leg over the saddle, then paused, considering what he wanted to say before entering.
Pushing through the saloon doors, he was greeted by the mixed aromas of tobacco, whiskey, and sweat. As expected for a Sunday afternoon, the room was sparsely populated.
Doyle Shaw stood at the bar, his broad-shouldered frame hunched over a glass of amber liquid. He didn’t appear to be drinking heavily, content to take sips with the leisure of a man who had time to kill. His eyes tracked a group of men playing cards in the corner, but his mind seemed elsewhere.
“Doyle,” Joshua said, approaching the bar. The saloon owner turned, a smile breaking through his dark features.
“Joshua Beckett. What brings you here?”
Joshua tilted his head toward the card players. “Checking on Nathan.”
Doyle followed Joshua’s gaze. “Your brother’s holding his own.”
“Never doubted he would.”
An awkward silence settled between them. Joshua broke it first. “Need to talk to you. About Faith.”
Doyle gestured toward an empty table, but Joshua remained standing.
“What about Faith?” Doyle asked, leaning back slightly, his posture less inviting.
“She’s grateful for your support,” Joshua said. “We all are.”
“That sounds like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
Joshua studied Doyle for a moment, weighing his words. “She needs to know your support is real and not just for show.”
Doyle’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m playing some kind of game?”
“I think you’re smart enough to understand the risks. The women are putting a lot on the line, and they need to know they can count on the people who say they’re with them.”
