Page 30 of Heart of Mystic Valley
She nodded, her curiosity far from satisfied. “I’m sure the townspeople would be interested in hearing more about our new deputy,” she said, turning back to Nash. “Would you mind if I wrote an article about you for the newspaper?”
Nash shifted his weight, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “Don’t reckon there’s much to tell, Miss Goodell. I’m a man doing his job, is all.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” she insisted. “Everyone has a story, Deputy Beaumont. And I’m certain the townsfolk would be interested in the man who’ll be protecting them.”
Nash glanced at Brodie, who gave a slight nod of encouragement. “I suppose if the sheriff thinks it’s all right, I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “Perhaps we could meet later today? I promise not to take up too much of your time.”
Nash touched the brim of his hat. “As you wish, Miss Goodell. I’ll stop by the newspaper office when my duties allow.”
As Faith bid farewell to both men, her high spirits returned. A new deputy, an impending military operation, and the lingering mystery of the bank robbers were all superb topics for the Gazette. Mystic was certainly brimming with activity, and she was determined to chronicle every moment of it.
The bell above the Mystic Gazette’s door jingled, startling Faith from her concentration. She looked up from her desk, pen poised in her hand, to see Nash Beaumont’s tall frame filling the doorway.
“Deputy Beaumont,” she greeted, rising from her chair. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Removing his hat, he revealed thick auburn hair to match his mustache. “Miss Goodell.” He nodded. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
She gestured to a chair across from her desk. “Not at all. Please, have a seat.”
As Nash settled into the chair, Faith couldn’t help but notice the way he scanned the room, his golden-brown eyes taking in every detail. It was the gaze of a man accustomed to assessing his surroundings.
“So, tell me about your journey to Mystic. What brought you here from Laramie?”
His lips quirked in a half-smile. “It’s not much of a tale, I’m afraid. Saw the posting for a deputy position and decided it was time for a change of scenery.”
“Surely, there’s more to it than spotting a posting. What made you decide to be a deputy in the first place?”
His eyes grew distant for a moment. “I suppose you could say it runs in the family. My father was a Texas Ranger. I grew up hearing his stories and watching him serve the community. It seemed a natural path.”
She found herself drawn into Nash’s world, piecing together the experiences that had shaped this taciturn man.
Their conversation flowed, touching on Nash’s time in Laramie, his impressions of Mystic, and his hopes for the future. Faith’s pen danced across the page, capturing not only the facts but the essence of the man before her.
As the interview drew to a close, he cleared his throat. “Miss Goodell, I hope I haven’t taken up too much of your time.”
She glanced at the clock, surprised to see how much time had passed. “Not at all, Deputy. This has been most illuminating.”
Standing, he reached for his hat. Fingering the brim, he met her gaze. “I don’t suppose you’d care to talk more over supper? The Buffalo Run, perhaps?”
She hesitated for a moment, her thoughts briefly flitting to Joshua Beckett. But her instincts won out. “Sounds lovely. I’d be delighted to learn more about your travels.”
Chapter Twelve
The almost full moon lit the streets of Mystic as Faith and Nash strolled toward her house. The evening air was brisk, carrying the scent of woodsmoke from the stoves and fireplaces inside the homes. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her mind filled with the tales Nash had shared over supper.
“I must say, Deputy Beaumont, your adventures make Mystic seem quite quaint in comparison.”
His lips curved into a small smile. “Every place has its own story, Miss Goodell. Mystic’s just waiting for someone to tell it.”
She smiled. “Well said.”
They reached her porch, and Nash tipped his hat. “I reckon you’d do a fine job of it. Don’t ever sell yourself short. There’s a whole world out there waiting to be written about.”
As he bid her goodnight and disappeared into the darkness, Faith found herself rooted to the spot, his words echoing in her mind. She sank onto the porch swing, the gentle creaking a counterpoint to her jumbled thoughts.
Mystic spread out before her, familiar and comforting. Yet Faith felt a restlessness stirring within her. She thought of Trent Galloway and Nash Beaumont, of the vast country beyond Mystic’s borders, wondering if there was more out there for her. What if her story didn’t end in Mystic?
