Truett arrived after supper. He didn’t come inside, only came to the back door and asked for Will. Will ran out and they walked around the back yard in the fading light.

Celia watched them out the back window, trying to wash up the supper dishes. Truett and Will talked, walking around the henhouse, disappearing from sight for several minutes at a time.

All right, I’ve got him here, God. Now how am I going to get him alone to talk to him? Somehow she had to get him in the house, or on the front porch. No, the front porch might remind him of their kiss. He’d really wonder what she was up to. First she kisses him, then she tells him he can’t court her, then she avoids him for weeks, now she wants to talk to him alone?

He’d think she had lost her mind, or worse, that she was a tease. And that was the last thing she’d ever wanted to be known as.

But she had to speak to him. She had to convince him there were other ways to make sure the sheriff didn’t hurt innocent people. There had to be a way, a due process of the judicial system that would force the sheriff to uphold the law and not break it. She had to convince Truett that what he was doing was foolish and was going to get him killed.

Just like Father.

Will opened the back door and stepped into the kitchen.

“Where’s Truett?” Celia’s voice sounded breathy and desperate. She tried to wipe the anxiety from her expression.

“Went home.” Will picked up an apple from the bowl on the table and bit into it.

Celia closed her eyes, her stomach twisting. Had she really lost her chance to talk to him and warn him? Perhaps she should run after him.

“But he’ll be back tomorrow night.”

The breath rushed out of her in a sigh of relief. She’d get another chance.

“He’s going to help me catch that mean old possum. Said it must be a huge one.” Will crunched into the crisp apple again.

This time she’d make sure she took advantage of her opportunity. She wouldn’t let him get away again without talking to him.

Celia awoke in the middle of the night, shaking all over, even though she’d escaped the horror of her dream.

Truett was riding his black horse wearing the hood and cloak from the cave. He rode into the forest until he reached a clearing. Sheriff Suggs stood with several men. They led a horse and its rider toward a giant tree, where a noose hung from its lowest branch. Sheriff Suggs slipped the rope over the person’s head and around their neck. Then Celia saw the victim’s face.

Annie. The little girl Celia had saved from the rattlesnake!

She wanted to scream, “No! Stop!”, but the paralysis of dreaming would not let her intervene.

Truett rode directly to the men with white hoods and Sheriff Suggs raised a gun, pointing it at Truett.

The gun fired once, twice, three times.

Truett jerked backward and tumbled to the ground.

He lay on the ground, three holes in his chest.

Sheriff Suggs walked over and yanked the black hood off. Truett’s eyes were closed and his face was ashen.

Celia shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut against the memory of the dream. Each breath came hard and fast, and her heart raced like mad inside her chest.

“Celia?” Lizzie stirred beside her and opened her eyes.

“I was only dreaming,” Celia whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

She tried to calm her breathing, but the image of Truett’s face wouldn’t go away. She lay back down, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw Truett’s face again, looking as gray as her father’s had at his funeral.

Pain throbbed in her chest. She didn’t want to admit it, even to God, but she cared so much about Truett that she was afraid it would kill her if something happened to him.

Was she destined to become like her mother? A walking dead woman, simply because her husband had died?

And Truett wasn’t even her husband.

Celia shivered and clutched the blanket tighter. She was a coward either way she looked at it. She was a coward for being afraid to love Truett, and a coward for being so terrified that she would turn out like her mother if he died.

She pressed her hand against her heart, trying not to disturb Lizzie. She should probably just get up, since there was no way she’d be able to sleep anymore with these thoughts churning inside her head. She was also too hot and sweaty. Maybe she was sick?

Thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was on the way. No wonder the air seemed so heavy and hot and oppressive.

Soon, flashes of lightning illumined the sky outside the bedroom window. It was probably almost morning, but the coming storm would keep them from seeing the sun for some time yet.

A loud crack erupted, seeming to come from just outside the window. A rumbling boom followed.

Lizzie woke up. Celia hugged her, feeling comforted by her sister’s arms.

“Oh, Lord, save us from the storm outside.” And save me from the storm inside.

Truett frowned as he walked to the Wilcox place. The storm had knocked over a length of fence around their cow pasture, but he had fixed that fairly quickly.

He wished he didn’t care how the Wilcox farm had fared, but he did. He tried to tell himself he cared only because of Will and Lizzie and the twins. They needed someone to look out for them. But he grudgingly admitted he cared about Celia too. Even if she was cold and unfeeling, then maddeningly flirtatious. Fickle creature.

If he was truthful with himself, he didn’t believe she was cold and unfeeling. But why did she not want to allow him to court her after she had kissed him the way she had?

None of it made sense. And yesterday she had kept standing at the window and staring out at him while he and Will had talked over what to do about the henhouse thief. He had pretended he didn’t notice her, but why was she staring at him?

He should forget about her.

He’d never had much trouble forgetting about any of the other girls he’d known. What was different about Celia Wilcox?

For one thing, most other girls had disappointed him in some way, whether it be through a shallow way of thinking or a lack of character. Celia was neither dull nor shallow and, while she may be fickle, she was not without character.

She’d acted so different yesterday, smiling at him, seeming so anxious to have him come to help Will. It was as if she wanted to say something but was afraid to in front of his mother.

He was probably imagining things. She was only concerned about Will and knew he was missing him.

Well, he wouldn’t play the fool for her. Not again.

Truett scowled as he realized, yes, he would play the fool for her again. It wouldn’t take much coaxing from her, either.

He neared the house and saw Will at the well. The boy looked up and called, “Hey, Truett! Come see what happened to our tree!”

Tree limbs were scattered all over the yard, but they were small ones. Will led him around the house. The giant pecan tree, whose massive trunk stood only a few feet from the kitchen door, had been pulled up by its roots—but not all the way—by the powerful wind. The tree was leaning, as though one root stronger than the others had refused to break in the face of the raging wind and was holding the tree at a forty-five-degree angle . . . over the house.

Truett scrubbed his unshaven cheek with his hand. “Oh. My.”

The tree didn’t budge, but in his mind, Truett saw it toppling the rest of the way over and smashing the small farmhouse in less time than it would take to yell “Timber!”

And smashing whoever was inside.

Will spoke up. “How do you think we’ll get her down without hitting the house?”

“We’ll figure out a way.” There were ways to make a tree fall where you wanted it to, but it was tricky and fairly dangerous. Even more so when it was already leaning the wrong way.

Celia hurried out the front door and down the porch steps. Her eyes were big as she stared at him—the prettiest brown eyes—and then walked straight toward him. His heart jumped in his throat at the way she pressed a hand to her chest, smiled, and said, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He had to swallow, hard.

He cleared his throat, trying to shrug off the nervous heat crawling up the back of his neck. “Got yourself a little tree problem?”

She looked worried. “Do you know how we can get it down without it falling on the house?”

So . . . Celia Wilcox needed him. He shouldn’t think about it that way. It wasn’t gentlemanly. “I reckon I can get it taken care of for you.”

“That is very kind of you.”

She looked quite humble, especially compared to the way she’d looked the time she told him she didn’t need him.

“What will you do? Will it take long? I’d hate for you to have to be away from your office for very long.”

It would make her feel bad if he emphasized what a long, hard job this was going to be, and how he would have to be away from his office all day. But he would be chivalrous and downplay it.

“We’ll take it down. The next stiff wind could send it crashing down on you.”

“Oh.” She looked appropriately alarmed, her hand clutching at her neck.

“Will and I will ride to town and get some help. We’ll pick up some equipment while we’re there and have this tree out of your way by nightfall, Lord willing.”

Her eyes flitted around like she was thinking hard. Was she that uncomfortable with accepting his help?

“I do want to thank you, Truett. I know it is a sacrifice on your part, and you’re so good to help us.”

He’d never heard her sound this humble or grateful. He was enjoying it way too much. Here I go breaking all my promises to myself. “It’s nothing, Miss Celia.” Truett tipped his hat as his chest swelled.

“Let’s get going, Tru.” Will stood impatiently at his side.

“Wait.” Celia’s eyebrows still drew together, her eyes revealing concern. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Finally she said, “You’ll be back?”

He nodded, willing her to speak what was on her mind. After a moment of hesitation, she simply smiled and walked back toward the house.

Truett shook his head at her strange behavior. At least she wasn’t giving him the cold shoulder.

Once he and Will were in town, he put a note on his office door that he would be at the Wilcox place all day. Then he went to Greenbrier Lee’s blacksmith shop to borrow a winch and some rope. Fortunately, when he explained the situation to Greenbrier and Grady Skidmore, who was passing by, they volunteered to come along and help.

They rode back to the Wilcox place and the four of them set to work on the tree.

“Celia, what’s the matter with you?” Lizzie squinted at her sister. “You’re acting as nervous as a mouse under a cat’s paw.”

“I am not!” When she realized she was wringing her hands, she clasped them firmly together.

“What ails you lately? If you want to tell Truett you’re sorry and you didn’t mean whatever it was you did to make him stop coming around, then I’m all for it.” Lizzie lifted her chin.

Celia moved away from the window. Lizzie had obviously caught her staring out at the men—well, it was actually only Truett she’d been staring at—while wringing her hands like a ninny.

Lizzie laughed and went off to the root cellar to get some sweet potatoes.

Celia and Lizzie were busy cooking, making a huge noon meal to feed the men who had come to help them fell the dangerously tipping tree. She’d said a prayer that they would be able to take it down safely and that no one would get hurt, but an even bigger worry was that Truett would get away again before she could talk to him. And she couldn’t exactly say anything to him with those other men around. How could she know that they wouldn’t betray Truett?

Since Lizzie had gone to check on Mother, Celia allowed herself another peek outside. Truett’s hat was pushed back off his forehead and the top two buttons of his blue chambray work shirt were unbuttoned. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and the stubble gave him a rough, outdoorsman look that put a catch in her throat.

Truett was taking his turn pulling the long two-handled saw, with Greenbrier the blacksmith on the other handle. They settled into a rhythm.

“I was thinking . . .” Lizzie entered the kitchen.

Celia spun around and dropped the tin cup she was holding. It clattered on the floor as Celia bent and snatched it up. “What?”

“Are you staring at Truett again?”

“Why would I do that?”

Lizzie smirked. Celia cringed inwardly at her sister’s knowing look. She feigned an aloof expression.

“As I was saying, we probably shouldn’t let Mama see the tree. It might frighten her. We could bring her meals to her room, instead of calling her out. I thought I’d get her a cup of tea.”

“Whatever you think, Lizzie. That’s fine.”

Lizzie walked past her to the screen door and gazed out. “How are they going to make it fall away from the house?”

Celia came to stand beside her. Since Lizzie was looking, she could too, couldn’t she?

“The way Will explained it, they’ve cut a wedge out of the other side, the side they want it to fall toward.”

Truett straightened his back and stepped away from the saw to give Will and Grady a turn.

Celia went on. “They tied one rope to the tree and attached it to a winch. Now they’re cutting it from this side at a sharp angle. They’ll cut all the way through to the wedge on the other side.”

Truett walked over to the winch at the edge of the yard.

“Truett is turning the handle to keep the tension as tight as possible. Now he’s tightening the other rope, which they wound around that tree, since they only had one winch. When they get the tree cut in two, they’ll pull it down using the ropes and the winch.”

Lizzie sighed. “Isn’t it a blessing to have such kind neighbors?” She turned her sweet, innocent smile on Celia. “Especially one as handsome as Dr. Truett Beverly?”

Celia pursed her lips at her sister.

“You have to admit,” Lizzie shook her finger at her, “if it weren’t for him, we would have been up a creek.”

She bit the inside of her lip. Truett was undeniably a good man. Good enough to work hard all day to help out a family who neither deserved his help nor was able to reward his kindness or return the favor.

Well, he didn’t look like he minded. He and the other two men were laughing and slapping each other on the back. Will was having a great time, too. He seemed to have grown two inches with the pride of working alongside the three men, doing an equal share.

“Let’s go get them some water.” Lizzie’s face lit up and she tugged on Celia’s arm. “Come on! Show a little gratitude for all they’re doing for us.”

She let Lizzie drag her outside to the well. They each drew a bucket of cool water, hung a long-handled dipper on the side, and headed toward the men.

Lizzie scurried toward Will and Grady, so Celia started for Truett, her knees feeling a bit weak. Probably from not getting much sleep.

Truett looked up from the winch to see Celia heading his way with a bucket of water. Then again, it was probably Lizzie who had forced her into bringing him a drink. He couldn’t let himself go all soft in the head, although it was difficult any time she was around.

She smiled shyly, which was a first, and said, “Water?”

“Thanks.” He took the dipper from her hand. His fingers brushed hers. He forced himself to look away from her mesmerizing brown eyes and gulped down the entire contents of the dipper.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and handed her the empty ladle.

She refilled it and held it out to him. He shook his head. “Thank you.”

“Truett, I—” She glanced to the left where Greenbrier approached. Her lips twitched ending in a slight frown, that quickly changed back to a bland look. She turned her gaze back to him. “How are things progressing?”

What was going on inside that head of hers?

She handed the dipper to Greenbrier and he drank, spilling half of it down his already wet shirt. She handed him another one, then took a step away from him. Truett forced himself not to laugh.

“It’s progressing well, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s coming along.” Greenbrier’s voice boomed. Truett had often wondered if the man was naturally loud, or if the ring of his hammer, day after day, had made him slightly deaf. “We’ll give it the old heave-ho before much longer.”

“We certainly owe you men a debt of gratitude for your help.”

She looked as if she really meant it, her head tilted at a humble angle. She glanced up at him through black lashes and Truett’s heart did a flip.

“It ain’t nothing, miss. I was ready for some fresh air and sunshine after banging away in that smithy!” Greenbrier’s guffaw was even louder than his words.

Truett cocked his head at Celia. “Will says you killed a snake, Miss Celia.”

Her cheeks turned a pretty pink, but there was pride in the tilt of her chin. “I did.”

Greenbrier whistled. “With a gun? A little miss like you?”

“It was with a stick, I heard.” Truett grinned.

She turned a half smile up at him.

“A stick!” Greenbrier hooted, drawing Will and Grady over.

“You must be a feisty little thing!” Greenbrier laughed again, repeating the report of Celia’s snake encounter for their benefit.

Feisty? Truett allowed himself a rueful chuckle. I’ll say she is. Feisty and beautiful and way too beguiling for anybody’s good.

Will and Grady each had a drink and then wandered away with Greenbrier, still discussing rattlesnakes.

“You are feisty,” Truett said quietly, studying Celia’s face, “but I’d call it brave.”

She shook her head. “I’m not brave.” When she met Truett’s gaze, a cloud descended over her expression. “You’re the brave one.”

His heart not only flipped, it flopped like a newly caught fish on a creek bank.

Yep, he was hooked. Again.

Will called out to Truett, “Seven rattles! This big around!” Will held up his hands to show how fat the snake was.

Celia smiled at her brother. And then, without another glance at Truett, began walking back to the house.

“Thanks for the water, Celia,” he called after her.

“You’re welcome. Dinner will be ready in an hour or so. We want you all to join us.”

“We’ll be happy to.”

And when she smiled, he forgave her all, everything, the cold shoulder after the kiss, and whatever else she’d done.

There was something she wanted to tell him, something she couldn’t say in front of anyone else. Could it be she had changed her mind? That she did want him to court her after all? It must be that. What else could it be?