River of Mercy by BJ Hoff

see—”
    David broke off at the sound of the shop bell as Susan and Rachel stepped inside.

    Gant started toward the two women as they entered but then stopped, suddenly awkward in front of the others. As always, Rachel looked wonderful, her cream-smooth skin faintly flushed by the cold morning, the hair framed by her Plain bonnet shining like polished wood.
    The faint light in her eyes asked, “You heard?” and his silent acknowledgment carried the tenuous reply that he had but was afraid to think about it. They might just as well have spoken aloud, for there was no denying the thoughts arcing between them.
    He realized he was staring when a deep blush stained her face and she glanced down. In an attempt to relieve the tension, Gant inclined his head toward the counter. “I appreciate the pie, Rachel. But you didn’t need to do that.”
    â€œOh, no, I wanted to…to thank you somehow for…well, for everything. The workroom. Everything.”
    â€œI didn’t do that much. But you can be sure I’ll enjoy the pie.”
    Again they stood looking at each other. Doc finally cleared his throat, saying, “Well, ladies, if you’ve finished your shopping, we’d best be getting along. You wanted to visit with your cousin Sara Ann a few minutes, Susan.”
    Susan nodded but took a moment to thank Gant before leaving. “We’re grateful for all your help, Captain Gant. You’ve been a gut friend to us.”
    Always uncomfortable with another’s thanks, Gant merely nodded and watched them go. Rachel glanced back over her shoulder before reaching the door.
    As soon as she left the shop, he felt the same cold emptiness he always felt when they parted, even when they’d been together only a brief time.
    For the rest of the morning, he tried not to think about the death of Isaac Graber. As Doc had pointed out, this wasn’t the time to consider any personal consequences of the bishop’s passing. What kind of a man would stoop to wondering what another’s death might mean to his own hopes? The question made Gant so uncomfortable that he launched into a fury of work that freed his mind of speculation and its accompanying guilt.
    When the shop bell rang again almost an hour later, he looked up with impatience. He had been so immersed in the tedious process of carving an ivy motif on the back of a chair that he very nearly gouged his finger.
    At the sight of Ellie Sawyer with wee Naomi Fay, he quickly straightened, wiped his hands, and crossed the room to greet them.
    â€œGood morning, Captain. We were out for our walk and thought we’d stop in to say hello.”
    The fair-haired, attractive Ellie Sawyer always reminded Gant of a flower. A daffodil or maybe a lily. With her sunny appearance and bright disposition, the pretty young widow had a way of brightening her surroundings wherever she happened to be. She invited a smile simply by walking into a room. And although Gant had never been one to make a fool of himself over a baby, he found it impossible to resist the tiny girl in her mother’s arms.
    â€œI’m glad you did,” he said. He nudged the blanket back from the sleeping baby’s face. Mindful of the paint and dust that almost certainly lingered on his hands from the morning’s work, he was careful not to touch her.
    â€œShe gets prettier all the time, Mrs. Sawyer.”
    â€œI thought you were going to call me Ellie.”
    â€œThings slip my mind these days, Ellie. I’m getting older.”
    She made a sound of derision. “Hardly.”
    They made small talk for another few minutes while the baby went on sleeping.
    â€œI should let you get on with your work, Captain. But I actually had another reason for stopping. I was wondering if you’d like to accompany Naomi Fay and me to the monthly supper at the church this Friday evening.”
    Caught off guard, Gant fumbled for an answer.