Ignoring his gesture, she opened the door and saw a delivery boy holding a small package wrapped in brown paper.
“Are you Miss Pearl?”
“Yes, I am.”
“This is for you.” He held out the package and Pearl took it. Perhaps Carrie had sent a welcome gift, though the gesture seemed too formal for cousins.
As the boy waited expectantly for a coin for his trouble, Pearl looked at her father. Tobias reached in his pocket, extracted a few pennies and handed them to the boy. As he shut the door, Pearl fingered the package in an attempt to guess its contents. It felt soft, like fabric of some kind. Perhaps a pretty handkerchief. That seemed like the kind of gift Carrie might send. Pearl lifted the card bearing her name and turned it over. Instead of her cousin’s prim cursive, she saw bold strokes in a man’s hand. As she read the message, her cheeks flushed pink.
“Who’s it from?” Tobias asked.
“Deputy Wiley.”
Her father hummed a question. “What does it say?”
“‘To Miss Pearl with our deepest gratitude. You are a woman of uncommon courage.’” She looked up at her father. “It’s signed ‘From Deputy Matt and Sarah.’”
His gray eyes misted. “I like this man.”
“Papa, don’t—”
“Don’t what?” He scowled at her. “Don’t hope for happiness for my little girl? Don’t believe God for a second chance?”
Pearl wanted the same things, but she couldn’t go down the same road, not one lined with mysterious gifts and the curious shine in Matt Wiley’s green eyes. She set the card on the table, then looked at the package. The brown paper spoke of ordinary things, but someone had tied it shut with a lace ribbon instead of twine. Pearl didn’t know how to cope with a man’s interest, not anymore.
Her father nudged the package with his index finger. “Open it.”
She felt as if it held snakes, but she tugged on the ribbon. The bow came loose and the paper unfolded in her hand. Instead of snakes, she found hair ribbons in a dozen shades of blue. The colors matched the sky in all seasons, all times of day. Some of them matched the dress she’d ruined saving Sarah. Others were the pale blue of her eyes.
Pearl would have known what to do with a snake. She’d have cut off its head with a shovel and flung it away. The hair ribbons struck her as both treacherous and lovely…but mostly lovely. Startled by the thought, she caught her breath.
Her father touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“I think you know.”
Tobias indicated the divan. “Sit with me, Pearl.”
“I should check Toby.”
He gave her a look she knew well. For ten years he’d pastored the biggest church in Denver. He’d learned when to bend and when to fight. Right now, he looked ready for a fight. Pearl gave up and sat next to him. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Yes, there is.”
Looking older than his fifty-eight years, he lifted a cobalt ribbon from the pile of silk and lace. “Look at it, Pearl. What do you see?”
She saw a pretty snake. It declared a man’s interest and tempted her with hope. To hide her feelings, she shrugged. “I see a ribbon.”
Her father held the silk within her grasp. “Touch it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because hope would sink its fangs into her flesh. Her mind would spin tales of princes and husbands, and she’d see Matt Wiley in her dreams. What woman wouldn’t be charmed by the deputy? He loved his daughter and did honorable work. His brown hair framed a lean face and his eyes were the color of new grass. They had a subtle sharpness, a sign of a fine mind, but they also looked steady and true.
Her father turned his wrist, causing the ribbon to shimmer and twist. Her fingers itched to touch it. Knowing Tobias wouldn’t budge until she surrendered, she lifted the ribbon from his hand. As the silk slid across her palm, she thought of braiding Sarah’s hair and telling the deputy to buy his daughter something pretty. Had he bought ribbons for Sarah, too? She hoped so.
Tobias gripped her hand. “We came to Cheyenne for a fresh start. If a man’s interested in you—”
“Papa!”
“I’m serious, Pearl.” He pushed to his feet, crossed to a mirror etched with leaves and faced her. “If your mother were alive, she’d know what to say. I’m not much good at woman talk, but I know one thing for certain.” He paused, daring her to ask and forcing her to listen.
“What’s that?” she finally said.
“A man sends a gift to a woman for just one reason.”
“He had one.” She nudged the card with her finger. “He’s saying thank-you.”
Her father harrumphed.
Pearl wanted to fire back a retort, but she couldn’t look her father in the eye. Deep down, she wanted to believe him. How would it feel to be properly courted? Blinking, she flashed back to Denver. Two days ago she’d caught the bouquet at her best friend’s wedding. She’d imagined—just for an instant—wearing a fancy dress and saying “I do” to a faceless man. That man wasn’t faceless now. He had green eyes.
Pearl placed the cobalt ribbon on top of the others. “I’m a daydreaming fool.”
“No, you’re not,” her father insisted.
Could he be right? Did she have a chance at love? Looking at the ribbons, she thought of all the things the gift could mean. Hair ribbons could be casual or personal, practical or romantic. She thought of the card and how he’d signed it. “Deputy Matt” echoed “Miss Pearl,” a sign that he’d understood her need for discretion and accepted it. She thought of the purpose in his eyes as he’d said goodbye. Were the ribbons more than a thank-you? Was he asking the first sweet question between a man and woman?
What if…
She didn’t know, but she wanted to find out. Never mind the fear chilling her feet. Never mind the threat of humiliation. Matt Wiley had called her a woman of uncommon courage. Like her father said, she’d come to Cheyenne to start a new life for her son. Most important of all, she had faith in the God of second chances. She touched the card with her fingertip, then looked up at her father. “I suppose I should send a thank-you note.”
“That would be very fitting.”
“It’s just…” She shrugged.
“Just what?” her father said gently.
“It’s hard to start over.”
He lowered his chin as if she were Sarah’s age. “That’s true, but we worship a God who loves his children. I can’t explain what happened to you, Pearl. It was hurtful and ugly and I’ll never forgive myself—”
“Don’t say that.” She didn’t blame her father for the violence she’d suffered. She blamed Franklin Dean for being evil.
He held up one hand. “Let me finish.”
She obeyed but only out of habit.
“God has a plan for your life,” he said. “It’s good, but you need the courage to walk that path. You can do it, Pearl. You’re brave and smart and as beautiful as your mother. Any man in Cheyenne would be blessed to have you for a wife.”
She wanted to believe him, but her father saw her through rose-colored lenses. When he kissed her good-night, he still called her “princess.” Even so, she smiled at him. “Thank you, Papa.”
“Now go write that note.”
Her