Page 58 of Tessa and Nash

She studies me for a long moment, expression stern, calculating.

“Hm,” she says finally. “That’ll shake things up.”

“I imagine so.”

Millie nods once. “Good. This town needs shaking.” Then, softer, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

She marches off, already muttering about seating arrangements for the school play, and I continue down the street feeling oddly buoyant and increasingly aware that every step is carrying me closer to an inevitable confrontation.

At Grace Community Church, Pastor John Miller is locking up after a morning meeting. He smiles when he sees me, the kind of warm, open smile that makes people confess sins they weren’t planning on mentioning.

“Tessa,” he says. “I heard the news.”

“Did you,” I reply lightly.

He glances at the ring. “I did. And I wanted to say, I’m very glad.”

“For us?”

“For Buckhorn,” he says gently. “Sometimes two strong families finding common ground does more good than a dozen sermons.”

The irony almost makes me choke.

“That’s… kind of you,” I manage.

He nods. “We’ll be praying for you both.”

“I’m sure you will.”

I step back onto the sidewalk, the cold air sharp against my cheeks, and finally let the nerves fully surface.

Buckhorn knows.

Which means Thomas Long is about to know too.

At home that evening, the reckoning arrives.

Uncle Thomas is waiting in the sitting room, standing this time. His coat is still on. His jaw is locked tight enough that I can almost hear his teeth grind. My grandma sits by the window with her knitting, quiet but alert.

The door barely shuts behind me before he speaks.

“What,” he snaps, “did you do?”

“I can explain,” I say.

“Oh, you’re going to,” he snaps. “Because I hear about your engagement from Hank Lawson’s wife at the feed store, not from you.”

I draw a breath. “Uncle⁠—”

“You were told to get close to Nash McCoy,” he cuts in. “Close enough to watch him. To listen. To find out what he’s hiding. Not to…” His gaze slashes to my hand, the ring catching the lamplight like a provocation, “turn yourself into a McCoy spectacle. Do you have any idea how this looks?”

“Yes.”

“No,” he snaps. “You don’t. This makes us look compromised. Weak. Like we’ve been bought off by a smile and a ring. A ring that did not come from nowhere.”

“No,” I say evenly. “It didn’t.”