Written in  25 minutes. No time for typos.

Jason stared at Elizabeth for a long moment, still not sure what was going on. “Your father?” he repeated. “Why would he—”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly, but her face had changed — the brief flare of anger, of fury had vanished and her eyes were blank, her facial expression devoid of emotion.

“It doesn’t matter,” Elizabeth said finally. “It’s…it’s good to know you didn’t forget me, and I’m sure it must make you feel better to know that I did not forget you—”

He couldn’t wrap his mind around any of this. For a year, he’d sent her letters that had gone unanswered. He’d sent telegrams that had been ignored — and Elizabeth’s father had done something to make that happened — to force a severance of their relationship — and she…wanted to let it go?

“Why?” Jason asked said as Elizabeth turned away, started to walk rapidly away, towards the entrance of the barn. “Why would he—”

“He’s dead, so it does us no good to wonder what his reasons were.” This, she threw over her shoulder in an unbothered manner. “Life went on. I married, and I have my son now. And I’m sure you haven’t been pining for me all these years.”

In the bright sunshine of the yard, Jason lost her for a moment. He shaded his eyes and found her climbing the steps to the one story ranch home her grandfather had built when he’d come West from New York.

“Elizabeth—” He followed her and stopped her on the porch. “That’s not—”

“Because if you’d really wanted to know what happened, you had a choice I did not.” She focused on him, her eyes cold. “You had the benefit of knowing where I was. You could have come home any time. You could have asked your grandmother. You didn’t.”

“You could have asked her—” Jason bit out but then stopped. Because of course she couldn’t. Lila Quartermaine had been born into proper London society. Even half a century after leaving London for New York City, Lila would have been scandalized by a single woman asking after her grandson. Even a woman she liked.

“I could hardly get on a train to find you, and why would I?” Elizabeth shrugged off his hand. “You wrote a few letters, sent a few telegrams, then washed your hands of it, then you have the absolute nerve to come out here and demand to know why I married a man old enough to be my father nstead of waiting for a man who was never coming back.”

She lifted her chin. “You lost the right to ask me that question long ago.”

She stalked inside the house, letting the door slam shut behind her. Jason stared at it, then turned around to return to his horse.

He had other ways to discover what had happened.

______

When Jason arrived back in town, he went straight to the Diamond Springs Western Union office where stagecoaches and trains delivered also delivered the mail.

Behind the counter, he found the same woman manning the counter that had held the position when he’d left town seven years ago. Felicia Jones smiled brightly at him. “Good afternoon, Sheriff Morgan. It’s so lovely to see you back!”

“Mrs. Jones.” Jason hesitated, because now that she was standing in front of him, he wasn’t sure how to accuse her of stealing his mail or diverting Elizabeth’s letters. “I was wondering about some telegrams I sent here a few years ago.”

Her smile dimmed slightly, and he sighed. Because there it was — the glint of recoginition in her eyes. Felicia looked away, took a deep breath, and the smile returned in full force. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Jones. I sent two telegrams to Elizabeth Webber in the summer and fall of 1869,” he said carefully. “She never received them. She also never received any of my letters.”

“Well, mail goes missing from time to time,” Felicia began, but Jason shook his head.

“All twenty-four letters I wrote? Every single one? What about the letters she wrote me? She said she wrote two years worth of letters. I never received one of them.” He kept his tone even. “I’m just—I’m just looking for answers, Mrs. Jones.”

“I—”

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. I don’t even plan to tell anyone else.” He stepped closer to her. “I’m not here as an officer of the law, Mrs. Jones. I’m here as a man who wrote the woman he loves and never heard from her again.”

Felicia took a deep breath. “I was very fortunate to be given this position,” she said softly. “After my husband died, I had two little girls to care for. They had to come first. You must understand that.”

“I do.”

“I always felt terribly about the whole thing, especially when Elizabeth married Dr. Lewis. He was a nice man, but she was so young. I thought about telling her—but I would have lost my job. I have no other family. My daughters—”

“Mrs. Jones.”

“Jeff Webber is—was—on the town council. The city owns this business, and he—he threatened to fire me if I didn’t—” Felicia pressed her lips together. “But he’s dead now, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“I saved them all,” she told him. “Even the telegrams. I thought—one day, one day, I’ll make it right.” She went into the back office, and then a few minutes later returned with a crate.

She set the wooden crate on top of the counter and took out a packet. “Here are your letters—” It was a thick packet—nearly all of his letters seemed to have reached Diamond Springs. Pinned to the top of the letters were his telegrams.

He stared at the rest of the crate, filled to the brim with letters. “Are all of those—”

“She wrote twice a week for two years,” Felicia murmured. “I thought about mailing them a few times, you know. Just letting one or two slip past, but Mr. Webber came in once and while to check, and I was just—” She looked at him. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to protect my family.”

“Twice a week—” Jason exhaled slowly. She’d written him longer and more often—and for all these years, he’d thought she’d forgotten him.

She was right. He’d abandoned her first.

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