Tomás saw her and forgot the line he had rehearsed.
Clara noticed.
“What?”
“You look…”
He stopped.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Choose carefully.”
“Beautiful.”
The word came easier than he expected.
Clara’s expression changed.
For all her sharpness, for all her strength, the compliment found somewhere unprotected.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Clara looked down.
Tomás realized something.
How many men had spoken to her as if her body made tenderness ridiculous?
How many had assumed a large woman required less gentleness because she occupied more space?
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
“Clara.”
She looked up.
“I mean it.”
Her eyes shone slightly.
“Thank you.”
The ceremony happened beneath the cottonwood.
Gideon stood with Tomás.
A widow from town named Martha helped Clara.
Silas Mercer attended.
Of course he did.
He stood near the back with his hat against his chest and an expression of polite interest.
Tomás hated seeing him.
Clara did not look at him once.
The minister spoke.
Marriage.
Duty.
Hardship.
Companionship.
The words felt heavier than Tomás expected.
When asked if he took Clara Bennett as his lawful wife, Tomás looked at the woman who had arrived three days earlier and walked into disaster without turning around.
“I do.”
Clara answered the same.
No hesitation.
Then the minister said, “You may kiss.”
Tomás froze.
Clara almost smiled.
He leaned closer.
Stopped.
“May I?”
The whisper was only for her.
Her expression softened.
“Yes.”
He kissed her.
Brief.
Warm.
Not dramatic.
But when he stepped back, something had shifted.
Wife.
Husband.
Words too large for three days.
Afterward, Dry Creek ate everything Clara had cooked the previous evening with Martha’s help.
Silas approached near sunset.
“Congratulations.”
Tomás said nothing.
Clara said, “Thank you.”
Silas looked toward the field.
“Unfortunate beginning.”
Clara smiled.
“Yes.”
“Hard place for a new bride.”
“I’ve lived in harder.”
Silas nodded.
“I’m sure.”
He turned toward Tomás.
“My offer remains open.”
Clara’s expression changed.
Tomás felt anger rise.
“Not today.”
Silas smiled.
“Especially today.”
“Why?”
“A married man has responsibilities.”
Tomás stepped closer.
Clara spoke first.
“So does a neighbor.”
Silas looked at her.
She continued.
“Perhaps you should practice yours.”
His smile thinned.
“You believe marriage gives you a stake in this?”
Clara looked toward Tomás.
Then back.
“I believe the vows did.”
Silas laughed.
“Paper at the bank matters more than vows.”
Clara nodded.
“Then we’ll discuss paper.”
Something in Silas’s face hardened.
He left without another word.
That night, Tomás stood inside the bedroom feeling more frightened than he had facing the bank.
Clara sat at the edge of the bed removing pins from her hair.
Dark hair fell around her shoulders.
Tomás looked away too obviously.
Clara noticed.
“You’ve seen hair before.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He cleared his throat.
“The floor is fine.”
She looked at him through the mirror.
“We’re married.”