“I wanted to know if there was something else.”
Tomás’s heartbeat changed.
“Something else?”
“A life with someone.”
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Then Clara added, “Do not become sentimental. I haven’t decided you’re worth keeping.”
Tomás laughed.
“Good.”
She frowned.
“Good?”
“I was afraid I had already failed.”
“You have.”
His face fell.
Then she smiled.
“In several areas.”
He laughed harder.
By afternoon, Tomás rode to town with the dead animal samples Gideon had recommended taking.
Clara insisted on coming.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust Dry Creek.”
That answer surprised him.
At the feed store, conversation stopped when Clara entered.
Tomás felt anger before anyone spoke.
Men looked.
Women looked.
A boy stared openly at Clara’s size until his mother pulled him away.
Clara did not react.
At the counter, the clerk said, “This your Chicago bride?”
Tomás answered, “Clara Bennett.”
The correction was small.
Intentional.
The clerk nodded toward her.
“Long trip.”
Clara looked around.
“Long enough.”
A rancher named Wade Collins leaned against a barrel.
“Heard Reed’s cattle are dropping.”
Tomás’s shoulders tightened.
News traveled disgustingly fast.
“Where did you hear that?”
Wade shrugged.
“Town hears.”
Clara asked, “How many did you hear?”
The man looked surprised she spoke.
“Six.”
“Seven.”
Tomás glanced at her.
Wade smiled.
“Sorry to hear.”
Clara looked at him.
“You don’t sound sorry.”
The store went silent.
Wade straightened.
Tomás almost intervened.
Then remembered Clara did not need him to speak for her.
Wade laughed.
“Chicago women direct.”
“Chicago men too, when they have courage.”
Gideon, sitting in the corner, began coughing to hide laughter.
Wade’s face reddened.
Tomás smiled.
Then the door opened.
Silas Mercer entered.
He was forty-eight.
Clean shirt.
Black vest.
Silver watch chain.
The only man in Dry Creek who looked wealthier during drought.
Silas stopped when he saw Clara.
His eyes moved over her slowly.
Not lust.
Assessment.
Tomás disliked it immediately.
“Reed.”
“Mercer.”
Silas nodded toward Clara.
“I assume this is Miss Bennett.”
Clara looked at Tomás.
“You told him?”
“No.”
Silas smiled.
“Small town.”
Clara turned toward him.
“That appears to be both explanation and excuse around here.”
Gideon stopped hiding his laughter.
Silas’s smile narrowed.
“I’m Silas Mercer.”
“Clara Bennett.”
“I own Broken Spur Ranch east of Tomás.”
“I didn’t ask.”
Tomás almost choked.
Silas stared.
Then laughed.
Not offended.
Interested.
“I see.”
Clara placed the bag of plant samples on the counter.
Silas’s eyes flicked toward it.
Very quick.
Clara saw.
Tomás saw Clara see.
That mattered.
Silas looked back at Tomás.
“Bad business about those cattle.”
Tomás said nothing.
“Heard poison weed.”
“Did you?”
“Everyone has.”
“How?”
Silas shrugged.
“Gideon talks.”
From the corner, Gideon said, “Not to you.”