He said nothing.
“You told me about your brother.”
Silas's jaw tightened.
“And you told me about Rebecca.”
The name landed between them like a stone.
The crowd could not hear it.
But Silas felt the weight of it.
“You had no right to say her name.”
Eleanor's expression became serious.
“You wrote her name first.”
“I shouldn't have.”
“No.”
She looked down at the letter.
“You shouldn't have.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Eleanor slipped the envelope back into her coat.
“I didn't come here to embarrass you.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because you were going to send me away before asking a single question.”
Silas frowned.
“How do you know?”
“Because the moment you saw me, you decided I couldn't belong in your life.”
“You look like you belong in a ballroom.”
“Perhaps.”
“Not a ranch.”
“Perhaps.”
“You'll hate it.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know women like you.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then name one.”
Silas opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Eleanor smiled.
“Exactly.”
She turned toward the wagon.
“Where is your horse?”
“Why?”
“I want to see whether you actually ride or simply write about it.”
Amos made a choking noise.
Silas gave him a look.
“Bring my horse.”
Amos grinned.
“Yes, sir.”
The horse was brought from the livery stable a few minutes later.
Silas's black gelding was named Ranger.
The animal was enormous, intelligent, and bad-tempered.
Silas had trained him himself.
Eleanor watched as the horse approached.
Ranger stopped beside Silas and lowered his head.
Silas ran a hand along the animal's neck.
“This is Ranger.”
Eleanor studied him.
“He looks like you.”
Silas raised an eyebrow.
“Mean?”
“Suspicious.”
“He has reason.”
“So do I.”
Their eyes met.
The attraction between them had become impossible to ignore.
Silas hated that.
He hated the way she made him aware of every inch of space between them.
He hated that she seemed completely unafraid.
Most of all, he hated that he wanted to know what she would look like without the hat, without the gloves, without the carefully controlled expression.
He looked away.
“Your horse is over there.”
Eleanor followed his gaze.
A chestnut mare stood near the stagecoach.
“That one?”
“Yes.”
“She is mine?”
“I assumed you'd bring one.”
“I did.”
“You rode her from the station?”
“No. She traveled in the livestock car.”
Silas looked at her.
“Of course.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am beginning to think nothing about you is simple.”
“That is the first intelligent thing you've said today.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then a voice from behind them called, “Mr. Creed!”
Silas turned.
The town sheriff, Walter Harlan, stood beside the mercantile.
He was holding a folded telegram.
Silas's expression changed.
“What is it?”
“Came this morning.”
“From where?”
“Cheyenne.”
Silas took it.
He read the first line.