Because Elias had refused the performance.
The freight hand approached.
Together they lifted.
Lara watched.
“I can leave some things.”
Elias looked toward her.
“Did you bring something you don't need?”
She blinked.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
He and the freight hand carried the trunk.
Lara followed.
At the wagon, Elias gave the man his coin.
Then turned toward Lara.
“Can you climb up?”
She looked at the high bench.
Her expression tightened.
The wagon was built for ranch hands.
The step narrow.
Too high.
Her body made the problem obvious.
Around them, people watched.
Lara knew.
She looked toward the ground.
“I can manage.”
Elias studied the step.
“No.”
Her face hardened.
“I said I can.”
“I heard you.”
He walked to the rear of the wagon.
Pulled out a feed crate.
Placed it beneath the step.
Tested it with his boot.
Then another lower crate.
A two-stage step.
Lara stared.
“No audience required.”
Elias said it quietly.
Her eyes lifted.
He stepped away.
Not offering his hand before she asked.
Not watching as if waiting for failure.
Lara gathered her skirt.
Put one boot onto the lower crate.
Then the upper.
She gripped the wagon rail.
Her body moved slowly.
The wood creaked.
Held.
She climbed onto the bench.
Breathing hard by the time she settled.
She hated that he could see.
He did not comment.
He climbed beside her.
Lara looked at him.
“Where are we going?”
“Whispering Pines.”
Her eyes widened.
“You just said you didn't send for me.”
“I didn't.”
“Then why?”
“Storm.”
“Because Deadwood is full.”
“And because whoever forged that paper expects me to leave you here.”
She looked across the street.
Caleb lifted his glass toward them.
Lara noticed.
“Who is he?”
“Problem.”
“That isn't a name.”
“Caleb Ryland.”
“What does he have to do with me?”
“I don't know yet.”
“You think he forged the contract?”
“I think he knows more than he should.”
Lara looked toward the road.
“I won’t stay with you if you don’t want me there.”
Elias took the reins.
“I’m offering shelter.”
“Not marriage.”
Something flickered across her face.
Pain.
Then relief.
Maybe both.
He added:
“Tomorrow is yours.”
She looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means tonight you get warm.”
“Tomorrow we decide what facts exist.”
“After that, you decide what you want.”
She studied him.
“You say that like choices are simple.”
“No.”
“They’re expensive.”
He flicked the reins.
The wagon rolled.
Behind them, Caleb Ryland stood on the saloon porch and watched his plan fail in its first ten minutes.
He was not smiling anymore.
Whispering Pines lay fourteen miles north of Deadwood.
In summer, the trip could be made in three hours.
That afternoon it took nearly five.
The wind strengthened.
Snow began as tiny dry grains and gradually became thick wet flakes that clung to the horses’ manes.
Lara spoke little.
Elias did not force conversation.
Twice he stopped.
Once to tighten the wagon canvas.
Once because Lara's breathing had become shallow.
She noticed the second stop.
“You don’t need to keep pretending the horses need rest.”
Elias looked toward her.
“The horses do need rest.”
“So do I.”
“Then convenient.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
They drank coffee from a tin flask.
Lara held the cup between both hands.
Elias saw bruising near her wrist.
Old.