The question struck him with unexpected force.
Gabriel stared.
For years, he'd imagined a wife taking his hand and placing it against her pregnant belly.
He had imagined feeling a child move.
He had imagined what it might be like to wait for the birth of someone who carried part of him.
Then the doctor told him those dreams were unlikely.
And he buried them.
Now Clara was offering him a moment he'd believed he would never experience.
But the child wasn't his by blood.
He knew that.
The knowledge hurt.
He looked toward her stomach.
Then at his hands.
For several seconds, he couldn't answer.
Finally, he whispered, "Not yet."
Clara's smile faltered.
But she nodded.
"All right."
Gabriel looked toward her.
He wanted to explain.
Wanted to tell her that the invitation meant more than she could imagine.
That he was frightened of wanting something he wasn't certain he had the right to claim.
But the words wouldn't come.
Instead, he closed the poetry book.
Set it beside the chair.
And quietly added another log to the fire.
Clara watched him.
For a moment, sadness passed between them.
But so did patience.
She didn't reach for his hand again.
And he didn't ask her to stop hoping.
They simply remained beside the fire while the snow moved silently across the Wyoming plains.
The first letter from Edmund Vale arrived three days before Christmas.
Gabriel found it among the mail he collected in town.
The envelope was addressed to Clara in careful handwriting.
There was no familiar return address.
But the St. Louis postmark made his stomach tighten.
He carried it home without opening it.
Clara was kneading bread when he entered.
Flour dusted her fingers.
A small strand of blonde hair had slipped from its pin and curled beside her cheek.
She looked up with a smile.
"You're back early."
Gabriel nodded.
"Road's getting bad."
Then he placed the envelope on the table.
Clara's smile vanished.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Her eyes fixed on the handwriting.
Gabriel watched.
"Do you recognize it?"
She swallowed.
"Yes."
He nodded.
"I thought you might."
Clara wiped her hands on her apron.
Then approached.
Her fingers trembled as she picked up the envelope.
She turned it over.
For several seconds, she stared.
Gabriel remained quiet.
Finally, she looked toward him.
"Would you stay?"
The request surprised him.
He nodded.
"Of course."
Clara opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter from Edmund's attorney.
It explained that Mr. Vale had learned of her marriage and new residence.
He wished to resolve matters concerning the expected child without unnecessary conflict.
The letter proposed that Clara contact his representatives to discuss arrangements for the baby's future.
It also warned that her marriage did not automatically extinguish any claims Edmund might choose to assert.
The wording was formal.
Careful.
And frightening.
Clara read it once.
Then again.