Caleb knelt beside a low wooden bench and settled the frightened dog onto it.
The animal whined.
He placed one enormous hand gently against its neck.
"Easy, old fellow."
His voice was deep.
Quiet.
Unexpectedly tender.
He examined the leg.
Then asked the blacksmith to fetch the town's veterinarian, a practical older man who treated horses, cattle, and whatever other animals the community brought him.
One of the ranch hands laughed again.
"All that trouble for a mongrel?"
Caleb slowly raised his eyes.
He didn't stand.
Didn't threaten the man.
He simply looked at him.
The laughter stopped.
Clara watched the ranch hands move away.
Then she crossed the street.
"Is he badly hurt?"
Caleb looked up.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Clara felt something strange move through her chest.
He had hazel eyes.
Intense.
Tired.
And far gentler than the stories suggested.
"Leg's injured," he answered.
She stepped closer.
"How?"
"Found him caught beneath a fallen fence."
Clara looked toward the dog.
The animal trembled.
She knelt beside the bench.
"Hello there."
The dog looked at her.
She gently stroked its head.
Caleb watched.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he said, "He doesn't know you."
Clara looked up.
"No."
"Most folks avoid touching frightened animals they don't know."
She smiled faintly.
"Most frightened creatures don't become less frightened by being left alone."
Caleb went still.
For a second, something shifted in his expression.
Then he looked toward the dog.
"Can't argue with that."
Clara smiled.
They remained beside the animal until the veterinarian arrived.
When Caleb stood, she discovered just how tall he was.
He seemed to rise forever.
His shoulders blocked part of the afternoon light.
And his broad frame made the other men outside the forge look almost boyish.
Clara took an involuntary step backward.
He noticed.
His expression closed.
For a moment, he looked as though he'd expected it.
Then he touched the brim of his hat.
"Ma'am."
She felt suddenly embarrassed.
"Thank you for helping him."
Caleb glanced toward the dog.
"Somebody had to."
He turned away.
Clara watched him walk toward a massive bay horse tied near the hitching rail.
Before mounting, he stopped.
Looked back.
And asked, "You work at the schoolhouse?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
He tilted his head.
"Miss Whitmore?"