“I’m not people.”
“No.”
She studied the scar on his face.
“You made that clear in church.”
Caleb’s mouth tightened.
“I should’ve broken Cole’s jaw.”
“No.”
“You disagree?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Then everyone would remember the fight instead of what he said.”
Caleb considered.
“Smart.”
“I try.”
Another mile.
Then Caleb asked, “Your turn.”
Beatrice knew what he meant.
Why did she agree?
She looked toward the distant snow line.
“I wanted to leave Ridge Creek.”
“That badly?”
“Yes.”
“Because people laughed?”
“No.”
“Marcus?”
Her hands tightened.
“Partly.”
Caleb waited.
Beatrice did not continue.
He let the silence remain.
That surprised her.
Most men pushed harder when they sensed hidden information.
Caleb only drove.
The mountain road narrowed.
By afternoon, they stopped beside a stream.
Caleb filled both canteens.
Beatrice sat on a flat rock beneath the pines.
When he returned, she had removed her shoes.
Her feet were swollen.
Caleb frowned.
“Those shoes hurt.”
“They fit in town.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
Beatrice looked up.
“They hurt.”
“Why wear them?”
“They were the only pair Marcus considered suitable for church.”
Caleb stared.
“You own boots?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Trunk.”
He walked toward the wagon.
Beatrice stood.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting them.”
“I can.”
“I know.”
He looked back.
“But I’m already standing.”
That simple sentence disarmed her.
Caleb opened the trunk.
Books indeed.
Medical books.
Ledgers.
Two dresses.
A heavy pair of work boots.
He brought them.
Beatrice replaced the painful shoes.
Caleb looked at her feet.
Red marks crossed the skin.
“Throw those away.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You’re giving orders already?”
“No.”
He nodded toward the shoes.
“Suggestion.”
“Better.”
She placed them inside the wagon instead.
Caleb sighed.
“You keep everything?”
“Things cost money.”
He could not argue.
Two days later, they reached his homestead.
The cabin stood in a high valley surrounded by spruce and granite peaks.
Beatrice saw it from the ridge.
Small.
Weathered.
A thin chimney.
One barn.
A corral.
A creek running behind the house.
Caleb watched her face.
She realized he was waiting for disappointment.
“It’s beautiful.”
He looked suspicious.
“The roof leaks.”
“Less beautiful.”
“One shutter doesn’t close.”
“Tragic.”
“The stove smokes if the wind comes east.”
Beatrice smiled.
“You are determined to ruin your own property.”
“I prefer accuracy.”
She understood that.
At the yard, Caleb stepped down.
Beatrice moved toward the edge of the wagon.
“I can do it myself.”
He looked at the uneven stones below.