Tried leaving.
The owner believed Samuel had taken a ledger proving the thefts.
He had not.
But the men chasing him did not believe that.
“So they shot you.”
Clara said.
“They attempted something more ambitious.”
Her father looked up.
“Murder?”
Samuel nodded.
Abraham continued eating stew.
“Poorly executed.”
Samuel smiled.
“Very.”
Clara did not smile.
“Are they still looking?”
“Yes.”
“Then why come back here?”
Samuel looked at her.
“Promise.”
Clara’s heart moved.
She looked away before he saw too much.
Samuel stayed three days.
Then five.
His shoulder healed.
He repaired the barn door because it stuck.
Replaced a loose roof board.
Shoed the mare.
Fixed Abraham’s old chair.
Clara eventually asked:
“Do you know how to sit still?”
Samuel looked offended.
“I sat still eleven days once.”
“When?”
“Jail.”
Clara stared.
Samuel smiled.
“Joke.”
“Not funny.”
“A little.”
The longer he stayed, the more naturally he fit into the small rhythms of the cabin.
Breakfast before sunrise.
Work.
Midday meal.
More work.
Coffee at dusk.
Cards with Abraham.
Samuel cheated badly enough that Abraham respected him.
Clara watched.
She also watched Samuel when he did not know.
The way he carried water without being asked.
The way he lifted her father from a chair without making the older man feel helpless.
The way he stood near doors instinctively whenever strangers approached.
The way sadness sometimes crossed his face when laughter became too easy.
One evening Clara found him splitting wood after dark.
“You’ve done enough.”
Samuel swung the axe.
“Still wood left.”
“That is not an argument.”
“It’s literally an argument.”
Clara took the axe from him.
Samuel stared.
“You are unusually comfortable taking sharp objects from men.”
“You are unusually stubborn.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By me.”
“Frequently.”
She leaned the axe against the stump.
Samuel looked at her.
The night was cold.
Her breath showed.
She wore a wool shawl over a cream blouse.
Samuel’s gaze dropped briefly toward her neckline before returning quickly.
Clara noticed.
Heat spread through her.
She stepped closer.
“Samuel.”
“Yes?”
“Were you looking?”
His face remained calm.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe.”
Clara smiled.
Samuel looked toward the cabin.
“Your father is ten feet away.”
“Inside.”
“He has ears.”
“Unfortunately.”
Samuel laughed softly.
Clara stepped closer again.
Now the distance between them felt deliberate.
“Tell me something true.”
Samuel’s expression changed.
“What?”
“Anything.”
He thought.
Then:
“I almost didn’t come back.”
Her smile faded.
“Why?”
“Because I knew if I came back, leaving again would become harder.”
Clara swallowed.
“Do you intend to leave?”
“I don’t know.”