“That is honest.”
“You asked for true.”
She looked at his mouth.
Then back to his eyes.
“Another.”
Samuel’s voice lowered.
“I think about kissing you every time you stand this close.”
Clara stopped breathing normally.
Samuel did not move.
He gave her the choice.
Clara appreciated that more than she could explain.
She stepped forward.
Her hands rested lightly against his coat.
“What stops you?”
Samuel looked toward the cabin again.
“Several things.”
“Name one.”
“Your father.”
“He sleeps deeply.”
“Does he?”
“No.”
Samuel laughed.
Clara’s fingers tightened in his coat.
“Name another.”
“You deserve someone less temporary.”
“That sounds like cowardice dressed as generosity.”
Samuel stared.
Clara continued:
“I am tired of men deciding what women deserve without asking what they want.”
Samuel became very still.
“What do you want?”
Clara looked up.
“Kiss me.”
Samuel obeyed.
Slowly.
His hand rose to her waist.
Not pulling.
Waiting.
Clara closed the remaining distance.
The kiss deepened.
Warm against cold night air.
Samuel tasted of coffee.
Clara’s fingers slid upward along his chest.
When his other hand touched her cheek, something inside her broke open.
Not fear.
A restraint she had been carrying so long she had forgotten it existed.
Samuel pulled back first.
Forehead against hers.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“I meant what I said.”
“About what?”
“Temporary.”
She opened her eyes.
“Then stop being temporary.”
Samuel looked away.
She touched his jaw.
“What is it?”
His voice roughened.
“I don’t know how.”
Clara softened.
“You stay tomorrow.”
He looked at her.
“And after that?”
“You stay the day after.”
Samuel smiled faintly.
“That simple?”
“No.”
“But that is how days work.”
He kissed her forehead.
Then stepped back before wanting became something neither of them was ready to name.
Three days later, the riders arrived.
There were four.
Samuel saw dust from the ridge first.
His body changed instantly.
Clara noticed.
“What?”
Samuel stared south.
“Inside.”
She followed his gaze.
Four riders.
Fast.
“Who?”
“The men I told you about.”
Abraham came to the doorway.
Samuel turned.
“Back room.”
The old man frowned.
“This is my house.”
“Abraham.”
Something in Samuel’s tone ended the argument.
Clara helped her father inside.
Then returned.
Samuel was checking his revolver.
She stood beside him.
“What do they want?”
“Me.”
“Why?”
“I told you.”
“No.”
Clara stared.
“You told me enough to stay worried.”
“Not enough to understand.”
Samuel’s jaw tightened.
The riders reached the yard.