She rounded on Silas immediately.
“You paid him?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“I told you we did not need your money.”
Silas stood beside the stove.
“No.”
“You told me you did not want it.”
“That is different.”
Her anger rose.
“To me it isn’t.”
Jake coughed in the other room.
The doctor looked between them.
Silas said quietly:
“Then hate me after he breathes better.”
Clara froze.
Silas continued.
“You can repay me.”
“How?”
“Later.”
“With what?”
His expression did not change.
“Nothing I would take without you offering.”
Clara’s body went still.
He knew exactly what fear had moved beneath her question.
Silas looked almost hurt that she could even imagine it, but he did not make her ashamed.
He simply said:
“Money.”
“When you have it.”
“That is all.”
Clara looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t owe me that either.”
The doctor examined Jake.
Pneumonia had begun but not advanced beyond hope.
Warmth.
Rest.
Medicine.
Broth.
If Clara had waited another several days, the outcome might have been very different.
She heard that and had to sit.
Silas remained near the door.
He did not say:
I told you so.
That kindness might have been the moment Clara became truly afraid of him.
Not because he frightened her.
Because she was beginning to want him near.
Jake improved slowly.
The fever broke three nights later.
Clara sat beside his bed until dawn.
When she finally stepped outside, Silas stood near the barn.
He had already saddled his horse.
Her stomach dropped.
“You’re leaving.”
He turned.
“Yes.”
Clara hated the disappointment in her own voice.
“The road is clear?”
“Enough.”
“You could stay another day.”
Silas watched her.
Clara immediately added:
“Your horse might need it.”
His mouth curved.
“Horse is fine.”
“Of course.”
She looked toward the barn.
“Then thank you.”
Silas stepped closer.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
He stopped several feet away.
“You don’t owe me gratitude for things I chose.”
Clara looked up.
The winter morning was bright.
His dark hair escaped beneath the hat.
She suddenly wanted to touch it.
That thought startled her.
“Will you come through Silver Creek again?”
Silas hesitated.
The hesitation hurt.
“I don’t know.”
Clara nodded.
“Of course.”
He studied her face.
Then said:
“I might.”
She looked at him.
“That sounded different.”
“It was.”
Silas moved nearer.
Now only inches separated them.
Clara’s heart began beating strangely.
He looked toward the cabin.
Then down at her.
“You want me to?”
Clara could have lied.
She had spent years lying politely.
She was tired.
“Yes.”
Silas exhaled slowly.
His hand rose.
Not touching.
Just close to her face.
He waited.
Clara leaned into his palm.
The movement surprised both of them.
Silas’s thumb brushed her cheek.
Warm.
Rough.
Gentle.