Rain hammered her face.
Then movement.
Strong.
A foot or elbow pressed outward.
Clara laughed and cried simultaneously.
A lantern appeared through rain.
Horse hooves.
Amos jumped down before the animal fully stopped.
He reached her.
“Clara.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re on the ground.”
“I noticed.”
He knelt.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“The baby?”
“Moved.”
Amos closed his eyes briefly.
Relief transformed his face.
Clara tried rising.
He steadied her.
His hands barely touched.
Still waiting for permission after months.
“The roof.”
Amos looked up.
One entire western section had begun lifting.
“I know.”
“I have to fix it.”
“No.”
Clara’s anger flared.
“Amos.”
He looked directly at her.
“Please.”
The word stopped her.
Not command.
Please.
“I can do this.”
Clara’s breath trembled.
“I know.”
Amos touched her arm.
“Let me.”
For the first time since Henry died, Clara surrendered a problem before exhaustion forced her.
“All right.”
Amos climbed.
Clara stood below holding the lantern.
He worked in brutal wind.
Hammered new strips.
Secured shingles.
Added rope temporarily across the ridge.
When he finally came down, his shirt was soaked through.
Water ran from his beard.
Clara stared.
“You’re bleeding.”
He looked at his knuckles.
“Nothing.”
“Inside.”
Amos followed her.
The cabin smelled like wet wood.
Clara lit a second lantern.
She gave him a towel.
Amos removed his shirt.
Clara stopped moving.
She had seen shirtless men.
Henry.
Workers.
Doctors.
That was not the problem.
The problem was Amos.
His shoulders were wide.
Chest heavily muscled from ranch labor.
Scars crossed one side.
Water moved along his skin.
Clara looked away.
Amos noticed.
Said nothing.
That made it worse.
She handed him a dry blanket.
Their fingers touched.
Clara’s body reacted in a way pregnancy, widowhood, exhaustion, and common sense all agreed was inconvenient.
Amos looked at her.
Clara looked back.
The cabin became quiet except for rain.
He said:
“Thank you.”
“For the blanket?”
“For letting me help.”
Clara’s throat tightened.
“You make it sound difficult.”
“I think it is.”
She looked down.
Amos continued.
“You have spent months proving you can do everything.”
“I had to.”
“I know.”
Clara looked at him.
His voice softened.
“But needing nobody is different from choosing nobody.”
The sentence entered somewhere she did not want him reaching.
Clara stepped back.
“Good night, Amos.”
He understood.
No argument.
He dressed.