She didn't apologize.
Perhaps that was why he trusted her.
“You have twelve days,” she said.
Then she mounted her horse.
Before leaving, she turned.
“If you do nothing, Crowe wins.”
Elias watched them disappear into the distance.
He looked down at Clara's letter.
Then at the ranch.
Then at the mountains.
By sunset, he had written to her.
He told her the truth.
He did not promise romance.
He did not promise an easy life.
He offered a room, food, wages, and legal protection.
He told her she would be free to leave.
He told her she would never be forced into anything.
At the end, he wrote:
If you come, you will not be coming here to save me. You will be coming because you deserve a chance to build a life of your own. If we decide we cannot live together, I will still make sure you have enough money to return safely.
He signed his name.
Elias Ward.
Then he sent the letter.
Three weeks later, a stagecoach arrived in Dry Hollow.
Elias almost missed her.
The coach stopped in a cloud of dust.
Several passengers climbed down.
Then Clara appeared.
She carried one leather suitcase.
Her coat was old but clean.
Her dark hair was braided.
Her boots were practical.
She looked around the town as if memorizing it.
Then she saw Elias.
He stepped forward.
“Clara Reyes?”
“Yes.”
“I am Elias Ward.”
“I know.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Finally Clara looked at the wagon.
“Is the ranch far?”
“About fifteen miles.”
She nodded.
“Then we should go.”
Elias picked up her suitcase.
She immediately reached for it.
“I can carry it.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you take it?”
He looked at her.
“Because I thought it would be polite.”
Clara studied him.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
“That's a strange answer.”
“I'm not good at these things.”
“What things?”
“Meeting people.”
Her smile grew.
“That makes two of us.”
They rode toward Black Creek.
The first hour passed quietly.
Then Clara asked:
“Is it really as bad as your letter said?”
“Yes.”
“Could you lose the ranch?”
“Yes.”
“And the marriage would help?”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
Elias nodded.
“I don't know.”
Clara looked at him.
“You brought me here without knowing?”
“I brought you here because I wanted you to see the place before deciding.”
She was quiet.
Then she said:
“I appreciate that.”
The ranch appeared near sunset.
Clara looked at the fields.
The creek.
The barn.
The old cottonwoods.
“It is beautiful.”
“It needs work.”
“So do I.”
Elias glanced at her.
She was smiling.
He smiled too.
It was the first time either of them had done so.
That night, Elias showed her the spare bedroom.
“You can lock the door.”
Clara looked at him.
“Do you expect me to?”
“No.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because you should know you can.”
She nodded.
“Thank you.”
He turned to leave.
“Elias?”
“Yes?”
“Your letter said you don't promise love.”
“I don't.”
“Good.”
He looked surprised.
Clara continued.
“Neither do I.”
Then she closed the door.
Elias walked away.
For the first time in months, Black Creek felt slightly less empty.
The next morning, Clara woke before sunrise.
She found Elias already in the barn.
He was repairing a fence post.
“You work every morning?” she asked.
“Every morning.”
“You don't sleep?”
“Sometimes.”
She looked at the broken post.
“You're doing that wrong.”
Elias stopped.
“What?”
“The brace.”
He looked at the wood.
Then at her.
“How would you know?”
“My father taught me.”
“You told me you had no family.”
“I said no family left.”
Elias handed her the hammer.
“Show me.”
Clara did.
Twenty minutes later, the post was standing.
Elias looked at it.
“You were right.”
“I usually am.”
He almost smiled.
That was how it began.
Not with romance.
Not with a grand declaration.
With a fence post.
Then another.
Clara discovered that the ranch had more problems than Elias had mentioned.
The irrigation channel leaked.
The western fence had collapsed.
Several cattle were sick.
The bookkeeping was a disaster.
Bills were scattered across the kitchen table.
Clara organized them.