She began to unbutton his shirt. "I am your wife, and I am tired of being afraid. " He lowered his head to her neck. He was gentle. So incredibly gentle, as if she were made of something precious that could shatter. But there was heat there, too.
A fire that warmed the cold places inside her. They came together in the dark, shedding the layers of wool and defense they had both worn for so long. It was not a performance. There was no need to smile, no need to pretend. There was only skin and breath in the shocking, terrifying realization that they belonged to each other.
Later, as the moon rose high and white over the plains, Clara lay awake. Eli was asleep beside her, one arm thrown heavily over her waist, anchoring her to the bed. She felt different. She felt seen. She slipped out from under his arm and padded across the cold floor to her trunk.
She knelt and opened the false bottom she had constructed years ago. Inside lay a small bundle of papers. She pulled out a letter. The ink was faded, the paper brittle. It was from Sarah, the girl who had been like a sister to her in the border town.
Sarah, who had found a ledger. Sarah, who had tried to do the right thing. Clara read the name in the second paragraph. Haron Pike. Sarah had written that Pike was moving stolen cattle through the border, rebranding them, and using a network of corrupt officials to hide the money.
She had written that she was going to turn the ledger over to a marshall. Two days later, Sarah was dead, a stray bullet in a bar fight. But Clara had seen the man who started the fight. He was on Pike's payroll. Clara looked at Eli, sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks.
She had proof. Not enough to convict, maybe, but enough to start a fire. But if she used it, if she brought this into the light, Pike would stop at nothing. She folded the letter and put it back. She would not hide it forever, but for tonight, she would let him sleep.
The peace did not last. 2 days later, the town held its annual Founders Day picnic. It was a social obligation Eli said they could not ignore if they wanted to maintain their standing as a legitimate household. They rode into town dressed in their Sunday best. Clara wore a dress of dark blue that she had altered to fit her slender frame.
She held her head high. But as they walked through the crowd, the atmosphere shifted. The whispering was louder this time. A man stepped out from the crowd near the bandstand. He was older with a scarred face and eyes that looked like dead fish.
"Well, well," the man said, his voice carrying over the fiddle music. "If it isn't Clara, or should I say Red," Clara froze. She knew him. Looking Glass Saloon 5 years ago. I wondered where you ran off to.
The man grinned, looking at the crowd that was gathering. Folks, you got a celebrity in your midst. This here is the finest enticement the border ever produced. Cost me $2 for an hour, didn't it? Red.
The crowd gasped. The silence that followed was absolute. Eli dropped Clara's arm. He took a step toward the man. Eli, no.