Her voice broke just once before she clamped it down. If I go out there, if I give them the book, you survive, you keep the ranch, you can rebuild. No, Eli said. I am poison to you, Clara said, stepping toward him. Look at this.
Look at what I brought to your door. Violence, sieges, ruin. I ruin everything I touch. Eli, it is what I am. Eli stood up.
He walked to her, ignoring the danger outside. He took her face in his broad, calloused hands. He forced her to look at him. "Listen to me," he said fiercely. "Before you came here, I was not living.
I was hiding. I was a ghost on my own land. Terrified of my own shadow. Terrified of my father's blood. I was waiting to die. " He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
"You did not ruin my life, Clara. " He said, "You woke it. You made me a man who stands up. If you go out that door, you take my life with you. I would rather die with you in this house than live a hundred years without you. Clara stared at him.
The shame that had defined her for so long. The belief that she was dirty, disposable, a burden cracked under the weight of his absolute certainty. He saw her. He chose her. "Okay," she breathed.
She gripped his wrists. "Okay, we stay. We stay, Eli said. He turned back to the window. Pike, go to hell, Pike sighed, a theatrical gesture visible even from the house.
He turned to Sheriff Miller. Do your duty, Sheriff. Serve the warrant. Open fire, Miller shouted. The world exploded.
The sound was not like thunder. It was sharper. A cracking, tearing noise that filled the cabin. Bullets slammed into the heavy timber walls, thuting like hail. The window board splintered, sending showers of sharp wood flying across the room.
Eli fired. He worked the lever of the Winchester with a mechanical rhythm. Crack clack. Crack clack. Keep your head down.
He roared. Un. Clara was on her knees behind the overturned table. She was not shooting wildly. She had the shotgun rested on the table leg.