The traitor yanked the rope again, jerking her forward. She stumbled, her knees striking the plank with a hollow crack. A flash of pain crossed her face, but she steadied herself back straight again. Pride kept her standing, but Clay saw the tremor in her arms, the fear hiding behind her steady eyes. He felt something twist in his chest.
He thought of his younger sister, long gone now, and how he would have killed any man who dared handle her this way. He thought of the quiet nights on his land. The silence he told himself was freedom, but which sometimes felt more like punishment. The bidding rose again, coins flashed in callous hands. The traitor smirked, pulling the rope as though showing off livestock.
Clay's hand went to his belt pouch. He knew what was in it. Just enough silver for flour, beans, and salt. Enough to last him until spring if he stretched it. Spending it here would mean weeks of hunger, maybe worse.
He had to make a choice and quickly. His heart beat heavy, his thoughts cutting back and forth. Walk out the door and keep to himself or stay and step into something that wasn't his concern. If he left, she would belong to one of the men circling like vultures. Men who wanted her for reasons that had nothing to do with giving her shelter or respect.
He felt his jaw lock. His boots moved before his mind finished deciding. "I'll take her," Klay said, voice rough and steady. The room stilled for a moment. A few men laughed, thinking at a joke.
The traitor squinted at him, then at the pouch Clay tossed down. The coins spilled across the table, clinking sharp in the silence. It wasn't much. It was all he had. The traitor's grin widened.
"Not much left in your pocket, cowboy, but it'll do." He swept the coins into his palm, then shoved the rope into Clay's hand. For a moment, Klay didn't move. He looked at the rope, the fibers rough in his palm, then at the woman. Her eyes flicked to his, sharp with suspicion, but behind it, something else flickered. Confusion, maybe even the faintest edge of hope, though was buried under layers of mistrust.
She wasn't thanking him. Not yet. She was asking silently why. Play didn't have an answer, not one he could put into words. He loosened the knot around her wrists just enough for her to walk without tearing skin, then lowered his voice so only she could hear.
Come on. Outside. The sun beat down on the dirt street. Town's folk pausing to watch. Some muttered, others sneered.
Clay ignored them, leading her to where his horse was tied. She hesitated, looking at the animal, then at him. For a second, he thought she might run. Instead, she placed her hand on the saddle and climbed up, her movements unsteady, but determined. Clay swung up behind her, taking the reinss.