Ethan stared at her. Why didn't you tell the sheriff? Because Sheriff Nolan owes Briggs money. That made sense. Too much sense.
Clara glanced toward the distant southern ridge. They thought I was sewing in the back room. Men rarely notice an unmarried seamstress. There was bitterness beneath the words. Ethan heard it.
He hated it. She looked back at him. When Mrs. Briggs volunteered me for this job the next morning, I understood something. What?
They wanted me here. Ethan's eyes hardened. Why? I don't know yet. For several seconds, only the wind moved between them.
Then Ethan noticed the wagon pulling away. He turned. Hold on. The driver raised one hand without looking back and kept going. Clara watched him disappear down the road.
Well, she said, that solves one problem. Ethan stared at her. You planned that. I paid him an extra dollar. Despite himself, Ethan almost smiled.
Almost. You always were stubborn. Her expression softened. You remember? He wished the question had not sounded so quiet.
He remembered everything. He remembered Clara at 19 standing beneath the cottonwoods after the summer dance. He remembered her laughing when he tried to teach her to skip stones. He remembered the night he nearly kissed her. And he remembered arriving at her father's store the following morning only to be told Clara wanted nothing more to do with him.
Two weeks later Ethan left Cold Creek to work cattle in Montana. When he returned years later Clara was still unmarried. So was he. Neither ever spoke about that summer again. Ethan picked up her leather case.
You can stay tonight. Tonight? Until I understand what Briggs is doing. Clara followed him toward the house. And tomorrow?
Tomorrow we decide. She stopped. No, Ethan. He turned. Her eyes held his.
If I stay, I stay because we agree to work together. I'm not going to be hidden in your kitchen until you decide whether I'm useful. He felt the old fire in her words. What do you want? Pay me what you would pay a ranch hand.
His eyebrows rose. I thought the committee sent you as a housekeeper. The committee can choke on its own pie. Ethan stared at her. Then he laughed.
It surprised both of them. For a moment Clara looked almost 19 again. Then Ethan remembered why she was there. "20 dollars a month," he said. "Room and board." "25." "22." "25." "You haven't changed." "Neither have you." He held out his hand.
"25." Clara placed hers in it. The moment their skin touched Ethan's breath caught. 17 years disappeared. Her hand was warm, small inside his. Neither released the other immediately.
Clara noticed. So did Ethan. He pulled away first. Inside, Clara walked through the ranch house slowly. It was cleaner than she expected, but painfully bare.
One chair near the stove, one plate drying beside the sink, one coat hanging near the door. A house built for a family, occupied by one man. She touched the edge of the kitchen table. You kept it. Ethan froze.