When I'm scared, you'll remind me I'm brave. We take turns being strong, so neither of us has to be strong alone." That broke her. Norah started crying. Deep, wrenching sobs that sounded like years of held back grief.
Finally finding release, Silas held her as best he could, his small frame pressed against her larger one. Both of them shaking with emotion and exhaustion, and the aftermath of terror survived. Outside, Tom stood watch in the darkness, protecting their property. Inside, two people held each other through the breaking and the healing, through fear and courage, through every wound they'd carried into this marriage and the slow, painful work of learning to trust that maybe, just maybe, they'd found the one person in the world who could love them, not despite their scars, but because of them. Because those scars told the story of survival, and survival was the foundation everything else could build on.
When they finally climbed into bed, exhausted and rung out, they lay tangled together without awkwardness or distance. The space between them had closed somewhere between the rustler's retreat and this moment, replaced by something solid and true. I love you, Silas whispered into her hair. "I love you, too," Norah replied. "My brave, strong, perfect-sized husband."
They fell asleep like that. Two people who'd faced their worst fears and discovered they were stronger together than fear could make them weak apart. And outside the Montana night kept its vigil. Stars wheeling overhead, mountains standing eternal, the valley holding its breath for whatever came next. Morning came too soon.
Pale light filtering through the curtains Norah had sewn last month. Turning the bedroom soft and golden despite the harsh reality waiting outside. Silas woke to find her already dressed, standing at the window with her arms crossed, watching Tom and his men ride out after their night watch. Her face was troubled in a way that made his chest tighten. "They'll come back," she said without turning around.
"Those men, they're not the type to let humiliation stand." Silas sat up, every muscle in his body aching from tension he'd carried through the night. "I know. So, what do we do? Post guards every night for the rest of our lives, live in fear, waiting for them to try again."
She finally turned to face him, and he saw exhaustion in her eyes that had nothing to do with lost sleep. "I didn't come all this way to spend my life looking over my shoulder." "Neither did I," Silas admitted. He thought about the years after James died, the way fear had become his constant companion, how it had poisoned everything until he'd barely been living at all. But I also won't let what happened to James happen to you.
I can't. Norah crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. Then we need to end this. Not hide from it or wait for it to find us again, but actually finish it. How?
We don't even know who they were. But the sheriff might. Norah said the one you shot. You said there was blood. They'll need medical attention, supplies.