Ethan turned to Clara, meeting her eyes for the first time. They were green, yes, but not the simple green, he'd thought. They were the color of sage in the morning light, flecked with gold, and rimmed with darker forest green, and in them he saw not fear or sadness, but something that surprised him, defiance. She lifted her chin slightly, as if daring him to kiss her, to seal this farce with an intimacy neither of them wanted. He leaned in, meaning to brush his lips against her cheek, the minimum required to satisfy the ceremony.
But at the last moment, she turned her head, and his lips grazed the corner of her mouth instead. The contact was brief, barely a whisper of touch, but it sent an unexpected jolt through him like lightning striking dry prairie grass. Clara pulled back immediately, her cheeks flushing pink. "It's done then," she said, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "We're bound.
Bound like prisoners, like animals in a trap." The small congregation offered scattered, uncomfortable applause as they turned to face them. Mrs. Patterson was already whispering to Mrs. Henderson, no doubt commenting on Clara's dress or the brevity of the kiss. The men looked anywhere but at Ethan, probably thinking of their own wives, their own choices, grateful they weren't standing in his boots. Morrison stood near the back, his satisfaction evident in every line of his corpulent frame. He nodded once at Ethan, a reminder of who held the real power here.
"Shall we?" Clara said, her voice carefully neutral. She didn't take his arm, instead walking beside him down the aisle with a foot of space between them. "Might as well have been a canyon. Outside the church, the sun beat down mercilessly. Ethan's wagon waited, loaded with supplies from his monthly trip to town.
His horse, Zeus, stamped impatiently, eager to return to the ranch. In the back of the wagon sat a small trunk, all of Clara's worldly possessions, he realized with a start. Her entire life reduced to what could fit in a wooden box. "Your things," he started. "That's all of it," she said crisply.
The boarding house was quite eager to see me gone. Apparently, having an unwed female teacher as a tenant was becoming problematic for their reputation. The bitterness in her voice was sharp enough to cut. Ethan helped her up onto the wagon seat. She accepted his hand reluctantly, dropping it the moment she was settled.
As he walked around to the other side, he caught sight of a small figure peering out from behind the general store. Sophie, his daughter, 6 years old and all knees and elbows with Margaret's corn silk hair and his gray eyes. She'd refused to come to the ceremony, had thrown such a tantrum that he'd left her with Mrs. Henderson rather than force her. Now she watched them with eyes full of betrayal and confusion. "Papa," she called out, her voice small and uncertain.
"Sophie, come here," he said, trying to keep his voice gentle despite the turmoil in his chest. She shook her head violently, blonde braids whipping around her face. "No, she's not my mama. My mama's in heaven, and she's coming back. She promised she'd never leave me." Clara stiffened beside him, but said nothing.
"Sophie, please." But his daughter had already turned and run, disappearing behind the buildings. Mrs. Henderson emerged a moment later, shaking her head. "I'll keep her for another hour or two. Give you time to settle things at home." settle things. As if anything about this situation could be settled.
The ride to the ranch was silent, except for the creak of wagon wheels and the occasional snort from Zeus. Clara sat ramrod straight beside him, her hands folded in her lap, gripping each other so tightly her knuckles were white. The wedding ring caught the sunlight, looking as out of place on her finger as she looked, sitting beside him. The DoubleW Ranch, named for Walker and his late wife's maiden name, Williams, sat 15 miles outside of Silver Creek, nestled in a valley between two ridges that provided shelter from the worst of the winter winds. It wasn't the largest ranch in the county, but it had good water rights and prime grazing land, or it had been prime before the drought last summer killed half his cattle and left him drowning in debt.