Wade's horses, long accustomed to the quiet reserve of their owner, began approaching her with an ease that surprised him. Sometimes all she had to do was speak softly. Other times, a hand along a horse's neck was enough to settle it. It was almost as though the animals recognized something in her that people usually took much longer to see. Wade and Cella often worked for hours without saying much, but the silence between them had changed.
It no longer belonged to two strangers unsure of one another. It was the quiet of two people learning how to understand each other with a glance. The few words they exchanged each day were enough to strengthen the bond already forming between them. One morning while they were repairing a section of wooden fence together, the sound of wagon wheels rolled in from the road and broke the stillness. Wade and Cella looked up at the same moment.
A flicker of worry crossed her face. It vanished almost as quickly as it came. Wade rested a hand on her shoulder. The touch was gentle, but there was certainty in it. Don't worry, he said calmly.
I'll handle it. The words carried the quiet promise of a husband determined to stand between the woman he loved and whatever danger came looking for her. A short while later, an old wagon pulled up near the cabin. Hank Sutter climbed down from the seat. Wade had seen him in town more than once.
He was the kind of trader who always seemed to know more than he admitted and smile more than anyone had reason to trust. His eyes never stayed still for long. He approached as though he had only stopped to ask for directions, but it did not take long for his attention to settle on Cella, standing a few steps behind Wade. "Well, Harland," Hank said with feigned surprise. "Didn't know you had company out here."
"I do," Wade replied without hesitation. His voice was firm. "This is my wife, Cella." Hank smiled. There was no warmth in it.
His eyes moved over Cella with an uncomfortable mixture of interest and contempt. Funny thing, he said. Sometime back, I saw a woman who looked a whole lot like her near San Carlos. He tilted his head slightly. Dark hair, brown skin, looked Apache.
His smile sharpened. They said she was a prisoner who got away. Then he added almost casually. There's good money being offered for her. Cella's heart began pounding, but her face stayed calm.
She had learned long ago how to hide fear behind stillness. Wade stepped forward just enough to place himself more clearly between her and Hank. He became a wall, not only blocking Hank's stare but also the threat behind it. When Wade answered, there was no uncertainty in his voice. You've got the wrong woman.