Chapter 2
Mason removed his canteen and placed it on an overturned barrel between them.
“Water’s yours if you want it.”
For several seconds, she simply stared.
Then she snatched it up and drank.
Water spilled over her chin. Mason turned his back on the watching men, denying them another opportunity to laugh.
When she finished, he offered his coat.
“Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
She watched him with an expression he couldn’t interpret.
As they walked toward his wagon, Rusk called after them.
“Better keep an eye on that one, Callaghan. She’s got more trouble in her than she’s worth.”
Mason didn’t turn around.
But the woman’s fingers tightened around his coat.
And for the first time, he wondered what she was running from.
The journey to Callaghan Ranch took nearly four hours.
The woman sat beside Mason on the wagon bench, her posture rigid, her eyes constantly searching the empty horizon.
Whenever the horses startled, she flinched. Whenever Mason reached beneath the seat for something, she followed his movements as though expecting a weapon.
He didn’t question her.
Instead, he talked about ordinary things.
The weather. The cattle. The creek running low after three weeks without meaningful rain.
He told her about Buck, an elderly gelding who had learned to steal apples from unattended baskets. He explained that the ranch house had a leaky kitchen window and that the barn roof made terrible noises whenever the north wind blew.
Eventually, she asked a question.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
Mason glanced at her.
“Figured you might prefer hearing about the place before we get there.”
She studied him suspiciously.
“You aren’t going to lock me somewhere?”
“No.”
“Make me work?”
“Not unless you want work.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Then why did you pay for me?”
Mason held the reins loosely.
“Because nobody else was stopping him.”
She looked away.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then, as the sun began sinking behind the distant hills, she whispered one word.
“Clara.”
Mason turned.
“Pardon?”
“My name. It’s Clara.”
“Good to meet you, Clara. Mason Callaghan.”
“I know.”
Something about the quickness of her response surprised him.
“You know me?”
She seemed to regret speaking.
“People in town mentioned your name.”
Mason accepted the explanation, although he noticed she wouldn’t look at him afterward.
They reached the ranch shortly before darkness.
Callaghan Ranch occupied a broad stretch of grazing country beneath a sky that seemed large enough to swallow every sorrow a man possessed. The house stood beside an enormous oak tree, its whitewashed walls weathered and its front porch slightly crooked.