Chapter 8
Thomas glanced toward the kitchen window before lowering his voice.
“There’s talk in town.”
“About what?”
“That girl you brought home.”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“People ought to mind their business.”
“Usually I’d agree. But Rusk’s telling people you stole a woman who belongs to somebody else.”
Mason stared at him.
“That’s absurd.”
“He claims she ran from an unpaid service contract.”
“That’s not a reason to tie somebody up and sell her.”
“No, it isn’t. But Sheriff Harlan’s listening.”
Mason frowned.
“Sheriff Harlan knows better.”
“Maybe he does. But Rusk’s got papers.”
“What papers?”
“Don’t know. Something signed by a man named Gideon Voss.”
The name meant nothing to Mason.
Inside the house, a cup shattered.
He turned sharply.
Clara stood beside the kitchen table, staring at them through the open doorway.
Her hands were shaking.
Thomas followed Mason’s gaze.
“Lord help us,” he murmured.
Clara backed away.
Mason entered the kitchen.
“Clara. Who’s Gideon Voss?”
She gripped the table.
“No one.”
“Thomas says a man by that name is claiming some kind of right over you.”
“He doesn’t have any right.”
“Then tell me what’s happening.”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“I can’t.”
Mason took a slow breath.
“You can trust me.”
Clara looked at him with a despair that made his chest tighten.
“That’s what makes it so difficult.”
She hurried down the hallway and shut her bedroom door.
Mason remained beside the broken cup.
Thomas stepped into the kitchen.
“That girl knows something,” he said.
“I know.”
“You ought to be careful.”
Mason looked toward the hallway.
“I am.”
Thomas lowered his voice.
“Careful with your own heart, too.”
Mason had no answer.
That night, a thunderstorm crossed the ranch.
Rain battered the roof and wind shook the oak branches against the windows.
Mason sat beside the fireplace, repairing a leather strap he didn’t need to repair.
Clara emerged from the hallway shortly after nine.
She wore a borrowed shawl over her shoulders.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He gestured toward the chair opposite him.
“Fire’s warm.”
She sat.
For several minutes, they listened to the storm.
Then Clara asked, “Did you love your wife very much?”
Mason set down the strap.
“More than I knew how to say.”
“Did she know?”
“I hope so.”
Clara looked toward Evelyn’s photograph.
“What was she like?”
Mason smiled faintly.
“Stubborn. Thought everybody deserved a second chance, even when they hadn’t earned the first.”