Chapter Seven #2
“You either really are the quiet type,” Cade said without smiling, “or just trying to figure us out.”
Weston met his gaze again. “Bit of both, I reckon.”
Before the silence could stretch, Sadie cut in, setting down a dish of greens a little harder than necessary. “Cade, for heaven’s sake, stop acting like the lawman for five minutes. This is a family gathering, not an interrogation.”
Cade glanced her way, then held up his hands. “Just making conversation.”
“Make it with your mouth full,” she replied, dry as dust.
A ripple of chuckles moved around the table. They were soft, polite. Even Weston let a breath out through his nose, more relief than amusement.
Sadie took her seat beside her brother and folded her hands. “All right, let’s pray.”
Chairs creaked as everyone bowed their heads. The room quieted. Maddox’ voice rose in the hush, steady and unadorned:
“Lord, we thank You for the food before us, the roof over our heads, and the company at this table. We thank You for Your mercy in keeping the fire from our homes, and for the strength You give us when we’ve none of our own.
Bless the hands that made this meal, and the hearts gathered here.
Help us to walk humbly, love kindly, and keep each other close, even when it’s hard. In Your holy name, amen.”
“Amen,” came the soft replies around the table. Soon came the scrape of chairs, the murmur of voices started rising again, and the smell of warm food was slowly filling the room.
Lunch passed with the usual hum of a light conversation.
The grownups talked about weather, crops, horses, the teacher at Sunday school who might be moving to New York.
Weston kept to himself, answering only when asked, and slowly chewed his food, trying not to get lost in flavors he hadn’t tasted in weeks.
That’s how he found himself watching the window more than the faces around him.
Halfway through the meal, Mary Jane set her fork down and announced brightly, “This chicken tastes happier than the one Nora made last week.”
Nora raised an eyebrow across the table. “Excuse me?”
Mary Jane nodded earnestly. “Yours was good too, but this one’s smiling on the inside.”
Laughter rippled around the table. Weston didn’t know that a “happy chicken” should taste like this, but it was the first thing all afternoon that didn’t make his chest feel tight. Until the wildfire came up.
“Lucky you got that blaze tamped down before it reached the ridge,” Cade said, taking a sip of coffee. “Couple more hours and you would have lost the grain stores.”
“It moved fast,” Nora added, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Too fast.”
Weston’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.
He hadn’t said much all meal, but the talk of the fire stirred something in him.
He thought back to the smoke rolling in low, the odd wind that carried it, the damp earth beneath his boots.
The more he turned it over, the more it nagged at him. Something about it didn’t sit right.
That fire had moved like it was chasing something. It was too hot, too quick, and the rain had only just stopped days before. It should’ve slowed it down. But it hadn’t.
He looked up. For some reason, it seemed like to him that his voice sounded quieter than the others. “Wasn’t natural.”
Cade’s brow twitched. “What makes you say that?”
Weston leaned back slightly, weighing his words. “Soil was damp. Rains only let up three days before. Grass was low. That fire shouldn’t’ve spread like it did.”
The table went quiet for a beat.
“You thinking someone set it?” Cade asked.
Weston shrugged, stabbing at a piece of chicken with his fork. “Don’t know. Just seemed off.”
Cade leaned forward, arms folded on the table. “Have you ever dealt with wildfires before?”
“A few,” Weston said. “Back home.”
“Where was that?”
The question came lightly, but Weston heard the shift in tone. The slow tightening of the net. He set his fork down. “Not far from here.”
Cade tilted his head. “Arizona Territory?”
“Same state as you folks, actually.”
“Yankton? Pierre?”
Weston gave a small nod.
“What brought you to Deadwood?”
Weston stared down at his plate. His appetite was suddenly all gone. “Looking for work.”
“What kind of work?”
He said nothing.
“Cade,” Sadie said sharply, not looking up from her plate, “please. That’s enough. Let the man finish his meal.”
There was a beat of stillness. The kind that left a sound hanging in the air too long. Cade leaned back in his chair, as his hands folded around his coffee cup. “Just asking questions.”
“Maybe ask about the weather,” she muttered.
But Cade appeared not to hear her. “You got family back there?”
Weston’s jaw tightened. The question hit like a spur to the ribs. Nora glanced at him. She didn’t speak, didn’t press, but he could feel her eyes on him.
“Brother? Sister?” Cade persisted.
Weston stared at the table for a long moment.
His hands, rough and callused, curled into loose fists on his thighs.
He could still see his sister’s face, pale and sweating, coughing into a handkerchief until it turned red.
Still hear his mother’s soft voice telling him it wasn’t his fault, even as the light went out of her eyes.
Still remember the way the house had gone silent, too quiet, like the walls themselves were grieving.
“What, can’t answer a simple question?” Cade didn’t give up.
“That’s enough.” Weston stood so fast his chair clattered to the floor behind him.
The room froze.
Weston didn’t look at anyone. His hands were clenched at his sides, and his breath was shallow in his chest. Without a word, he turned and walked out. The front door slammed behind him, rattling the frame.
Outside, the wind had picked up, pulling at his coat, but he barely felt it.
He crossed the porch in three strides. He kept going past the gate, then down the dirt path, not caring where he ended up.
As long as it was away from people who wanted to know everything about everyone, while keeping their secrets to themselves.