Chapter Eight #2
She could picture that hard jaw, that storm-cloud brow, the way his hands curled into fists when words failed him. People like that, people who carried too much and spoke too little, they needed time. She understood that. Lord knew she had needed it once or twice.
So why hadn’t she thought of that when Cade was cornering him? When Weston sat there, silent and proud, with every eye on him like he was already guilty? The thought sat heavy in her chest. I should have spoken sooner…So I’ll wait. Just for a little while.
Every so often, her eyes drifted to the window, to the path leading out to the road. Nothing. No light. No boots. No shadow. He hadn’t come back. Still, she didn’t light the second lamp. Not yet.
***
In the waning light of the setting sun, Nora’s brush moved in slow, steady strokes over the flank of Sunny, her favorite mare. The horse’s coat was shining bronze; the barn was warm, the scent of hay and leather familiar and comforting.
However, she still hadn’t seen Weston. Every now and then, she would pause and listen for the sound of boots on gravel, or the creak of a door. Nothing. The longer the quiet stretched, the more she convinced herself he’d never come back.
The mare snorted softly as Nora switched hands, working a burr from the animal’s mane. “It’s all right, girl,” she murmured, more to herself than the horse. Just then she heard footsteps. They were heavy, measured. Her breath caught.
She turned, as hope flared hot and fast in her chest.
“Weston?”
But it wasn’t him.
“What are you doing here?”
Nash Colter stood just inside the barn door. He held his hat in his hands and had dust on his boots, as though he’d stepped straight out of the past and into her present.
“Nora,” he said, smiling like they were old friends. “Heard about the fire. Figured I’d come by, check on things. See how you’re holding up.”
She straightened, still holding the brush in her hand. “I’m fine,” she said firmly. “We’ve got it handled.”
He nodded slowly, but took a step closer. “You sure? Ranch like this, you need a man around when things go sideways. You know that.”
Nora tightened her grip on the brush. “We’re not in need of anything, Nash.”
His eyes drifted past her shoulder, taking in the stalls, the half-mended gate behind her. Then they came back to rest on her face. Nora swallowed.
Does he know?
Before she could speak again, the barn door creaked open a second time. Weston stepped into the light like a shadow made real. Nora felt the shift in the air in an instant.
Nash Colter turned toward him, slow and casual as always. “Well, now. Who might you be?”
Nora stepped forward. “This is my husband,” she said. She noticed her voice change from nervous to even and strong. “Weston Crane.”
The words tasted strange in her mouth, but the effect was immediate.
Nash blinked—and for a second, real shock flashed on his face.
She could see it. Then it vanished, replaced by a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.
It sat crooked on his face like a badge he didn’t earn, and it sent a shiver crawling down Nora’s spine.
Weston didn’t move, merely stared at Nash. “Who are you,” he asked quietly, “and why are you standing so close to my wife?”
Nash tilted his head. “Name’s Nash Colter. And don’t worry, Mr. Crane.” His gaze slid toward Nora and lingered there too long. “You’ll be learning who I am soon enough.”
The air went still. Even the horses felt it. Sunny’s ears started twitching as she shifted in her stall, like the rest of them. Without another word, Nash tipped his hat, turned, and walked out into the fading light.
The barn felt colder once Nash was gone, like he’d taken all the warmth with him and left only ugly thoughts behind, lingering in the air.
Nora let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she set the brush down on the rail.
She stared at the empty doorway, trying to shake the feeling that persisted, like grime beneath her skin.
Behind her, Weston stood still for a moment. Then she watched as he stepped past one of the stalls, turned his head, and spat in the dirt.
“Has that man been trouble for you for some time?” he asked finally.
Nora didn’t answer right away. She watched the way his shoulders moved as he walked. His fists were still curled, his knuckles white. But beneath all that fury, there was something quiet and tamed.
“It’s fine,” she said, as steadily as she could.
“Didn’t look like anything was fine to me.”
She turned, facing him full-on. The words came out before she could stop them, sharper than she wanted. “You don’t get to decide that. You weren’t here.”
He blinked. “I was in the fields,” he muttered. “I wasn’t—”
“No,” she cut in, stepping past him. “You left. Back at Sadie’s. You just…you walked out, leaving me to deal with the rest.”
He opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him speak.
“I know how to take care of myself, Weston. I’ve been doing it a long time without you, or Nash Colter, or anyone else to step in like they think they own me.”
Her breath hitched, but she pushed through it.
“I want to trust you. I do. But you don’t make it easy when you disappear the second things get uncomfortable.” She stood there a beat longer, then added. “Why do you do that, Weston?”
He didn’t answer. Nora waited, watching him, hoping for something more. But when it didn’t come, she turned on her heel and left. Her skirts brushed the dirt as she stormed toward the barn door, out into the last of the dying light.
Nora felt the heat rise behind her eyes. There was anger, yes, but underneath it, there was hurt. Disappointment. The ache of having reached out only to find empty air. Again.
She had opened her home to him. Let Mary Jane talk to him.
Let herself hope that maybe this man, with his quiet grief and his callused hands, might turn into someone steady.
But then he’d left. No word. No explanation.
And now she was the fool for standing there, wishing he’d come back just so she could tell him not to.
The silence followed her all the way back to the house. It was longer than her shadow, and sharper than any words Weston Crane might have said.