Chapter Thirteen
Two Weeks Later
Nora gripped the worn handle of the hay fork and heaved another bundle toward the trough. The sharp scent of alfalfa mixed with dust in the air. Sweat gathered beneath her hat and slid down her brow.
She worked steadily and methodically. She always had, especially when trying not to think about problems waiting for her the moment she’d stepped into the house.
Even before Weston came, even before the hard years had peeled away whatever softness might’ve lived in her once.
Now, her hands were leathered. They were strong.
She could mend the fence, shoe a mule, stack feed, and today, she’d done all three before the sun had cleared the ridge.
From the open kitchen window, laughter spilled out. Light and clear as wind chimes, Mary Jane’s voice rose like a melody. It was teasing, young, and bright.
“You nearly set your sleeve on fire!” she was saying, breathless between giggles. “You jumped back like a cat!”
June answered in the same cheerful way. “Well, I didn’t expect you to shout like that, neither. I thought something actually caught fire.”
Mary Jane squealed again. “It was on fire! Just a little.”
“Just enough to remind me why your sister won’t let you near the matches,” June replied dryly, followed by the scrape of a spoon against a pot.
Then, more laughter followed. Spoons clinked.
A lid rattled. Nora paused in her work, fork hanging slack in her hands.
That sound, Mary Jane’s laughing, came rarely these days.
Like the return of a songbird after a long, hard winter.
Something about the way June spoke to her, never patronizing, never harsh…
it brought that out in her sister. It brought her back to herself.
Nora wasn’t used to peace. Her shoulders stayed tense out of habit, and her eyes still scanned the tree-line, still expected some shadow to step out of it.
Nash Colter’s voice haunted her worst-case thoughts like a snake under the porch.
But this, this moment…it was quiet. And quiet could be dangerous, too.
She knew that. It let you breathe, let your guard down.
And that’s something I can’t afford right now.
She picked up the fork again. Work was safer than standing still. She pitched another load into the trough with a grunt, then turned toward the gate. One of the calves had broken the latch earlier, and she’d have to rewire it before nightfall.
The gate sagged a little on its hinge, where the post leaned soft from too much spring rain.
She crouched beside it, brushing dirt off her skirt with a quick swipe before reaching for the coil of wire she’d tucked under the fence rail that morning.
The calf had nosed the latch loose, enough to wedge it halfway open. Smart little thing.
As she tightened the last twist, the gate creaked against the post and settled into place with a soft thunk. Satisfied, she stood and pressed her boot against the bottom rail to test it. Solid enough. Would hold for now.
Nora had just rounded the corner of the barn when she saw the horse. Big, black, and too fine for anyone from around here. The rider atop it was even worse.
Nash Colter sat his saddle like a man born to the leather. His hat shadowed sharp eyes, and his mouth curved into that smug, familiar half-smile. Nora’s stomach turned before she could speak.
He tipped his hat. “Nora.”
Her spine straightened, boots planted firm in the dirt. “You’re not welcome here.”
Nash dismounted slowly, like he had all the time in the world. “I was riding out this way, thought I’d check in. Thought you might like some company, with Weston gone.”
Her blood went hot. “Company? I told you…don’t ride out here unless invited. And I am definitely sure I didn’t invite you.”
He raised his hands, mock-innocent. “Now that’s no way to treat an old friend.”
“You’re not my friend,” she said with a sharp voice. “You’re a man who didn’t like hearing ‘no’ and still can’t seem to take the hint.”
That smile widened, and became wolfish. “I came to warn you, actually. Figured you’d want to know what kind of man you married.”
She felt something cold ripple down her back, but she didn’t show it. “I know exactly the kind of man Weston is.”
“Do you?” Nash took a step closer. “Funny, I doubt you know half of it. You know about the ranch he lost? The one in Ash Hollow? Or how he let his family die, then drank himself near to death while the bank took the rest?”
Nora stared at him, unmoving. Her heart thudded hard. “You’re lying.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’ve got no reason to lie. That man left town in shame after they buried his kin. Survived by begging, stealing, whatever he could do to keep breathing. That’s the man you let in your home.”
She shook her head slowly. “How would you even know that?”
“I sent Elias Pike,” Nash said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “I was concerned about you, Nora. After everything we’ve been through—”
“We’ve been through nothing,” she snapped, and couldn’t do anything about her raising voice.
“You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to ride up here with your smug face and talk about Weston like you know him.
You sent a man to dig through his life because you couldn’t stand that I chose someone else. ”
Nash’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “I only thought you deserved the truth. Figured he’d be the one lying to you, but I guess he didn’t need to.”
Nora frowned at him. “You’re the liar. You’ve always been. You twist things, plant seeds, wait for them to rot. I know Weston. He’s not perfect, but he’s decent, and he’s kind. That’s more than I can say for you.”
He tilted his head. “So you don’t believe me.”
“No,” she said. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. I chose him. I trust him. And I want you off my land.”
He watched her for a beat with his calculating eyes. He was weighing. Then he stepped back toward his horse.
“You’ll see I was right,” he said. “Sooner or later.”
“I’d rather be wrong with Weston,” she said, “than right beside you.”
His expression didn’t change, but something tightened in his posture. He swung into the saddle in one smooth motion.
“This isn’t over,” he said quietly.
“It is for me.”
Nora didn’t flinch as he turned the horse and rode off, dust kicking up in his wake. Only once he was gone did she realize her hands were shaking.
She stood still for a long moment. The ranch was quiet again, eerily so. From the window came no more laughter. Just the soft clatter of dishes; it was distant, like it belonged to another world.
The dust from Nash’s horse hadn’t yet settled when Nora finally moved. She walked, not toward the kitchen, but toward the paddock fence. She needed distance. From the house, from the barn, from her sister’s laughter turned quiet. She didn’t want Mary Jane or June to see her face.
The sun was nearly down, sinking behind the hills in a spill of gold and bruised lavender.
The sky didn’t care what Nash had said. It just kept on burning, as it always had.
Nora gripped the top rail of the fence, and the rough wood started biting into her palms. Her breath came shallow, her jaw locked tight.
He’s lying. He has to be.
But what if he wasn’t? She stared out at the pasture, where the horses grazed in peaceful silhouettes, and tried to root herself there, in the land and in the present, but her mind kept circling.
Weston had told her bits and pieces. That he’d lost his family. That things had gotten bad after. But not the way Nash told it, not like some washed-out drunk crawling through town like a stray dog.
She hated the way it had made her feel. Nash’s voice, slick with false concern, was calling Weston a beggar, a thief. It was poison, and she knew it. He wanted her unsure. He wanted her shaken. But doubt was a thing that didn’t need much to grow.
Why didn’t Weston tell me more? Why has he kept the details hidden?
Her grip tightened. Maybe he didn’t want her to know. Maybe he was ashamed. Or maybe…maybe he’s protecting me. Trying to leave that part of himself buried. Trying to start over.
She thought of the way he looked at her in the mornings, quiet and steady like she was the first good thing he’d seen in a long while.
The way he had worked beside her without complaint, fixing hinges, hauling water, holding her sister’s hand when she was too sick to sit up straight. He had come when they needed him.
But Nash’s words stuck like burrs in her skin. He let his family die…lost his land…survived by stealing… She shut her eyes hard against them. What if this is all true?
But Weston wasn’t that man now. And even if he had been once, wasn’t she herself made of buried sins and losses? Hadn’t she broken in ways that could never be fixed? The truth, whatever it was, would come. She would ask him. She would look him in the eye and ask.
And if he lies? Then she’d know.
She exhaled, slow and shaky. The horses moved in the dusk, quiet shapes shifting in tall grass. The evening breeze carried the smell of juniper and dust. She wiped her hands on her skirt, turned, and walked back toward the house.
The lamp light from the kitchen windows spilled out warm across the dirt yard.
As Nora approached, she spotted Sadie’s wagon parked beside the well, and her mare already unhitched and tied off.
A familiar comfort stirred in her chest. Sadie never came unless she meant to bring something good. Or say something hard.
Nora opened the door, and the smells hit her first—browning onions, hot biscuits, the sweetness of corn pudding baking in the stove.
The kitchen was alive with warmth and chatter.
Sadie stood near the table, peeling apples, her sleeves rolled high.
Mary Jane sat cross-legged on a stool by the hearth, snapping beans with her small fingers, as her braid kept trailing down her back.
June was at the stove, stirring something in a pot, face flushed from the heat.
“I told her it was almost on fire,” June was saying, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Mary Jane threw a snapped bean at her. “It was! Just a little lick of it, right here,” she tugged at the sleeve of her dress for dramatic effect, “and you jumped like a big cat. I already told you that!”
Sadie laughed, shaking her head as she sliced another apple. “That’s what you get for trying to help cook in that firetrap of a dress. You’ve got more ruffles than sense, Mary Jane.”
Mary Jane gasped in mock offense. “That’s because I’m not big enough for that.”
Sadie held up her paring knife like a sword. “That’s actually pretty much true, young lady. I’d give anything to be five and carefree again.”
Laughter filled the room. It was warm and easy. Then June glanced up, and her smile faded. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, as her brows drew together.
June blinked, then moved instinctively to Nora’s side. “What happened?”
Nora set her hat on the hook by the door and didn’t answer right away. She crossed the room slowly, like her body had to catch up to the weight in her chest. The warmth of the room pressed against her, too full after the quiet outside. “Colter came,” she said at last.
The air shifted. Sadie’s hands stopped moving. Mary Jane looked up from her beans.
June’s eyes narrowed. “What did he want?”
Nora’s voice was quiet. “Said he was just checking in. Said he was concerned, since Weston was in town.”
Sadie let out a breath through her nose, sharp. “Concerned, my foot.”
Nora stared down at her hands. They were still streaked with dirt from the fence, but it was the tremble in them that bothered her most. “Then he said he knew things. About Weston. Claimed he lost his ranch, let his family die, drank himself into ruin. Said he begged and stole just to survive.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Sadie said, low, “That sounds like Nash Colter all right. Half-truths and poison, stirred slow.”
Nora lifted her eyes. “But what if it’s not? What if it’s the truth?”
June came closer. “And if it is, does that change who Weston is now?”
“I don’t know.” The words came out hoarse. “That’s what scares me.”
Sadie wiped her hands on her apron and came to stand across from her. “There’s one way to find out, Nora. Ask him.”
Nora hesitated. Her throat felt tight. “And what if he lies?”
“Then you’ll know that too,” Sadie said simply. “But don’t go borrowing trouble before you hear it from him.”
Mary Jane spoke softly from the hearth. “I don’t think he would lie to you. You like Weston. And Weston likes you.”
Nora looked over at the girl. Her young face was earnest and quiet, with a kind of hard-earned wisdom. Maybe too much for her age.
She turned back to Sadie, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I don’t ask… I’ll never stop wondering.”
Sadie nodded. “Then don’t let him carry that past alone. If he’s the man you believe he is, he’ll tell you straight.”
June reached for Nora’s hand, and she felt her warm and sure fingers curling around hers. “You’re not wrong to want the truth, Nora. But don’t let Colter be the one who writes it.”
Nora closed her eyes for a breath. Then she nodded. “All right,” she said. “When Weston gets home…I’ll ask.”
The room was quiet, but the silence wasn’t the kind that pressed or judged.
It was the kind that held her. June’s hand still rested on hers.
Sadie gave a small, approving nod, then went back to her apples like all was settled.
Mary Jane returned to her beans, humming something under her breath.
Nora stood among them, and something in her chest ached from the fragile, fierce comfort of being seen, of being surrounded by women who didn’t flinch from hard truths, who could laugh, cook, scold, and still make space for her fear.
She lowered her eyes, just for a moment, and offered up a silent prayer. Thank You, Lord, for giving me these women. For putting them in my life when I needed them most.
She had lived through years where strength meant silence. Where doubt had to be buried, and no one asked if you were all right. But now… now there was June’s quiet steadiness. Sadie’s sharp wisdom. Mary Jane’s growing courage, the kind only a curious child can have.
She wasn’t alone. Not in this house. Not anymore. And whatever Weston said, whatever truth he carried, they would still be here. Anchoring her to the kind of life she’d once believed wasn’t meant for her.