Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, the town shimmered in the heat ahead, dusty and slow-moving like a dream half-remembered.
Weston shifted in the saddle, holding reins loose in one hand, resting other one on his thigh.
Chester’s ears flicked back now and again, catching sounds from behind, but the gelding walked steady, sure-footed along the rut-worn road.
Weston wasn’t in any particular hurry. He’d told himself he was heading to town for supplies, but he’d barely known what was needed to buy.
Truth was, his mind wasn’t on feed or flour. It was on her.
Nora’s voice still rang in his ears. It was sharp, quiet, and cold as a creek stone.
The way she’d looked at him yesterday, like he was something she had to guard against. Like he’d done something unforgivable.
Maybe I have? Well, maybe he always would.
He’d spent so long thinking he didn’t deserve kindness that when she offered it, he didn’t know what to do with it.
And when she yanked it back, it cut deep.
He hadn’t spoken to her since. He simply didn’t know what he’d say if he did.
And yet, last night, while reading that book with her and Mary Jane, he’d felt something different, something real.
Mary Jane had fallen asleep between them.
The lantern kept throwing a pool of golden light over the page, Nora had softly laughed at a line, and he’d caught himself watching her more than reading.
Her face in profile had him smiling, no matter how hard he tried not to.
The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way her eyes lingered on a passage even after the words had passed, everything seemed to be there, just to make him feel like a man.
And today, for some reason, it made him ache. Maybe because today he knew, that feeling, although real, was meant to last only for that brief moment last night.
Weston didn’t understand how one woman could make him feel so raw, so angry one minute and drawn to her the next, like the tide pulled by some invisible force. Today, he hated the way she got under his skin. He hated how he wanted to be near her, even when it hurt. Maybe especially then.
Chester tossed his head, giving a little grunt that sounded suspiciously like a complaint.
Weston glanced down. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered. “I’m getting maudlin. Just keep walking.”
The horse flicked an ear, then snorted, as if that settled the matter.
Weston blinked and was now sitting straighter in the saddle.
The town was closer, he could see the outline of the general store, the glint of light off a saloon window, the lazy tail-flick of a horse hitched in the shade.
He rolled his shoulders with his jaw tight.
Whatever waited for him in town couldn’t be half as complicated as what waited back home.
***
The moment Duke and Weston rode into town, something felt off.
Not in the obvious, gunmetal way danger usually showed its face.
No, this was quieter, a sudden change in the air, like the way birds go still before a storm.
Folks on the boardwalk paused mid-conversation, their eyes lingering on him a beat too long.
A woman clutching her shawl crossed the street with her boy in tow without looking at them, but certainly making sure her back was turned.
Two men outside the barbershop muttered low and leaned in closer to each other as the horse passed.
Weston’s shoulders tensed beneath his shirt.
He wasn’t a stranger to being watched, not any more.
He’d been the subject of plenty of wary stares in plenty of towns.
But this…this wasn’t the usual suspicion saved for drifters and loners.
This was something else. It clung to his skin like humidity, making his gut twist with quiet dread.
He caught Duke’s eye as they tied the horse outside the farm supply store. Duke seemed to feel it too. His mouth was set tight, while eyes started scanning the street like they expected trouble to come walking.
“Folks are looking at us like we tracked mud through church,” Duke muttered under his breath. “You sure we didn’t step in something on the way in?”
Weston gave a dry snort, though there wasn’t a trace of humor in it. “If we did, I wouldn't smell it.”
But the truth was, he felt it, and he felt it deep.
He pushed open the door to the farm supply store, as the bell above it gave a sharp, brittle jingle that sounded louder than it should’ve.
Inside, the air was dry and hot, and the wooden floors were worn smooth by years of boots and dragging crates.
The place smelled of grain dust and old leather.
Weston tipped his hat to the man behind the counter, a thickset fellow named Kinney Parker who usually greeted them with a grunt and a nod. However, he didn’t do that today.
On the contrary, Kinney barely looked at them. He busied himself with stacking sacks of seed that obviously didn’t need stacking, turning his back to them longer than it needed to be.
Weston cleared his throat. “Need flour, oats, and linseed for the chestnut mare. You got any of that left?”
Kinney didn’t turn around. “Don’t have any today.”
Weston frowned. He could see sacks of oats in the corner, piled six high. “What about the linseed? I know you had some last week—”
“I said, don’t have any,” Kinney snapped, finally facing them. He was a broad man with a neck like a fence post and a sun-reddened face that always looked like it had just been scrubbed with sandpaper. His eyes, small, pale, and deep-set, gave nothing away.
Duke opened his mouth. “Is there—?”
“No,” Kinney cut in. There was no anger in his voice. Just a wall, flat and final. His lips were drawn into a hard line. He then looked right at Weston, and the judgment in his eyes was unmistakable.
Weston stared at him for a long moment. The silence pressed heavy between them, thick and unmoving.
Weston swallowed down the shame rising in his throat. “Come on, Duke,” he said flatly and turned on his heel.
As they stepped back into the sun, the door kept slamming shut behind them like punctuation. Weston blinked against the light. He could still feel Kinney’s gaze burning between his shoulder blades.
“Something’s happened,” Duke muttered beside him.
Weston nodded once. “Yeah,” he said. “And whatever it is, we ain’t been told.”
He didn’t know what rumors were crawling through this town, but they’d taken root fast. If Kinney’s silence meant anything, they’d already made up their minds about him. And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.
***
The sun was low by the time they turned off the main road and started up the long stretch toward the farmhouse.
They hadn’t said much on the ride back. Dust clung to Weston’s boots, and the saddle creaked beneath him with every tired step Chester took.
The empty saddlebags slapped against the gelding’s sides like an accusation.
Weston had too much in his head and not enough words to untangle it.
Whatever had turned the town against him, it wasn’t something he could see or fight.
It was already done, sealed behind tight mouths and sideways glances.
And he wasn’t sure what stung worse, the judgment of strangers or the way it sat between his ribs now, rotting quietly like a bad tooth.
Nora stepped out onto the porch; she must have heard the horses. Her apron was still dusted with flour, and there was a smudge of something on her cheek. Her brow furrowed as they came closer, eyes darting to the empty saddlebags. “You didn’t get anything?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
Duke swung down and unbuckled the girth strap with a sigh. “They wouldn’t sell to us,” he said. “Whole damn town’s gone cold. Kinney wouldn’t even look us in the eye.”
Weston didn’t say a word. He just dismounted as slowly as possible, feeling his jaw getting tighter every second.
Nora’s gaze shifted to him. She didn’t say anything right away, just studied him like she was trying to read something on his face.
And he hated how that made him feel, like a boy caught lying, with dirt on his hands and no excuse worth saying.
Like no matter how still he stood, she’d see straight through him, to the parts he didn’t know how to explain.
“What happened?” she finally asked.
Weston ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “What always happens. People look at me and make up their minds before I open my mouth.”
“Why?” she pressed, with her voice sharper now. “What are they saying?”
“Don’t know,” he said. “Didn’t ask. Didn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” She replied, crossing her arms. “You come back here empty-handed and shrug like it’s nothing.”
He met her eyes, trying to stay steady. “I can’t help what people think of me, Nora.”
Her expression hardened. “Can’t you?”
That landed like a slap. He stepped forward, heat flaring in his chest. “You think I wanted this? You think I like being treated like I’ve already done something wrong?
I’ve spent the last few years trying to survive in towns just like that, with people just like them.
I keep my head down, do the work, stay out of trouble.
And still, they look at me like I’m the trouble walking in. ”
“I’m not talking about towns,” she snapped. “I’m talking about you. What you let them see. What you let me see.”
Weston’s mouth opened, but then closed before he could say anything. The words were there, but they felt too big, too raw. He shook his head.
“You want the truth? I’ve got more ghosts in my past than I’ve got answers. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, but I haven’t done anything to deserve this.”
Nora stared at him, breathing hard. “You came here to marry me, Weston. That means something. You don’t get to shut down every time it’s hard. You don’t get to hide behind silence and expect me to just wait.”
He could feel the ground shifting beneath them, like a fault line splitting open. At this point, they were just two strangers, accusing one another and defending themselves. “I didn’t come here to be judged all over again.”
“I’m not judging you,” she said, a bit softer now, even though that didn’t make the distance between them fade away. “I’m asking you to let me in.”
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. A wind moved through the dry grass, brushing the hem of her dress. Duke stood silent beside the horses, unsure whether to stay or go.
Weston finally looked down, and he heard his voice sounding rougher than intended. “I don’t know how.”
He hated the sound of that truth as soon as it left his mouth. Hated the rawness of it, the way it exposed something tender inside him. He hadn’t meant to say it. He hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying it like a weight in his chest, but there it was, sitting between them like a wound laid open.
A part of him wanted to walk away before she could answer. Before she could pity him. Because that was the real sting. It felt like the whole world had made up its mind about him. First the town, and now…maybe her, too.
He clenched his fists at his sides, not sure if it was from shame or from how close he was to breaking. How much more am I supposed to take?
But then Nora took a small step toward him.
His shoulders eased, his jaw relaxed. There was a look in her eyes he didn’t expect.
And Weston knew, somehow, that she saw it.
The desperation he hadn’t meant to show.
The part of him that was tired of being alone, tired of fighting ghosts, tired of always waiting for the ground to fall out from under him.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t’ve come at you like that. I just…I don’t know how to do this, either. But I want to try. I’m on your side, Weston. We’ll face this together.”
For a second, he thought he hadn’t heard her right.
Together. It was a small word, but it cut through the noise in his head like a clean knife.
He didn’t know what to say to that. His throat was dry, his chest tightened all of a sudden.
All the usual things he leaned on, like silence or leaving, suddenly felt hollow.
That’s why he decided not to say anything. He just nodded once, slowly and unsure. But his eyes stayed fixed on her face, drinking her in like he was afraid she might disappear if he looked away.