Chapter Seven
Daisy had once believed she would spend her life beneath the wide Wyoming skies. The thought came to her while she trimmed candle wicks that afternoon.
Rainwater still dripped from the eaves outside.
The storm had passed hours ago, leaving behind the cool scent of wet earth drifting through the open kitchen window.
Beeswax warmed slowly beside her, thick and sweet in the air, while rows of finished candles cooled along the shelves lining the walls.
Even work failed to settle her today. Flint was sleeping in the next room. Julian’s warning still lingered in the house, and for the first time in years, Daisy found herself thinking about the Callahan ranch so often that she physically ached.
She reached carefully for the knife beside the wick tray and began trimming the excess thread from the finished candles by touch.
One.
Two.
Three.
The motions were automatic now. But her thoughts wandered elsewhere entirely.
To long summer evenings at the ranch while Clara laughed beside her in the kitchen and Ruth kneaded bread dough with practiced hands. To Samuel, sitting quietly on the porch after supper while Wyatt argued amiably with Flint over horses, weather, or cattle prices.
Her thoughts eventually circled back to Flint. Daisy pressed her lips together. Being near Flint again forced her to remember the woman she'd been before the fever.
Back then, she rode nearly every morning, wandered wildflower fields with Clara, and danced with Flint beneath lantern light while secretly imagining forever.
Now her life revolved around the workshop, kitchen, garden, and church on Sundays when Nathan could escort her.
Places she knew well enough to navigate without fear. The realization unsettled her deeply. Not because her life lacked meaning. Daisy had fought too hard to rebuild herself to dismiss it so cruelly. But somewhere along the way, she'd stopped expecting anything larger from life.
And Flint’s return disturbed that illusion every time Flint spoke to her as though the years between them had never happened.
The front of the house grew silent again. Then the faint scrape of a boot against the hallway runner reached her ears.
“You have been standing in complete silence for nearly ten minutes,” her brother observed from the doorway.
Daisy resumed trimming wicks immediately. “I'm working.”
“You are thinking.”
“Unfortunately, that remains allowed.”
Nathan entered fully, carrying the faint medicinal scent that clung to him now. He sounded tired again. Flint’s recovery consumed nearly every hour of his attention.
“How is he?” Daisy asked before she could stop herself.
Nathan sighed softly. “Resting.”
Relief moved through her automatically. Nathan definitely heard it.
Daisy pretended not to notice. “I have been thinking about when Flint is finally well enough to move.”
Nathan huffed out a laugh. “I thought you were against him moving at all.”
Daisy continued before she lost courage. “Take him to the Callahan ranch.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
Daisy frowned slightly. “You didn't even consider it.”
“I considered it the moment you thought it.”
“The Callahans would help him.”
“Yes,” Nathan said flatly. “And transporting him across town while criminals are actively searching for him sounds like an excellent plan.”
Daisy set down the knife carefully. “He cannot hide here forever. You were the one who told me as much.”
“I know,” Nathan agreed. “But the more I understand the danger, the less I want to bring anyone to our doorstep. When Flint moves, it needs to be done smartly.”
She turned toward the sound of his voice. “Samuel and Ruth deserve to know he's hurt.”
Nathan hesitated briefly.
That hesitation caught her attention immediately. “What?”
He exhaled slowly. “You still think of Flint as the man who courted you at the ranch.”
Pain flickered unexpectedly through her. “That man existed.”
“Yes.” Nathan’s voice softened slightly. “But so does the man who ended up nearly beaten to death by dangerous people.”
Daisy folded her arms across herself. “He's still Flint.”
“You don't know that anymore.”
And neither do I.
But she wanted to find out.
For a moment, she found herself holding on to the Flint she remembered.
The man who had laughed with Wyatt beneath the cottonwoods, teased Clara across Ruth Callahan's supper table, and looked at Daisy as though she were the most important person in the world.
Those memories had sustained her through some of her darkest days.
They were as familiar to her now as the rooms of this house.
But other images pressed against them.
Flint bleeding on her sofa. Flint waking from fever with bitterness in his voice. Flint speaking of dangerous men searching for him in Cheyenne.
Nathan wasn't entirely wrong. Three years was a long time. Long enough for people to change. Long enough for disappointment, loneliness, and regret to carve new lines into a person until they became someone almost unrecognizable.
The thought nestled in her chest.
Perhaps she didn't know who Flint Callahan had become. Perhaps she had no right to claim she did after all this time. She had been the one who walked away, after all. The one who had chosen silence and distance and left him to build a life without her.
Yet even as the doubt took root, something inside her resisted it.
Whatever mistakes Flint had made, he was still the man who had tried to warn them despite his injuries. Still, the man who had spoken her name through pain and fever. Still, the man whose presence could unravel years of careful composure with a single word.
Daisy lifted her chin.
“Maybe I don't know everything,” she said quietly. “But neither do you.”
“He was working for Amos Grady,” Nathan continued carefully. “Do you understand what kind of men attach themselves to someone like that?”
Daisy remembered the blood beneath Flint’s bandages. The instinctive tension in his voice whenever unexpected sounds came from outside. The way he listened constantly now, like a hunted animal expecting to be ensnared at any moment.
“Yes,” she admitted softly.
Nathan stepped closer. “I'm not saying Flint's beyond redemption.”
But you fear he may hurt me anyway.
The unspoken truth hung between them.
Daisy looked down at her hands.
When she finally spoke, her voice sounded smaller than she intended. “He seems so alone.”
Nathan’s silence broke her heart a little. Because he understood exactly what she meant.
Flint had always carried loneliness inside him, even during happier years at the ranch.
Daisy remembered it now with painful clarity, the wary tension beneath his smiles whenever kindness lasted too long.
The way he seemed genuinely startled each time Ruth kissed his forehead, or Samuel called him son.
Nathan touched her shoulder gently. “You cannot save him merely because you once loved him.”
Daisy swallowed hard. As though the feeling belonged safely in the past. She said nothing.
Nathan’s hand squeezed briefly before falling away. “Be careful, Daisy.”
Then he left her alone again.
The workshop suddenly felt quieter after he disappeared.
Too quiet.
Daisy stood motionless beside the table while old grief shifted restlessly beneath her ribs.
Be careful.
The trouble was, she no longer knew how to protect herself from Flint. Not really. She'd tried distance. Silence. Sacrifice. None of it had worked.
Because the moment he whispered her name again, even after three years, every carefully buried feeling came to life beneath her skin as though no time had passed at all.
Daisy pressed trembling fingers briefly against her mouth.
Then, with deliberate steadiness, she moved toward the desk near the back wall.
She still believed the Callahans deserved to know something was wrong. She found the paper by touch, then the ink bottle, then the pen she kept carefully aligned beside the edge of the desk.
Writing still frustrated her sometimes. Nathan had created raised guidelines for her paper, but forming neat script without seeing remained slow work.
Still, Daisy had learned.
She dipped the pen carefully.
Dear Clara,
The words formed unevenly at first.
I hope you and Wyatt are both well. It has been too long since your last visit, and I find myself missing you terribly lately.
She paused.
How much could she say?
Not enough. Not in a letter that might pass through unfamiliar hands.
There are matters here I would rather discuss in person if possible. Nathan is well, though overworked as always. I would greatly appreciate seeing you soon, if you are able.
Your affectionate friend,
Daisy
She stared sightlessly toward the paper after finishing.
Cowardly. Vague. Yet Clara would hear what remained unsaid between the lines. She always had. Clara knew Daisy too well.
The thought brought unexpected comfort. By evening, the house had found a softer quiet again.
Nathan rode out briefly to check on a patient, despite Daisy’s irritation that he continued to overwork himself. Julian had already departed hours earlier after promising to keep listening for rumors in the railroad district, leaving Daisy and Flint alone.
The awareness of it followed her through supper preparations. She tried not to think about it while steeping tea leaves.
And failed completely.
Flint had been quieter since the confrontation the night before. Not colder exactly. More thoughtful, perhaps. As though he were trying to fit pieces of the past together differently now.
Daisy didn't know whether that frightened or relieved her more. She carried the tea tray carefully toward the parlor after dusk had fallen. The room smelled faintly of woodsmoke and medicine.
Flint shifted slightly on the sofa as she entered.
“You’re awake,” she said softly.
“Hard to sleep when your brother’s tonic tastes like boiled dirt.”
Despite herself, Daisy smiled. “There's the Flint Callahan I remember.”
His voice roughened slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Complaining dramatically while gravely wounded seems very familiar.”
“I'm gravely wounded.”
“You survived. That reduces your right to dramatics considerably.”
A low laugh escaped him. The sound stirred something warm and painful inside her chest.
Daisy set the tray carefully on the table. “Tea.”
“You spoil me.”
“I assure you, Nathan says the exact opposite.”
Flint shifted carefully into an upright position against the cushions. She heard pain in the movement immediately.
“You shouldn't sit too quickly,” she murmured.
“You sound just like Nathan,” Flint said, his voice less strained than when he first arrived.
“That must be horrifying for you.”
“It truly is.”
Daisy handed him the cup carefully. Their fingers brushed. Heat moved sharply through her at the contact.
Ridiculous.
She sat in the nearby chair before he could possibly notice.
For a while, only quiet sounds filled the room: the crackle of the stove, rainwater dripping occasionally from the eaves outside, and the faint clink of china.
Peaceful sounds.
Flint’s voice softened when he spoke again. “I miss that.”
Daisy focused hard on the teacup in her hands instead of answering. She stared down into her untouched tea, though she couldn't see it.
“You should rest,” she said quietly.
Flint was silent for several seconds. “You always change the subject when things get serious.”
The truth of it stung.
Daisy lifted her chin slightly. “And you always push too hard.”
“Maybe because you never say what you actually mean.”
Daisy turned her face toward the stove before answering. “You are impossible while injured.”
“I’m worse when I’m healthy.”
A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. “That, I believe.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The fire crackled softly in the stove. Rain tapped against the windows. Somewhere upstairs, the house settled around them.
The quiet should have felt awkward.
Instead, it felt strangely familiar.
Daisy found herself listening to Flint's breathing and hated how quickly it eased something tightly wound inside her. Three years had passed, yet some things seemed determined to ignore the distance between them.