Chapter Twelve
Henry saw them from a distance: Victor Wilkes, standing far too close to Ruth and speaking too easily.
The sight made heat flare in his chest. Of all the people in Cottonwood Falls, Victor was the last person he wanted near her.
He strode quickly across the street, boots striking hard against the packed dirt. Every instinct in him sharpened, narrowed to a single point.
By the time he reached them, his jaw was tight enough to ache. He forced himself to stop a few paces off. Forced his hands to remain at his sides instead of grabbing hold of Wilkes and finishing what the man had started years ago.
“That’s enough.”
Ruth turned, surprise flashing across her face.
“You’ve said your piece,” Henry went on, his voice low, controlled. “Time to move along.”
Victor turned slowly, deliberately, polished calm settling over him like a second skin. “Collins,” he said lightly. “I was just offering my congratulations.”
Henry didn’t react.
“Your horses,” Victor added. “I hear they’ve recovered.”
“And how would you know that?” Henry demanded.
Victor’s smile didn’t waver.
Henry’s mind raced. He hadn’t spoken of it. Not in town, not to anyone outside the ranch. The doctor knew, of course, but his men knew better than to talk.
So how—
His gaze flicked to Ruth, who had frozen in place, the parcel held tightly in her hands. As he met her eyes, she looked down, but not before he saw a flicker of guilt in their dark depths.
His chest tightened uncomfortably.
“You told him?”
Ruth’s chin lifted. “He asked after them. I didn’t know that it was a secret.”
Frustration surged through him, tangled with something deeper he didn’t want to name.
Henry turned back to Victor. “You’ve heard enough. Now leave.”
Victor held his gaze a moment longer, something passing between them. Then, he inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Only once Victor was out of earshot did Henry turn back to Ruth.
“You’re not to speak to him,” he said, his voice controlled, but only just.
Ruth blinked, clearly taken aback. “I was only being polite.”
“He doesn’t deserve your courtesy.”
“He approached me,” she said, her own frustration evident now. “What was I to do? Ignore him entirely?”
“Yes,” Henry said bluntly.
Ruth stared at him. “That’s unreasonable.”
“He’s not a man you trust.”
“I don’t even know him,” she shot back.
“Exactly!” he snapped.
Hurt confusion mingled with indignation in Ruth’s expression. “How am I supposed to know what to say—or who not to say it to, for that matter—when you don’t tell me anything?”
Henry opened his mouth, then shut it with an audible snap as heat crept up his neck.
“You don’t speak to me about your work,” she went on, her voice steady but strained. “About the ranch, the horses—any of it—yet I’m expected to understand what is and isn’t important?”
Henry’s jaw tightened.
“I was being neighborly,” she added. “That’s all.”
“To him?” Henry snapped before he could stop himself. “That man might be your neighbor, but he’s a snake.”
Ruth flinched, but didn’t back down. “Then tell me why. Help me understand.”
Henry stared at her. The truth was that he couldn’t explain—not without opening doors he’d kept shut for years—and right now, he didn’t trust himself to try.
“Just stay away from him,” he said finally, his voice rough.
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s what I’m telling you to do.”
Ruth’s grip tightened on the parcel in her hands. “You don’t trust me,” she said quietly.
Henry’s chest ached. “That’s not what I?—?”
“You didn’t have to say it.”
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his jaw. “Get to the wagon. We’re leaving.”
Ruth held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded curtly.
But the distance between them felt wider than before.
***
The ride back to the ranch was silent.
Ruth didn’t look at him once, not even a fleeting glance. She sat on the opposite side of the bench, her body angled away from him, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
The steady rhythm of hooves filled the space between them, the wheels creaking over the dirt road as dusk settled around them.
I should say something, he thought for what seemed like the hundredth time.
He should tell her, warn her properly, so she’d understand why the man wasn’t to be trusted. How even a simple conversation could turn into something else.
Henry glanced at Ruth, then drew a breath and opened his mouth, only to close it again.
Any explanation would have to involve more than just Victor’s character or his dealings; it would mean digging up the past, what had happened. What he’d let happen.
His jaw tightened.
I can’t.
He wasn’t ready to share that part of him with her, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be.
The ranch came into view as the last of the light faded from the sky. A lantern burned low on the porch. Clara sat near the steps, her small figure brightened by the soft glow. Mrs. Harris, their neighbor, sat beside her in a rocking chair, the older woman’s steady presence grounding the scene.
Clara looked up as the wagon approached, then shot to her feet.
Ruth was moving before the wheels had fully stopped. She gathered her skirts and hurried across the yard, meeting Clara halfway. The girl reached up, arms wrapping tightly around her sister’s waist.
Ruth held her close, avoiding Henry’s eye, and took Clara inside.
The door closed behind them with quiet finality, and Henry stood there a moment longer before turning and stalking off toward the barn
As he stepped inside, he was greeted by the smell of hay and lingering sickness.
George looked up as he entered. “You’re back.”
Henry nodded once.
George straightened. “What happened?”
Henry dragged a hand down his face. “Ran into Wilkes.”
George’s posture shifted immediately. “Where?”
“In town.”
“And …?”
Henry heaved a sigh. “He knew about the horses.”
George let out a low whistle. “How? Our boys wouldn’t be caught dead shootin’ their mouths off in town about ranch business.” His brow furrowed. “You reckon Doc said something?”
“No,” Henry said flatly. “He knows we wanted to keep it quiet.”
George leaned back against the stall, folding his arms. “Well, that proves the snake had something to do with it. How else would he know?”
Henry’s gaze drifted toward the quarantine stall, where one of the horses shifted weakly. “I don’t know.” His jaw tightened. “He was talking to Ruth.”
George raised a brow. “That so?”
“I told her to stay away from him.”
“I’m sure she took that well.”
“’Bout as well as you’d expect.” Henry exhaled sharply. “She doesn’t understand.”
“Well,” George said carefully, “can’t say I blame her.”
Henry shot him a look, but George didn’t back down.
“You plan to explain it to her?”
When Henry didn’t answer, George let the silence sit before pushing off the stall.
“You coming in for supper?”
Henry shook his head. “Not hungry.”
George studied him, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He headed toward the door, pausing long enough to add, “You can’t keep everything locked up forever, Henry.”
Then, he was gone.
Henry stood there, alone, lantern light flickering against the wooden beams. He let out a slow breath, bracing his hands against the nearest stall.
Frustration sat heavy in his chest. Not only at Victor, but at himself. He hadn’t expected any of this. This marriage was supposed to make things easier—that had been the whole point. A well-run house, meals handled, laundry done, some semblance of order.
Instead, everything had only become more complicated.
Henry dragged a hand down his face again, staring around the dim barn. This wasn’t what he’d planned.
Not even close.