Chapter Thirty-Three
Ruth held Clara so tightly her arms had begun to ache.
The two of them sat pressed together in the back corner of the broken wagon, half-hidden beneath the sagging canvas that had slipped crookedly after the crash. Dust still hung faintly in the air around them, and loose straw clung stubbornly to Ruth’s skirts and tangled hair.
Her whole body hurt. Her elbows burned where skin had scraped raw against wood and dirt when she’d thrown herself at Victor. Her knees throbbed, and every deep breath brought a dull ache through her ribs. But she barely noticed any of it, because Henry was out there, and George, too.
The prairie beyond the canvas had gone strangely quiet again. No fists striking flesh anymore. No shouting, just two voices, and underneath it all, the restless shifting of horses and the pounding of Ruth’s own heart.
Clara had both hands twisted tightly into the fabric of Ruth’s dress. Ruth smoothed trembling fingers over her sister’s hair. She tried to keep calm, but in truth, she was terrified that, at any moment, someone would pull open the canvas and drag them away again.
Clara trembled. “Henry?”
Ruth looked down, and her throat tightened instantly.
Clara’s eyes were wide and frightened.
“He’ll be all right,” Ruth whispered.
Please let him be all right.
Then, finally, she couldn’t bear it anymore, couldn’t sit hidden, so slowly, she shifted Clara closer against the wagon wall.
“Stay here.”
Clara immediately grabbed her sleeve, and Ruth forced a shaky smile.
“I’ll be right here.”
Carefully, she crawled toward the opening in the canvas and pushed it aside slightly.
Henry was standing several yards away with the revolver raised at Victor, who was on the ground.
Then, suddenly, hoofbeats.
Ruth pushed herself farther forward, and over the rise beyond the road, appeared riders. Moonlight flashed over the silver badges on their chests: sheriff’s men.
The man holding George cursed loudly. “Oh, hell!” He shoved George hard enough to send him stumbling and immediately turned to run. He barely made it ten steps before one of the riders cut him off, horse skidding sideways across the grass.
Chaos erupted across the prairie as Ruth stared in disbelief.
Victor looked between the riders wildly. “What is this?”
Henry wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “This,” he said calmly, “is the end.”
Victor stared at him.
“I sent word to the sheriff before I found you.”
Victor blinked. “What?”
“When George and I left town,” Henry said, “I told the deputy where we were headed.”
Victor’s face twisted. “You can’t prove that I’ve done anything wrong,” he hissed.
“We’ll leave that for the law to decide,” Henry replied. “The jig’s up, Victor.”
The sheriff himself rode forward now, gray mustache bristling as he looked down at the scene. His eyes narrowed immediately. “Victor Wilkes.”
Victor stood suddenly. “This is absurd!” he snapped. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”
The sheriff looked around slowly and then, finally, back at Victor. “Looks all wrong from where I’m standing.”
Victor laughed sharply. “I did not realize it was a crime to be on the road at midnight.”
“This is a little more than that, though, isn’t it?” the sheriff replied dryly.
Victor’s face darkened. “Don’t you know who I am?”
The sheriff snorted. “I don’t care who you are,” he said.
Two deputies moved forward as Victor backed up a step and then another.
“No—wait?—?”
Victor stared in stunned disbelief as the deputies seized his arms. “This is outrageous!” he said. “You can’t prove anything!”
“Well, I suspect that your little friend over there will sing like a canary as soon as we’re back in town,” the sheriff said. “He’s got that look about him.”
Victor glowered as the sheriff tipped his hat.
“All right, let’s get going.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Henry said.
“Just doing my job,” he said. “But in all honesty, I’m glad we finally found a reason to arrest the man. He’s been like a burr in my boots for years.”
“You and me both,” Henry agreed.
With that, the sheriff mounted his horse again, and Ruth watched from the wagon.
He’s gone, she thought. We’re free.
She exhaled deeply as she turned to find Henry, and when she did, he was already looking at her.
For a moment, Ruth could only stare at him.
Then, he was moving, crossing the distance between them in long, hurried strides.
Ruth climbed awkwardly out of the wagon.
Moments later, Henry’s arms wrapped around her, and tears came all at once.
“Oh, Henry …”
He pressed his face against her hair. “I’ve got you,” he murmured roughly against her hair. “I’ve got you.”
Ruth held him tighter. “I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m so sorry—”
Henry pulled back immediately, and his hands came up to her face. Moonlight caught the bruises already forming along his jaw and cheekbone, and seeing them made fresh tears sting her eyes.
“No,” he said firmly. His thumb brushed beneath her eye. “Don’t.”
Ruth stared at him. There was no anger there, no accusation. Only relief and concern.
George suddenly let out a loud grunt. “Well, hell,” he muttered. “I’m startin’ to feel left out over here.”
Ruth looked over through blurry eyes. “Thank you, George,” she said, “for coming to get us.”
“She all right?” George asked. “The little miss?”
“Clara?” Ruth called, turning back to the wagon. “You can come out now!”
Her sister slowly climbed out of the wagon and ran straight to George, wrapping both arms tightly around his waist.
“Not too tight, there,” George said wincing.
The sight startled a laugh out of Ruth.
Clara hid shyly against him, and George’s expression softened instantly.
“It’s good to see you again, Little Miss,” he murmured. “Place wasn’t the same without you.”
Ruth looked back at Henry. She reached up and touched his face carefully where bruising had already darkened his skin. “You came for us.”
“Always,” he said.
Ruth exhaled softly.
“Come on,” Henry said. “Let’s get you home.”
The ride back to the ranch was almost dreamlike. George rode ahead with Clara seated in front of him, while Henry kept Ruth close in front of him on Shadow, one arm wrapped securely around her waist.
The sky slowly softened around them as they rode. Black gave way to gray, then gray to pale blue, and soon, dawn spread itself across the prairie in shades of pink and gold.
Ruth leaned tiredly against Henry’s chest. Every part of her body felt heavy, now that the terror had begun fading, and exhaustion settled into her bones.
She could hear Henry’s heartbeat beneath her cheek, and there was so much she wanted to tell him.
But every time she tried to speak, exhaustion pulled harder at her.
Henry’s hand tightened slightly around her. “You all right?”
She nodded against him. “Mhmm.”
A beat passed.
“Henry?”
“Yeah?”
Tears stung unexpectedly again. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I would ride to the ends of the earth for you,” he said softly. “And for Clara.”
A tear rolled slowly down Ruth’s cheek. He spoke as though his words were the most ordinary truth in the world. As though there had never been any question.
Growing up, love had always seemed tied to conditions.
She’d learned that lesson young, before she had even understood what ‘conditional’ meant.
Men had come and gone through the halls of the brothel with promises spilling from their mouths as easily as drink.
They swore devotion after a few glasses, then disappeared by morning.
They bought flowers and pretty ribbons one week, and looked through women as though they were furniture the next.
Affection had always seemed temporary, something to be borrowed or purchased.
Then, after her mother died, things had become simpler in some ways and harsher in others. There had only been Clara. Only survival. Ruth had stopped thinking about whether someone might love her someday, because it felt foolish to hope for such things.
Hope was dangerous, and people never stayed, at least not in her world.
So she’d built quiet little walls around her heart, one stone at a time. She had promised herself that, no matter what happened, she would never place her future into someone else’s hands. Never depend on a man. Never need one badly enough that losing him could break her.
Yet Henry had slipped past those walls without her noticing
Her chest tightened. Somewhere along the way, Henry had done something no one else ever had: he’d made her feel chosen, not simply tolerated.
And perhaps what frightened her most was the realization blooming quietly beneath all of it. If Henry hadn’t come—if she had truly lost this life, lost him—it would’ve broken her heart. For the first time in years, Ruth understood something she’d never allowed herself to believe before.
She’d not only found a home; she had found someone worth trusting with her heart.
***
The sun had broken over the horizon by the time the ranch came into view.
The house stood bathed in soft morning light with smoke already curling from the chimney. The barn sat beyond it, and the paddocks stretched wide across familiar land.
The sight hit Ruth harder than she’d expected—because, she realized, she’d truly believed she would never see it again.
“We’re home,” she murmured.
Henry looked toward the house, then back at her. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We are.”
Minutes later, Henry helped her down from the horse, his hands lingering at her waist longer than necessary, as though reassuring himself she was truly standing there.
Ruth looked up at him. “Henry, I?—?”
But he shook his head gently, and his eyes softened. “Later.” He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “You need rest.”
His gaze shifted toward Clara, who looked half-asleep in front of George on the horse.
“I should get her to bed,” Ruth murmured.
“I won’t be far behind you,” Henry promised.
Ruth took Clara’s hand and led her inside, carrying her up the stairs when her feet dragged. Ruth tucked Clara beneath blankets upstairs and sat beside her until the child’s breathing deepened into sleep.