Her eyebrows rose slightly.
Silas straightened though his knees trembled.
“I can mend fence. Break horses. Patch roofs. Haul water. Tend cattle. Dig wells. Whatever needs doing.”
May stirred weakly.
A soft whimper escaped her.
Silas nearly broke.
“I don’t need much,” he continued. “Just somewhere she can lie down. Maybe milk, if you have it.”
The woman came down the porch steps.
She ignored him.
Her entire attention shifted to the child.
“May,” Silas whispered. “There’s a lady here.”
May did not answer.
The woman reached up cautiously and pressed the back of her fingers to May’s forehead.
Her guarded expression vanished.
“She’s burning.”
“She started fever yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
Silas looked toward the horizon.
“I thought we’d reach a settlement.”
“There isn’t one for another twenty-two miles.”
His stomach dropped.
The woman stared at him.
“You walked out here without knowing that?”
“I knew there were ranches.”
“One ranch.”
Silas gave a weary nod.
“Then I reckon we found it.”
Something almost like pity crossed her face.
“My name is Clara Higgins.”
“Silas Thorne. Nebraska.”
Clara repeated his name quietly.
“Silas Thorne.”
For one strange instant, her eyes sharpened.
But then the look vanished.
She turned toward May again.
“I don’t need a ranch hand.”
Silas felt the last rope holding him above despair snap.
He swallowed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He put on his hat.
There was dignity in leaving without begging.
At least he tried to believe so.
He turned toward the road.
There was no road, really.
Only two wagon tracks vanishing into merciless distance.
May’s breathing fluttered.
Silas closed his eyes.
Then—
“Wait.”
He stopped.
Clara stood behind him, gripping the side of her dress.
“I don’t need anyone fixing my fences,” she said. “But if you want milk and a bed, there’s a price.”
Silas turned.
“Name it.”
“I want a daughter.”
Every muscle in Silas’s body went rigid.
His hands tightened around the straps holding May.
“Ma’am?”
“You heard me.”
Anger burned through exhaustion.
“I will never give her up.”
Clara lifted her chin.
Tears appeared suddenly in her eyes.
“I’m not asking you to give her up, you stubborn fool.”
Silas stared.
Clara looked toward the house, then back at May.
Her voice trembled.
“I’m asking for a family.”
The prairie seemed to fall silent.
Silas frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
Clara took a breath.
“My husband died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I wasn’t.”
Silas blinked.
That was not the answer he expected.
Clara looked almost ashamed.
“He was cruel when he drank. Crueler when he didn’t. I buried him behind the cottonwoods and spent three years thanking God I never had his child.”
Her eyes moved to May.
“But gratitude is a strange thing. Sometimes you can be grateful for escaping one life while mourning the one you never had.”
Silas said nothing.
“I have land,” Clara continued. “Cattle. A roof. Food. More work than two hands can manage. What I don’t have is anyone to come home to.”
Silas’s expression hardened again.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
“A marriage.”
His mouth fell open.
Clara spoke quickly.
“Not tonight. Not tomorrow. I’m not deranged. You stay here. Your girl gets well. You work. We see if we can stand each other.”
“And if we can’t?”
“You leave when May is strong enough.”
“And if we can?”
Clara’s eyes met his.
“Then maybe neither of us has to be alone anymore.”
