A tall man stood on the porch.
His dark coat was powdered with road dirt. His boots had seen hard miles. Beneath the brim of his black hat, his face was lean and weathered, with a thin scar beginning near his right temple and disappearing into his beard.
He removed his hat.
And looked at Mave.
The room changed.
That was the only way she could later describe it.
The stranger stopped breathing.
His fingers tightened around the hat.
His face lost all color.
He stared at her as though he had walked into a graveyard and seen the dead waiting beside the stove.
Silas noticed.
“What?”
Caleb Vale did not answer.
His eyes moved slowly over Mave’s face.
Her dark auburn hair.
Her cheekbones.
Her eyes.
Then downward.
Her sleeve had shifted again.
The crescent scar was exposed.
Caleb made a sound so soft Mave almost missed it.
“No.”
Edna saw where he was looking.
For the first time in six years, Mave watched terror enter Edna Lark’s eyes.
She hurried forward.
“Cover yourself.”
Caleb’s voice stopped her.
“Where did she get that mark?”
Silas rose.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Caleb looked at him.
“It matters to me.”
“You came to make a deal.”
Caleb stepped inside and closed the door.
“I asked where she got that scar.”
Edna’s hand trembled.
Mave saw it.
Something cold crawled through her stomach.
“She burned herself,” Edna said.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Where?”
“That ain’t your concern.”
Caleb’s gaze returned to Mave.
“What’s your name?”
“Mave.”
His jaw tightened.
“Mave what?”
“Lark.”
He stared at her.
“Before Lark?”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came.
Silas answered sharply.
“She doesn’t remember.”
Caleb turned.
Silas realized his mistake one second too late.
The rancher’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“She doesn’t remember?”
“She had a fever.”
Edna stepped between them.
“She nearly died. Lost pieces of her memory. Happens sometimes.”
Caleb looked from Edna to Silas.
Then back to Mave.
“How long have you been married?”
“Six years.”
“And before that?”
Mave lowered her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“How far back can you remember?”
The question embarrassed her.
Silas hated when she spoke about it.
“Bits.”
“What kind of bits?”
Mave hesitated.
Rain against glass.
A man laughing beneath an apple tree.
A blue blanket.
A church bell.
A baby crying somewhere close enough that her breasts had ached when she heard it.
But every time she told Edna about those memories, Edna called them fever dreams.
So Mave whispered, “Nothing useful.”
Something broke behind Caleb’s eyes.
He stepped closer.
Edna retreated.
“Mave,” he said, “look at me.”
She did.
His eyes were gray.
Not cold gray.
Storm gray.
And suddenly she saw a flicker.
Sunlight.
A river.
Gray eyes laughing at her while someone said—
Maeve, you’ll break your neck.
The image vanished.
Mave gasped.
Caleb noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Silas slammed his palm onto the table.
“Enough.”
The cups jumped.
“You want her or don’t you?”
Caleb turned slowly.
Silas pointed toward Mave like a man presenting merchandise.
“She cooks. Mends. Knows animals. Doesn’t complain much. Doctor says she can’t produce children, but you already knew that.”
