“Pasture connects his land.”
Clara did not believe him.
Not fully.
“You said he offered before the fire.”
“Yes.”
“How long before?”
“Two weeks.”
Clara looked toward the blackened house.
“Nathan.”
“No.”
“You know what I’m asking.”
“The fire started from a lantern in the barn.”
“You know that?”
“I found the lantern.”
“Was it yours?”
“Yes.”
“Were you using it?”
Silence.
Clara’s eyes narrowed.
Nathan looked away.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I was asleep.”
“So someone could have lit it.”
Nathan turned toward her.
“Do not start.”
“Start what?”
“Turning everything into conspiracy because you don’t like Crowe.”
“I don’t like Crowe because everything around him smells like conspiracy.”
Nathan almost smiled despite himself.
Then he became serious.
“I cannot fight him.”
“You don’t know whether there’s anything to fight.”
“Exactly.”
Clara looked toward the ruins.
But she remembered Silas’s words.
I know the bank.
She filed them away.
The following week, Clara discovered the first real clue.
She had been sorting burned household items near the collapsed pantry when she found a metal strongbox warped by heat.
Nathan forced it open.
Inside were papers.
Most damaged.
Insurance.
Tax receipts.
Old cattle contracts.
Then a survey map.
Clara spread it across a salvaged table.
The north pasture included a narrow strip along Dry Basin Creek.
But beneath the creek line was a handwritten note from Nathan’s late father:
Subsurface spring confirmed 1869. Flow stable through August drought.
Clara looked up.
“Nathan.”
He read it.
His face changed.
“I’ve never seen that note.”
“Your father knew there was a spring.”
“Probably.”
“How much water?”
“No idea.”
Clara studied the map.
Silas Crowe’s adjoining property lay east.
If the spring was substantial, whoever controlled Cole’s north pasture controlled reliable water during drought.
Texas cattle country could forgive almost anything except dry land.
“Silas wants the water.”
Nathan stared at the map.
“Maybe.”
“Not pasture.”
“Maybe both.”
“Why didn’t you know?”
“My father died when I was twenty-two.”
“I left for five years after.”
“Came back after Mother died.”
“Never had reason to dig up old surveys.”
Clara looked toward the burned house.
“Someone else did.”
Nathan said nothing.
Two nights later, they slept outside because smoke had filled the smokehouse chimney after a wind shift.
Clara lay beneath a blanket near the cookfire.
Nathan sat against a wagon wheel.
“You planning to sleep upright?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Comfortable.”
“You’re lying again.”
He looked toward her.
Clara lifted one corner of the blanket.
“Ground’s warmer here.”
Nathan’s expression changed.
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not proposing sin.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Lie down.”
He hesitated.
Then joined her.
Several inches separated them.
Clara could feel the heat of his body anyway.
For a long time they stared upward.
Stars spread across the Texas sky like spilled salt.
Nathan spoke first.
“You regret coming?”
“No.”
“Not once?”
“Yes.”
He turned.
Clara smiled.
“You asked.”
“When?”
“The first night.”
“Why?”
“You smelled like smoke and were rude.”
Nathan laughed quietly.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“Next morning.”
“Why?”
“You snore.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
He looked toward her.
“Third regret?”
Clara became quieter.
“This.”
“What?”
“Lying here.”
Nathan’s face changed.
“Why?”
“Because I like it.”
Silence.
Clara looked toward the sky.
Nathan’s hand moved across the ground.
Stopped beside hers.
Not touching.
She moved one finger.
Touched him first.
His hand closed gently around hers.
“That frightens you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if I like something, I can lose it.”
Nathan understood immediately.
His wife, Rebecca, had died during childbirth ten years earlier.
The baby too.
He had written about it once.
Only once.
Clara had lost her mother at fourteen, a fiancé at twenty-six who decided a thinner woman suited his ambitions better, and three years later the small dress shop she co-owned failed during a bank panic.
Different losses.
Same lesson.
Nothing belonged permanently to anyone.
Nathan whispered:
“I’m already afraid of losing you.”
Clara looked at him.
“You don’t have me.”
“That’s why it’s irritating.”
She laughed.
He moved closer.
Slowly.
Giving her time.
Clara did not move away.
Nathan touched her cheek.
Then stopped.
“Can I kiss you?”
Clara stared.
“After eight months of letters, you ask now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because letters aren’t permission.”
Something inside her softened completely.
“Yes.”
Nathan kissed her.
Carefully at first.
Clara had expected awkwardness.
Instead it felt like recognition.
His mouth was warm.
His scarred cheek rough beneath her hand.
She touched it deliberately.
Nathan pulled away slightly.
Clara followed.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Hide.”
His eyes searched hers.
Clara touched the scar again.
Then kissed that side of his face.
Nathan closed his eyes.
The second kiss was deeper.
Longer.
His hand settled at her waist.
Clara gripped his vest.
The attraction that had spent weeks pretending to be patience finally stopped pretending.
Nathan pulled back first.
Breathing hard.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“If we keep going—”
“I know.”
He stared.
She smiled slowly.
“Not tonight.”
Nathan exhaled.
“Thank God.”
Clara laughed.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am both grateful and miserable.”
“Good.”
She moved against his shoulder.
They slept holding hands.
Neither slept much.
The bank refused extension on November third.
Nathan returned from Red Hollow with the letter folded inside his pocket.
Clara knew from his walk.
“How bad?”
“Thirty days.”
“Balance?”
“Two thousand sixty.”
“We have?”
“Four hundred.”
Clara nodded.
Nathan removed his hat.
“Crowe offered ten thousand today.”
“For north section?”
“Yes.”
“Price increased.”
Nathan looked at her.
“Because he knows something.”
“Exactly.”
Nathan paced.
“Ten thousand would clear debt.”
“Rebuild.”
“Buy cattle.”
“Yes.”
Clara watched.
“You’re considering it.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“Clara.”
“No.”
“You don’t own this land.”
The sentence came out harsher than he intended.
Clara’s face changed.
Nathan immediately regretted it.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You’re right.”
She stood.
“It’s yours.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It is.”
“Clara.”
She walked away.
Nathan followed.
“Stop.”
She turned.
“You want me to stay when it’s convenient.”
“You want me helping with ashes.”