Homecoming Under Siege (Preview)

Prologue

Clara Dawson couldn’t help smiling. It was a wonderful day. The sun was shining, there was a light breeze, everyone around her was talking and laughing. Her new husband, Elijah, couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even from across the room, where he was holding a champagne glass, talking to his brother, Samuel, who’d acted as his best man, Elijah’s eyes were on her.

He lifted his glass and winked at her, bringing an instant smile to her face. Not that she hadn’t already been smiling. Her joy had started that morning while she was getting ready for the wedding and had only increased from that moment on.

The crowd around her only made things better. The shelter outside the large church was perfect for the party for their family and friends afterwards.

In a way, though, all she really wanted to do was go home with her new husband. He’d spent the last six months building a two-story, three-bedroom home for them just outside their hometown of Mountain Valley. The land he’d purchased was idyllic. The soil was nearly perfect for growing a large garden, the fields of wheat and corn flourishing every season for the previous owner of the land, and the surrounding mountains protected the little town from harsh winds and storms most of the year.

To Clara, it felt like Elijah had landed on a gold mine. She saw great things for their future and couldn’t wait to live them out with him.

Elijah himself was tall and handsome with dark brown eyes, perfect features, and a beard the same color as his eyes. He had won her heart without even trying. From the first day they’d met, she’d seen that sparkle in his eye every time he looked at her. He’d lasted through the two years of his brother’s constant teasing, as well.

The memory made Clara giggle. Sam hadn’t hidden his delight that his younger brother was in love. He was still looking for the right woman himself and wasn’t sure he’d ever find her. Clara hoped he would. Sam was a good man and deserved to have the love of his life on his arm.

Clara spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the presence of her loved ones. Her friends and relatives were all thrilled. They both came from large, loving families who participated in just about every town event. And they did so with enthusiasm.

The familiar sound of Clara’s father’s boisterous laughter filled the outdoor shelter. Several heads turned to look at him. That wasn’t new. Clara’s father was a big man, a lumberjack who was strong as Paul Bunyan. She loved her father almost as much as he and her mother had loved her all her life.

As the party drew to a close, Clara began to feel anxious. She’d been waiting so long to spend her first night with Elijah as his wife. Now that the time was getting closer, she was as nervous as a polecat.

Would she be the wife Elijah deserved? She already knew what foods he preferred, how he liked his white shirts cleaned and pressed every morning, his clothes laid out for the next day on the chair beside his bed. He’d told her so much about himself and she’d remembered everything she possibly could. She wanted to be perfect for him because in her eyes, he was perfect for her.

He took her hand as the party wound down and the guests began to leave.

“Hello again, wife,” he said, his voice soft to match the look in his eyes.

“Hello, husband,” she replied, gently biting her bottom lip.

“Are you ready?”

Her heart did a little flip in her chest. “The sun is going down,” she answered him, “and there is a bottle of wine waiting in our sitting room.” She giggled. “It feels so strange to call it our sitting room. I hope you haven’t made it too much of a space for a lone bachelor since construction finished.”

He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “I built that house as a home for both of us. It was never intended to be the home of a bachelor. I think you’ll be well satisfied with it.”

“I know I will, my love.” Her whole body tingled when he leaned over and kissed her lips just for a moment. They hadn’t shown any public affection during their courtship other than holding hands. For him to kiss her in public felt strange and oddly… perfect. Just like she’d thought it would.

Twenty minutes later, he helped her down from the carriage and walked with her to the front door of their home. He had decorated the front porch with many flowers and ribbons that blew softly in the evening breeze. Two lanterns hung on either side of the stairs, casting their light so they wouldn’t trip as they went up.

“This is so beautiful, Elijah. You are so wonderful!”

He swept her off her feet and kissed her, holding her tightly.

“Time for me to carry you over the threshold of your new home, my dear. I pray we spend many, many happy days here.”

Clara took in a deep breath and held it as he passed over the threshold.

***

Four years later, this memory took hold in her mind as she stood on that very same porch, clutching a wet handkerchief, soaking it with tears she couldn’t hold back. Their four-year-old daughter, Lily, held her other hand, staring up at her. She didn’t understand. She thought Papa was just going to town with his brother. How could Clara possibly explain where her father was going? Lily didn’t even know what the word “war” meant.

Elijah turned in the seat of the wagon as he and Sam rode away. He lifted his hand to wave to them. He and Sam had been called to fight in the war.

Clara didn’t know if she would ever see the love her life, the father of her daughter, the man she had married, ever again. She knew the ravages of war. Her older brother had served in the Mexican-American war during the last year in 1848 and hadn’t survived, plunging their parents into years of despair and heartbreak.

She knew her husband’s chances of coming back to her were small. The thought brought on more tears as she raised her hand to wave back, weeping as her heart broke.

Chapter One

Antietam, 1862

Elijah knelt down in the trench, covering his ears. Explosions rocketed through his brain despite his attempt to block them out. The repeated crack of gunfire mixed in with the explosions, men screaming in pain, and horses neighing with fear.

He’d just seen Samuel jump up and run forward with a few of the other soldiers, his warrior cry mixing in with the shouts from those around him.

Elijah looked up just as a grenade exploded in front of him. Sand, dirt and rocks around the site burst through the air. Mud splattered all around him. Horses neighed in earnest as their riders ran for the enemy, bayonets held out like swords, plunging the blades into their enemies, who cried out in pain and agony before they fell to the ground to die.

His heart slammed in his chest. His eyes moved from left to right, sweeping over the land, searching for his brother.

“Samuel!” he yelled into the chaotic fray. Smoke was everywhere, choking him when he breathed in, fogging his eyes, making it hard to see. “Samuel!”

He couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice. He tried to climb out of the trench. His hands grasped at the mud, sticking between his fingers. His boots made holes in the muddy earth but held enough of a grasp in the grooves to lift him up some. He opened his mouth to call out for his brother once more but someone ran by, someone he hadn’t seen coming, kicking mud into his mouth.

He choked again as the grime slid over his tongue and down his throat. Coughing violently, Elijah crawled out, holding himself up on all fours as he gagged, mud sliding back out, spilling onto the ground. When he had finally expelled it all from his throat and windpipe, he lifted his watering eyes. It did no good to wipe them; his hands were covered with black, bloody mud.

He thought he saw Samuel in the distance.

“Samuel! Samuel!”

The sky was so dark. It was daytime but Elijah couldn’t see the sun. He couldn’t see the sky. All he saw was smoke, all he heard around him was agony and death. Horses toppling over, men being ripped apart by bayonets and bullets.

He ducked just in time to miss being stabbed in the throat and reacted in time to slam the butt of his rifle into the head of the man who would have ended his life if he’d hesitated only a second longer.

The man went down and Elijah leaped over him. He broke out into a run. For some reason, though the sounds around him were deafening, he could hear the squish of his every step. He pushed all thoughts out of his head. He just needed to get to Samuel. That was all. There was nothing more important in that moment.

The man Elijah had his eyes on that entire time turned out to be someone other than his brother. Seeing the face of the dying man on the ground made his heart ache in his chest.

He hovered over the dying man for a moment, scanning his wounds to see if he could do anything to help. Unfortunately, there was too much blood. It seemed like the man’s guts were sliding out of his blood-soaked shirt.

“Help me,” the man groaned, raising his hand to grab Elijah’s shirt. “Help…”

The man’s eyes went blank. His hand fell away and he said nothing more.

He wasn’t the first man Elijah had seen die in front of his eyes. He held out his hand to gently close the soldier’s eyes and dipped his head for a second to say a prayer over him.

Seconds later, he scanned the area around him for his brother.

“Samuel! Sam! Where are you?”

He focused on another man in the distance who had the same shape and looked the same height as his brother. Without hesitation, he took off, his legs pumping, breathing in the smoke, making his lungs burn.

When he came to a stop the second time, he slid in the mud and fell on his rear, his hands planting on either side, sinking into the grime. Samuel turned and looked at him, with one hand placed in front of his chest. Elijah’s eyes moved from Samuel’s to his hand. Even in the smoky atmosphere, he could see blood seeping through his brother’s fingers.

“Eli…” Samuel’s voice wasn’t loud but Elijah heard him anyway. “Eli… I think… I think they got me…”

“No!” Eli yelled, combating the suction of the mud to push himself to his feet. He was only a foot or two away from Samuel. “No!” he cried out again, plunging toward Samuel, grabbing his brother so that both of them went down to the ground together. Samuel was on his back. He struggled for breath, quick wisps coming and going as his chest rose and fell quickly.

“Sam, you gotta hang on! I’m gonna get you out of here!” Elijah lifted his head and screamed out into the fray. “Medic! Medic!”

But no one was coming. He knew it but wouldn’t let himself believe it. Tears streaked through the grime on his face.

“Sammy, you gotta stay with me. You can’t leave me now. You gotta stay with me!”

Samuel’s eyes flitted to the left and right as if he was seeing something other than what was in front of him. Like the soldier who had died only moments ago, he lifted his hand to Elijah. This time Elijah grabbed that hand and pulled it to his chest, pressing it against his beating heart.

“Please,” Elijah wept. “Please, Sammy, you gotta stay with me. Please don’t leave me to fight alone.”

“Eli…” Samuel’s voice barely made any sound. Elijah knew what he was saying despite the explosions and gunfire surrounding them, simply because he was focused solely on his dying brother. 

Elijah lifted Samuel’s other hand to look under it. He only glanced before letting Samuel cover it again. The hole he’d seen under that hand was huge, the size of an orange. There was no coming back from that kind of wound. Especially in the stomach. It wouldn’t take long for Samuel to bleed out. 

There was no help coming. There was no medic with a miracle in his bag of medicines.

Elijah leaned close to his brother till his ear was in front of Samuel’s mouth.

“Eli,” Samuel breathed out, a whisper that sent shivers down Elijah’s spine. “I love you. Tell Ma and Pa I love them. Tell your wife how… how lucky she is…” He tried to laugh, which only made Elijah squeeze his eyes shut to keep from screaming and bawling. “You…  you live on, you hear? You live on for… for me.”

Elijah didn’t pull away. He left his head where it was, sobbing, his heart shattering into a million pieces. This was the older brother who had given him tips on how to hunt. Everything he’d done had had a trace of humor to it. His smile radiated energy and positivity. How could his light be extinguished so abruptly in this terrible place? 

“Don’t,” he begged in a weakened voice. “Don’t go, Sammy. I need you. Don’t leave me. Don’t go.”

He recalled the time he’d fallen from a horse when learning to ride. It was Samuel who had come running, beating their father to Elijah. He hadn’t been worried or upset once he saw Elijah was just disheveled from the experience. He’d pulled Elijah to his feet and, with eyes and a voice full of compassion, unlike most boys, he brushed Elijah off and said, “You’re all right, little brother. You’re all right. Gotta get back on and keep going, okay? That’s the best way to be. Just get back up and keep going.”

Elijah knew his cries were in vain. Samuel wasn’t going to get back up and keep going. This wasn’t just a fall from a horse. A bullet—or perhaps a grenade—or the blade of a bayonet—that was what had taken control of Samuel.

“It’s aw… awful cold, Eli. Can I get a blanket?”

His words ripped through Elijah like a vocal bullet.

“I can’t…” Elijah moaned. “I can’t do this without you. Please, Sammy. Please, please. Not you. Not you.”

Samuel didn’t respond. When Elijah pulled back enough to see his brother in the smoky air, he knew it was too late. At least his brother hadn’t been in pain for too long. Samuel’s eyes had ended up looking directly at his brother when he pulled away.

“Sammy…” Elijah’s voice broke. He closed his brother’s eyes as he had the other soldier only minutes ago. He leaned back, turned away from Samuel and slammed his hands deep in the mud and grime under them both. Rage built up inside him. He lifted up, still crying, grabbed his rifle, and screamed with all his might, running into the chaos. He raised his gun and took out two men in a row, furious to his very core.

The enemy would pay for what they’d done to his brother. He would make sure of it. He would kill as many of them as he possibly could. And every night, he’d say a prayer as he carved small notches into his leather belt to remember how many men he had killed that day. 

Chapter Two

Almost a thousand miles from Mountain Valley, 1866

Elijah exited the commander’s faded yellow tent and stood just outside it, looking down at the papers in his hand. They blew softly in the breeze, so he clutched them a bit tighter. He’d only just received them from his commander, but he didn’t need to read them. He knew what they said.

The war was over. He was being sent home. All the men who’d been fighting only yesterday were being sent home. The announcement had come through early that morning and spread through the camp like wildfire. For a short time, there was celebration, men whooping and laughing, clinking together their cups of coffee as if they were in a saloon, talking loudly about what they would do now that they were free.

But now, four hours later, everyone was much more subdued. To Elijah, it felt like something strange had happened to him. Something had changed inside him. How could he return to normal life?

His daughter was four years older. He couldn’t picture her being eight years old. How tall had she gotten? Did she still share his brown hair and deep brown eyes? Did she behave like him at all, considering she hadn’t had him around for the last four years of her life? She had probably forgotten about him, taking on all her mother’s traits. She was probably nothing like him now. And didn’t remember him at all. He’d be a fool to think otherwise.

He grunted when another soldier came out of the tent and nearly collided with him. He shuffled to the side, glancing at the man, whose name was Edgar Allendale. He hadn’t known Edgar well. He’d made sure of that. He’d made no friends and only knew the names of half the men he’d been serving with. He didn’t want to know their names. He’d rejected playing cards with them, going to towns and drinking with them, meeting the beautiful women they might encounter. 

“Sorry about that,” he grunted, not really meaning it.

Edgar gave him a single nod and moved around him. That had been the response from most of the men when they encountered him. Elijah kept himself in isolation, rejecting any offer of friendship. He’d lost the only friend he’d ever wanted to keep—his brother. No one could replace Samuel, so why even let them try?

Finally, he took a step away from the tent, heading for his own, a large similarly faded yellow structure that would soon come down. He had shared that tent with three other men for the last two years.

And still, he didn’t know the names of two of those men. If he’d ever found out their names, he’d forgotten them immediately.

In silence, he stuffed his belongings in a large rucksack, which he slung over his shoulder. He left the tent behind, saying goodbye to no one. No one attempted to say goodbye to him. As he’d expected. Almost instinctively, he and his comrades had stopped forming friendships and attachments. It was too easy to lose that friend in combat and be heartbroken. The emotional toll was too much. 

After losing Samuel three years ago, Elijah had made no friends and gotten to know the story of no one. It was too painful. Best to just fight alone.

It was a long trek back to Mountain Valley in Colorado, where his wife and daughter still lived. At least, that was what he assumed. There had been no letters from Clara, but that wasn’t a surprise. After the first year, Elijah and the unit had moved around so much, it was useless to try to write to her. He couldn’t receive any letters from them. For all he knew, Clara had had him declared dead and married another man. She may very well have fallen in love with someone else. Four years was a long time to wait for a husband who may or may not still be alive.

Horrific thoughts passed through his mind as he walked along the side of the road, watching for any wagons or caravans that could take him to the next town that had a train station. 

She was far too pretty, even if she was older when they married. Then she was in her mid-twenties, in fact. Now, according to his calculations, she was thirty-two. Regardless, he was sure she was still a good-looking woman, and she wouldn’t be able to plow the fields and do the work of the husband who was supposed to be providing for her.

Had she sold their home? Had she moved on with her life?

On one hand, he wanted to get home as soon as he could, to see what had changed, to see if Clara and Lily still lived there.

On the other hand, he was terrified. Even after being through the war and seeing so much death and destruction, his fear was so palpable he could have cut it with a knife. Would Clara reject him? Would his parents reject him for not keeping Samuel safe, alive and well?

Samuel should be returning, too. It wasn’t fair. He’d never had a chance to get married. He’d never found that woman who could match his wit and sense of humor. What amazing children his brother could have had.

Anger split through him. He heard the sound of wagon wheels approaching but didn’t turn to see if the folks driving it would stop for him. He did notice, however, when the wagon slowed down. The horses’ clip-clop pace wasn’t as rapid anymore. He didn’t bother to look until the wagon was right beside him.

It was being driven by a haggard-looking old man, whose white hair was sparse on his head and whose eyes were deep-set, making the sockets prominent around the lids. His skin was stretched. He was a sight to see.

Moving his eyes to the back of the wagon, Elijah saw four weak, rough-looking soldiers. He recognized them from the camp he’d just left.

“You lookin’ for a ride, young man?” the old-timer asked, his voice as thin as his hair. 

“I reckon I am,” Elijah responded, trying hard not to let the tension he felt show or be heard. “You goin’ to a town with a train station?”

“Sure am.” The old man jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Climb on in. Come with us.”

Elijah nodded, going around to the back of the wagon and pulling himself up to swing a leg over the tailboard.

Two of the soldiers, those seated to his right, scooted over slightly to make room for him. He sat heavily, setting the rucksack in between his legs on the bed of the wagon.

“Howdy,” he mumbled once, sliding his eyes to encompass all four men. They didn’t respond. Only nodded. They all looked as exhausted as he felt.

As the wagon took off, rumbling over the rocks in the road, Elijah’s thoughts returned to the wife and daughter he’d left behind. He imagined them waiting for him, the ranch thriving, the life he’d desperately wanted for them still burning somewhere in his soul. But was that the life for him?

What should he expect when he got to Colorado? 

An hour later, he was boarding a train, hoping Colorado didn’t look like the land he was leaving behind, torn, destroyed, a place where only weeping and wailing could be heard. So many men had died. So many homes taken over for the use of the army, only to be destroyed by the enemy.

Was Colorado any different? Would he find the peace he so desperately needed? What was he walking into?

With only a rucksack and the memory of his dear brother fighting beside him for only a year before being cut down in the prime of his life, Elijah headed for home.

Home. Mountain Valley.

Would it feel like home to him? Or a stranger’s place? Would his daughter recognize him? Would his wife?

Elijah traced a finger down the jagged scar on his chin. In the second year after he’d lost Samuel, he had gotten into a brawl with the enemy, a bout of fisticuffs that he wasn’t the only one involved in. At least half a dozen men joined him in beating down the confederacy instead of just shooting them. The encounter had occurred when no one was armed.

Well, one man had been armed—with a buck knife used for ending the life of prey while hunting. It was double-sided and looked extremely dangerous. Elijah didn’t ever want to get stabbed by that knife.

They had clashed in the middle of a field where he and the other men in his unit were resting and gathering ears of corn off the stalks to take back to camp for food.

His daughter wouldn’t recognize him, he thought. Would his scar scare her? Just the thought made his chest hurt. Why should she even remember him? He was nothing but a phantom in her mind now. Elijah was sure of it.

Was it his home now? Should he even return?

Chapter Three

The Previous Day—Mountain Valley, Colorado

Clara woke up more exhausted than she’d been when she fell asleep the night before. Her body hurt, all the way down to her bones. Her muscles ached as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a moment, her fingers gripping the mattress beneath her. The room was dimly lit by the early morning sun that hadn’t quite breached the mountains in the distance.

The thin, pale red curtains on either side of her window billowed gently in the breeze as it made its way into the room. It gave her a chill but it was nice, covering her with a cool blanket of air that touched her sweaty brow.

She blinked a few times, hanging her head, before squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them, they were a blur. Every morning for the past month she’d woken up this way, unable to see clearly, unable to think. Every day she worked so hard.

And to what avail? The farm was falling to pieces around her. She was barely able to pay the farm hands, who would have worked for room and board if she wasn’t a prideful woman who rejected charity. Her husband would return, she’d said for the first year. She wasn’t going to have him come back to men working for room and board.

She told herself to get up and get the day started. She told herself the water in the basin was fresh and cool and would make her face feel clean and refreshed. She got up and changed from her nightgown to a blue and white dress, one that didn’t make her paleness stand out too much. Then she sat on the bed again, awake but exhausted as if it was the end of the day already. 

After that first year Elijah was gone, she’d stopped receiving letters from him. They’d been so full of hope, so full of love and support and encouragement. She’d written back in the same tone.

Her last letter had gone unanswered. It had, in fact, been sent back to her with “return to sender” written on the outside. She’d never heard from Elijah again. At first she’d just been discouraged. She hadn’t given up hope until the first time the cattle drives invaded her land, the cows and riders destroying her pastures, felling her fences, cutting through her property without permission because there was no man present to warn them off. The fields were practically destroyed, cut to less than half their size by the invading cattle drives. Her debt at the general store was mounting.

Everything hung over Clara like a heavy weight. Her mind and body were so tired. She was so weary, in her mind, in her heart, in her soul.

“Mama?” she heard her daughter’s voice through the closed door. That voice was the only thing left that would take Clara out of her depression. She couldn’t let Lily see her this way. She had to plaster on a smile and act like everything was all right.

It wouldn’t work for much longer. Lily might only be eight but she understood more and more every day. Soon she would know her mother was on the brink of collapse. And then what would happen? Who would take care of Lily? 

Clara’s own parents had seen a great loss of their own personal wealth when their home had been invaded by the military, as it had been in the perfect spot for their operations, forcing her parents to act as housekeepers and maids to the soldiers who’d taken over their property. 

Her in-laws hadn’t fared much better. They were angry seeing all the soldiers in town all the time, angry that Clara’s parents had been forced to labor in their own home as if they were slaves. It might have been different if the soldiers had been friendly. But they were from the opposition and gave no one in town any respect.

During the first year their boys had been serving in the war-torn country, they’d packed up their belongings and left overnight. They hadn’t said goodbye to anyone and had left their house abandoned.

Not even their own granddaughter.

The house was still empty now, with some of the furnishings left inside as if they were waiting for the owners to return.

Just that simple fact was enough to break Clara’s heart even more.

She straightened her shoulders and forced herself to stand, going over to the basin. “Yes, my dear? You can come in.”

The door swung open and her daughter stood there, her large brown eyes looking so much like her father’s. Clara could see the sympathy there. Lily didn’t remember much about her father. She only knew his face by the one portrait Elijah’s parents had of him and Clara when they were first married.

That painting hung over the fireplace, a symbol of what life had once been but was no more.

Three years had passed with no word from Elijah.

Three years of silence Clara could barely endure.

“Mama, I made you some bread with marmalade for breakfast. I milked the cow and gathered the eggs, too. Do you feel all right?”

Clara’s heart sank as she listened to her daughter speaking of the chores she’d already done while her mother slept.

“You are a good girl, Lily. Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Lily came in and stood by her mother, her big eyes still soft with love and compassion. She’d braided her own hair, Clara realized with another stab of pain in her heart. Her dress was just a bit too small for her but she’d put one of her mother’s aprons over it to hide how tight it was on her. The combination of the oversized apron and the undersized dress on her daughter made Clara’s eyes fill with tears.

To hide it, she dunked her hands in the basin water and splashed it on her face. It was cool and refreshing, washing away her tears and the sweat the night before had left on Clara’s forehead. 

She felt her daughter’s hand on her arm, squeezing gently. “I love you, Mama. You look tired. Didn’t you sleep?”

“I did,” Clara answered. “And I love you, too, my dear. I’m just… a little worn out, that’s all.”

Lily opened her mouth to say something but her words were halted by a knock on the door of the farmhouse. Both mother and daughter turned their eyes toward the door of Clara’s room.

“Who could that be this early in the morning?” Clara mumbled, grabbing a towel by the pitcher and basin, dabbing her face as she hurried from the room. Lily kept up with her, right on her heels, her small face anxious.

Just as Clara got to the door, there was another knock, this one more insistent than the last. Clara hesitated, fearful. She had reached out her hand to grasp the doorknob but stopped.

“Lily, look through the window over there to see who it is. Don’t let yourself be seen.”

Without a word, her daughter nodded. She snuck over to the window, barely pulled back the white curtains and peered out onto the porch outside. Clara saw her daughter’s shoulders relax.

“It’s only Mr. Croft, Mama,” she said, releasing the curtain. “He’s got a wrapped package in his hand.”

Clara sighed. She didn’t know if she was a wife or a widow. Elmer seemed to think he knew, though, and had been trying to convince her to sell the farm to him for almost a year now. Since she’d received no word from Elijah and didn’t know how to get in touch with him if he was still alive, she hadn’t given in to the temptation quite yet.

Sometimes, relieving herself of the burden of a farmhouse slowly going into disrepair made sense. But her heart didn’t want to give up. She wanted Elijah home. But what if he never came home?

Clara opened the door, forcing a smile on her face.

“Good morning, Elmer,” she said warmly. “What are you doing out and about so early? Heading into town to work?”

“As always, Miss Clara.” Elmer had stopped calling her Mrs. Dawson when he started courting her to sell the ranch. He snatched the white hat from his head. Clara had to admit he was dressed handsomely in a white suit, shiny brown shoes and a red tie that stood out against the suit. He was much older, with silver hair he kept slicked back and cold, pale blue eyes that pierced whoever he was looking at.

Many of the women in town thought he was handsome. Clara did not. She missed her husband, not just because of his looks, but because of who he was inside. She was not interested in having any sort of close relationship with any other man.

He held the hat against his chest with one hand while handing her the brightly wrapped package with the other. “Brought you a gift. Hope you don’t mind. I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

Clara had to laugh. “This is not the first gift you’ve given us, Elmer,” she stated, taking the package. “And I doubt it will be the last.”

He pointed at her with the hat, leaning forward. “You got that right, miss.” He straightened up again, glancing around the porch, where the boards under his feet and along the railing were weather worn, warped and cracked.

“Ya know I’ve got nothin’ but sympathy for ya, miss,” he said, eyeing the dilapidated porch. “Ya know I’m willin’ to offer you a good amount for this land and house. You could start again. A woman alone can’t hold this property. Debt only grows higher. Cattle drives aren’t gonna stop. Look, I can fix all of this for you.”

Clara glanced behind him at the polished carriage he’d arrived in, one of the three he owned. Two armed guards stood at the bottom of her cracked, broken porch steps. In the back of her mind, she suspected Elmer was responsible for at least a handful of the cattle drives that had destroyed her property.

How much more could she take? 

Should she give in and let him pay her to take the land off her hands?

Should she move away with her daughter and start a new life, prosperous with the generous sum Elmer wanted to pay her?

“Just… just give me one more day to think about it, Elmer,” she said, hoping her desperation and exhaustion wasn’t apparent to him. “Will you do that?”

His grin almost made her want to vomit. He nodded.

“You bet I will, Miss Clara. You and your daughter have a good day, now. I’ll come see ya tomorrow mornin’.” He leaned to the side, waving his hat at Lily, who was hiding behind her mother, peeking out around her. “You take care of your mama, little one. Bye-bye!”

Clara struggled mightily not to weep as Elmer left in his shiny, luxurious carriage.