On the fourth day, Wade brought her a book from the small shelf he kept more out of habit than enjoyment. “Poems,” he said, setting it down beside her bed. “My mother liked this one. Figured you might get tired of staring at the same four walls.”
Evelyn’s fingers brushed the worn cover, and her expression softened in a way that made Wade feel like he’d stepped too close to a campfire after a long cold stretch. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s… thoughtful.”
Their hands touched briefly when she reached for it, and the contact felt louder than it should have been. Wade cleared his throat and stepped back.
“I’m riding into town tomorrow for supplies. You need anything?”
She shook her head, then paused as if weighing pride against necessity. “Just… don’t risk trouble for me,” she said quietly.
Wade almost laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Trouble finds who it wants,” he replied. “I just prefer to meet it on my feet.”
Bandera was small, sun-bleached, and busy with the usual trade: cattlemen, shopkeepers, drifters, and men who talked too loud when they had nothing to say. Wade kept his errands quick: feed, lamp oil, flour, a letter he’d been meaning to send and never had. As he passed the community board outside the general store, a new poster caught his eye, its edges curling in the heat. The drawing was crude, but the name printed beneath it punched him in the ribs.
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