Two boys tumbled off a nearby freight cart, muddy and wild-eyed, laughter sharp in the dry air. One chased the other until he nearly tripped over Bellar’s trunk, then skidded to a stop and squinted up at her like she was a new kind of animal.
“You the new schoolteacher?” he asked.
“No,” Bellar answered softly, her voice calm because she’d spent a lifetime learning how to speak when her throat wanted to fold in on itself. “I was supposed to be someone’s bride.”
The boy blinked, confused by the shape of that sentence.
“He late?”
Bellar didn’t smile. No, sweetheart. He’s not coming. He’s already gone, and he left me behind like a mistake he didn’t want to pay for.
A deeper voice cut in before she could say any of it. “Ben, don’t pester the lady.” The man approaching looked like he carried whole winters in his eyes. Rough coat. Dust-covered boots. A square jaw beneath dark stubble. He wasn’t dressed like a rancher with something to prove, all shine and swagger. He was dressed like a man who woke before dawn because he had to, and kept waking because two small lives depended on him.
He tipped his hat, polite but wary, as though kindness itself had become something he handled carefully. “Ma’am,” he said, then nodded at the boy. “Ben. Get back to the wagon.”
The boy darted away, but the man lingered, gaze flicking to the trunk, the satchel, the way Bellar sat too straight for someone who was comfortable. “You need a ride somewhere?” he asked.
Bellar’s fingers tightened on the satchel strap. “I don’t suppose you know a Mr. Langley Carver?”
He shook his head. “No Carvers around here. Not that I’d trust anyone named Langley with much.”
A tight laugh broke from her lips, bitter and raw enough to surprise even her. “Well,” she said, and the word tasted like iron, “I trusted him with my future. Foolish me.”
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
