Not blocking her.
Protecting her without taking away her ability to move.
Edwin smiled.
“So this is where you've hidden yourself.”
“I didn't hide,” Clara said.
“You left without permission.”
“I am a grown woman.”
“You are a woman with debts.”
“I don't owe you anything.”
Edwin's smile disappeared.
“You owe me your father's estate.”
“No.”
“You signed the documents.”
“Under duress.”
Edwin looked at Sam.
“And you must be the rancher.”
“Samuel Cross.”
“I have heard of you.”
“Can't say the feeling's mutual.”
Edwin laughed.
“You've made a mistake taking her in.”
Sam's eyes hardened.
“She isn't something to take.”
Clara felt something warm and painful spread through her chest.
Edwin stepped closer.
“You'll regret interfering in family business.”
Sam didn't move.
“Then I suppose I'll have to regret it.”
Edwin looked between them.
His eyes settled on Clara.
“This isn't finished.”
“No,” Clara said.
Her voice shook.
But it was louder than before.
“It isn't.”
Edwin returned to his carriage.
As it disappeared down the road, Clara realized she was trembling.
Sam waited.
Finally he asked, “Do you want me to go after him?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then I won't.”
Clara looked at him.
“You really wouldn't?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you said no.”
She stared at him.
It was such a simple answer.
Yet no man had ever made her feel that her word mattered so much.
That night, Clara made her decision.
She found Sam in the barn.
“I'll marry you.”
He turned.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Because of Edwin?”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“Because of you.”
Sam stared at her.
For once, the man who always seemed to know what to say had no answer.
Clara smiled faintly.
“I thought you might say that.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
And for the first time, Sam laughed.
A Marriage Without a Kiss
They married in the little church three miles from Cross Creek.
There were eleven people present.
Mrs. Bell cried.
The preacher forgot a line.
Sam looked nervous.
Clara nearly laughed when she realized that the intimidating rancher who could face a charging bull without blinking was visibly terrified of holding her hand.
When the preacher finally said, “You may kiss your bride,” Sam looked at Clara.
He did not move.
He waited.
Clara understood.
She leaned forward.
Their lips touched for barely a second.
Then they separated.
Mrs. Bell sniffed loudly.
“That's the saddest wedding kiss I've ever seen.”
Clara turned crimson.
Sam coughed.
The preacher smiled.
“I believe they'll improve with practice.”
The congregation laughed.
For the first time, Clara laughed with them.
Marriage changed almost nothing.
And somehow changed everything.
Sam did not demand that she share his bed.
He did not demand affection.
He gave her the room she had been using and slept in his own.
Clara was grateful.
But she was also confused.
She had expected marriage to be a surrender.
Instead, it was beginning to feel like friendship.
Then, slowly, friendship became something else.
Sam began leaving wildflowers beside her breakfast plate.
Clara began mending his shirts.
He taught her how to ride.
She taught him how to read the financial columns in the newspaper.
They argued about coffee.
They laughed over burned biscuits.
Sometimes they sat together on the porch without speaking for an hour.
Clara began to look forward to the sound of his boots on the porch.
That realization frightened her.
Because affection meant vulnerability.
And vulnerability had always been punished.
One afternoon, Clara found a letter in the mailbox.
The envelope bore Edwin's handwriting.
She opened it.
You may pretend this marriage is legitimate, but it does not change the fact that your father's estate belongs to me. Return to Boston before I am forced to take legal action.
There was more.
Threats.
Warnings.
Insults.
At the bottom was a sentence that turned her blood cold.
You know what happened to your mother when she defied this family.
Clara dropped the letter.
She had never told Sam that.
Her mother had died when Clara was sixteen.
Officially, it had been pneumonia.
But Clara had always remembered the bruises on her mother's wrist.
The fear in her eyes.
The way she had whispered:
Don't trust him.
Clara suddenly wondered whether her mother's death had truly been natural.
That night, she told Sam.
Everything.
Edwin had manipulated the estate.
The documents.
The threats.
The strange circumstances surrounding her mother's death.
Sam listened without interruption.
When she finished, he said:
“We'll find the truth.”
Clara shook her head.
“I don't want revenge.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then why?”
“Because you deserve to know.”
She looked at him.
“You don't have to fight my battles.”
“No.”
He took her hand.
“I want to stand beside you while you fight them.”
It was the first time he had touched her without asking.
But this time Clara was the one who closed the distance.
She rested her head against his shoulder.
Sam's hand tightened around hers.
Neither spoke.
Outside, thunder rolled across the prairie.