Weeks passed.
The ranch grew busier.
Cattle prices improved.
Rain finally came.
Cross Creek began to prosper.
And Clara changed.
She was no longer the frightened woman who had arrived with a valise and bruised ribs.
She rode with Sam.
She helped with the accounts.
She spoke her mind.
She laughed loudly.
She began singing while cooking.
One evening, Sam came into the kitchen and stopped.
Clara was dancing alone while stirring a pot.
She froze.
He smiled.
“Don't stop.”
“I wasn't dancing.”
“You were.”
“I was stirring.”
“With your feet?”
She laughed.
“You saw nothing.”
“I saw everything.”
Their eyes met.
The room became quiet.
Sam stepped closer.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“I want to kiss you.”
Her heart raced.
“You could have said that before.”
“I didn't know if I was allowed.”
She smiled.
“You're my husband.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
She stepped closer.
“Yes.”
This time, when he kissed her, it was not brief.
It was gentle.
Careful.
And yet it carried something neither of them could deny.
When they parted, Clara whispered:
“I think I'm beginning to love you.”
Sam closed his eyes.
When he opened them, they were shining.
“I've loved you since the day you stepped off that stage.”
Clara's breath caught.
“You hardly knew me.”
“I knew enough.”
The happiness lasted six days.
Then Sam's foreman came riding hard from the north pasture.
“Boss!”
Sam stepped outside.
“What happened?”
“Somebody cut the fence.”
“How much?”
“Three hundred head are loose.”
Sam swore.
Then another rider appeared.
A second messenger.
“There's a fire near the south barn!”
Sam turned.
Smoke was already rising.
Clara watched his face change.
The quiet man she knew disappeared.
The rancher emerged.
“Get the horses,” he ordered.
And suddenly Cross Creek was fighting for its life.
Fire on the Prairie
The fire spread faster than anyone expected.
Dry grass burned like paper.
Flames raced across the southern pasture, driven by a hard western wind.
Sam and his men rode toward the cattle.
Clara ran toward the barn.
“Clara!” Sam shouted.
She turned.
“Stay away from the fire!”
She nodded.
But she did not obey.
There were horses trapped inside.
She knew it.
She heard them.
Terrified.
Kicking against wooden stalls.
Clara grabbed a wet blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Then she ran into the smoke.
Sam saw her disappear.
His blood went cold.
“Clara!”
He jumped from his horse.
He ran toward the barn.
Heat struck him like a wall.
Inside, smoke blinded him.
“Clara!”
A horse screamed.
Then he heard her voice.
“Sam!”
He followed it.
She was trapped behind a fallen beam.
A terrified mare stood between them.
Sam lifted the beam.
“Get back!”
Clara crawled free.
They dragged the horse toward the door.
The roof groaned.
Sam looked up.
“Run!”
They stumbled outside as part of the roof collapsed behind them.
Clara fell to her knees.
Sam grabbed her shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He stared at her.
She laughed weakly.
“You're going to have to stop asking me that.”
“Never.”
He pulled her against him.
For a moment, neither cared who was watching.
Then Sam noticed something.
The fire had started in three separate places.
That was no accident.
Someone had set it.
By morning, the ranch looked wounded.
One barn destroyed.
Two pastures burned.
Dozens of cattle missing.
Several horses injured.
But Cross Creek survived.
Barely.
The sheriff arrived before noon.
He inspected the damage.
“Someone wanted you ruined.”
Sam nodded.
“I know.”
“Any idea who?”
Sam looked toward the road.
“Yes.”
Clara stood beside him.
“Edwin.”
The sheriff frowned.
“You sure?”
“No,” Sam said.
“But I know where to look.”
That evening, another letter arrived.
This one contained no threats.
Only a single sentence.
Leave Colorado, Clara, or next time the fire will reach the house.
Sam read it.
His face became stone.
“We're leaving,” he said.
Clara stared at him.
“No.”
“Clara—”
“No.”
“They're targeting you.”