When Caleb placed the ring on Clara’s finger, she whispered, “I hope neither of us regrets this.”
His hand remained around hers for half a second longer than necessary.
“So do I,” he said.
The preacher smiled as though he had witnessed a declaration of love.
Clara knew better.
This was an arrangement.
A practical solution to a practical danger.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself.
By sunset, they were riding toward Caleb’s ranch beneath a sky streaked with copper and pale violet. The Wyoming wind moved across the grass in long waves, bending the dry stalks until the whole prairie seemed to breathe.
Clara rode beside him in silence.
