“So I noticed.”
Despite the pain, the dryness in his voice was so familiar that Clara almost cried from relief.
Sheriff Bell and two ranch hands followed tracks from the property but found no shooter.
The wound was shallow.
The bullet had cut across Caleb’s ribs without entering deeply.
The doctor stitched it and ordered rest.
By midnight, Caleb was lying in the bedroom while Clara sat beside him.
He woke to find her crying.
Not quietly.
Her face was buried in the pillow, her shoulders shaking.
Caleb pushed himself upright.
The movement pulled at his stitches.
“Clara?”
She did not answer.
He swung his feet toward the floor.
“You’re hurt,” she said.
