"Not yet," Thomas said.
"Why are grown-ups so slow?"
Mrs. Dalton answered from the porch.
"Mostly because men enjoy paperwork."
Thomas looked at her.
"You've been waiting all day to say that."
"Longer."
That evening, after Lily slept, Anna stood outside beneath the porch roof.
Rain had stopped.
The land smelled clean.
Thomas came out carrying two cups of coffee.
He offered one.
Anna accepted.
For a long time they watched clouds move beyond the moon.
Then Anna said, "I'll leave."
Thomas turned.
"No."
"You don't know what Charles may do."
"I know enough."
"Your daughter is here."
"Exactly."
"I won't bring danger to her."
Thomas's voice sharpened.
"You did not bring anything."
"He came because of me."
"He came because of himself."
Anna shook her head.
"If I go, he follows me."
"And then what?"
"I don't know."
"That's not a plan."
"I survived before this ranch."
Thomas looked at her.
"Did you?"
Anna stiffened.
He immediately regretted the wording.
"I don't mean that the way it sounded."
"How did you mean it?"
"You arrived at Willow Creek with twelve cents and nowhere to sleep."
"I was managing."
"You were sitting alone at a station after dark."
Anger flashed in her.
"I did not ask you to rescue me."
"No."
Thomas held her gaze.
"Lily asked."
Despite herself, Anna almost smiled.
Thomas set his cup down.
"Anna, I am not asking you to stay because I think you're helpless."
"Then why?"
The question remained between them.
Thomas could have answered many ways.
Because Lily loves you.
Because this house sounds alive again.
Because I notice when you enter a room.
Because after four years of avoiding anything that felt like the future, I have started thinking about tomorrow.
He said none of those things.
Instead:
"Because nobody should have to run from a lie alone."
Anna looked away.
Thomas added quietly, "You won't face this alone."
Something inside her broke.
Not dramatically.
She simply began crying.
Thomas did not embrace her.
He stood beside her.
Close enough that she knew she was not alone.
Far enough that she did not feel trapped.
That mattered.
Charles Whitmore arrived two days later.
He came in a hired buggy wearing a dark blue coat and polished boots entirely unsuitable for ranch mud.
Anna saw him through the kitchen window.
Her body reacted before her mind.
She dropped the cup in her hand.
It shattered.
Lily jumped.
Thomas came from the parlor.
"What happened?"
Anna could not answer.
Then he saw the buggy.
Charles stepped down.
He looked almost exactly as Anna remembered.
Thirty-two years old.
Handsome in a careful way.
Light brown hair.
Clean-shaven face.
Gold watch chain.
The same expression that had once made strangers think he was trustworthy.
Thomas moved toward the door.
Anna caught his arm.
"No."
"He came here."
"I know."