They Tried to Auction a Mountain Man’s Seven-Year-Old Son Separately—Until the Town’s Most Rejected Woman Paid $200 for Them Both

Chapter 2

Nate found her at the table.

He was steadier on his feet than he’d looked on the platform, though each step had a controlled quality that told her the steadiness was costing him. Daniel stayed pressed against his father’s leg, dark eyes moving between his father’s face and Clara’s with the watchful economy of a child who has learned not to trust without evidence.

You kept us together, Nate said. He said it the way people say things they have not yet made real by saying. Miss Brennan, why?

Because no one else would, Clara said. And because I couldn’t stand there and watch your boy torn away from you.

Nate swallowed. He blinked several times in rapid succession, the specific rapid blinking of a man fighting emotion with the stubborn pride of someone who has learned that tears brought no mercy in any of the places he’d been. He looked at his son, then back at her.

Daniel slipped a small hand into Clara’s.

It was an act of pure instinct, the hand-seeking of a child too young to be strategic about trust. Clara felt the small fingers close around hers and something moved through her chest with such force that she had to breathe carefully for a moment.

Thank you, ma’am, Daniel said.

You’re welcome, sweetheart, Clara said. Let’s get you both somewhere safe.

The wagon was loaded with the fence wire and flour sacks she had come for. She helped Daniel up to the front seat and took the reins herself. Nate settled in the back with the careful movements of a man managing significant pain and unwilling to make a production of it.

Were you beaten today? Clara asked quietly, once they were clear of the square.

A pause. Yesterday. And the day before.

For resisting separation, she said.

For defending my son. A correction, offered with quiet fury. They wanted to take him first. Said a small boy fetched higher demand than a grown trapper. I told them over my dead body.

That nearly became literal, Clara said.

It would have been worth it.

She said nothing. She kept her eyes on the road north.

Beside her, Daniel had fallen asleep within a mile — the deep, boneless sleep of a child who has been running on fear for a long time and has finally encountered something that allowed the fear to stop. His head bumped gently against her arm.

You can lay him in the back, Nate said from behind them. His voice had gone quieter, something in it carefully softened. He hasn’t slept more than an hour at a time in weeks.