Hello, Clara, he said, touching his hat brim in mockery of courtesy.
Been looking for you for quite some time.
Mr. Morrison.
Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
You’ve wasted a journey.
I have nothing for you.
Now, that’s where you’re wrong.
He dismounted, his two companions remaining on their horses, but watchful.
See, when Edgar died, he left some debts, debts that fall to his widow to pay.
I paid what I could.
The house, the store, everything was sold.
Everything? Samuel’s smile was ugly.
Not quite everything.
You see, Edgar owed me personal services rendered, you might say, and he promised payment in specific coin.
Clara felt Silas move closer, not touching, but near enough she could feel his heat.
State your business plain, Silas said, his voice dangerously quiet.
Samuel’s eyes flicked to him, dismissive.
You’d be the new husband, Boone, isn’t it? The killer turned rancher? He laughed.
Clara always did have a taste for dangerous men, though I’ll wager she didn’t tell you the whole truth about her situation.
Whatever you think you’re owed, Silas said, you won’t find it here.
Won’t I? Samuel pulled a paper from his coat.
Bill of sale, signed by Edgar Thornton, dated 2 months before his death.
Payment for services to be rendered in the form of Well, let’s call it companionship.
Clara’s knees nearly buckled.
No, that’s not Edgar wouldn’t Oh, but he did.
You see, I helped him with some business matters, delicate matters, the kind that could see a man hanged if they came to light.
In exchange, he promised me you.
Only then he up and died before making good.
And you disappeared.
That paper’s worthless, Silas said.
A man can’t sell what he doesn’t own, and he never owned her.
Didn’t he? 7 years of marriage says otherwise.
Besides, there’s the matter of Edgar’s other activities.
The ones I helped cover up? Samuel’s eyes glittered with malice.
Amazing how young some of his customers were, how very young.
And Clara here, keeping his books, managing his correspondence.
Well, a case could be made for complicity.
Clara made a sound of horror.
She’d known Edgar had dark tastes, but this I didn’t know.
I never Who’s to say what you knew or didn’t know? Samuel shrugged.
But I’m a reasonable man.
Come with me now.
Honor your late husband’s agreement, and all that unpleasantness stays buried.
Like hell.
Silas’s rifle was in his hands now, not quite aimed, but ready.
Get off my land.
Your land? One of the other riders spoke for the first time.
Way we heard it, this spread’s in the widow’s name, Mr.s.
Thornton’s name.
Mr.s.
Boone, Silas [clears throat] corrected.
Legal and proper, registered at the county courthouse.
Samuel’s face darkened.
You think that changes anything? You think a piece of paper makes her less of what she is, what she’s always been.
“Careful.
” Silas warned, Amazing how but Samuel was past caring.
A woman who spreads her legs for bed and board, who watched her husband destroy innocence and said nothing, who ran like the coward she is rather than face justice? The rifle was aimed now.
“Last warning.
” Clara found her voice.
“It’s all right, Silas.
” She stepped forward, shaking off his restraining hand.
“Mr. Morrison wants the truth? Fine.
The truth is Edgar was a monster.
The truth is I survived him however I could.
The truth is when he died, I ran because men like you” she faced Samuel squarely think a woman is property to be passed around like livestock.
“You admit to knowing?” “I admit to being young and frightened and trapped.
I admit to shutting my eyes to things I should have seen because seeing them would have killed me, but I never participated, never condoned.
” “And I’ll die before I let you or any man use my survival against me.
” Samuel’s hand moved toward his gun.
“That can be arranged.
” The shot was impossibly loud in the morning air.
Samuel’s gun spun from his hand as he cried out, clutching his wrist.
Silas worked the rifle’s lever, the spent shell casing bright in the dust.
“Next one goes center mass.
” he said conversationally.
“Your choice.
” The two mounted men had their hands up, wanting no part of this.
Samuel cradled his bleeding hand, face twisted with rage and pain.
“This isn’t over.
” he snarled.
“I’ll have the law on you.
Assault, attempted murder.
” “Try it.
” Silas said.
“Explain to the sheriff how you came onto my property, threatened my wife, and pulled a weapon.
Explain about that paper and what services exactly you thought you were buying.
I’m sure folks would love to hear all about Edgar Thornton’s special interests.
” Samuel’s face went pale beneath the dirt.
“You wouldn’t dare.
” “I’ve done worse for less cause.
” Silas’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact.
“I’ve hunted men across three territories, brought them in dead or alive, made no difference to me.
You think I’d hesitate to protect what’s mine?” “She’s not worth it.
” Samuel spat.
“Used goods, tainted.
” The rifle cracked again.
This time the bullet passed so close to Samuel’s head he felt it part his hair.
He fell to his knees in the dirt.
“Get up.
” Silas ordered.
“Get on your horse.
Ride away.
Don’t come back.
Don’t send others.
Don’t even think her name again.
Because I’ll know, and I’ll come find you.
And we’ll have a different kind of conversation.
One that ends with you feeding the coyotes.
Understood?” Samuel nodded frantically, scrambling for his horse.
The three men rode off in a cloud of dust, Samuel clutching his wounded hand.
Silas waited until they were out of sight before lowering the rifle.
Only then did Clara see how his hands shook.
She moved to him, wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressed her face against his back.
“I’m sorry.
” she whispered.
“I’m so sorry.
I should have told you.
” He turned in her arms, pulled her against him hard.
“Don’t don’t apologize for that bastard’s sins.
” “But what he said about Edgar, about what I might have known I don’t care.
” He pulled back to look at her, hands framing her face.
“You hear me? I don’t care what you knew or didn’t know.
You survived.
That’s all that matters.
” “You could have killed him.
” >> [clears throat] >> “Wanted to.
” His honesty was brutal.
“When he called you, when he said” His jaw worked.
“I wanted to paint the ground with him.
” “Why didn’t you?” “Because you were watching.
Because I want to be better than that for you.
Because the blood on my hands is enough without adding more for the sake of pride.
” Clara rose on her toes and kissed him, tasting desperation and relief and something fierce as prairie fire.
When they broke apart, she was crying.
“Was?” “What if he comes back? What if he brings the law?” “Then we’ll face it together.
” Silas wiped her tears with his thumbs.
“But I don’t think he will.
Men like that are cowards at heart.
They prey on the vulnerable, the isolated.
But you’re not alone anymore.
” “No.
” she agreed.
“I’m not.
” They went inside together, Clara’s legs unsteady with reaction.
Silas made her sit while he brewed fresh coffee, lacing hers heavily with sugar from their precious store.
“Will there be others?” he asked quietly.
“From your past?” “I don’t know.
Maybe.
Edgar had business associates, other cousins.
” She wrapped her hands around the hot cup.
“I’m sorry.
I’ve brought trouble to your door.
” “Our door.
” he corrected.
“And we’ve both got our share of trouble.
Mine’s just usually better armed.
” Despite everything, she found herself almost smiling.
“Is that supposed to be comforting?” “Just true.
” He sat beside her, close enough their shoulders touched.
“Clara, what Morrison said about Edgar, about young customers I suspected.
” She admitted, the words like ground glass in her throat.
“The way he’d look at them, the private meetings.
But I was a coward.
I told myself I was imagining things, that it was just my own damaged mind seeing evil where there was none.
And even if I’d known for certain what could I have done? Who would have believed Edgar Thornton’s child bride over his word?” “You were surviving.
” “Was I? Or was I complicit through my silence?” Silas took her cup, set it aside, and gathered her hands in his.
“You want to carry guilt? Fine.
Carry it for staying silent, for not being strong enough to fight back.
Lord knows I carry enough guilt for the both of us.
But don’t you dare carry it for him, for his sins, for his evil.
That’s his burden to bear in whatever hell he’s burning in.
” Clara looked at their joined hands, his so much larger, scarred from work and violence, yet holding hers like something precious.
“Do you really think he’s burning?” “I hope so.
I’m not much for church, but I hope there’s a special place for men who hurt children, for men who cage women and call it marriage.
” “Silas?” She waited until he met her eyes.
“I need you to know.
Last night, what we shared, it wasn’t gratitude, wasn’t payment for protection.
It was” “I know what it was.
” His voice went soft.
“Same thing it was for me.
A claiming, a choosing, a beginning.
” “Yes.
” [clears throat] The word came out on a sob.
He pulled her onto his lap, held her while she cried for the girl she’d been, for the years lost to fear, for the children she couldn’t save, for the weight of survival that sometimes felt heavier than dying would have been.
When her tears finally stopped, the sun was high and the day’s work waited.
But they sat a moment longer, holding each other in the quiet kitchen.
“We should check the horses.
” Silas said eventually.
“That shots might have spooked them.
” Clara nodded but didn’t move.
“Silas, what you said to Morrison, about protecting what’s yours too much? I know some women don’t like” “No.
” She pressed her hand over his heart, feeling its steady beat.
“Not too much.
I’ve never been anyone’s before, not really.
Edgar owned me like he owned his crystal birds.
But belonging with someone, to someone, by choice, that’s different.
” “Different how?” She thought about it.
“Like the difference between a cage and a home.
Both have walls, but one you’re locked in and the other you can leave whenever you choose.
Knowing I could leave makes me want to stay.
” He caught her hand, pressed it harder against his chest.
“Stay then.
Stay with me, Clara Boone.
” “I will.
” she promised.
“For as long as you’ll have me.
” “Forever, then.
” It was too soon for such words.
Perhaps.
They’d known each other mere months, been truly together only hours.
But time moved differently on the frontier.
Life came fast and hard and sometimes short.
You learned to grab happiness when it appeared, to speak truth when you felt it, to love fiercely because tomorrow was promised to no one.
They rose together, faced the day together.
There would be other challenges.
Samuel Morrison might return or send others.
The ranch faced constant threats from weather and predators.
Their own damaged souls still had healing to do.
But for now, in this moment, they had each other.
They had chosen each other.
And that, Clara thought as she watched Silas check his rifle before heading out, was its own kind of miracle.
The prairie wind sang its endless song, and somewhere a meadowlark added its voice to the chorus.
Life went on, hard and beautiful and worth fighting for, worth staying for, worth claiming as her own.
>> [clears throat] >> The journey to the county courthouse took two days.
They’d left before dawn, the wagon loaded with supplies and Clara wearing her best dress, a simple blue calico that brought out her eyes.
Silas had polished his boots and trimmed his hair, looking uncomfortable but determined in his Sunday clothes.
“Nervous?” he asked as they rolled through the early morning mist.
“Yes.
” Clara admitted.
“But not about this.
About what comes after.
” He glanced at her.
“Morrison?” “Him.
Others like him.
The past has a way of reaching out when you least expect it.
” “Then we’ll cut its fingers off when it does.
” The matter-of-fact way he said it made her smile despite her fears.
They stopped for the night at a way station, signing the register as Mr. and Mr.s.
Boon without hesitation.
The proprietor’s wife gave them a knowing smile when she showed them to their room.
Newlyweds? She asked.
In a way, Clara answered, and felt Silas’s hand find hers.
That night, in the narrow bed, they loved each other with an urgency born of understanding how fragile happiness could be.
Every touch was a promise.
Every kiss a vow deeper than any words they’d speak before the judge.
The county seat of Laramie was the largest town Clara had seen since leaving Missouri.
Buildings of brick and wood lined proper streets, and she counted three churches, a school, and more saloons than seemed strictly necessary.
The courthouse stood solid and imposing, built of limestone that gleamed in the morning sun.
Inside, their footsteps echoed on polished floors as they made their way to the registry office.
Help you, folks? The clerk was a thin man with spectacles perched on a sharp nose.
Need to register a marriage.
Silas said.
Legal and proper.
The clerk’s eyes sharpened with interest as he took in Clara’s obvious quality despite her simple dress, and Silas’s weather-worn presence.
Previous marriage? He asked Clara directly.
Widowed.
She answered, chin up.
My husband passed 8 months ago in Missouri.
Death certificate? Clara’s heart sank.
I No, I left quickly after his passing.
I didn’t think Can’t register a new marriage without proof the previous one ended.
The clerk said with obvious satisfaction.
Legal requirements.
Silas leaned forward, and something in his posture made the clerk lean back.
The lady says she’s widowed.
That’s good enough.
Not for the law.
It isn’t.
The clerk’s voice had gone high.
I could lose my position if What’s the trouble here? They turned to see a man in a judge’s robes, gray-haired and distinguished, surveying the scene with sharp eyes.
Judge Patterson.
The clerk stammered.
These folks want to register a marriage, but the lady can’t prove her previous husband is deceased.
The judge studied them both, his gaze lingering on the way Silas positioned himself protectively near Clara.
Come to my chambers, he said, all of you.
The judge’s office smelled of leather and tobacco.
He settled behind his desk, gesturing for them to sit.
Now then, he said, tell me the real story.
All of it.
Clara looked at Silas, who nodded encouragement.
Haltingly at first, then with growing confidence, she told it all.
Edgar Thornton, the marriage that was a prison, the debts and threats after his death, her flight to Wyoming, even Samuel Morrison’s recent visit.
When she finished, the judge was quiet for a long moment.
Edgar Thornton, he said finally, of Liberty, Missouri.
Clara’s breath caught.
You knew him? Knew of him? There were rumors, whispers, the kind of thing decent people didn’t speak of openly, but everyone knew.
His eyes were kind, but sad.
I’m sorry for what you endured, Mr.s.
Boon.
She said firmly.
Clara Boon.
A slight smile crossed the judge’s face.
Mr.s.
Boon.
And you, sir? I believe I recognize you as well.
Silas Boon, formerly of the army, later a bounty hunter of some repute.
Yes, sir.
I remember a case.
Oh, 5 years back.
You brought in the Watson gang, three brothers who’d been terrorizing settlers throughout the territory.
I remember.
You brought them in alive when everyone expected corpses.
When asked why, you said dead men couldn’t face their victims’ families.
The judge leaned back.
That stayed with me.
A man who understands justice is about more than killing.
He opened a drawer, pulled out forms.
I’m going to register your marriage.
As for proof of Mr. Thornton’s death, I’ll make inquiries through official channels.
Until then, my word will suffice for any legal purposes.
Judge.
The clerk protested.
The regulations clearly state Mr. Henshaw.
The judge cut him off.
In my 20 years on the bench, I’ve learned the difference between law and justice.
The law says this woman needs a piece of paper.
Justice says she’s suffered enough for other men’s sins.
He began writing.
Besides, I received a letter last month from a colleague in Missouri.
Edgar Thornton died of apoplexy on January 15th.
I’ll have the certificate sent for, but I see no reason to delay these good people’s happiness for bureaucratic convenience.
Clara felt tears prick her eyes.
Thank you.
No need for thanks.
Just live well together.
That’s payment enough.
He signed the forms with a flourish.
There.
Legal and proper, as requested.
Mr. Henshaw will file these immediately.
The clerk looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, but nodded.
As they rose to leave, the judge called after them.
Mr. Boon, a word of warning.
Samuel Morrison has been making inquiries around town, seeking support for some claim or other.
Most folks aren’t interested in his kind of trouble, but he might find a few willing to listen for the right price.
I appreciate the warning.
And I appreciate a man who protects what’s his without unnecessary bloodshed.
We need more of that kind of law in this territory.
He paused.
Though if Morrison pushes the matter, I trust you’ll do what’s necessary.
Count on it, Silas said quietly.
Outside the courthouse, Clara stood blinking in the bright sunshine, the marriage certificate clutched in her hands.
Real, legal, binding.
No one could say she wasn’t Clara Boon now, not without challenging the law itself.
Hotel, Silas suggested.
We could stay the night, leave fresh in the morning.
Could we? Clara hesitated.
Could we go to a church first? I know we’re already legal, but I’d like that is, if you don’t mind.
Understanding softened his face.
Which one? They chose the smallest church, a simple white building with a modest steeple.
The pastor, a young man with kind eyes, agreed to perform a brief ceremony for a small donation.
It wasn’t fancy.
No flowers, no music, no guests.
Just Clara and Silas standing before the altar, speaking the old words that billions had spoken before them.
To have and to hold, for better or worse, in sickness and in health.
When the pastor said Silas could kiss his bride, he did so with such tenderness that Clara felt her knees weaken.
This was what had been stolen from her the first time, the holiness of choosing, the sacredness of willing commitment.
They found a respectable hotel near the courthouse.
At dinner in the restaurant, Clara noticed how other diners looked at them.
Some [clears throat] with curiosity, some with judgment, a few with what might have been envy.
She found she didn’t care.
Let them look.
Let them wonder.
In their room that night, Silas produced a small wrapped package.
Wedding present, he said, almost shy.
It’s not much, but I saw it and thought Inside was a thin gold band, simple but real.
Clara’s throat closed.
My mother’s, he explained.
Had it in my saddlebags all this time.
Couldn’t bear to sell it even when times were lean.
Would you Yes, she breathed, holding out her hand.
He slipped it on her finger, where it fit as if made for her.
There.
Now everyone will know you’re spoken for.
They already knew, she said, touching the ring in wonder.
You told Morrison I was yours, but this this tells them I chose it.
Did you choose it? She answered by pulling him down for a kiss that left no room for doubt.
Later, as they lay entwined in the hotel’s soft bed, Clara traced patterns on his chest.
We should head back at first light.
The animals need tending.
Mhm, he agreed, already half asleep.
Silas, what the judge said about Morrison making inquiries? I’ll handle it.
His arm tightened around her.
We’ll handle it together.
Together, she echoed, and found she believed it.
They left Laramie as the sun painted the eastern sky pink and gold.
The marriage certificate was safely tucked in Clara’s bag, but more important was the ring on her finger and the man beside her on the wagon seat.
The journey home was marked by an ease that hadn’t been there before.
They talked of plans for the ranch, expanding the vegetable garden, maybe [clears throat] adding a milk cow, fixing up the old chicken coop.
Simple dreams, but shared ones.
As they crested the last rise before home, Silas suddenly pulled the wagon to a halt.
What is it? Clara asked, alarmed.
Look.
He pointed to the ranch below.
At first, she saw nothing wrong.
Then she noticed it.
A thin column of smoke rising from behind the barn.
Stay here, Silas commanded, reaching for his rifle.
Like hell, Clara shot back, surprising them both.
Together, remember? His mouth quirked despite the situation.
Woman, [clears throat] you’ll be the death of me.
Not if I can help it.
They approached cautiously, but as they drew closer, Clara could see the smoke wasn’t from their buildings.
Someone had made camp in the grove of cottonwoods by the stream.
Travelers, maybe, Silas said, but his grip on the rifle didn’t loosen.
As they pulled into the yard, a figure emerged from behind the barn.
Clara’s heart sank.
Not Morrison, but one of the men who’d been with him, the one who’d commented about the land being in her name.
Mr. and Mr.s.
Boone, the man called out, showing empty hands.
No need for the artillery.
I’m here peaceful-like.
State your business, Silas demanded.
Name’s Jack Henley.
I was with Morrison when he came calling, but I’m not with him now.
Man’s crazy as a rabid dog, and I want no part of what he’s planning.
Which is? Henley shifted uncomfortably.
He’s gathered some men, promises of easy money, claims about hidden wealth, stories about you having strongboxes full of army gold from your bounty hunting days.
Plans to come take it, and the woman, too, if he can manage it.
When? Silas’s voice was deadly calm.
Soon, maybe tomorrow night, maybe the next.
He’s waiting on two more guns from Cheyenne.
Henley met their eyes.
I signed on for intimidation, not murder, and that’s what it’ll be if he comes here.
Figured you deserved warning.
Why? Clara asked.
Why warn us? Because I saw how you looked at each other.
How you stood together.
My Ellen and I were like that once, before the fever took her.
>> [clears throat] >> His voice roughened.
Morrison’s the kind of man who destroys good things just because he can’t stand to see them exist.
I won’t be part of that.
Silas studied him for a long moment.
You looking for work? Henley blinked in surprise.
I What? Ranch this size could use another hand, especially one who knows which side to stand on when trouble comes calling.
You’d trust me after I rode with Morrison? You rode away from him when it mattered.
That counts for something.
Silas glanced at Clara, who nodded.
Bunk in the barn for now.
We’ll work out wages later.
Right now, we need to prepare.
As Henley headed for the barn with grateful thanks, Clara touched Silas’s arm.
You sure about this? Man who warns of ambushes useful.
Man who stands with you during one is invaluable.
We’ll know soon enough which he is.
They spent the rest of the day preparing.
Silas cleaned and loaded every weapon they owned.
Clara filled containers with water, prepared bandages, cooked food that would keep.
Together, they moved anything valuable into the house, barricaded windows, created clear fields of fire.
As darkness fell, they sat on the porch, watching the stars appear.
The night was peaceful, but they both knew it was the calm before violence.
I’m not afraid, Clara said, and was surprised to find it was true.
No? No.
Whatever comes, we’ll face it.
Win or lose, live or die, at least we’ll do it as ourselves, as who we chose to be.
She looked at her wedding ring, gold catching the lamplight.
That’s more than I ever thought I’d have.
Silas pulled her close, pressed a kiss to her hair.
We’ll win.
We’ll live.
And Morrison will learn what happens when he threatens a Boone.
Two Boones, Clara corrected.
Two Boones.
He agreed, and his smile was fierce as a wolf’s.
Somewhere in the darkness, a coyote howled.
Tomorrow or the next day, blood would water the Wyoming earth.
But tonight, Clara Boone sat with her husband on their porch, wearing her mother-in-law’s ring, legally wed and spiritually bound, and felt no fear at all.
She was home.
She was loved.
She was ready.
Let them come.
Winter’s grip had barely loosened when the fever took hold.
Clara noticed Silas’s flushed cheeks first, the way he pushed food around his plate at supper.
When she placed a hand on his forehead, the heat radiating from his skin made her gasp.
It’s nothing, he insisted, but his voice was already hoarse.
Just tired from mending fence all day.
By midnight, he was burning.
Clara had seen fever before, but nothing like this.
Silas thrashing in delirium, calling out names she didn’t recognize, reliving battles fought long ago.
She bathed his face with cool cloths, forced water between his cracked lips, and tried not to panic when he didn’t recognize her.
Don’t leave me, she whispered, holding his hand as he fought invisible enemies.
You promised.
You promised we’d face everything together.
Jack Henley proved his worth those terrible days.
He took over the ranch work without being asked, brought in snow to cool Silas’s fever, rode to town for what medical supplies could be found, but the doctor was visiting settlements to the north, wouldn’t return for days.
He’s strong, Jack told her on the third night, finding her slumped beside the bed.
Seen him shot and still standing.
He’ll fight through this.
But Clara saw the worry in his eyes.
Silas had stopped thrashing, which might have been good, except he’d also stopped responding to her voice.
He lay still as death.
Only the slight rise and fall of his chest showing life remained.
She crawled into bed beside him, pressed herself against his burning body.
Listen to me, Silas Boone, she said fiercely.
You don’t get to die.
Not now.
Not when I finally know what it means to be happy.
Not when I She choked on the words she’d never said aloud.
I love you.
Do you hear me? I love you.
And I will not let you go.
Whether it was her words or sheer stubborn will, something shifted.
His fever broke near dawn, sweat soaking the sheets.
When his eyes opened, they were clear for the first time in days.
Clara.
His voice was a rasp.
I’m here.
She was crying.
She realized.
I’m right here.
Thought I heard Did you say I love you.
She said clearly.
I should have said it sooner.
Should have said it every day.
A ghost of his old smile touched his lips.
Love you, too.
Even if you are a terrible nurse.
This broth tastes like dishwater.
She laughed through her tears, kissed him senseless, then went to make better broth.
His recovery was slow.
The fever had taken weight he couldn’t spare, left him weak as a newborn colt.
Clara wouldn’t let him rise for a week, threatening to tie him to the bed if necessary.
She fed him rich broths, soft bread, anything to put strength back in his body.
It was during this time, as she was carrying in fresh water, that she felt the first flutter, like butterfly wings against her insides.
She set the bucket down carefully, hand going to her belly.
Again, stronger this time.
Oh, she breathed.
She’d suspected for weeks, the absence of her monthly courses, the queasiness in the mornings, the new tenderness in her breasts.
But this, this was confirmation.
Life grew inside her.
New life, created in love rather than duty or force.
She found Silas propped against pillows, attempting to mend harness despite her orders to rest.
You’re impossible, she scolded, taking the leather from his hands.
Can’t stand being useless, he grumbled.
Jack’s doing my work and yours, too.
It’s not right.
Jack’s earning his keep and glad to do it.
She sat on the bed’s edge, suddenly nervous.
Silas, I need to tell you something.
His eyes sharpened with concern.
You feeling poorly? Did I give you the fever? No, nothing like that.
I’m She took his hand, placed it on her still flat belly.
We’re going to have a baby.
The silence stretched so long she began to worry.
Then Silas made a sound, half laugh, half sob, and pulled her against him.
A baby, he repeated, wonder in his voice.
Our baby.
Are you happy? She had to ask, had to know.
I know we never talked about children, and with Morrison still out there.
Happy? He pulled back to look at her, and she [clears throat] saw tears on his cheeks.
Clara, I thought I’d used up all my chances at good things.