“Contract’s signed,” he murmured.
The man near the door spoke then, voice low and even.
“I’m Nathan Cain.”
He said it like he wasn’t asking to be liked.
Like his name didn’t need permission.
Claire’s lips parted. Her tongue felt thick.
“My name is Claire,” she managed.
Nathan’s eyes were a pale, steady gray, the color of river stones. They didn’t slide over her the way men in town did, measuring and judging. They met her face, held it, then dropped briefly to the document and back again.
“We’ve got a long ride,” he said.
Sheriff Halvorsen folded the paper with a sigh that sounded like defeat and slid it into a drawer as if it were any other transaction.
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