“A savage!”
Eliza’s jaw set like granite. Her eyes never left the man in chains. “Call him ‘savage’ all you want,” she said, voice steady as a fence line. “I see a man worth saving.”
For the first time, something flickered in the prisoner’s face. Surprise, perhaps. Or something deeper—buried under years of being handled like a problem instead of a person.
Sheriff McCrae shifted, his showman’s ease slipping. “Mrs. Hartman, I got a responsibility to this town.”
“And you have a responsibility to the law,” Eliza cut in. “The judge said he was to be sold. I’m buying him. Unless you’re telling me my money’s no good because I’m a woman.”
That struck a nerve. The sheriff’s face reddened, but he couldn’t argue without exposing himself. In a town where the law was still an improvisation with a badge, even he couldn’t openly deny a widow’s legal tender.
“Fine,” he growled, snatching the bundle. He counted the coins with exaggerated care, hoping to find her short. When the count came up true, his scowl deepened. “Bill of sale’ll be at my office. You can collect it and him in an hour.”
Eliza didn’t blink. “I’ll take him now.”
McCrae barked a humorless laugh. “Now see here—”
“I’ve paid for him.” Her tone sharpened. “He’s my property now, as you so crudely put it. I’ll take him now. Or you can explain to Judge Harlan why you held onto him after the sale was complete.”
