“Did my father tell you I’m a person?” she asked, sharper than she meant. Grief had turned her nerves into wire. “Or did he just list my weight and the condition of my teeth?”
Cal Whitlock’s face twitched, something like irritation passing through him, but not remorse.
Cole Mercer didn’t react the way men in town usually did when a woman snapped. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t bark back. He just looked at Mara as if he’d heard the question and was taking it seriously.
“I don’t buy people,” he said simply.
Mara’s laugh came out ugly. “That paper says otherwise.”
Cole’s gaze flicked toward the sheriff’s drawer, then back to Mara’s face. “That paper says you need a place to land.”
The words didn’t soften what was happening, but they changed its shape. Not mercy. Not romance. Something stranger.
Cole leaned down, picked up Mara’s small cloth bag from beside the chair, and nodded toward the door again.
