Chapter 4 What the Dust Won't Bury

The bodies were gone by mid-morning. Lila had hitched the wagon and hauled them to the far edge of the property, beyond the dry creek where buzzards circled low. She said no words. Just shoveled dirt, packed it firm, and walked away without looking back.

Jack watched her from the porch, arms crossed, his injured side aching like hell. She hadn't flinched once-not when she dragged the corpses, not when she saw the blood on her barn door. He'd seen hardened men fall apart over less. But Lila moved with purpose, like she'd done it before.

When she returned, she didn't speak. She just washed her hands at the pump, wiped her face with a cloth, and went to the barn.

Jack followed, slower.

Inside, Dusty huffed and snorted as Lila calmed her with a rub along the neck. The mare was agitated, but not panicked. That was Lila's gift-steady hands, calm voice, eyes that didn't blink when things got ugly.

"You shouldn't be on your feet," she said without turning.

"You shouldn't have had to bury four men."

She turned to him now. "You going to start apologizing for every bullet that follows you?"

Jack leaned on the post. "No. But I don't expect you to clean up my messes either."

"Too late for that," she said. "They're already six feet under."

Jack watched her for a moment. "You ever think about leaving this place?"

"All the time," she replied.

That surprised him. "Then why stay?"

She ran her hand down Dusty's back. "Because it's mine. And because no one else tells me when to come or go." Then she looked at him. "You planning on bringing more of them here?"

He hesitated. "No. I think last night sent a message."

"Good. Because the next one won't get a warning shot."

He gave a small laugh, then winced. "You're dangerous, Lila Montgomery."

"You're just figuring that out?"

Jack stepped closer, not touching her, but close enough for the air between them to shift. "You saved my life. Then saved it again. Why?"

She looked up at him. "Because I've lost enough people in my life already."

The silence between them changed. It wasn't sharp like before. It softened, stretched-until the moment threatened to become something else.

Jack cleared his throat and stepped back. "I should rest. Stitches won't hold forever."

Lila nodded, eyes guarded again. "I'll fix lunch."

He turned to leave but paused at the barn door. "Lila?"

"Yeah?"

"I won't forget this."

She didn't smile, but her voice was softer. "See that you don't."

Jack rested for a while, but sleep didn't come. His body was screaming for it, but his mind refused to quiet. He kept hearing her voice-sharp, sure, and buried under something he recognized far too well.

Loneliness.

Not the kind that comes from being alone, but the kind that settles in your bones when you've been strong for too long.

By the time he walked into the kitchen, the scent of stew had filled the house. Lila stood at the counter with her sleeves rolled to her elbows, her braid falling over one shoulder. The sun poured in through the window, catching flecks of flour on her cheek.

He almost forgot to speak.

She glanced over. "You look like hell."

"Feel worse," he muttered, easing into the chair.

She set a bowl in front of him. "Eat before you pass out."

He took a bite. "Didn't know you could cook."

"I didn't say it would be good," she said, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

They ate in silence for a while, the quiet easy for once. Jack caught her watching him now and then, but when their eyes met, she didn't look away.

"You weren't always out here alone," he said finally.

She didn't flinch. "No."

"Family?"

"Gone. Parents passed years ago. Brother died in a cattle stampede. Fiancé left before the war even started." She paused. "Said I was too much woman for one man."

Jack's brow rose. "He must've been a fool."

Lila raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Colton. That sounded like flattery."

"Did it?" he asked, tilting his head. "Wasn't trying."

She laughed, and this time it reached her eyes. It was a low, warm sound that cut through the tension like a hot knife. For a moment, she looked younger-lighter. Like the woman she might've been if the world had been kinder.

He leaned forward slightly. "You know, you don't scare me, Lila."

Her eyes flicked up to his. "Good. I'm not trying to."

"I mean it," he said. "You could've left me on that trail, let me bleed out, but you didn't. You risked your land, your life. You buried four men without blinking. That's not just grit. That's something else."

"And what's that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Heart."

A beat passed between them. Then another.

She rose slowly from her chair and moved to his side, placing her hand gently on his stitched shoulder. Her touch was firm but cautious. She met his gaze.

"You've been through hell, Jack."

"So have you."

"I didn't think I'd ever let a man stay in this house again," she murmured. "But I did."

He caught her hand before she pulled away. "You don't have to say anything."

"I wasn't going to," she said softly. "Just... don't lie to me. About anything. Not your past, not what's coming. If I'm going to let you stay-if I'm going to care-then I want truth."

Jack looked at her, really looked, and nodded. "You have it."

She let go of his hand, but something between them had already taken hold. Something neither of them could name just yet-but both of them felt it, deep in the quiet places where old scars sleep.

Outside, the wind picked up, stirring dust across the fields.

Inside, two people who never planned to care again sat inches apart-each pretending not to notice the way everything had already started to change.