You Came Yesterday
1054 Words
For a moment, he only looked at her, as if he were waiting for her to laugh and admit it was a joke.
Then his mouth curved, slow and a little uncertain, like he was deciding how seriously to take her.
“That so?” he said, his tone light, though something quieter edged beneath it.
“You fixin’ to pretend you don’t know me the mornin’ after, Mrs. Walker?”
The name landed heavier than it should have.
Clara didn’t smile.
Didn’t move.
Whatever he saw in her face must have shifted something, because the ease in his expression softened, not disappearing, just turning careful, like he was adjusting himself to meet her where she stood.
“You said you might,” he added, running a hand through his hair.
“In your last letter. Said you had a sense of humor about such things.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the dress in her hands, then back to her, warmer now, more certain.
“Reckon I didn’t expect it first thing.”
Clara’s fingers tightened slightly in the fabric.
“I didn’t,” she said.
The words came out quietly, but steadily.
He studied her a moment longer, then something in him shifted. No doubt, not quite, but a decision.
“You came in on the afternoon train,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Preacher was there waitin’. Didn’t see much reason to delay once you stepped down.”
He moved closer, slow enough that she could have pulled away if she’d wanted to.
She didn’t.
His hand found her arm, light and steady, guiding rather than holding as he eased her back a few inches toward the bed, toward the warmth she hadn’t realized she’d already started to miss.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to stand there like that. Not with me.”
Clara let herself be moved without meaning to. The dress slipped from her hands back onto the chair as the backs of her knees brushed the mattress.
Only then did she notice the cold.
It sank in all at once, sharp and unforgiving.
Eli saw it.
His gaze dropped to the way her shoulders drew in, the small shift of her weight, and something in his expression softened further. He pulled her back into the bed, against him without hesitation, wrapping the blanket around her again, his warmth closing in where the air had been biting.
“You showed up in that dress,” he said, slower now, each word placed with quiet care. “Said you’d have too many nerves if we waited. I figured you knew best.”
His thumb brushed absently along her arm.
“Didn’t think you’d forget me altogether.”
Clara swallowed.
She didn’t remember any of it.
But the dress sat there as proof.
Her dress.
No… her wedding dress.
And the cold… there was no hum of heat, no quiet system running in the background like she was used to. Just the fire, low in the hearth, doing its best.
It wasn’t enough.
“You always said you didn’t take well to the cold,” Eli murmured, almost to himself, as he reached behind him for another blanket.
The movement was easy, practiced. The weight of it settled over her a second later, thick and worn and real in a way that made something twist in her chest.
“Come on,” he added more softly. “Ain’t no sense in playin’ at this. We’re already hitched.”
Clara let herself lean back into him, more because her body needed the warmth than because she trusted anything about this.
Her thoughts scrambled, trying to catch up.
This wasn’t possible.
“You came in yesterday,” Eli said gently, pressing a soft kiss into her hair as though continuing a conversation she should remember. “Afternoon train out of Denver. Said you’d be tired. Said I ought to remind you of things if you got turned around.”
Clara stilled.
The words landed too clean.
Too exact.
“You wrote it plain,” he went on, watching her now, careful again. “Told me not to argue with you. Just… keep you here.”
Her breath faltered.
“Where…” she started, then stopped, forcing the words out. “Where is here?”
Eli didn’t hesitate.
“Black Hollow.”
The name brushed against something in her memory, faint and distant.
“Kansas territory,” he added after a moment. “Year’s 1878.”
A beat.
“June first.”
The room seemed to tighten around her.
Not dark. Not fading.
Just… closing in.
Her hands curled into the blanket without her noticing, her pulse climbing fast enough to feel everywhere at once.
“No,” she whispered. “That’s not…”
“Hey,” Eli said quietly.
He moved before she realized it, turning her to face him, his hand coming up to her cheek, warm and steady, grounding in a way nothing else had been.
“Look at me.”
Not sharp.
Not forceful.
Just certain.
She did.
Because it was easier than trying to make sense of anything else.
His thumb brushed lightly over her cheek.
“You’re alright,” he murmured. “You’re here. With me.”
It didn’t fix anything.
Didn’t make sense of the world.
But it slowed her, just enough.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then returned to her eyes, giving her a moment to pull away, to stop him.
She didn’t.
The kiss was gentle, soft, and not rushed.
Just steady, like he was offering her something solid in the middle of everything that wasn’t.
For a moment, she forgot to panic.
Forgot the year.
Forgot that none of this should exist.
There was only warmth.
Only him, his talented lips, and his warm body.
Clara pulled back first, her breath uneven now for a different reason, her thoughts struggling to find their way back into place.
But they didn’t settle.
Because something had clicked.
A memory.
An old documentary she hadn’t thought about in years.
Black Hollow.
The name locked into place.
And no matter how real this felt… no matter how warm he was…
She knew exactly what had happened to this town.
And she had 7 days left to stop it.
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