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I hesitated. I hated the bastard for that night at the dance, but we had no proof of anything.

I may’ve not cared about bullshit Valley politics—which Jameson and his sons reveled in—but I wasn’t stupid enough to accuse one of the most powerful families without anything to back it up.

We technically weren’t even sure it was arson.

“We don’t know that,” I said gently, stroking her hair. “It could still be an accident that happened some other way. We can’t just accuse them without proof, especially since you’re on probation.”

The corners of Claire’s mouth turned down.

“So, what do we do, then?” she asked. “Just…let this go? Do nothing?”

I didn’t like it, either, but what else could we do at this point? I held her at arm’s length, cupping her cheek.

“We do what we always do,” I said. “We stay on our guard, watch for threats, and do our best with what we have. You’ll stay close to home; I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She nodded, but she looked so dejected that I hugged her tight.

“What about the woodshed?” she asked sadly against my shoulder.

“We’ll rebuild in the spring,” I answered, stroking her hair. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry.”

I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.

I’d even leave the Valley if I had to. But it was hard to deny that this was the safest place for her when compared to anywhere else.

Even if she was right about Zach, my woodshed seemed like a small price to pay compared to living in the wilderness again on a trip that nearly killed us.

Even if we had to take extra precautions.

Even if the sinking feeling in my gut wouldn’t go away.

Word spread faster than the fire around the Valley, and the more the story was told, the worse it got.

Danny got a dozen complaints over the next week, all angrily demanding that he do something about the compound girl who was so clueless about real life that she didn’t even know not to leave a lantern burning overnight.

At the next council meeting, Jameson was smug as fuck, explaining to everyone that this was why he’d been so cautious about allowing the compound women to stay, and now he was vindicated, because who knew what she’d burn down next?

It took every bit of my control not to pound that slimy motherfucker into the ground. But I knew it’d just make things worse for Claire. Even if the accusation came from me, they’d blame her, and the last thing she needed was more venom aimed at her.

Worse, though, was Danny. Although he didn’t have any animosity toward Claire, it was clear he hadn’t believed her, and that made even our friends give us sideways looks.

“Look, man, it’s not a big deal,” Danny had said, sitting behind his desk in the small command center at the Lodge. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “She made a mistake. We don’t have to crucify her for it, but ignoring it isn’t gonna help either.”

I paced the room. “ We may not crucify her. That doesn’t mean there aren’t others here that would, given the chance. You know Jameson has it out for her.”

Danny frowned. “If she’s gotten direct threats, now’s the time to tell me. You know I won’t put up with that. Even if it’s from Jameson.”

My sigh obviously told him the truth: we had no proof of anything.

“I can’t force anyone to like her, Johnny,” Danny said quietly, staring at the floor. “And it’s not a crime to gossip or spread rumours. I know it’s shitty, and I’m sorry, but there’s nothing for us to do here. Nobody’s crossed any lines.”

“I know,” I conceded. “But I still maintain she didn’t do this. Not even by accident.”

He gave me a sympathetic look that made me want to flip the table over.

“She comes from a different place,” he said, with an annoying level of patience in his voice. “A different time, you could even argue. I don’t blame her for needing to adjust. Maybe you need to accept that she’s having more trouble than you thought. ”

“Skip the patronizing bullshit,” I shot back, and before he could reply, “I need some air.”

I walked out and went on patrol early. Not only did my best friend not believe me, but the C hief Outrider didn’t believe me.

That wasn’t a good look for Claire, no matter how I tried to spin it.

Later, when I got home, even Kimmy guiltily confided to me that a couple of patients at the clinic had asked her if there was anything she could do about Claire.

The rumour mill just kept turning, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

“Don’t you think it’s possible,” Sarah said gently to me one afternoon, “that she just—”

I could hear Claire’s voice in the next room, patiently instructing Jake on how to write his name. She gave a little clap and cooed at him for finishing the first letter.

“No, I don’t,” I replied stubbornly. “She’s not stupid.”

Sarah huffed. “I know that . She’s doing so well teaching Allie and Jake. But she’s had a whole different upbringing than us. Isn’t it possible she just made a mistake? Nobody would blame her.”

I blew out a breath. “You’re not listening. Yes, they would. Don’t talk to me about this again.”

“But—”

“I mean it. If you want her to keep teaching your kids, you need to keep your opinion on this to yourself.”

Sarah looked hurt but gave a short nod. I didn’t care. It was bad enough that Claire had to deal with everyone else’s suspicion; she didn’t need our friends turning on her, too. The only one who seemed completely unbothered by it was Jenna.

“She’s smart,” Jenna said when I asked, shrugging. “And I don’t think she’d lie if she really didn’t know she’d put out the lantern. I’ve already yelled at Danny about this, and for what it’s worth, Isla agrees with me. We’re trying to talk to the people who’ll listen.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re a good kid, Jen.”

She rolled her eyes. “When are you gonna stop calling me a kid?”

“Never,” I answered with a grin, and she clucked her tongue. “Because even when I’m eighty, you’ll still be my best friend’s kid sister. Some things don’t change.”

For her part, Claire was doing her best to keep her chin up, not showing how it affected her…

but I knew it did. She kept herself busy ar ound the homestead by tending the greenhouse and taking care of the animals every day, especially Poppy.

One morning, after the chores were done, I went looking for her and found her in the stable, brushing Poppy’s coat and talking to her.

Her back was turned, so I leaned against a wood beam, just watching her.

“I’m scared that I’m doing this all wrong,” Claire murmured, brushing Poppy’s neck. “I don’t know what to do. How I should be. Where I belong. I want them to like me. I want to be more than my survival, to contribute something. But if they never trust me, how can I?”

She sighed heavily, stroking Poppy’s mane.

“I suppose you never have to worry about things like this, spoiled girl,” she said with humour. “You’re just worried about where your next carrot is coming from.”

She yelped as Poppy’s long tongue licked her cheek, then dissolved into laughter that warmed my insides. Poppy looked over at me, and Clare followed her gaze. On seeing me, she looked a little embarrassed.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” I said with a smile. “And it’s true; horses are pretty single-minded. But they’re good listeners. They don’t judge.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I guess I need that right now.”

I went over and took her in my arms, kissing the top of her head. She leaned into me, and I felt the tension in her body. Poppy nickered quietly at me, and I patted her snout.

“Wanna go for a ride?” I asked.

She looked up at me and smiled. “You know I do.”

I kissed her forehead. “Get saddled up. I’ve got something to show you.”