“I got it from here.” I stride to the woodpile and pick up a splintered chair leg. When I raise it to toss it in the barrel, Clay flinches.

A tight laugh bursts from my throat. “Did you just think I was going to hit you?”

Clay shrugs and lets his fingers stray to his jaw where I punched him. “You got a hell of a right cross. Hate to see what you can do with that.”

I smile, but remember how angry I am. I toss the chair leg in the barrel with a clunk. Clay tosses in his log and dusts his hands on his jeans.

“I only hit people who deserve it.” I study his face in the orange flickering glow. His expression is hard to read in the weak light.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he says, “but if you punch me again, I don’t care if you’re a girl, I’ll have to defend myself.” He leans in to warm his hands over the blaze and there’s a smirk on his face. He’s trying to be playful. And he’s just called me a girl. It’s been a long time since anyone in the real world acknowledged that fact. Chills run over my arms. I’m still wearing a hospital gown and pants. Suddenly I feel naked. I cross my arms protectively over my chest.

Clay points to the pile of clothes next to my bedding. “They’re some of my old duds. Probably be too big on you, but it’s better than that flimsy thing.” His eyes flick to my gown and back to the fire. Is that blush on his face or heat from the fire? We fall silent. The crackling fire and the hushed voices of Hatch and the Sheriff supply some background noise. The air feels charged. I keep my eyes on the flames that waver in the barrel.

When Clay speaks his voice is low and tremulous. “You’d have died if I didn’t take you to that hospital. I’ve spent every second since trying to get you back.”

I bite my lip and watch the flames lick up a speckled log. “I thought you sold me for the money.”

He shakes his head, his mouth a tight line. “I don’t care about money.”

I squeeze my hands around my arms, holding myself together. “Most people care about that much money.”

Clay shrugs. “I tried getting in without my pa. That place is locked up tighter than a bender’s twat.” He blushes. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to swear in front of a lady.”

I rock back on my heels. “Don’t do that. I’m not any different than I was.”

Clay runs a hand down his chest and then tucks it into his jeans pocket. His eyes stay on the firelight. “But, it is different,” he says quietly. “Everything’s different now.”