“I’m Not Pretty,” She Whispered—The Cowboy Replied, “That’s Fine… I Need Honest, Not Fancy.”

Chapter 2

Jacob arrived at dawn carrying tools and a canteen of hot coffee. Clara was already working, fitting boards for the roof frame. Her hands moved with careful precision, measuring twice, cutting once. No wasted motion. No second-guessing.

“You do good work,” he said, handing her the canteen.

“Taught myself.” She drank, grimaced at the strength of it. “After my husband died.”

Jacob crouched by her fire pit, examining the layout. Everything was organized—nails sorted by size, lumber stacked by length, tools within reach. This was someone who planned. Someone who thought ahead. Someone alone.

“Town’s got a lot of widows,” he said carefully. “Why buy land out here by yourself?”

Clara’s jaw tightened. She set down the canteen and stared into the cold embers. “Merchant in town wanted me after Thomas passed. Said I needed a man’s protection.” Her voice went flat. “When I refused, rumors started. Cursed woman. Witch who burned her own house down.”