CH 1-10

Summary

Abandoned on the day of her wedding, Annie is now a recluse. Forced to go to town, she comes across a mail order bride advert and decides to answer it.

Prologue

Texas, Lone Ridge 1852

“Lord, why?” Anna Williams, Annie to her loved ones, questioned as tears blurred her vision even as they ran down her smooth cheeks.

Today, for the first time in her young life, she realised her loved ones were fewer than she believed. How had it come to this? She hadn’t done anything to deserve such pain, such heartache.

“I’m never going to trust another man as long as I live”, Annie declared in a broken voice. Her hand clutched at the pain ruthlessly tearing through her core as she stood in the middle of the field on their ranch.

How could her trust have been betrayed so thoroughly? Why would someone who had claimed to love her for so many years find it so easy to cast her aside? Was she so unworthy? Had the love they had shared for so long meant nothing?

Her mind, broken, sought to find a clue that she had missed, yet could find none. The day had started off fine. With the morning sun gracing it as if it were the first day God had ever made. The rays had been golden as they shone through the window into her bedroom as she got ready.

“You make as fine a bride as your ma did on her day,” Old Ma had stated as she smiled her toothless smile at her. She was sitting in the lone chair by the window overlooking the blooming gardens below.

Annie twirled in front of the mirror as a wide smile graced her already radiant face. “Truly?” she asked, pleasure fusing the tone of her voice.

“Yes, child,” Old Ma answered, the smile on her weathered face gentling, her old eyes shining with the warmth of love as she gazed at Annie. “Your ma was a sweet one. And she sure was pretty, just like you, girl.”

“Don’t make me cry today, Grandma, you know I don’t look good after a cry.”

“Pshh, crying is for ninnies, I didn’t raise no nincompoop.” Annie looked at her through the mirror and saw the moue she had expected. Her grandmother’s hair was now all white, but her grey eyes were still as sharp and incisive as ever. She sat with her back ramrod straight. Annie had never seen her slouch in all her life, and she had been insistent that Annie learn that posture. “Now, finish up now. Your dad will be calling you down soon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annie replied, a smile in her voice as she recognised the love in her grandmother’s harsh tone.

Annie turned back to the mirror and gave herself a critical eye. She looked good if she did say so. Her chestnut brown hair was in intricate braids, as befitting a bride. White roses that were her dad’s pride and joy were woven into it, together with some wildflowers that her grandmother loved.

She wore her mother’s lace-covered wedding gown. Her mother had handmade the intricate lace during the year her parents had been betrothed. Even though she had died when Annie was too young to remember, the gown made her feel as if she were with her.

Annie had had a good life; her grandmother took on the role of her mother, so she lacked nothing. Yet the knowledge that her mother was dead had, at times, made her miss the bond. There were things her grandmother had always been too old to do, and that had left Annie wondering if her mother would have done them with her. And when she saw others with siblings, she ached that her mother was dead and she had never had one.

Today, though, she was too happy to be in that frame of mind. Today, everything was perfect.

As if she had heard his mother’s declaration, her father called up. “Annie, it’s time to leave. Can’t keep the groom waiting.”

With more haste than was dignified, Annie rushed out of her room and down the stairs. Today, she was marrying the love of her life, the young man she had been in love with since she was thirteen. The only reason they had not married then was that their parents had said they were too young.

Her father was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, wearing his Sunday best and standing tall. Annie had inherited her brown eyes and slender form from him. He rarely smiled, but when he looked at her, she knew she was loved.

“You look lovely,” he complimented, his hand running around the rim of the hat he had in his hands, a habit of his.

“Thanks, Da.” She smiled at him, a wide smile that ached her cheeks. “Now, can we leave? I don’t want to be late.”

His lips twitched, his eyes lighting with amusement before he opened the door for her. Outside, their covered wagon was parked by the front door, their foreman sitting on the driver’s bench. It was decked with flowers and looked much better than it usually did.

Leading her to it, her father opened the door and helped her inside. Annie sat on the inside bench, and her father came in after her, then her grandmother. Their ranch wasn’t far from town, and they could see the church steeple from it.

She could picture the stone and timber building that was the centre of their town. It was weathered from the harsh Texan sun and the occasional storm, but still stood strong and resilient, the bastion of their community. Today, everyone comes together for her big day.

Soon her father was helping her down and into the back room of the church. Annie frowned at that. She was supposed to come in from the front. That should have warned her, but she had been too excited and sat down to wait. And she had waited.

“Why are we waiting in the back room?” she asked her Da, confusion in her voice.

“Your groom isn’t here yet,” her father explained.

Worry had set in. Annie had wondered if something had happened to him. Andrew had never let her down before; only something terrible would have kept him from her. Yet as the hour went by, she had heard nothing, and the congregation had become restless.

Then, the young boy who worked at his family’s ranch had come in and handed her the note. The same note she now clutched in her hand crumbled.

“I am sorry, Annie, I can’t do this.” The words he had cowardly written echoed in her mind once more, shattering her heart. She sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face.

“Why, God?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Why would you let this happen? All I wanted was to be a wife and mother. Have you forsaken me?”

Behind her, the sun set, casting long shadows over her, mirroring the darkness that now engulfed her soul. Annie clutched the cross around her neck, seeking comfort in her faith, but found only emptiness and despair.

Chapter 1

Texas, Lone Ridge 1856

Dark clouds swirled above, the wind frantically plucking anything unsecured off the ground. Annie held the cellar door open as the last of the women dashed into it. Her worried gaze trailed on her father as he ordered the men to secure as much as they could.

Looking to the right, away from the town, she saw it bearing down on them. It was still too far, but they were clearly in its path. She could see debris swirling within its violent raging, and she imagined the carnage it had wrecked in its path.

“Hurry up, Da,” she muttered, her voice not even travelling far enough to reach her ears.

She knew they would lose some of their property, regardless of how much the ranch hands secured. She didn’t care about the coming loss; all she cared about was that they wouldn’t lose anyone. Things could be replaced, but not people.

Annie was tense, unconsciously wringing her hands as her eyes scanned the land that she loved so much. Her back ached from holding herself stiff and yet at the ready, and she wanted to scream. So she bit her lip to stop herself from doing something so undignified.

It became darker, as if the day had been turned into night, the wind lashing at everything with dust and cold rain. She shivered, her muslin dress inadequate against the cold, even with the shawl she had about her shoulders. Why was Da still holding the men back?

Annie jumped as she felt a hand settle on her shoulder. She whipped her head back and saw her grandmother behind her. “Come inside,” she mouthed with exaggeration.

Annie shook her head, holding her chin at a stubborn angle. She would only go in when her father was done. Old Ma’s eyes became flinty, and with her hand wrapped around Annie’s arm, she pulled her into the cellar and then closed the door. She had forgotten how strong her grandma could be.

“You won’t be helping anyone if you get blown away,” she told Annie before going to sit with the women. “Come, sit down,” she commanded.

With no other choice, Annie took the short stairs down and went to sit with them. Fear still gripped her heart as she listened to the rage of the storm. She wondered if this would be the last time they walked the earth. Some of these twisters had been known to snap the doors of the cellars off and kill those sheltering within.

Annie’s heart pounded as she sat with the women, their faces pale with fear. The storm’s fury was relentless, the howling wind and crashing thunder a constant reminder of the danger they were in. She clutched her hands together, trying to steady her breathing.

“Stay calm,” one of the older women said, her voice trembling but firm. “We’ve been through storms before. We’ll get through this one, too.”

“Yes,” her grandmother agreed with a chuckle. “When you get to our age, you realise death is nothing to fear. Just the Lord calling you home.”

“True,” the first woman agreed. “Be at peace, child, the good Lord is in control.”

Annie nodded, though her mind was racing with worry. Her father and the men were still outside, battling the elements to secure the livestock and protect the property. She prayed they would be safe, that they would return to the cellar unharmed.

Was she ready to meet her Lord? Annie wondered, thinking about what her grandmother and her friend had just said. Had she done enough that He would say to her, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant?’ Would she even see the pearly gates now that she hadn’t been to the Lord’s house in years? Or would the bitterness that kept her from church also keep her from heaven?

Two years back, Andrew had married a woman from back east, a teacher he had been corresponding with for a while. Annie had wondered if they had started when he should have been thinking about marrying her. Whatever the case was, they now had a son together and, for the sake of Andrew’s new wife and child, the people of their town were slowly embracing him again.

She could still remember the shock when they had shown up at church. All the congregation had looked at her, some with morbid curiosity, wondering if she would break again. What had broken what faith she still had was when the good reverend had preached about forgiveness two Sundays later.

What did he know about that? Had he been betrayed in front of the whole county? Was the man who had done that even now parading his new wife in front of her without ever having explained why he thought so little of her? Annie had sat there with a blank face as the reverend spoke to her, and once more, she was a spectacle. That was the last time she had been to his church.

To be fair, the good reverend had made an effort to bring her back to the fold and still did, but Annie had remained stubborn. She had little desire to see another woman have what she should have had. And a part of her resented the preacher for readily accepting Andrew back after he had broken his word to her.

She knew she shouldn’t rejoice that the people of Lone Ridge shunned him. It was hardly what she believed. And yet her heart lightened a bit whenever she heard of or witnessed such. In those instances, she felt both vindicated and disturbed, yet she could not move on.

The cellar door being violently thrown open startled her from her reverie. As did the screams the children and some of the women uttered. She jerked her head to the doors and was relieved to see her father and his men dashing in.

“Hush now,” her grandmother called and managed to calm the people with the command.

Annie chanced a look outside and saw that the afternoon had turned even darker as if it were twilight. The wind raged with a violence she had never seen in all her life, as if the madness of hell had been unleashed upon them. That thought had her shivering, and she turned back to the men to escape it.

“’Tis the worst storm to hit us in decades,” one of the men stated as he stumbled further in, his clothes soaked and his face etched with worry.

Annie’s heart pounded in her chest, the fear gripping her tightly. She glanced around the cellar, seeing the anxious faces of the women and children. They were all relying on the men to keep them safe, and the weight of that responsibility was heavy.

They were all soaked through, their clothes plastered to their bodies as some fought to pull the doors closed against the wind. The children huddled closer to their mothers, frightened gazes fixed on the violence that only the doors had been keeping away from them.

“We need to stay calm,” her father said, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. “We’ll get through this if we keep our heads.”

Annie nodded, trying to draw strength from his words. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay composed. The storm might be fierce, but they had faced challenges before and come out stronger.

The open doors brought a chill to the cellar, which was warm because of the portable braziers that the women had brought. There were many kerosene lamps to light every corner of the otherwise dark cellar. Its roof was so low that most of the men and some of the women, like Annie, who were taller, had to bend down a bit.

The cellar was musty, with that scent of damp fresh earth that no airing could ever resolve. The air was thick and heavy, adding to the sense of confinement. Annie took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The storm outside was fierce, but they were safe here, surrounded by the sturdy walls of the cellar.

“Get the blankets for the men, girl,” her grandmother told her.

“Yes, ma’am,” she readily agreed.

Jumping up, Annie remembered to hunch a bit as she went to the pile of blankets that the women had put into the cellar. As she handed out the blankets and towels and watched the women fuss over their men, she wondered if she would ever have something like that. Or were her dreams of a family shattered beyond retrieval?

Though people sympathised with her, she had become aware that the single men here no longer thought of her as a woman to marry. If a man who had professed to love her for five years could abandon her on their wedding day, then something had to be wrong with her. Sometimes, she wondered the same thing.

Standing there under the eaves of the dark basement, she once again felt alone. Her gaze swept over the men and women who lived on the ranch, most of whom she had known all her life, and she felt like a stranger. Had her heartbreak so damaged her sense of self, of belonging?

“Show me the path you need me to take, Lord,” she whispered the prayer as she realised she was stuck in her life and unhappy with it. “I know I haven’t had faith in a while, but I need you, Lord. Life has not been what I expected of it.”

To keep her mind from such depressing thoughts, she put her focus on helping the people who needed her. The people who were in the cellar with her as the storm raged outside, as it had never done before in all the years.

It wasn’t until the next day that she saw the devastation the storm had wrought. The rains after the twister had passed lasted through the night, and they had spent it in the cellar. An uncomfortable night to be sure, but they had all been warm and none had been lost. Something to be grateful for, as reports came in from other ranches of the lives that had been lost.

The damage to their livestock was almost catastrophic. The main barn and the ranch house had lost their roofs. Most of the other structures would need to have their roofs patched. And yet they were among the more fortunate of the ranches and farms that had been in the path of the twister.

Annie spent the morning organising the women as they tried to salvage what they could from the houses. Some of the cottages on the ranch had flooded, others had been blown away, and yet others had simply collapsed.

“You best take the wagon and get into town to buy some supplies,” her father told her as the afternoon sun finally managed to dry things enough for him to trust the roads.

He handed her a list and some of their precious money. After the disaster, the mercantile would prioritise those with ready money over those buying on credit notes and the like.

“Yes, Da,” she readily replied, taking both from him. Her tone was weary from all the work she had done, but she managed a smile, and her father gave her an approving nod.

The journey to town would help her sort out her emotions, and maybe she would find answers to what to do with her life. Surely, God did not intend for her to spend her life being bitter over her past. She had to find something to do aside from helping with the ranch.

When she got to the mercantile, there were a lot of people, as she had expected. And as her father had reasoned, he was giving priority to those who had at least some money with them. She endured the glares of those who had been there before her as she made her way to the front.

Annie was surprised when she was able to get everything on her list. She imagined that with all the people who had been affected, there would be a short supply, even for those with the ready.

“That’s the lot, Miss Williams,” the young man who had loaded her wagon said as he put the last of her supplies in.

She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

With a touch to the brim of his hat, he turned to walk back into the shop. Annie looked down at the busier-than-usual street that comprised their town. Aside from the mercantile, there was an inn, a saloon, a dressmaker’s, a sheriff’s office, and a general goods store. At the far end of the street was a saloon atop which lived ladies of ill repute.

Annie had never been to that side of town, and she shivered at the thought of such women. What manner of ill-fortune befell them that they would resort to such? She wondered.

As her gaze wandered over the usually dusty but now just muddy street, her gaze fell on the notice board that was beside the door of the mercantile. On it was the county’s paper posted for those who could not afford to buy it. Annie had never paid attention to it before, but for some reason, today, she did.

Taking a step closer, her eyes scanned the news there. Most were mundane, and some were about the state of the union, but that was of no matter to her. What caught her eye was the advert for a wife that seemed to be at the centre of it all.

Wanted.

A widower, thirty-two, with two young children, desires correspondence with a young woman of good breeding between the ages of eighteen and twenty-eight with a view of matrimony. Intelligence and experience with running a ranch household are indispensable. Address with the editor.

Annie was shocked still as she read the advert again, realising she was interested in it. Could she be thinking about doing this? She had read about some women who had been disappointed with such dealings. Not all the men who applied for such were honourable. Yet it seemed the advert called to her.

“Lord, are You telling me to respond to him? Is this Your will?” she muttered as she read the advert again. She had never noted such adverts and had always thought the women who answered them quite desperate. Yet here she was, paying attention to this particular one.

She would be a mother, as she had always wanted, and maybe, as time went by, they would have more children. She could have it all, finally. And if he turned out to be from outside the county, all the better. She could escape the stigma that was now upon her.

As she looked around to see if anyone had noticed her stultification, her gaze fell on Andrew and his wife. As if by some macabre providence, his sight turned to her, and their eyes met for a moment before he ducked into the crowd, waiting to buy from the mercantile. Her resolve settled at that. She would never have to see him again, and maybe then, she could get over the embarrassment.

How had she ever loved a coward like him and never realised it? With resolve, she approached the notice board and unpinned the part of the paper with the advert. She would answer it, she resolved, and then she would never have to see Andrew and his wife again.

Chapter 2

Bristlecone Ridge, Colorado

“Mr. Thompson,” Mrs. Jenkins, his housekeeper, called from the back door. Henry straightened from the tack he had been putting away to look back at her. “Time for you to come in and change for church. The young ones are already done.”

Mrs. Jenkins was a motherly, comfortably plump woman who was as strict as she was loving to his children. She was in her forties and had been with him long before they had been born. Her dark brown hair was usually tied in some bun at her back, and she always wore an apron.

Henry nodded to her before getting back to the tack. He knew she would go back inside for a few minutes before coming to call him in again. It was a routine that happened every Sunday. Only now he was aware that this would be the last time.

What was he going to do when she was gone?

His children were used to her. She had been taking care of them ever since his wife died three years back. Martha Jenkins was all they knew.

With a sigh, Henry put away the last of the tack before exiting through the open stable door and closing it after him. There was still so much that needed to be done. There was always work to do despite all the men he had on hand. His day usually started around four in the morning, and already he had put in enough work to ache his body, and it was only seven.

Were it not for his children, he doubted he would have time for church, but he had promised Margaret, his wife. Making his way to the house, he entered through the back door and saw his children sitting at the kitchen table.

“Papa,” his daughter cried, standing up from her seat and rushing to him, her brother a few beats behind.

The twins both wrapped their arms around him, squeezing as hard as their small arms could. Henry cocked his head to the right. “We missed you this morning, Papa,” his son told him as he looked up to meet his gaze.

They were both towheaded and blue-eyed, just like their mother had been. Every time he looked at them, he saw Margaret. His jaw hardened as his heart ached at the reminder of the beautiful woman he had lost. His kids were the one thing he loved more than anything in the world, the reason he woke up in the morning to labour over his land. The one bright spot in everything.

He smiled at them, his normally guarded eyes lightened. “You woke up too late, sleepy head,” he teased.

“Can we come to the stables with you, Papa?” his son, Samuel, asked.

Henry smiled down at him. “Are we not going to church?”

“We go to church all the time,” he protested.

“We go to church every Sunday,” Henry corrected, his voice firm.

“Can we skip today and work with the horses?” he pleaded.

“No,” Henry once more told him firmly. “Now, go sit back down and finish your breakfast.

The boy’s face fell. “Yes, papa,” he sullenly agreed.

Before his daughter followed her twin, he bent down to give her a quick kiss on her smooth cheek. She giggled as the shadow that no amount of shaving ever removed bothered her. “You too, angel,” he told her with a gentle push once he stood up.

As he did, he met Mrs. Jenkins’ approving smile. “So what time is Jenkins coming back from the hospital today?” he asked, and the smile on her face faded a bit.

“Four o’clock,” she replied, her eyes lowering to the kitchen table, where she picked up a cloth and nervously started cleaning the already clean surface.

“I’m sure he will be all right, and nothing can beat your care. He will be right as rain in no time,” Henry reassured. Mrs. Jenkins just nodded, her eyes still on her pointless task. “Did the fancy city doctor do anything for him?”

At that, his housekeeper lifted her eyes and met his, tears filling them, though she had a smile on her face. Her hands gripped the cloth in her hand as if she wanted to tear it apart. “Thank you so much, Mr. Thompson, for getting the man to come here. Jenkins says he helped so much. I don’t know what we would have done if not for you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Henry dismissed with a wave. “I’m just glad he is doing something, and Jenkins will be all right.”

Mrs. Jenkins’ husband had fallen from his horse whilst they were wrangling some cattle for branding. He had injured something that the fancy doctor Henry had got in from the big city had said would take him months to recover from, if not years. His housekeeper would have to leave and take care of him once he was released from the county hospital.

“Now hurry up, young man, we don’t want to be late,” she admonished.

He strode over and kissed her on her cheek, too. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered with a grin. Now that she was leaving, Henry realised he had taken her a bit for granted.

The older lady giggled just as Sarah, his daughter, had. It came out just as youthful, and Henry realised that females were the same regardless of their age. “None of that now, you charmer!” she rebuked in a voice that still held her pleasure at the gesture. “I will not be excusing you for being late if we are.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said again with a grin, then made his way out of the kitchen.

As he strode the steps and up them, he wondered at what she had called him, a rogue. That description had never applied to him, more so with the death of his beloved wife and his attempts to hide the damage the fire she had died in had caused. Only with Mrs. Jenkins and his children was he truly comfortable.

Even then, they hardly knew how impaired he now was because of it, as he took pains to hide it. Not always successfully, he acknowledged.

As he entered his bedroom, his gaze went to the photograph of his wife, as it always did. The ache was still there, though not as pronounced as in the first months. He stopped for a moment to admire the laughter in her eyes as she stared boldly forward.

He marvelled at the fact she had managed that look when he knew it took several minutes for the photographer to capture one’s image. In all the ones he had ever seen, the people had looked like they were at a funeral. Yet there she was with the laughter she had brought to his life shining in her eyes.

Though it was impossible to see in the picture, she had been so full of colour. He recalled the peach colour of the dress she had worn, her hair contrasting well with it, as her bright eyes stared up at him. Henry had had little patience for the ordeal, but for her, he had sat through not only her picture but two others—one of him alone and another of them together.

“Samuel doesn’t want to go to church today,” he told her. “Does he sense my struggle with the Lord? He took you away from me and left me injured and struggling. I try to keep faith for your sake, but is it enough? Shouldn’t I have faith for my own sake?”

He got no answers, and none came to his mind, so he went to the basin atop his drawers. The water his housekeeper had left there was still warm, and he took off his clothes and then took up a wash cloth. There was a bar of plain soap next to the fragrant one his wife had favoured. The soap was one of the few things of his wife that he had salvaged, together with the photograph.

As he cleaned himself, he looked around at the austere room that he called his own. Gone were the frills that had made it homey when his wife had lived. The fire had started here, so most of the room had been rebuilt, and the burden of furnishing it had been left to him.

The room held his bed, the drawers, a chair, and his wardrobe. He knew Margaret would be disappointed were she alive, but he rarely spent any time in the room. So what did it matter? Yet it would have mattered to her.

Once he was done cleaning himself, he put on his best clothes: a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. He was more comfortable in his work clothes, the waist overalls worn comfortably, and the now soft flannel shirts moulding to his frame. Then there were his boots, which were now contoured to his feet and so comfortable he forgot he had them on half the time.

Unlike his Sunday clothes, which felt like they were starched, and his shoes, which had yet to stop pinching, as he finished dressing in front of his lone mirror atop the drawers, he wondered when he had become so dour. He felt older than his thirty-two years sometimes.

With a sigh, he straightened, and his face became resolved. He quoted his wife’s favourite verse to himself. “‘I can do all this through him who gives me strength.’”

No matter how bad things turned out, he knew it would be worse if he lost hope, lost faith. Leaving the room, he made his way back downstairs and made his way to the front of the house, where he knew Mrs. Jenkins would be waiting for him with the twins. He smiled as he saw Sarah’s eager face and Samuel’s slightly sullen expression.

They were sitting in the front room, and Sarah jumped up as she saw him. She seemed to do everything with an exuberant energy that both amused him and made him feel tired at the same time. Samuel reluctantly stood up and walked to the front door in silence, something that was unusual for him.

“Is there any particular reason you don’t want to go to church today?” he asked the boy, concerned. With his head down, he mumbled something Henry didn’t hear. “What was that?” he questioned, his voice stern.

He lifted his head and met his father’s gaze. “No, sir,” he said again, more distinctly.

“Terry Collins told him we didn’t have a ma because he was too naughty and God was punishing us,” Sarah rushed the explanation out, her voice high and fast. Then she settled down a bit, her worried blue gaze becoming serious as she met his blue ones. “Is that why we don’t have a ma, Papa?” she questioned. “Is God punishing us?”

His heart squeezed inside his chest, aching it until he wondered why he was still standing and breathing as if everything was normal. He was aware of Mrs. Jenkins’ wide, startled face and his son’s even more sullen one, but he kept his gaze on his daughter.

He walked the few steps separating them, then hunkered down in front of her. He almost winced at the bite of his shoes as he did, but knew his daughter would think he was angry with her or something. For all her confidence and exuberance, she still had times when she was a bit too sensitive.

“Do you remember the story when Jesus’ disciples were chasing the children away from him?” She nodded. “He told them not to do that, right?” Again, she nodded. “And he said the kingdom of heaven belonged to those like the children, didn’t he?” She nodded. “So, do you think he would punish kids if heaven belonged to them?” This time, she shook her head.

He looked at his son and saw that he, too, was listening to him. “God loves his children, and whilst he disciplines us, he doesn’t punish us.”

“Then why don’t we have a mother like everyone else does?” Samuel asked.

Should he tell them what he had done? Martha was leaving, and he worked too hard to give his children the care they needed. Even though he had vowed never to marry again, he had contracted a marriage through the mail with a young lady who had been as honest with her expectations as he had been.

He only wanted a caregiver for his children, and she desired to be a mother. She wasn’t put off by the fact he already had two and only hoped to have some of her own soon. She seemed perfect for him, and for whatever reason, she did not desire love like most women did.

Today, his bride would be arriving. Henry hadn’t told anyone except his fellow rancher and best friend, Tom Anderson. At that moment, his friend was waiting at the train station to welcome his new bride. By the end of the church service, he would once again be a married man.

“Well, you know how God answers prayers?” Henry asked his son.

“Yes,” Samuel answered with trust and conviction in his eyes.

Henry wished he could be like his son in his faith, but at least he knew this was something he could do for his son. Maybe God would frown upon him, but Henry doubted it. “If you ask God for a mother, maybe he will give you one.”

Samuel smiled at that and excitedly went to the door. “Then let’s go to church, then.”

With a laugh, Henry followed after his son with Sarah and Mrs Jenkins coming after him.

His ranch was close to town, so the walk was quick. As they went, he wondered what the good people of Bristlecone would think when the good reverend married him today. The last thing Henry wanted was to be the talk of the town once again. But after today, he knew he would once more be the fodder for gossip.

They soon arrived at the church, and, as always, the pews were filled with the good people of Bristlecone. As Mrs. Jenkins took the twins to the Sunday school, Henry went to find the reverend so that he could remind the man of the wedding that was to take place soon.

He was disconcerted to find that his palms were moist.

Was he ready for this? Ready to take on a new wife when that had never been a part of his plans? Would Margaret have wanted another woman taking her place in his life and that of his children? Whatever the case, it was too late to change what was to be. By the end of this service, he would be a married man.

Chapter 3

Fresh air filled Annie’s lungs for the first time in what felt like months. She drew a deep breath and then let it out. It was hardly comparable to the clean air of her father’s ranch, but it was much better than it had been in the last few days.

There was still the scent of cinders, the stifling heat, and the scent of too many people in one place. Yet the occasional touch of a cool breeze brushing her skin made it far, much better.

“Glad to be done with that ordeal,” a well-dressed gentleman muttered to his companion as he discreetly stretched the kinks out of his back.

Annie almost voiced her fervent agreement before she recalled that he was a stranger and it would be rude of her to answer. Train travel might be faster than the stagecoach, but it was hardly comfortable.

She looked around at the station, filled with hurried and sometimes tearful goodbyes or eager hellos. As she stood there amidst the chaos, she found herself fascinated by the bustle of the porters, the excitement of the people that she could relate to, and the sadness of those left behind. She wondered how her family was doing without her. Would they be okay?

Though her father had not shown it, she knew him well enough to see that he had been heartbroken. She was his only child, his heiress, and he had always dreamt that she would marry a local and one day take over the ranch. Still, he hadn’t stood in her way, not when his mother had approved of Annie’s hasty decision.

Now, her heart pounded within her, apprehension knotted her stomach, and she felt nauseous. Had this been the right decision?

With a dismissive shake of her head, she scanned the sea of faces for the man she knew only by name, Mr. Thompson. His description of himself had been frustratingly vague, a deliberate ploy that left her with more questions than answers. She wondered if maybe he was ill-favoured in looks, something that no longer mattered to her.

The unexpected nudge from behind sent a ripple of alarm through Annie. Her hand instinctively tightened around her reticule, safeguarding the precious coins that clinked softly within. Pickpockets were prevalent even in the most remote of train stations, and her father had given her a bit of coin for her travels. The man muttered something that could have been an apology as he rushed along.

A voice that cut through the din, a voice that seemed to be made of both strength and gentleness in the same breath, interrupted her musings. “Miss Anna Williams?” it asked, resonating with a timbre that was both commanding and comforting.

Turning, Annie found herself gazing into eyes that held warmth reminiscent of a hearth fire, eyes that seemed to laugh and console at the same time. The man before her was a striking figure, his stature towering yet not imposing, his features chiselled by life’s elements and etched with mirth.

His hair was the shade of a raven’s wing, and his skin told tales of days spent under the open sky. He was, in every sense, more than she had anticipated—more intriguing, more rugged, and undeniably more handsome. A true cowboy.

The excitement that the misery of her journey had squashed bloomed inside her heart, and she smiled at him. “Yes, and you would be Mr. Thompson?”

The smile he answered hers with had all the vaunted charm of a cowboy, and it lightened her heart. “’Fraid not, Miss,” he drawled to her confusion. Hadn’t Mr. Thompson written that he would come to greet her at the station before they were to be married? Or had she misread his letter? “My friend, Henry, eagerly awaits you with the good reverend and good people of Bristlecone at the church.”

She swiftly masked the flicker of disappointment with a graceful smile, but Annie’s heart couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease. The man’s smile, as disarming as it was, did little to quell the flutter of doubt that had taken residence in her chest.

“Mr. Thompson is not here?” she echoed, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts.

Annie wondered why he wouldn’t be there to meet her.

The stranger tipped his hat, a gesture of respect. “Henry told me he had promised to greet you before the wedding, but thought it best I come instead. He didn’t have time to write about the change in plans as you would already have been on your way when it should have reached your former address,” he explained, his voice carrying the lilt of the frontier. “But he sends his sincerest apologies and assures you that the welcome you’ll receive will be worth the journey.”

Annie nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. Was this a mere hiccup in her plans or a sign of something more amiss? She had heard tales of unscrupulous men who lured unsuspecting women with promises of marriage, only to vanish like mist at dawn. Yet, the sincerity in the man’s eyes, the earnestness of his tone, offered a silent reassurance.

“Shall I see to your luggage?” he asked.

“Oh, I only have my portmanteau,” she gestured to the small bag in her hand. “My things will be delivered within a day of the goods train.”

“Very sensible of you,” he complimented.

“Then I suppose we shouldn’t keep Mr. Thompson waiting any longer,” she said, her resolve returning like the first rays of dawn. “Lead the way, Mr.…?”

“Call me Tom, ma’am. Tom Anderson,” he replied with a grin that seemed to chase away the shadows of her doubts.

Together, they walked away from the station proper and to a light buggy that waited for them. “Thank you,” Anna said as he handed her in before coming to sit beside her and taking up the reins.

With admirable skill, he led them into the embrace of the open road, the church spire in the distance beckoning them forward. Annie’s journey had been fraught with uncertainty, but as she sat beside Tom, the promise of Bristlecone shimmered on the horizon, a beacon of hope in a land of endless possibilities.

“So, how was your journey here?” he asked.

Annie laughed. “It was… an experience.”

He joined her in her laughter. “Ah, yes, the joy of sharing a cart with various unwashed strangers.”

Annie’s small, pert nose wrinkled as she recalled the smell of so many unwashed bodies that had been unbearable when they had boarded the train. After two days, it had become intolerable. Only opening the windows of their cart had been worse.

Dust from the outside had rushed in as if escaping the harsh beating of the sun, whose heat had followed it. Ash and cinders from the burning coal had added to the singular experience that they had all agreed to endure the stifling, rancid, closed air. Worse still were the hard benches that left little room for stretching their legs.

“You have experienced the wonder of a train, I see,” she teased.

“Yes, I thought the food choices singularly unforgettable.”

Annie recalled those times they had stopped at the rest stops, which left much to be desired. They had been given less time than they needed, and it proved more stressful than anything. They had been the only places for those without food to buy some. To call it food was an overstatement. Annie suspected that most of it had been scraped from the plates of those who had rushed to their train without finishing it.

“My grandmother packed so much food for me that I’m afraid I had to miss out on the experience.”

“Ah, that explains why you are not green around the edges.”

Annie’s laughter blended with the rhythm of the carriage wheels into a pleasant background as the landscape rolled by. It was like a patchwork quilt of green fields and distant mountains. They spent the rest of the journey exchanging funny stories about their respective fellow passengers.

She told him of the old lady who had spoken to her cat as if it were royalty, and he countered with the story of a young lad who believed his suitcase was a secret agent on an undercover mission. The distance disappeared beneath the clatter of hooves and the warmth of shared amusement.

With each story, Annie felt a kinship with this man, a bond forged in laughter and the simple joy of storytelling. She couldn’t help but wonder about Mr. Thompson, the enigmatic fiancé who awaited her. Would he have Tom’s easy charm and his knack for spinning yarns, which could make even the sternest matron crack a smile?

As the church of Bristlecone came into view, a symbol of her new beginning, Annie allowed herself a moment of hopeful anticipation. Perhaps, in this quaint town nestled among the dangers of the wild, she would find not just a partner, but a kindred spirit, one with whom she could build a life.

Unlike the one at home, this church had a bell tower and seemed newer and larger. The white paint gleamed in the morning sunlight, unmarred by time or neglect, and the awning stood firm, a silent guardian against the elements. Each window was framed with a trim that showed no sign of wear, the glass reflecting the world in pristine clarity.

As Tom offered his hand to assist her descent from the carriage, Annie’s gaze was drawn to the roses. They were a riot of colour; the reds, pinks, and whites seemed to celebrate her arrival. The grass was a vibrant green, meticulously tended and soft underfoot. The air was sweet with the fragrance of the blooms, a scent that brought memories of her father’s garden.

For a moment, she allowed herself to be transported back to those carefree days, the laughter and love that had filled her childhood home. Her father’s roses had been his pride, each petal a testament to his care and devotion. Now, standing here, Annie felt the weight of his absence, the bittersweet realisation that he would not be there to walk her down the aisle.

Taking a deep breath, she took off her light summer travel coat to reveal the wedding dress underneath. It was the same that she had worn on that fateful day. Tom gave her an approving smile before going to pluck a few roses to give to her. After this, he held his hand out to lead her into the church. She had cleaned up as best she could at the last stop and again just before she disembarked.

Chapter 4

Was she ready for this? The question echoed in her mind, mingling with the fluttering nerves in her stomach. And yet, this marriage was what she had come here for. She had travelled so far, leaving behind everything she knew in search of a new beginning. She was lucky she was even getting a church wedding; after all, most contracted brides were married at the station in a five-minute affair.

Annie took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The church was filled with the soft murmur of guests, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood. She glanced around, taking in the strange faces instead of those of friends and neighbours who had come to support her.

Annie’s heart beat a rhythm of dreadful anticipation, a delicate balance between the flutter of excitement and the weight of a hundred unknown gazes. The man before her, her future husband, was a mirror image of ruggedness and strength, much like Tom, yet the sense of his presence was entirely different.

His frame was a testament to the laborious days on his ranch, his silhouette casting a formidable shadow even in the soft light of the church. He stood as tall as his friend, with the same raven hair and strong shoulders. But unlike his friend, there was no warmth in the gaze. The intensity in his eyes was a stark contrast to the jovial spark she had seen in Tom.

When she got closer, she noted the scars peeking from the collar of his pristine white shirt. Surprised, she lowered her gaze in an attempt to hide her reaction. And her eyes fell upon his hands, on the more pronounced scars.

What had happened to him?

Her heart skipped a beat, her curiosity flaring. Those scars were from a fire. She wondered how far they went. Were they all over his body? How had his face escaped without even a mark?

Schooling her features, she lifted her eyes and once more met his gaze. She gave him a small smile, and his eyes warmed a bit in answer. Annie felt a breath of relief, and then she came to stand next to him.

The hush of anticipation settled over the congregation as Annie stood before the altar, her gaze locked with the man whose life was about to intertwine with hers. The reverend, a kindly man with a gentle voice, stepped forward, his presence a comfort in the sea of new faces.

Fear and uncertainty gripped her for a moment as she realised she was giving herself to a stranger. Though they had corresponded for a few months, it was hardly a preparation for the reality she now faced. Would he be a good husband? So far, he was an enigma.

Her husband-to-be had barely said a word to her, his stoic features giving nothing away. Annie trembled a little as she wondered if she was going to be tying herself to a man of ill humour. She chanced a glance at their audience and was further disconcerted to remember that they were all strangers, that neither her father nor grandmother was there.

Yet now, as she stood before the Lord, there was no other choice than to go along with the wedding. For better or worse. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over her. This was the path she had chosen, and she would walk it with courage and faith.

The reverend took out the Book of Common Prayer and started to read from it. “Dearly beloved,” he began, his words weaving through the silence.

“We are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony; which is commended of Saint Paul to be honorable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God. Into this holy estate, these two persons present come now to be joined.”

Annie listened, her heart a symphony of emotions, each beat a note of hope, curiosity, and a touch of fear. She turned slightly, offering a glance to Tom, who stood as a witness to this pivotal moment. His reassuring nod was all she needed to steady her nerves.

The reverend continued, “If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” A breathless pause filled the church. The weight of the words hung in the air, but no voice rose in dissent.

The reverend turned back to Annie and Henry. “I require and charge you both, as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment why you may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, you do now confess it. For be you well assured, that if any persons are joined together otherwise than as God’s Word will allow, their marriage is not lawful.”

He looked at Annie. “Will you have this man as your wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Will you obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keeping only to him, so long as you both shall live?”

Annie’s voice was clear and unwavering as she replied, “I will.”

“And will you,” the reverend turned to her groom, “have this woman as your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keeping yourself only to her, so long as you both shall live?”

Her groom’s response was a firm “I will,” his voice carrying the weight and strength of his resolve.

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” the reverend asked, and for a moment, Annie felt the absence of her father before Tom answered the man of God.

“I do,” he said with a smile to her that soothed her. How had she come to trust him so easily? That wasn’t like her.

“Repeat after me,” he said to her groom, “I, Henry Thompson, take you, Anna Williams, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give you my truth.”

Then he turned to Annie and also asked her to repeat after him. “I, Annie Williams, take you, Henry Thompson, as my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give you my truth.”

Henry took out a smooth, simple gold ring and lifted her hand. “With this ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen,” he said as he slipped it onto her finger.

With the exchange of vows, the couple turned to face one another, hands joined, as the reverend spoke the final blessing. “By the power vested in me by the Almighty, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

As their lips met, the congregation erupted in applause, a chorus of joy that echoed through the rafters of the church. Annie and her groom united in a kiss that sealed their promises and stood at the beginning of a shared path, a path that would be paved with the stories of their past and the dreams of their future.

Overwhelmed as she was, the kiss further disconcerted her. It was too brief and perfunctory, yet it had been too long from a stranger. She couldn’t even recall if the sensation of his lips on hers was pleasant or not. So she turned to their audience and gave them a dazed smile.

The ceremony concluded with the ringing of the bell tower, its chimes a jubilant declaration of the commitment they had affirmed within the church’s walls. As Annie and her new husband turned to face the world, hand in hand, the doors of the church opened to a new life together.

Chapter 5

It was over. Henry’s relief was tangible, a silent exhale that spoke volumes of his desire to return to the familiar rhythm of his ranch life. The ceremony, while an important moment, was just another thing on a list of things to get done. Work was his solace and his passion. And he needed to get back to it.

An ironic smile twisted his lips as he recalled the day of his first wedding. Then he had been so excited, so nervous. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, looking forward to marrying the love of his life. All he could think about was the wonderful life they would have together. Now, he knew better.

There were no happy endings. So why bother being happy about the start?

The crowd that now surrounded them was a whirlwind of excitement and curiosity, a storm of speculation that would fuel the town’s conversations for weeks to come. Henry’s responses were curt, his demeanour betraying his impatience with the social niceties that he found so cumbersome.

As the wives of Bristlecone flocked to Annie, their words a shower of welcome and wonder, Henry stood by, a stoic figure in the eye of the storm. The men offered their nods and smirks, recognising the universal plight of a groom besieged by attention on his wedding day.

Impatient, he stood beside her and grunted in answer to most of their astonishment. When he met Tom’s gaze, his friend’s eyes were full of laughter at his expense. Tom’s amusement was a light in the sea of faces, a knowing twinkle that he enjoyed the situation.

His friend knew how much he hated this useless chatter, the way he chafed against the bindings of prolonged social engagements. Still, good manners dictated that he stand there and hear the twittering of the wives as they welcomed his new wife. That he suffer the knowing looks from the males who stopped by.

“You two must join us for dinner one of these days,” one of the ladies said, her hand going to fluff her hair.

“Oh yes,” another of the females chirped. “You will have to join Harold and me, too.”

Henry gritted his teeth, his nostrils flaring at the thought of being forced to leave his work to have any of these dinners. And given the fact that he had a few secrets that would inevitably come out, he wanted nothing to do with them. His muscles tensed, and his skin itched until he felt like he would lose it.

“There’s a lot of work still to be done,” he stated when the women seemed to want to talk forever. A pregnant silence followed his words, an awkward one.

They knew Henry’s words were a deflection, a shield raised against the tide of invitations that threatened to pull him from the sanctuary of his ranch. The ladies’ enthusiasm was a whirlwind of social expectation, their invitations fluttering and persistent.

“Work on the ranch waits for no one,” Henry added, his tone firm.

As if sensing the tension that coiled beneath Henry’s calm exterior, his new wife stepped gracefully into the conversation. “We are both grateful for your kindness,” she said, her smile a bridge between Henry’s reticence and the townsfolk’s eagerness. “Perhaps once we’ve settled in and the ranch is running smoothly, we can consider your generous offers.”

Her intervention was a balm to the situation, soothing the ladies’ ruffled feathers while giving Henry the space he needed. As the crowd finally began to disperse, Henry offered Annie a nod of gratitude, a silent acknowledgement of her understanding.

In the quiet that followed, as the last of the well-wishers drifted away, Henry and Annie were left alone with his friend.

“Well, that went well,” Tom commented with his usual amusement.

“Get us out of here before more of them waylay us,” Henry replied as he strode out of the church, forgetting that he was supposed to walk out with his bride.

All he wanted was to get back to the silence of the barn, where the men working about him talked in low voices and left him be. He would have the sweet scent of fresh hay, the musky scent of his horses, and the rote tasks that left him free to think. Life outside work was just too complicated.

He waited for Tom and Anna at the buggy, feeling like a heel for having slighted his new wife in front of God and sundry. Still, there was nothing he could do now, and from the tightness around her lips, he knew she was far from pleased with him.

The journey back was a quiet one. Henry appreciated that his new wife wasn’t one to prattle on about nonsense. Maybe she would take care of the kids as she was here to do and leave him to do his work without unreasonable expectations.

As the ranch came into view, with its sprawling fields and the promise of peace, Henry sighed in relief. At the very least, he would be getting out of these uncomfortable clothes. This time, he remembered to help her down and escort her to his house.

Her eyes widened as he took in the sprawling ranch house. It was three stories high, including the attics, and spread across a large piece of his land. It was built with bricks, a luxury he had indulged in after the fire. He wasn’t going to take the chance of losing his family ever again. Margaret had always wanted a bigger house, so he had rebuilt it.

Taking out his pocket watch, he saw that he was later than usual coming from church, but that was to be expected given what had just happened. His children had long since left, and he was sure they had already had their noon meal. Henry turned to look at the corrals, and his mind thought of all the two-year-old colts that would soon need to be broken.

He caught Tom’s gaze, wondering if his friend, who had more knowledge of horses, would be staying to help out. Only Tom gestured at Anna with his head and frowned at him. Henry blinked, realising his friend was telling him he needed to take her inside before he could go to work. He frowned at Tom; it wasn’t like he could start working without changing clothes.

“Come,” he told his bride, who was standing awkwardly beside the buggy. “Let me introduce you to the children.”

Tom shook his head at him and rolled his eyes. Henry ignored him. He might have married, but he wasn’t going to change who he was for her. He had made it clear in their correspondence that he wanted a mother for his children more than anything. He would provide for her and maybe have another child with her, but she wasn’t to expect anything more. She knew that.

The front door opened into an entrance room, and then to his right was the parlour. “Will you keep Anna company while I get the kids?” he asked his friend.

“Of course.” As Henry had expected, Tom readily agreed and led Anna into the parlour.

He found his children in the family room, ready to go upstairs for their afternoon nap. The glasses of milk they had just drunk sat at the table between their seats, and a plate with biscuit crumbs was beside them.

“Papa!” Sarah shouted as he entered and ran to him. “Why didn’t you come back home with Mrs. Jenkins and us?” she asked as she stood beside him, looking up at him.

He smiled down at her, tilting his head down to the right. “I had something to do, a surprise for you and your brother.”

“A surprise!” Samuel enthused, coming up to stand on his other side.

Henry ran his hand through his son’s blond hair and smiled as he met his innocent blue eyes. They looked so much like Margaret that it tore at his heart. The same oval-shaped face, the same peach-colored skin. Most of all, it was the five-year-olds’ smiles that were so much like their mother’s.

“Really?” Sarah asked, jumping up and down. “What is it? What is it?”

Henry laughed, “If you would settle down, I will tell you.”

Making a clear effort, his daughter stood as stiff as a board, her wide eyes looking at him with anticipation. He almost laughed again, but instead took a seat on the settee that faced the armchairs his children favoured. They each came to sit beside him, one on each side.

“You know how Mrs. Jenkins isn’t going to be around a lot since she has to take care of Mr. Jenkins?” They both nodded, faces solemn. “Well, I thought of getting someone to take care of you, someone who will never leave you. A new mother.”

“Really?” Samuel asked as she jumped up and down with excitement. “We got a new mother?”

“Yes,” Henry affirmed as he smiled at his excited son before looking at his not-so-excited daughter. She had a frown on her normally happy and carefree face.

“From the church?” Samuel asked. “You got her from the church?”

“Yes,” he agreed, wondering why his son wanted to know that.

“So God gave us a new mother!” he concluded with a wide smile. “That means I’m not a bad child if God can send us a mother from the church,” he crowed.

Henry wanted to correct him, to tell him he had never been a bad child, but the mutinous look on his daughter’s face distracted him. “What is it, Sarah?”

“Laura got a new mother, and she’s mean to her. I don’t want a new mother! I want Mrs. Jenkins!” she shouted loud enough that he feared Anna had heard her.

He winced but kept his voice calm as he answered her. “Why don’t you get to know her first before you call her mean? You might find she’s kind and nice, then you’ll feel bad that you were not so kind to her.”

The little girl crossed her arms defiantly, her eyes filled with tears. “But what if she’s not nice? What if she’s just pretending?”

He knelt to her level, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “I understand you’re scared and upset. Change can be hard, especially when it feels like someone is taking the place of someone you care about. But sometimes, people surprise us. They can turn out to be better than we expected.”

She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Do you think so?”

He nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. “I do. And remember, you don’t have to like her right away. Just give her a chance. You might find that she’s not so bad after all.”

The little girl hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Okay, I’ll try.”

He hugged her tightly, feeling a sense of relief. “That’s all I ask. Just try. And if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.”

As they stood up, he glanced towards the house, hoping that Anna hadn’t overheard their conversation. He knew that building a new family dynamic would take time and patience, but he was determined to make it work for everyone involved.

“Is she pretty?” Samuel asked.

Henry thought of his new wife’s tall, slender frame, her beautiful, expressive eyes, and her fragile bone structure. She had the most glorious chestnut hair that had been braided into thick braids. A few strands had escaped to frame her face in a becoming way. Pretty did not come close to describing his bride—beautiful did.

She was graceful, with a natural poise that had left him wondering if she truly knew anything about helping on a ranch. Though the dark tone of her skin and the smattering of freckles on her nose told him she probably did. Most appealing, though, had been the smile she had graced him with as she walked down the aisle.

As he recalled that moment, Henry felt a pang of guilt. He had been so focused on his ambitions that he had failed to appreciate the person she was. Her smile had been genuine, filled with warmth and hope. It was a smile that promised a future, one that he had been too blind to see.

He wondered why she had not been long married and had had to contract one with a stranger. Could there be something questionable in her past? He really should have been more thorough and had her investigated before letting her come into his life, into the lives of his kids. Now, it was too late, and she might indeed be mean, as Sarah had said.

“Yes, she’s pretty,” he answered his son.

“Where is she? Can we go and see her?”

“Come on,” he said as he stood up and held out both his hands. With a glance at his daughter as she took his hand, he hoped she would warm up to the idea.

They made their way in silence, Samuel skipping a bit in his step with excitement. Anna was sitting at ease with his friend, laughter in her eyes when they got to the parlour. The smile graced her lips as she looked at his children.

“Uncle Tom!” Sarah exclaimed as she saw his friend and rushed to him. “Are you going to stay for supper?”

Henry frowned at his daughter, but the little girl had her back to him. Was she being deliberately rude to Anna? She knew he had brought them here to meet her, and yet instead of waiting to be introduced, she was rushing to greet his friend, whom she knew already.

“Sarah,” he called her sternly. “Come here.”

She came back to stand beside him as he faced Anna and looked up at him, all innocent. “Yes, Papa?”

“We came here so that I could introduce you to Miss Anna, your new mother. You can talk to your uncle after you have been introduced.”

“Yes, Papa,” she said again before turning to face his new wife.

“Anna, these are my children, Samuel and Sarah. Samuel, Sarah, this is Miss Anna, who is going to take care of you.”

Anna smiled at the two of them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And how old are you two?”

“We’re five,” Samuel answered. “Can you play duck on a rock?”

Her expression melted at how sweet they were. “Yes, I can.”

“How about tossing bean bags?”

“Yes,” she said again.

“Will you play with me? Those are my favourite games, and Mrs. Jenkins is too old to play them.”

“When I can, I will play with you.”

Samuel smiled at that. Anna turned to his daughter, who had been silent during the exchange. “And you, Sarah, what’s your favourite game?”

“Hopscotch, but I have friends to play that with.” Henry winced at the answer, but his new bride was unfazed.

“It’s good to have friends you can play with,” she agreed.

At that moment, his housekeeper came in. He only noticed when he saw his friend turn his gaze to the door behind Henry, and he turned to see the older woman standing there, looking at Anna with a welcoming smile.

“Mrs. Jenkins, meet my new wife, Anna,” he introduced.

The housekeeper’s eyes widened a bit, but she had better manners than to let it affect her. So she smiled at his bride and came forward to greet her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with genuine feeling.

Anna answered in kind, and Henry sighed, relieved. He could safely leave her in the capable hands of his housekeeper and get back to work.

He turned to look at her, his mind going back to Sarah’s rather rude reception of her. He was doing this for his children; they needed a mother. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake.

As he walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling of doubt that gnawed at him. He had made this decision with the best intentions, but the reality of it was proving to be more complicated than he had anticipated. He glanced back one last time, seeing Anna and Mrs. Jenkins engaged in a polite conversation. Anna’s smile was warm and genuine, and for a moment, he felt a glimmer of hope.

Then he remembered how easily his hope had been shattered before and decided to continue being pragmatic. More than anyone, he knew the dangers of hoping for things to be better than he deserved.

Chapter 6

“And these are the drying rooms, where the summer fruits are dried before they are stored for winter,” Martha stated before opening the door a bit, and they were blasted with intense heat before she closed it. “Mr. Thompson has been having orders from some of the big cities for his dried fruits. He employs local women to do the work needed.”

The rooms were so swelteringly hot that Martha closed the door immediately after Annie had peeked in. There had been a sweet scent to them that had been pleasant and had made Annie want to stay for a while.

“The women take turns to see to the fire and the vents. They avoid staying in the heat for too long as it is harmful.” Martha explained.

Annie nodded, overwhelmed. She had only ever heard of drying rooms, something that her part of Texas had never had. Her new husband, it seemed, was ahead of the times and quite intelligent when it came to business. Martha had shown her machines that had left Annie dazed and unable to take it all in.

As they continued the tour, Annie couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and intimidation. The scale of the operation was far beyond anything she had ever imagined. She glanced at Martha, who seemed to navigate the bustling environment with ease and confidence.

“How long have you been working here, Martha?” Annie asked, hoping to learn more about the people who made this place run so smoothly.

Martha smiled warmly. “I’ve been here for about twenty years now. I came as a young girl when I married Jenkins. He was already the head of the cowhands. Mr. Thompson is a fair employer, and he’s always looking for ways to improve things around here. It’s a good place to work.”

Annie nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. “It certainly seems that way. I’m just… a bit overwhelmed by it all.”

Martha patted her arm reassuringly. “You’ll get used to it, dear. It takes time, but you’ll find your place here. And if you ever need help, just ask. We’re all in this together.”

Annie smiled, grateful for the support. She knew that adjusting to her new life would be a challenge, but with people like Martha around, she felt a glimmer of hope. She was determined to make the best of this opportunity and to prove herself worthy of the trust her new husband had placed in her.

But she was exhausted now. And why had her husband left his housekeeper to show her around the ranch? Shouldn’t he have been the one to do that? Sure, he had been abrupt at the church with the women, and he had left her behind instead of escorting her to the carriage. Was that what she had to look forward to, being ignored by him always?

“Come,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “You must be exhausted. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

“That sounds lovely,” Annie agreed.

They made their way into the kitchen through the back door. The kitchen was big and warm, with windows large enough to let out the heat in the summer months. It would be cozy and warm in the winter and one would be able to see the ranch sprawling on in all seasons.

A Dover stove with eight cooking spots graced it, and a pair of large baking ovens were built into the wall aside from the one the Dover had. Annie wondered how she was ever going to handle all this. Mrs. Jenkins had told her there were four women who worked in the kitchen. The ranch was fed from it, and she would have to oversee the work, among other things.

When she had started corresponding with Mr. Thompson, she had never pictured he would have such an outfit. Her mind had thought on the same scale as her father’s ranch, but this was so much more. More land than she had thought possible, more projects that she knew about. And she was supposed to see to their running and also raise a pair of twins.

“I know it all seems overwhelming,” the housekeeper said with a knowing smile as Anna sat on the kitchen stool and went to take down a couple of teacups. “But once you settle in, you will realise it all runs rather smoothly, and you will only need to oversee things.”

Anna nodded. “I’m sure you’re right,” she answered, though she hardly believed it. There was just too much to the ranch, too many projects she would have to see to. “Oh, bless your heart,” she fervently said as the housekeeper placed a cup of soothing chamomile tea in front of her.

Mrs. Jenkins gave her an amused and understanding smile. “Now drink up your tea, dear. I will be leaving at three, but I will be here when the twins wake up at two. You can take a nap, and I will wake you when I leave.”

“Oh, I never take a nap in the afternoon,” she told the housekeeper. “There is always so much to do.”

The other woman nodded. “Yes, but you have been on the road for days, and I imagine you did not get a good rest on those awful benches. You will need your rest before you have to deal with the twins. They can be a handful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she agreed, as she had never had to deal with children before. Surely, she could handle the pair.

“They’re good kids,” Mrs. Jenkins continued, taking a sip of her tea. “But they can be a handful. “Sarah talks non-stop and can be picky when it comes to food. Samuel will eat anything, bless his heart, but he gets into a bit of trouble if not watched carefully.”

Anna felt her throat dry, so she swallowed her tea to relieve it. “What kind of trouble?” she asked, trepidation in her tone.

“Oh, nothing serious,” Mrs. Jenkins dismissed with a negligent wave of her hand. “He will sneak into the barn to pet the horses, jump from the hay loft, that kind of thing. You know what little boys are like.”

No, she didn’t know what little boys were like. How could she have missed seeing it before? Jumping from the hay loft sounded like something serious. What else did the little boy do that the housekeeper would say was nothing serious? Annie was now not so sure about this.

First, her husband was gruff and seemed a little interested in her, and now she thought she might be in over her head with the children.

“Oh, do not worry yourself,” Mrs. Jenkins said, noting her pale face. “Mr. Jenkins and I have a cottage on the ranch. I will not be too far away if you have questions or anything goes wrong,” she reassured with a pat on Annie’s hand. “Now, tell me about yourself,” she invited. “Where are you from?”

“Texas,” Annie answered with a smile. “A small town called Lone Ridge. My Da owns a ranch there, and I helped my grandmother run the household.”

“And your mama?” the housekeeper asked in a tentative tone.

Annie took a sip of her tea before answering. “Da said she took fever when I was about three and died from it.”

Sympathy writhed itself upon her face. “Oh, you poor dear, I imagine that’s why you wanted to marry a widower, so that you could give these young tykes the mother you never had.”

Was that why she had answered the advert? Annie was still hard-pressed to reason out why she had been drawn to Henry Thompson’s advert. Or why she had written to him and resolved to marry him when he had shown interest. Could she have wanted to give these children a mother? Or had God, in His wisdom, designed that she be here? Did she still believe God had a purpose for her?

Whatever the case, Annie decided to let the housekeeper believe that it had been her motivation. It was better than letting her know she had been jilted on her wedding day and had been unable to move on even four years later.

“My grandmother filled the void Mama left behind,” she told the other woman, though she heard a note in her tone that wasn’t quite right. “Anyways, Da taught me to ride herd and to lasso cattle, though I preferred to work in and around the house. I can still do all that when and if I’m called to.”

“Dear Lord!” the woman said in astonishment. “You can ride herd?”

Annie smiled at her, noting the shocked surprise. “Yes. Do women not do that hereabouts?”

Mrs. Jenkins looked scandalised at the mere thought. “Lord, no! I have never heard of a woman who can lasso cattle.”

“I will be sure not to let anyone know then. Though I can’t promise not to chip in should the need arise.”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Jenkins placed her hand to her bosom as if to steady her heart.

Seeing that the lady truly was distressed, Annie chose to change the subject. “I thought of becoming a teacher.” That had been after Andrew had married his wife, a teacher. But she had come to her senses and realised she had been trying to show him she was good enough. “But I realised I loved working at home more.”

“Yes, many young women think getting a career is better than being a wife.” She shook her head at that. “Madness, most will regret it at some point, I’ll wager.”

“Yes,” Annie agreed, even though she knew of some women back home who had never wanted to be mothers and wives but had no choice. Would it be so terrible to have women who knew it wasn’t the life for them have another choice?

They talked for a little longer until Annie was done with her cup, and Mrs. Jenkins once more convinced her to go and rest. She led her to the room beside the master bedroom. Instead of resting, Annie couldn’t help but take a peek at the master bedroom. Annie hesitated before entering it. This was her new husband’s room, and she didn’t know if he wanted her to even be here at all. Yet they were married.

The room was big but sparse, with nothing more than a bed, a chest of drawers with a mirror atop it, a chair, and a wardrobe. It looked empty even with that. There was no decoration in it except for a picture of a young woman on the wall. Annie went to stand before it and study it.

The woman was beautiful; even the colourless photograph could not hide that. Her hair was light; she imagined it blond like the twins’, and her eyes were also light. There was a smile in those eyes, something Annie had never seen in any of the few photographs she had seen.

As she stood there, lost in thought, she wondered what the woman was like. Was her new husband still mourning her loss? The questions swirled in her mind, but there were no answers to be found in the silent photograph. She was someone who had once lived in this very room. Which brought home the fact that Annie didn’t belong here.

Annie felt a pang of sadness. She had left everything she knew behind to start a new life here, and yet, she felt like a stranger in her own home. The photograph seemed to mock her, a reminder of the unknown past that she had stepped into.

She didn’t know how to feel about the dead woman. Aside from the photograph, the only thing in the room that could be the other woman’s was the soap on the drawers beside the mirror and basin. Annie picked it up and brought it to her nose.

The subtle scent of lavender and lemon teased her. It was pleasant, distinct, but not overpowering. She imagined her new husband occasionally taking a whiff of it to remember the wife who had given him his children. What did he think of as he did that? Did he miss her?

A lump settled in her throat, and Annie had a hard time swallowing it. Why was she upset anyway? She had known he had lost his wife. At least she wouldn’t have to live in a room that was a shrine to her. Putting the soap back, she went to the wardrobe and opened it.

She knew it was ill-mannered of her, but she couldn’t help but search the clothes in there for anything that might be hers. Did he hold one of her dresses close, smell it now and then, remember the last time he had seen her wearing it?

“No, Annie, stop it,” she told herself as she firmly closed the wardrobe door before delving deeply into it. “You know this is a marriage of convenience. There is no need for you to be jealous. Especially of a dead woman.”

What was wrong with her?

Resolutely, she went to her bedroom. Removing her shoes, she took up the blanket folded at the base before getting onto the bed and covering herself. This was a new life. She wasn’t going to bring her old insecurities along with her to it. It didn’t take her long to fall into a deep sleep. She really had been tired and had not known it.

True to her word, Mrs. Jenkins woke her up before she left, and Annie felt well-rested and refreshed. The bowl on the drawers had some hot water in it, and taking up the washcloth from her portmanteau, she cleaned up as best she could, then changed out of her wedding dress. Annie had not had time to do so before Mrs. Jenkins had shown her the ranch.

She must have been quite a sight, walking around in the delicate lace dress, she mused. Once she had her simple evening dress on, she went downstairs to face her first time alone with her new children.

“I left the food here to keep warm,” the housekeeper said as she indicated a small door in the Dover furthest from the oven fires. “The children eat at five and then take their bath before going to bed at half six. They are in the parlour playing checkers. Mr. Thompson comes in late and knows to take his food from the warmer. He usually comes in around eleven,” she said in a hurried voice.

“What else?” she questioned, looking around the kitchen. “Ah, yes, the children will only get dessert if and when they finish their food. I made a peach pie, and it’s also in the warmer. It’s their favourite.” She looked around some more. “I believe that’s all. I will be leaving now.”

With a hurried smile, the housekeeper left a bewildered Annie standing alone in the kitchen. “I’m ready for this,” she told herself, even as her heart pounded in her chest. “They are just children. Women have been taking care of children for generations,” she told herself. “It’s going to be easy.”

She regretted saying that later on, as Sarah threw a tantrum instead of eating. “No!” she screeched enough to rival a bat. “I want Mrs. Jenkins! Her food is better than yours! Yours stinks!” she said the last with a toss of said food.

All the while, her brother sat unaffected by the screaming, eating his food and swinging his legs as he did. Annie was at a loss. The little girl’s face was red, and her lips trembled as if she wanted to cry. What was she supposed to do?

“That was Mrs. Jenkins’ food, Sarah,” she tried reasoning with the girl.

Miserable blue eyes looked up at her with more tears filling them. “You’re just mean!” she accused. “A mean mother!”

The words punctured Annie’s heart. Rationally, she knew they were unfair, that the little girl was just reacting to the change in her life, which she didn’t know how to handle. Mrs. Jenkins had told her the twins knew she wouldn’t be taking care of them anymore. But the reality of it would be hard for a five-year-old to deal with. Still, Annie felt like she was a bad mother.

Then the little girl started to cry, and soon her brother, who had been unbothered, also started to cry. Annie found it hard to breathe, her heart racing as she looked around for something to distract them. Was she supposed to hold them to her? But then, she was still a stranger to them. Would they accept comfort from her?

“If you stop crying, you can have dessert. Mrs. Jenkins made it,” she found herself saying.

She winced at that. Bribery—she was resorting to bribery and breaking the rules Mrs. Jenkins had told her about. Yet it worked. The pair stopped crying, their tears reduced to sniffles that petered away. Berating herself, Annie rushed around the kitchen to dish up the pie.

Even Sarah sat quietly at the table to eat her pie, and Annie went to clean up the food the little girl had thrown. She berated herself as she did that. Day one, and she was already showing her incompetence.

Chapter 7

How was he supposed to work when even a deaf man could hear all that hollering? His children had never made such a racket before. What was that woman doing? With a muttered curse, he marched to the open kitchen door. From the barn where he had been working, the noise had been too much, enough to spook some of the skittish horses.

“What is going on here?” he barked as she entered the room.

His new wife startled and then froze, and his kids immediately stopped crying, their tear-stained faces also frozen as they stared at him. He looked back at Anna and saw that she was flustered, her skin red and splotched as if she too had been crying.

What kind of an incompetent woman had he married?

“They said they want Mrs. Jenkins,” his wife told him at length.

“She gave me dessert without any food, and I’m hungry,” Sarah wailed.

Henry ground his teeth at that, his eyes going to the startled gaze of his new wife. Did she think they wouldn’t tell him what she had done? They were five. They couldn’t keep any secrets.

“Where is your food?” he asked Sarah, who pointed at the bin. Fury burned in him as he saw the food that had been thrown away. What had this woman thought she was doing, throwing away his daughter’s food?

Going to the warmer, he took out his plate and another one, then shared some of his food for his daughter. “Here.” He handed her the plate. “Why don’t you and your brother go find your Uncle Tom near the barn?”

The twins quickly left while Henry had his fiery gaze glaring at the woman he had just brought into their house. “What were you thinking, throwing away good food like that?”

Her lips moved, but he heard nothing. His anger rose, pain and doubt assailing him. “Any fool knows you don’t give a child dessert before they eat their food. Are you trying to make my daughter sick?”

“That’s unfair,” she replied, tears of anger welling in her eyes as she balled her hands into fists.

“What’s unfair is having my work cut off to come and deal with something this trivial. Unfair is having my horses disturbed by all that racket you were all making. Are you truly so incompetent? Did you lie to me in your letters when you said you could run a household?”

She glared at him, but he didn’t hear whatever she said back to him. “I married you to take care of the children; you knew that. If you can’t do such a simple job, let me know so that we can go our separate ways.” Frustrated, he walked away from her and back outside. How hard was it to deal with a pair of five-year-olds?

He saw them with his friend, laughing and having fun, and shook his head. Even Tom, who didn’t have children yet and was a man, could handle them. Anna was a woman; shouldn’t she be able to handle them easily?

He knew it was important to give the children a routine and that he shouldn’t have let Sarah eat outside. But their routine had already been disturbed. What was such a little thing? Going toward them, he noted Sarah was already done with her food.

“Get back inside and get ready for bed,” he told the two.

His daughter gave him a sweet smile before coming to hug him. “Yes, Papa,” she said before rushing off.

“Will you come and read us a story, Papa?” Samuel asked. “You haven’t read us one in a long time,” he reminded him.

There was a lot he still had to do, but Henry had promised to be there for his kids and not just work as his own father had done. “Sure, I will,” he promised. His son gave him a hug the same way Sarah had done, then rushed after her.

“What was all that about?” Tom asked.

“She gave Sarah dessert and threw away her food.”

Tom’s brow rose at that. “Are you sure about that? It doesn’t seem like something the sensible young woman I met would do.”

“I saw the food in the bin, Tom,” he told him, frustration in his tone. “Sarah told me herself. Are you saying my daughter was lying?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Tom soothed. “What did Anna say happened?”

Henry looked down, then took off his hat and folded it. “I couldn’t hear what she said,” he admitted.

“And you were too embarrassed to tell her you couldn’t,” his friend deduced.

Henry put his hat back on and then met his friend’s eyes. “Yes,” he simply agreed.

“You know you won’t be able to keep it from her for long, right?” Tom asked in a soft tone.

“I know,” he agreed before turning to go back into the barn.

***

Guilt assailed Annie. She had known better than to give her dessert and not any food. How was she supposed to know that Henry would not even listen to her when she told him what had happened? Did he really think that she would throw away food?

The kitchen door opened again, and Sarah skipped into the room, once more a cheerful little girl. “Papa says it’s time for our bath,” she told Annie.

“Oh,” she replied, not knowing what else to say. She didn’t know where to start with the bath. “Do you know what I need to do?”

The little girl smiled, pleased to be asked to help. “The water is already on the stove.” She pointed to the tin atop the stove. “You just have to take it to the tub from the cupboard there,” she said and pointed to a door that Annie hadn’t noticed. “We bathe in the kitchen.”

Samuel came in as Sarah said that. “Can I help?”

“You can help me bring in the tub,” she told him.

“I’ll help, too,” Sarah piped up.

Annie felt apprehensive about the girl helping. So far, she had found fault in everything Annie had done. Would this, too, turn out like that? As she looked at the sweet little girl, she felt uncharitable for that thought.

She needn’t have worried, though. Everything went well. The twins held one side of the tub and Annie the other. She had to stoop so that they wouldn’t have a hard time. The tub almost grazed the floor, but they managed it. The thing wasn’t heavy, and she could have carried it on her own, but the children seemed to love helping.

When they had it at the right spot, Annie took the hook used for the tin and used it to lift the ton off the stove. It was heavy work, but the kind she had done before. However, the stove back home had not been so high up. She managed to put the water in the tub without spilling any. Once that was done, she took another tin and went to the barrel that held water, and took more to dilute the bath water until it was the right temperature.

She smiled at her little helpers. “Well, now what?”

Samuel started to take off his clothes, putting them on a chair but Sarah put her small hand into the water and then quickly took it out. “Ouch, it’s too hot,” she said.

“What?” Anna frowned. She had tested the water, and it was warm. She put her hand back into it and found that it was indeed warm, not hot. Samuel stopped undressing to look at his sister. “Sarah, this water is warm. If I put any more cold water, then it will be too cold to bathe in.”

The girl’s face became mutinous, her arms crossed over her middle. “It’s too hot,” she insisted.

Annie was at a loss. She could not add any more cold water to the bath. If she did, then she would have to boil more when it became too cold to bathe in. Why was the little girl being so difficult?

“If Miss Anna says it’s warm, then it must be Sarah.” Mrs. Jenkins’ voice was a welcome intervention. Annie was sure things had been a few moments from escalating again. The housekeeper’s stern tone had the little girl wincing and folding into herself. “I’m very unhappy that your father had to send for me when I was taking care of Mr. Jenkins.”

“Yes, Mrs. Jenkins,” she mumbled, her head hung in shame.

“Now take off your clothes and get into the tub,” she ordered, and the little girl complied without a complaint. “Miss Anna?” Annie met the housekeeper’s eyes. “Will you go to the children’s room and bring down their night clothes? They’re already set out on their beds.”

“Of course,” she agreed, doing her best not to wince at the fact that she had forgotten such a simple thing. What was wrong with her? She turned and walked out of the kitchen.

“Now, tell me what happened.” she heard Mrs. Jenkins say to the twins as she made her way to the stairs. She sighed. Annie had no doubt the housekeeper would think her as incompetent as her new husband did.

The children’s room was across from hers and Henry’s and held a pair of small beds and small chests of drawers. It was painted a bright blue on one side and pink on the other. Sarah’s had a pink patchwork quilt upon it, and Samuel’s had a blue one. Even their little drawers were pink and blue each. On both their beds were their night clothes and Annie took them before leaving.

As she approached the kitchen, she heard the housekeeper talking to the little girl. “When you let someone believe something that isn’t true, you’re lying. You threw away your food, and yet you let your father believe that she had thrown it into the bin.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jenkins,” Sarah’s voice quivered with tears.

“No, none of that. You have cried enough while you lied. I’m not going to believe any of your tears anymore.”

“Yes, Mrs. Jenkins,” she sniffled.

“And you, Samuel, why didn’t you tell your father the truth when your sister lied?” The young boy must have shrugged as all Annie heard was the water splashing. “Do you know that by not saying anything, you also lied?”

“No,” he replied, his voice also quivering.

“If I hear again that you have been giving Miss Annie any problems, I’m going to be very cross with you both. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mrs. Jenkins,” they both said.

“Good.”

Relieved and seeing that the conversation was over, Annie waited for a little while before walking back into the kitchen. “Where do I put this?” she asked with false cheer.

“On the chair right there,” Mrs. Jenkins said, and Annie placed them there. “Thank you.”

Annie helped Mrs. Jenkins finish bathing the children. She took charge of Samuel as the housekeeper finished with Sarah. The little girl was subdued and didn’t make any fuss as they took them both up to bed and tucked them in. Her husband came to read them a story, and Annie excused herself.

Mrs. Jenkins followed her down, and for a moment, they stood in the entrance hall without saying anything. “They are just testing the waters, pushing you to see how much they can get away with,” the housekeeper said after a while.

“It doesn’t help when my husband doesn’t listen and berates me when they act out.”

Something shifted on the housekeeper’s face. It became a bit guarded, as if she was trying to hide something. “You have to make him listen,” she said in a cautious tone.

Annie nodded. “I’m sorry that you were called back so soon,” she apologized to the other woman, ashamed that she couldn’t even keep things together for two hours. “How is your husband?”

“He’s happy to be home and feeling better because of it,” she replied with an indulgent smile.

Annie wondered if she and her new husband would get to such a state—a place where they could be comfortable and at ease with each other. Just now, he had intimated that he might divorce her if she couldn’t keep the children in line. If the thought was already in his mind on the first day of their marriage, it didn’t bode well.

“Well, I’ll be off again.” Mrs. Jenkins said with a smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she replied as the lady left. Then she went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea.

She had yet to eat and wondered if she should leave some of her food for her husband, who had to share his with Sarah. She didn’t feel all that hungry, but after the days of eating trail food, she knew she had to eat a home-cooked meal. Going to the warmer, she took out her plate and was amazed to see that the food was still hot. She took out some utensils and sat down to eat, her cup of tea beside her.

How was she going to go through this on her own? Mrs. Jenkins might help her every now and then but she would be on her own for the most part.

“Lord, please help me with this task you have given me.” she prayed.

Chapter 8

“When is she leaving?” Sarah asked once Henry had finished reading the story.

“Who?” he asked, a frown marring his face and confusion in his voice.

“Miss Anna.”

“I told you she is now your mother,” he explained. “She is here to stay.”

“She lied, Papa,” Samuel put in.

“What?” Anna had lied? About what exactly? What did his son know that he didn’t?

“Sarah,” Samuel clarified to Henry’s further confusion.

“About what?” he asked, looking at his daughter, who now had her head under her covers, showing that whatever Samuel was saying was true.

“Mrs. Jenkins said making someone believe something that is not true is the same as lying. Sarah made you believe Miss Anna threw her food away when she didn’t. Sarah threw her food on the floor, and Miss Anna only cleaned it.”

“I see,” he stated, his jaw hardening and his nostrils flaring. “Sarah,” she lowered her blanket to look at him with wary eyes. “Why did you throw your food onto the floor?” She blinked at him without answering. “Answer me,” he commanded.

“I don’t know, Papa,” she replied in a contrite tone.

He turned to his son. “Samuel?”

“She said Miss Anna’s food didn’t taste good, that she didn’t want to eat it, then she threw it down. Then she started crying, and that was when Miss Anna gave us dessert.”

When he turned back to his daughter, her lip was quivering and her eyes were full of tears, but she didn’t cry. “You lied to me and misbehaved with Miss Anna. You will not be going to Mildred’s birthday next Saturday.”

The tears fell, and she started crying in earnest. Henry knew that when one twin cried, the other would soon follow, and he could guess that was what had happened earlier.

“No,” he commanded his daughter. “No tears. You knew what you were doing was wrong, and you did it still.”

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she said.

“I know you are,” he conceded, then went to hug her. She shook in his arms while Samuel looked at them.

Henry sighed as he realized that he had been unfair to Anna; he had made a fool of himself by not asking her to repeat what she had said. Now, he would have to apologize and explain to her that he hadn’t heard her and the reason why. He hated for people to know, but as Tom had said, she was bound to find out, given their relationship.

He held his daughter until she finally went to sleep. He checked on Samuel and saw that he, too, had gone to sleep. He tucked them in again, then left, closing the door after him. Getting married was supposed to be a solution, but it seemed to be bringing trouble instead. There was still so much to do, and he decided to go back out and work instead of finding Anna to apologize. There was always tomorrow, and besides, she was probably already asleep.

***

When she finished eating, Anna washed the dishes before she decided to go and find her husband. This was their wedding day, and she didn’t want their contention to fester. She had to talk to him and make him listen, as Mrs. Jenkins had said.

She used the back door to leave the house and went toward the barn, where she had seen him going as she was washing the dishes. It was big, bigger than the one her father had, and built more sturdily. Everything on the ranch that she had seen was well-built and kept in good condition. Her husband, it seemed, was one of the well-to-do ranchers. Or at least he was on his way.

As it was summer, the sun was still out even though the clock had long struck seven. She could see her way to the barn without fear of tripping. There was a bit of a breeze, and it brought that familiar scent of horses and hay to her. She took a deep breath and was soothed by something that was familiar in the sea of unfamiliarity that she was now in.

When she opened the door, she saw that he was alone in the big barn, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted was for his workers to know there was already trouble in their marriage so soon. She wondered what they thought about the fact that her husband had chosen to work barely half an hour after bringing her home.

He was carting hay from the side where it was stored and into the stalls for the stabled horses, then using a pitchfork to spread it for the ease of the horses. She stood by the door for a while, admiring the play of muscles as he worked. There was something to admire about a man who worked hard and she could see that her husband was such a man.

His tall, lean frame was economical in its movements, nothing wasted. He made the hard work seem so easy, and Annie found her heart softening toward him when she was angry at his treatment.

“Can we talk?” she finally asked. He stopped what he had been doing and placed the tines of his pitchfork on the ground, then leaned on the handle.

“I know the kids have had too much change in one day and are just lashing out because of that. I understand that,” she took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and ran her hand through her now loose hair.

“I also get that they might not want someone coming in to take the place of their mother. That’s not what I want to do. I haven’t been around children before but I want to take care of them as best as I can. And to do that, I need your support not having you berating me as if I’m also a child.” She added, her tone begging for understanding as she moved closer.

“I’m your wife, and I need your respect just as much as you expect me to respect you. We cannot start by fighting and not hearing each other out. Right?”

He took off his hat to reveal wild hair mused by it before wiping his face, then taking a swig of water before putting his hat on and picking up his fork again. He started working again, ignoring her. Anger once again rose inside her, burning from the inside until she felt like she just might explode. How dare he ignore her when she had just poured out her heart to him?

“Mr. Thompson,” she called with gritted teeth, and he ignored her. “Henry.” Still nothing.

Annie marched to him, and as he stood to toss the hay on his fork, she hit him on the back. She wasn’t a violent woman in any way. She had never hit anyone in all her life, but she had had enough. He had been gruff to her after their wedding and had left her inside the church instead of escorting her.

Then, he left his housekeeper to show her the ranch and introduce her to his workers. After that, he hadn’t listened when she had tried to tell him his daughter had just been acting out. He had called her incompetent. And now this? It was too much!

He swung around, holding the pitchfork in a threatening manner, but Annie paid it no heed. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded.

“Wrong with me?” he demanded right back. “What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because my new husband could barely say two words to me after we got married. That he left me to be escorted by his friend from the church, then couldn’t wait to get away once we got here. Not even bothering to introduce me around. Then you wouldn’t even listen to me when I was talking to you just now,” she shouted.

“I’m deaf in my left ear and partially deaf in the right!” he shouted back.

That deflated her. “Oh,” was all she could say, her wide eyes looking at his angry ones.

“It happened in the fire that killed their mother. The fire that left me scarred.” She looked at his open collar and saw that the ones she had seen at the wedding were nothing compared to the ones peeking through. He laughed without mirth. “They’re all across my chest and arms. I barely have any feeling there.”

Sympathy arose inside her for him, and she reached out to comfort him. “Don’t,” he commanded in a voice so cold it froze her. “I don’t need your pity.”

Anna swallowed the lump that was now lodged in her throat. She understood his need to lash out at her, to not want to accept even sympathy. She remembered it, too.

“It’s not pity,” she told him firmly holding his gaze. “Just sympathy.” She watched him painfully swallow and try to draw his eyes from hers before meeting them again. “What do you need from me?”

“Look,” he said in a calmer tone, though there was still tension in it and in the way he held himself. “Not many people know, just my housekeeper, her husband, and my friend Tom, and I would like to keep it that way.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

He nodded and looked around in an awkward manner, as if he wanted her gone. Annie didn’t think her leaving then would be a good idea. For the first time since they had met, they were having a conversation. A painful one, but still it was a good start.

“Do you know why I answered your ad?” she asked, but didn’t wait for him to answer just in case he said he wasn’t interested in knowing. “I got jilted on my wedding day,” she confessed. It was her turn to avoid his gaze but she saw him freeze and look at her from the corner of her eye.

“It was four years ago, but I couldn’t seem to move on. It was all people remembered about me, that the boy I had been engaged to since I was thirteen left me waiting for him on our wedding day. No other man wanted to marry me.”

She laughed just as bitterly as he had. “I was a pariah, and he married another woman from out of state. I don’t even know if he had been writing to her whilst we were planning our wedding. Talking about getting married.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She gave him a warm smile. “Pity, remember?”

“Sympathy,” he returned with an understanding smile. “I’m sorry for shouting at you earlier. Samuel told me what happened. I feel like a fool.”

“Don’t. You were just protecting your daughter.”

He shook his head. “I should have asked you to repeat what you said, told you I couldn’t hear you.”

She searched his face and saw that as embarrassed as he was, he was opening up to her. “How do you hide it?” she asked. “If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I tilt my head to hear better and have to concentrate whenever I know someone is speaking to me.”

“But when they come from behind, you can’t hear them,” she reasoned, understanding lighting her face.

“That’s why I prefer working in the barn. The horses always react when someone comes in.”

“But they didn’t with me. Why is that?”

“Maybe you have a soothing presence,” he said with a hint of a smile.

Her heart lightened, hope shinning at his words. “Maybe,” she agreed. “Well, I better leave you to your work. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replied before going back to work.

It had been a long day for her, but maybe things would be better. After all, it had ended rather well.

Annie felt a sense of cautious optimism as she prepared for bed. The conversation with Henry had been difficult, but it had also been a turning point. She had stood up for herself and expressed her feelings, and Henry had listened. It was a small victory, but it meant a lot to her.

As she lay down, she thought about the challenges that lay ahead. There would be more difficult days, more misunderstandings, and more moments of doubt. But she also knew that there would be moments of connection, of understanding, and of growth.

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer of gratitude. She was not alone in this journey. She had her faith, her determination, and the support of those around her. And with that, she drifted off to sleep, hopeful for what the future might bring.

Chapter 9

After their talk last night, Annie had thought things between them would be easier, but that had been wishful thinking. That morning, the twins wouldn’t change out of their nightclothes and had been running around and making noise. Her husband had come in, banging the kitchen door behind him.

At that moment, Annie had been trying to catch the laughing pair while they were in the entry hall, and the trio had frozen in their tracks. The twins had looked at each other with comical fear, and she had sighed in relief.

“In here, now!” her husband had commanded, and they had all trouped into the kitchen.

“Do you want me to take away your desserts for the week?” he asked the duo, who both shook their heads. “Get back upstairs and let Miss Anna change your clothes. I’ll make breakfast.”

Annie followed the children up, and there were no problems with their clothes. When they came back down, her husband placed some toast with strawberry preserves and tea. The toast she and he got was mostly burned, and she had forced herself to choke it down.

“Shall I say grace?” she had asked, but he had ignored her. Anna had spoken at the same volume his children did when talking to him, so she knew he had heard her but chose not to answer. He wouldn’t even look at her. They were back to how things had been before they had talked.

“Pass the butter, please,” he asked her.

Absently, she picked up the butter and handed it to him. As he took it from her, their hands brushed. Aside from when the reverend asked them to hold hands at the wedding, they had not touched each other in any way. Something happened when their hands brushed, something she couldn’t explain. A fire she had never felt before.

When their hands brushed, a spark of unspoken connection ignited between them. It was a fleeting touch, but it carried the weight of a thousand words. She felt it in her core, a warmth spreading through her that she couldn’t quite comprehend. It was as if a dormant ember had been stirred to life, a sensation so novel and intense that it left her momentarily breathless.

In that brief contact, a silent understanding passed between them, a promise of something more, something yet to be explored. The simplicity of the act, passing the butter, had unwittingly opened up something unexpected. Until she saw him shutter his eyes before he took up his toast and buttered it.

Annie was left bereft, as if she had touched something impossible and yet been denied before she could understand what it was. She felt cold, even though the morning was sunny and warm. Without any other choice, she took up her toast and spread some strawberry preserves on it.

Knowing that it would be terrible otherwise, she put on more than she usually did. They ate in awkward silence, with the twins looking from one of them to the other and then whispering to each other. Henry ignored it all.

Despite all that, the setting of the moment felt intimate and serene, a quiet corner of domesticity and a shared life. The room was suffused with the golden glow of late morning sunlight that streamed through the nearby window, casting a warm, inviting light across the wooden table where they all sat.

Outside, the world was alive with the whispers of nature—a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves, the distant chirp of birds going about their morning. Inside, the air was still and silent, filled only with the soft sounds of their presence: the clink of cutlery, the subtle shift of fabric, the muted thud of the butter dish being passed across the table.

As awkward as it was, she found the morning peaceful. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of silent wonder and uncharted emotions. She was surprised by the sudden warmth that tingled through her fingertips, spreading like wildfire through her veins. It was an unfamiliar sensation, yet it resonated with a part of her that she hadn’t realized was waiting to awaken.

She pondered the simplicity of the act—a mere passing of butter—and how it could stir such a profound response within her. Her mind, usually so attuned to the practicalities of life, now danced with possibilities, with the promise of a connection deeper than she had allowed herself to imagine.

There was a cautious curiosity in her thoughts, a hesitant exploration of what this new feeling could mean. She was aware of the vast landscape of their future together, and this touch seemed to be the first step on a path she had not expected to tread. It was as if a door had opened, revealing a sliver of light in a room she had thought to be dark.

Yet he had shut that door. Still, she marveled at the fact that it even existed. That such an emotion was possible.

“I’ll be in the barn,” he stated before getting up and leaving.

Annie watched as he walked away, as the silence of the barn swallowed his form. The door’s closure was a soft but definitive sound, a period at the end of a sentence she wasn’t ready to finish. She sighed.

The twins both turned to look at her, and her heart sank. She was becoming wary of their innocent little faces. Their gazes felt heavy, a silent questioning that she wasn’t prepared to answer. In their eyes, she saw a reflection of her own uncertainty, a mirror to some of the emotions she was still learning to navigate.

“So, what would you like to do now?” she asked them.

“Play games,” Sarah pipped up.

“We have to do our letters in the morning,” Samuel countered.

“Okay, go into the other room and wait for me while I clean up the kitchen.”

“Okay,” they said at the same time and got up.

Annie watched as they skipped out of the room and hoped they would not cause any more trouble. She had never taught anyone their letters and wasn’t sure what that entailed. As she washed the dishes, the women who worked in the kitchen came in.

They moved with a rhythm of their own, efficient and purposeful. Annie felt a bit out of step, her thoughts still with the twins and the task of teaching them their letters.

“Good morning, Miss Anna,” one of the women greeted her, her voice a warm note in the cool morning air.

“Morning,” Annie replied, offering a smile. “I’m just finishing up here. The twins are going to practice their letters soon, and I’m… well, I’m not quite sure how to go about it,” she confessed.

The woman chuckled softly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, don’t you worry none, miss. Teaching is all about patience and finding what works for them. Sometimes that’s songs, sometimes stories, and sometimes a bit of both.”

Annie considered this as she placed the last clean dish on the rack. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll try to make it fun for them.”

“That’s the spirit,” the woman said, nodding approvingly. “And if you need any help, I’m sure Mrs. Jenkins will be around at some point.”

With the kitchen work wrapped up, Annie dried her hands and headed to the other room, where the twins awaited. She had a plan forming in her mind, one that involved the beauty of nature and the joy of learning. It was time to turn letters into an adventure, one that would captivate the curious minds of Sarah and Samuel.

Only it didn’t work out as she had planned. Sarah didn’t want to recite her alphabet and didn’t want to play the learning games Annie tried to introduce. And when Samuel decided to leave her out and enjoy the fun, she started to cry.

Suffice it to say that the morning was a horrible one. Annie shouldered through and was grateful when noon came, and it was time for their nap. Only Sarah did not want to go to sleep. “Shall I go and call your father?” she finally asked.

Only then did the little girl dive into her bed and finally go to sleep. Annie was exhausted. As the little girl succumbed to sleep, Annie allowed herself a moment to breathe, to feel the weight of the morning lift.

She wondered if she would ever learn the delicate balance between nurturing and discipline. The experience of today had been draining, yet it was sculpting her into a figure of strength and adaptability. She hoped.

She trudged down the stairs and went into the kitchen. The woman who was in there looked at her tired self with amusement and giggling. She paid them little heed as she went to the glass of lemonade on a tray on the table. She didn’t care who it had been meant for as she took down a glass and poured.

She walked out and went to the parlor, then sat down. Her body felt as if he had spent the day riding herd. The parlor embraced Annie with its stillness, a stark contrast to the morning’s chaos. She sank into the chair, the fabric whispering against her as if to say, “Rest now.” The lemonade was cool in her hand, a small mercy for her parched throat and weary spirit.

As she sipped, the tangy sweetness seemed to wash away the fatigue; each swallowed a step back to herself. The laughter from the kitchen faded into the background, irrelevant to her current reprieve. Here, in the quiet of the parlor, Annie could hear her own thoughts again, could feel the steady beat of her heart calming.

She closed her eyes, letting the peace of the room envelop her. For a moment, she was not a teacher, not a caretaker, but simply a woman finding her footing in a new life. The challenges of the morning would serve as lessons for the days to come, and the strength she had mustered was a testament to her resilience.

Annie knew that the afternoon would bring its own trials, but for now, she allowed herself this respite. The parlor, with its gentle light and soft cushions, was a sanctuary, and she was its solitary pilgrim, seeking solace in its quietude.

The door creaked open, and with it, a sliver of light cut through the dimness of the parlor, casting Henry’s silhouette like a sentinel at the threshold. Annie’s eye fluttered open, a lazy lift of lashes she hadn’t realized had fallen. His presence was as commanding as the mountains that framed their land, his shoulders a horizon line that seemed to hold up the sky.

As he stood there, the emotions that had stirred within her at breakfast surged back, a torrent of feelings she couldn’t hold back. They were as wild as the winds that swept through the open fields, as untamed as the horses they corralled. This man, who could close doors with such finality, also had the power to open something within her, something she thought she had sealed away.

Annie remained seated, her body still heavy with the day’s exertions, but her heart raced. It was as if he had walked in with the storm, and she, like the earth, awaited the rain. The feelings were fierce and undeniable, and as he stepped into the room, she knew that whatever shelter she had found in the quiet of the parlor was about to be broken by the thunder of her pulse.

“How was your morning?” his gruff voice shivered something down her spine.

“Exhausting,” she told him, her voice coming out hoarse and scratchy.

He stood framed by the doorway, a figure both familiar and enigmatic. His features were a landscape of rugged beauty, sharp jawline like the edge of a cliff, eyes deep and fathomless as a forest lake, shaded by brows that spoke of a natural intensity. His nose was straight, a sentinel in the center of his face, and his lips were a quiet line of contemplation, hinting at a reservoir of thoughts unspoken.

His hair was the dark of the earth after rain, tousled by the invisible hand of the wind. The stubble along his jaw was the shadow of twilight against the fading day. His skin bore the kiss of the sun, a testament to days spent under its watchful eye, and his hands—they told their own stories, marked by work and the tender strength of a man who knows the value of labor.

His demeanor was a quiet storm, a presence that filled the room without a word. There was a steadiness in his stance, the assurance of mountains that have withstood the test of time. Yet, there was a softness, too, in the way his gaze lingered, in the subtle tilt of his head as he observed the world around him. It was this duality, this blend of strength and gentility, that drew her to him, that stirred the emotions she grappled with—a mixture of awe and a burgeoning, undeniable affection.

Was she crazy to all of a sudden feel like this?

“I will take them off your hands this afternoon,” he told her.

Annie sat up at that. “Don’t you have work to do?”

He came closer. Her throat dried as her breath became shallow. “I realized I have been unfair to you. You were honest enough to tell me you have never had anything to do with children, and yet I expected you to take care of two at once.”

There was a fire in his eyes, something that spoke of things she didn’t quite understand and yet thrilled her. His offer to take the twins for the afternoon was an olive branch, a recognition of her efforts, and an acknowledgment of her honesty.

“You’re right; I do have work,” he admitted, his voice a low timbre that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the room. “But today, I realized something important. You’ve been thrown into deep waters without knowing how to swim, and yet you’ve kept afloat. It’s time I shared the load.”

The fire in his eyes was a beacon, a signal of change, of passion, perhaps even of admiration. It was a look that spoke of apologies, of new beginnings. Annie felt it all, the thrill of uncertainty mixed with the warmth of being seen and understood.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, her voice steadier than she felt. “I could use the afternoon to… gather my thoughts.”

He nodded a silent promise in the gesture. “Take your time. The work can wait, and so can I.”

As Henry turned to leave, Annie felt a shift within her, a settling of pieces into places she didn’t know were empty. His departure was not a closing of a door but an opening of possibilities, and in that space, she found a new sense of hope. The afternoon lay ahead, a time to think about all that had happened and what it meant.

What did Henry mean when he said he could wait? Wait for what?

Now that he was out, the room seemed to exhale, the tension that had built up with his presence dissipating like mist in the morning sun. The parlor, once charged with an electric current of unspoken words and intense glances, settles into a tranquil stillness. The air, which had felt thick with the weight of new emotions, now lightened, allowing Annie to breathe more easily.

The soft rustle of the curtains as a gentle breeze found its way through a slightly ajar window whispered once more of normalcy. The faint creaks of the house settling were like a quiet assurance that life goes on, even after moments that feel like a pause in time. The warmth of the sunbeam that danced through the glass casts a comforting glow, wrapping the room in a serene embrace.

In the aftermath of his departure, the parlor felt full of a silent promise, a suspended hope that lingered in the space he once occupied. It was a room waiting, not with bated breath, but with a patient heart, for whatever came next. Annie was left in a cocoon of calm, of peaceful solitude that felt like a soft echo of the morning’s turmoil, now a memory fading with each passing second.

She smiled as she finally started to feel like this might be the place God had intended for her from the beginning. It was almost like what had gone on before had been there to show her what life truly was supposed to be when she got here.

She hoped she had found her home.

Chapter 10

“I like her, she’s pretty.” Henry’s son’s whispered words as he had put him to bed haunted him. They gave him a moment of clarity amidst the chaos of his thoughts. Yet they came with their troubles.

Anna wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful, and he was the fool that had thought it wouldn’t matter. But the truth was as clear as the early summer evening light streaming through the barn door—Anna was going to change his life. Which was the last thing he wanted. Not when he had so much going on in his life.

She had sat there in the seat that his wife used to sit in, and it had shattered him in a way he couldn’t understand. She had shattered the illusion, the fragile barrier he had built around his heart. A heart he had encased in a fortress now felt the tremors of her inadvertent siege.

The brush of hands that morning, a simple exchange in the daily family life as she passed the butter, had deepened that confusion. It was a touch that spoke volumes, a whisper of silk against stone, suggesting the possibility of a world beyond his grief. It was something he wasn’t ready for. And yet the sensation he remembered so well had washed over him with it.

It was a visceral reminder of a time when love was a daily language and left him disoriented in its wake. That low-burning heat, an ember of life reignited in the pit of his stomach. Something that was both a balm and a torment. It was the heat of realization, of potential, of what could be if he dared to let the walls crumble.

Henry hadn’t experienced the sensation in a long while, but he remembered it well. It left him flustered, enraged that she was taking over Margaret’s place in his life. Yet he knew it was all his doing, which only made him that much more angry.

So he had left, retreating to his sanctuary, his work. He surrendered the momentary lapse in the careful choreography of their lives he wanted to be crafted. He wasn’t ready to step out of his routine, the hint at a new rhythm that she brought. Henry didn’t want to find a new way to be. He was happy. And she was only there for the kids, nothing more.

The horses shifted, their ears cocking toward the barn doors, letting him know someone had entered it. He straightened, turning to see who it was. “Don’t you have your own ranch to see to?” he asked his friend.

Tom grinned back at him despite Henry’s sour tone. “I came to see how married life is treating you.”

“Fine,” Henry stated with a huff before going back to cleaning the stall.

Tom laughed. “Yes, you sound like a man who is enjoying being a newlywed.”

Henry ignored the comment and kept to his task; the rhythmic scrape of the shovel against the stable floor grounded him in the present. The barn was his refuge, a place where he could lose himself in the simplicity of labor and the comforting presence of his horses. Here, he could pretend that the rest of the world, with its complications and unexpected emotions, didn’t exist.

Tom’s presence, however, was a reminder that life was not as compartmentalized as Henry wished it to be. His friend’s easy smile and gentle ribbing were a bridge to the outside world, to the changes Henry was so determined to ignore.

“You can bury yourself in work all you want, but it won’t change what’s happening,” Tom said, leaning against the barn door, his gaze soft but unwavering. “You’re not the first man to be caught off guard by feelings, and you won’t be the last. But you owe it to yourself—and to Anna—to figure out what those feelings mean.”

“Why would you think I’m feeling something for her? She’s just here to take care of the kids.” Maybe if he said it again and again, he would remind himself of that truth and escape the oncoming change.

Tom laughed again. “I know you, Henry. I can tell you’re in a foul mood, and knowing you, there’s only one thing it could be: Anna.”

Henry’s grip on the shovel tightened, a silent battle raging within him. He knew Tom was right, but acknowledgment was a step toward a future he wasn’t sure he was ready to embrace. The safety of routine, of the life he had known, was a powerful anchor.

Yet, as he glanced back at the house, a sliver of light from the kitchen window caught his eye. He couldn’t deny the pull of something more. Anna had brought light into his life, a warmth that had thawed the frost left by grief. She was there for the kids, yes, but perhaps she was there for him, too, in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to consider.

With a sigh, Henry leaned the shovel against the wall and walked over to join Tom at the door. “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted, the words feeling like a surrender and a victory all at once. “But where do I even start?”

Tom clapped a hand on his shoulder, his grin now tinged with empathy. “I know you have a lot of work today so, start with breakfast tomorrow. Sit down without any walls up. Just… see where it goes.”

Henry’s huff was a mix of resignation and the comfort of having Tom’s unwavering support. “Since you have nothing else important to do, you might as well help me with my sick foal,” he grumbled, though the underlying gratitude was palpable.

“I’m always happy to help,” Tom replied, his voice steady and sincere as he stepped into the stable’s dim interior. The scent of hay and horse was a familiar balm to them both.

Henry’s concern was evident in his furrowed brow as he stepped away from the mare’s stall and moved toward the foal. The young animal lay listless, its sides heaving with each shallow breath. Tom followed, his expression turning serious at the sight.

“He isn’t nursing at all, and his temperature is high,” Henry reported, his voice laced with worry. He kneeled beside the foal, his large hands gently probing for signs of injury or illness.

Tom kneeled beside him, his experience on his ranch lending a practiced eye to the examination. “Have you tried bottle-feeding him?” Tom asked, reaching out to stroke the foal’s damp forehead.

Henry shook his head, a mixture of frustration and helplessness passing over his features. “I’ve tried, but he won’t take it. I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

The two men worked together, trying to coax the foal to drink, but their efforts were met with weak resistance. The barn was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of hooves from the other stalls and the soft, pleading whinnies of the sick foal.

When it was finally resting, they turned to attend to the other horses. Starting with the stall of his priced mare. Together, they worked in silent camaraderie, refreshing the stall with fresh grass, the simple task a respite from the complexities of Henry’s thoughts.

Once done, they moved to the adjacent stall, which had been empty until recently. Now, it housed Honey, the chestnut mare, whose grace and strength were the pride of Henry’s breeding stock. She was indeed a beauty, her coat a rich tapestry of russet and gold, her eyes a deep soulful brown that seemed to hold stories of the open plains and wild winds.

As Henry approached her, his hand outstretched, Honey nuzzled into his palm, her trust in him a testament to the bond they shared. At that moment, with the mare’s warm breath against his skin, Henry felt a flicker of peace. Here, in the presence of these majestic creatures, the weight of his troubles seemed to lighten.

Tom watched from the doorway, a knowing smile on his face. “She’s more than just a horse to you, isn’t she?” he observed, his tone gentle.

Henry nodded, his eyes not leaving Honey. “She’s a reminder,” he said softly, “of what’s good and pure in this world. Of what’s worth fighting for.”

“You’re talking about Carter?” Tom guessed.

Carter owned a ranch to the north of Henry’s land but had never been friendly to him. Their interactions had always been tense, marked by a mutual distrust that had only grown over the years.

For years Henry had wondered what had caused the animosity between them. Was it simply a matter of competition, or was there something deeper at play? Now he had ideas on the reason. Carter had made it clear that he saw Henry as an enemy.

Henry’s response was a low growl, his jaw hardening. The name ‘Carter’ brought a storm to his brow. He took off his hat and dusted it on his leg before putting it back on. “He’s got this notion that success in ranching is his birthright, of those like him, that he’s the gatekeeper of prosperity in these parts.”

Tom’s chuckle was dry, a rustle of leaves in the wind. “Well, he hasn’t come knocking on my door, and I’m doing just fine.”

“That’s because you’re not a threat to him,” Henry said, his voice a mix of bitterness and resolve. “You inherited a prosperous ranch. Carter sees wealth as a legacy, not something the likes of me should aspire to.”

Tom leaned against the wooden beam, his gaze distant but sharp. “Folks come west chasing dreams, Henry. It’s the promise of the frontier.”

Henry nodded, his eyes narrowing with determination. “True, but few prosper to his level. Carter’s the type who’d draw lines in the sand and call it his kingdom. He’s afraid, afraid that my ambitions will carve a piece out of his so-called empire.”

The two men stood in the waning light, the weight of their conversation was as heavy as the darkening sun. The West was a land of opportunity, but it was also a battleground where wills clashed, and futures were forged in the fire of ambition and rivalry.

“He fears my plans will dig into what he believes is his territory,” Henry continued.

The quiet companionship and the mare’s serene presence became a comfort to Henry’s conflicted soul. In the quiet of the barn, Henry knew the path ahead would be difficult. But with friends like Tom and moments like these, he also knew he wouldn’t have to face it alone.

As the evening wore on, the gravity of the situation settled over them. This was more than just a matter of ranching; it was a fight for life, a testament to the harsh realities of the frontier. Henry and Tom, united in their efforts, were a reminder that in this vast and untamed land, survival often depended on the strength of one’s community and the bonds forged in times of need.

With a determined set to his jaw, Henry finally stood. “I’ll stay with him through the night,” he declared, his voice steady with resolve. “If he doesn’t improve by morning, I’ll ride out for the vet.”

Tom nodded, clapping Henry on the shoulder in silent support. “I’ll be back at dawn to check on you both,” he promised.

As Tom left the barn, Henry settled in beside the foal, the lantern casting a warm glow over the scene. It was a long night ahead, but Henry was no stranger to the trials of life on the ranch. With hope as his companion and duty as his guide, he watched over the young life in his care, ready to do whatever it took to see it through to morning.