Cole’s eyes were blue, but he saw that same look in the mirror every morning that dawned cold and clear, though since he’d married Elizabeth, the broken pieces had started to stitch themselves together again. But still, like recognized like.
The man was dressed much like Cole—black trousers, black vest, and a white shirt—though Cole had his sleeves rolled up. He hated anything constricting his movements if he needed to reach for his gun.
“You got any coffee?” the man asked. “I’ve missed out on a few nights of sleep to get here. I didn’t think I’d make it once the snow started. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to a hot meal and a bed.”
“You can get everything you want over at the Laurel Valley Hotel,” Cole said, seeing the weariness in the man’s eyes. “I was just about to head over there myself to meet my wife. Things in town have already started to shut down. I’ll drink a cup of coffee with you while you get a hot meal.”
“I’d be grateful for the company since you’re the reason I’m hungry and tired to begin with.”
There was still a glimmer of laughter in the man’s eyes, and Cole decided they’d get along just fine if the marshal was there for any other reason. It wasn’t like Cole had gotten a lot accomplished throughout the day. His thoughts had been on his wife since he’d kissed her goodbye that morning, and he’d been restless and looking at the clock ever since. He couldn’t decide if it was because a blizzard was coming to town or because he was afraid of what might happen when he and Elizabeth were stuck in a room together for two days.
He didn’t know much about marriage. His mama had died when he and his brother had been only a couple of years old, so he’d never known what a marriage should be. He didn’t remember his mother. But he’d known his father had spent the rest of his life missing her. And that loneliness, in Cole’s mind, had been his father’s weakness. If Cole hadn’t been around to fight off rustlers and others wanting the ranch, his entire legacy would have been lost.
It was an internal struggle, because despite his promise to stay unattached where the heart was concerned, he had fallen in love with his wife. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened—maybe it was the first time he’d seen her rope a calf with the efficiency of a man twice her size, or the way she’d sat with her dying father, holding his hand and singing the old Irish songs John Ross had taught her as a girl. Maybe it was their wedding night, when she’d stood before him in the lamplight of the honeymoon suite, nervous but determined, her dark hair loose around her shoulders for the first time he’d ever seen, and whispered, “I don’t know how to be a wife, Cole, but I’ll try my best if you’ll be patient with me.”
Or maybe—and this was the truth that kept him awake at night—he’d been in love with her for years, watching her grow from a gangly girl who followed her father around the ranch into a woman who could outride, outshoot, and outstubborn any man in the valley.
There was nothing more important than seeing a smile on her face, those rare genuine smiles that lit her up from the inside and made his chest ache with something too big for words. But he’d failed somewhere along the way. More often than not he’d catch her staring at him—a sadness or longing in her eyes that cut deeper than any knife wound he’d ever taken—and he knew he was losing her. She was slipping away like water through his fingers, and he didn’t know how to hold on. What he didn’t know was how to fix it, how to bridge the gap between duty and desire, between the marriage her father had arranged and the partnership they both deserved.
The last year had been difficult for Elizabeth, each season marking another stage of loss and adaptation. Last winter had taken her father, the pneumonia swift and merciless despite Doc Morrison’s best efforts. Christmas had brought the wedding her father had arranged—a ceremony both bitter and sweet, shadowed by grief yet warmed by a love she’d carried since girlhood.
Spring had seen the merging of the Ross and O’Hara ranches into one massive operation, two of Laurel Valley’s founding families joining their legacies as surely as the rivers that fed their land. And now this winter promised its own challenges, the December storms already testing every fence post and feedstore they’d prepared.
Her father, John Ross—who’d carved out his empire alongside the O’Haras when Laurel Valley was nothing but a dream and a prayer—had known he wouldn’t survive the sickness. The knowing had lived in his eyes for weeks as he’d struggled for breath. He’d called Cole to his bedside, and laid out his wishes with the same precision he’d once used to survey property lines.
The marriage. The merging of their lands. The promise that Elizabeth would continue to run the ranch operations as she’d been trained to do since she could barely reach the stirrups.
Cole would’ve eventually asked Elizabeth to marry him—when he’d had the time. But the job took him away, sometimes for days, when there was a manhunt through the mountains. Tracking rustlers to the territorial line. The duties that came with the star he wore.
He’d wanted to give Elizabeth a little more time to grow into herself. She was barely twenty years old, but she knew how to run the ranch from the ground up. The hiring, firing, herding, and selling of cattle were all her decisions. Not to say that he didn’t lend a strong back from time to time. It was a legacy that would be passed down to their children and grandchildren after all.
But he felt like Elizabeth was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She’d never really grieved her father’s passing. And though they’d known each other and were friendly, they hadn’t known each other like people who were to be married should. It had been a chaotic time, and they’d immediately gone from funeral, to wedding, trying to make their lives seem normal. Elizabeth had thrown herself into getting the merging of the ranches in order, watching men she’d known since she was a child pack their bags and leave because they wouldn’t take orders from a woman.
He’d stood by helpless, not knowing how to draw her in, how to make things better, and instead, he’d just focused on what he knew. And that was law and order. By any means necessary. And though they’d made a physical connection that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, it wasn’t enough for him.
It was Elizabeth’s longtime foreman, Lester, who’d taken pity on Cole and pulled him aside when he’d asked what he should do. Lester had told him it was time to take charge and not be too passive in Elizabeth’s grief. She was a strong woman—independent—and she’d move ahead on her own if Cole didn’t act as if he wanted to move forward together.
They’d never had a honeymoon, and Lester said it was long past time they did. Cole didn’t even think Elizabeth realized that the next day would mark a year of their marriage. And though they couldn’t take a lot of time away and leave Laurel Valley, they could hole up with a soft bed, a tub that ran its own hot water, and food delivered to their doorstep. And maybe by the time they left the Laurel Valley Hotel with its imported wallpaper and crystal chandelier that Mrs. Henderson had ordered all the way from San Francisco, they’d know exactly who the real Cole and Elizabeth O’Hara were.
“You still with me?” the man asked.
“Just took a side trip,” Cole answered. “It’s been a long day.”
“If you ask me, you’ve got the look of a man who has a woman on the brain.”
“I knew you’d be trouble the minute you walked in the door.”
“And I’ve got a real winning personality too.”
Cole couldn’t help but laugh. He stood and glanced through the big plate-glass windows that gave him a perfect view of his town. He’d already sent out men to tell everyone to close things down early. There was already a foot of snow on the ground, but visibility had gotten worse as the day progressed.
“You got a name?” Cole asked the man. “I like to know who I’m saying no to.”
The man’s droopy mustache lifted again. “My apologies. After finding you, coffee, black and strong enough to float a horseshoe, and a bed were the only things on my mind. And maybe a woman, but I think I’m too tired for that.”
“Probably a good thing,” Cole said. “Those kind of women more than likely have a line of customers. It is a blizzard after all.”
“Good point. Besides, I’m not like the others. I’m a lot harder to say no to. The name’s Jesse Calhoun.”
