“I’ve never seen anything like this in my life,” she finally said. “Can we afford this?”
“It depends on your definition of afford.”
Her head snapped around to look at him in surprise. She’d thrown everything she had into the ranch the past year—the breeding and selling of cattle, the upkeep on the fences and barn. From the moment she and Cole woke in the morning to when they lay in bed together at night, she worked herself to the bone. When she was working, it was easier to forget that she felt like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
She knew the ranch was in the black. The bookkeeper kept her up to date on the finances. But she also didn’t have a clue as to how much in the black they were. What was left to spare. And she had no earthly idea what Cole brought in as sheriff, though it seemed people paid him more in favors, like food and supplies he might need.
“I’m kidding,” he said. “Gerald Clark owes me a favor or two. The season hasn’t started because of all the snow. The train hasn’t been running as usual, so there haven’t been new guests. The room was available, so he said to take it for a couple of days.”
“Oh.” She felt very awkward all of a sudden. The emotions she’d felt earlier were still there—the anger and hurt—but they’d faded once she and Cole were alone. “That was nice of him.”
“These two days,” Cole began. “They’re really important to me, Elizabeth. We have a lot to talk about. I think you’d agree that the last year of our marriage hasn’t really been a marriage at all.”
Elizabeth’s traitorous heart sank. This was it. This was when he’d end it. When he’d tell her he was leaving. She braced herself for it, and hadn’t realized she’d sat with the weariness of a long day settling into her bones on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes.
“I guess that’s my fault,” she said. “I’m not really sure how to be married. My mom died when I was so young…”
“And you think I do?” he asked, sounding surprised. “I don’t remember my mother. And all I’ve seen of a marriage is the brief time between my father and stepmother. Believe me, that didn’t exactly imprint visions of happily ever after on my mind.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face and got to her feet, and then crossed her arms over her chest. Anger was bubbling beneath the surface and she paced back and forth.
“This is my father’s fault,” she said. “You got trapped into marriage because of your sense of duty. You knew what would happen to me and everything he and my grandfather built if I didn’t have a husband. So you agreed to his ridiculous terms and put all your own dreams on hold. It’s made me realize I don’t even know you. I didn’t know of your plans to become a marshal. I only know about your time in the war because people like Miss Adelaide like to spread the worst of things. Of course, I don’t believe most of what she said, but there’s probably a shred of truth in there somewhere, otherwise the president wouldn’t be trying to recruit you. She knew about the marshal who’d come for you today. Why didn’t you tell me? Were you going to pin on your badge and send me a letter from somewhere in Wyoming?”
“Elizabeth,” Cole said, coming to her. He put his hands on her upper arms to keep her from pacing. Her body was quivering with everything she’d kept inside all this time. “First of all, let’s set something straight.”
Before she knew what was happening, his mouth was on hers and every thought in her head rushed out of her ears. She remembered the first time he’d kissed her, at their wedding, and she understood there was something powerful in the connection they shared that she never would’ve understood if her father hadn’t negotiated her marriage to Cole.
His lips were soft, his mouth hot against hers, and she sank against him, as if her body had a will of its own. It was easy to close her eyes and just feel. To hold on and let their bodies meld together. This was when she felt closest to him, when she felt she really understood him. When their bodies were joined and they were perfectly in sync.
When he pulled away they were both breathing heavily and she could barely stand. “Let’s get two things straight before we move forward. I never wanted to be a marshal. I came back to Laurel Valley after my travels and the war because this is where I wanted to be. This is the life I want. I’ve turned down every marshal that’s come to pin that star on me. This one won’t be any different.”
“There have been others?” she asked, surprised.
“Three others. And my answer has always been the same. This is my home. You are my wife. My family. I’ve never had a family before. At least not a real one.”
“You said there were two things,” she said. “What’s the second?”
“The second is that your father didn’t have to persuade me to marry you. I don’t remember when exactly I took notice of you. One day you were a child and then one day you weren’t. It was like being slammed in the face with a piece of wood. You’re not like any woman I’ve ever known. Looking at you is like staring at a single, beautiful rose in a garden of weeds. I knew if I noticed you, that others had noticed you too.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about right now,” she said, confused.
He released her and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not good at explaining myself. I’ve never had to do it before, but I can see that’s where I made the mistake with us. We haven’t exactly done a good job at communicating.”
He turned and walked away and she could sense his frustration. But she’d found her tension and worry had eased as soon as he’d told her he had no plans to become a US marshal. She followed him into the sitting area, but she’d observed him enough to know he’d talk when he was ready.
Elizabeth unbuckled her holster and set it on the table in front of the windows and then she used the boot pull in the corner to remove her boots. The wind was howling, and the snow was blowing sideways. The street was impossible to see.
He was silent for so long his voice surprised her when he finally spoke again. “When your father came to me and asked if I would marry you, I thought he was giving me the best gift anyone could’ve ever given. And not because your family ranch would be deeded to me upon his death. He knew he wasn’t going to make it, and his only thought was to make sure you were taken care of. And he picked me to see out what he couldn’t.”
She didn’t realize she was crying until she tasted salt on her lips, felt the hot tracks down her cheeks that seemed to burn against her cold skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried—truly cried, not just the exhausted tears that sometimes came late at night when she was too tired to hold them back anymore. When was the last time she’d let herself feel anything at all?
Everything had happened so fast. Too fast for her mind to process, too fast for her heart to catch up. She’d only thought her father was fighting off a bad cold that February, one of those lingering winter ailments that plagued everyone in Laurel Valley when cabin fever set in and people’s resistance wore thin. He’d been coughing, sure, but he was always coughing a bit in winter. The cold air, the coal smoke, the dust from the hay—it was nothing unusual.
But he’d gotten increasingly worse over just a couple of weeks, the decline so rapid it seemed impossible. One day he was still riding out to check the herds, bundled against the cold but determined. Two days later he could barely make it from his bedroom to the kitchen. He’d lost weight with terrifying speed, his clothes hanging on a frame that had always been solid and strong, the muscle melting away until he looked like a scarecrow version of himself. And the breathing—God, the breathing. The wet, rattling sound of it, the way he’d struggle for each breath like he was drowning on dry land, his lips turning blue with the effort.
There was nothing any doctor could do. Doc Morrison had said it straight—pneumonia, too far gone, lungs filling with fluid faster than they could drain. He just wasted away right in front of her eyes, shrinking and fading like he was being erased from the world one brush stroke at a time. She’d sat by his bedside and watched him die by inches, helpless to do anything but hold his hand and pretend she couldn’t hear the death rattle in his chest.
She hadn’t had time to cry. Someone had to take over his duties when he’d been too sick to do them himself, and there was no one else. The hands looked to her for direction, even though half of them resented taking orders from a woman. She’d been the one to do that—checking the stock, managing the books, making decisions about feed and breeding and which hands to keep and which to let go. In between taking care of her father, work had consumed her. Sixteen-, eighteen-hour days that left her so exhausted she’d fall into bed fully clothed, too tired to even remove her boots.
