Chapter Two
Charles offered Rosiehis arm as they began the trek to his homestead. The path wound through groves of trees. Rosie’s wide eyes roamed over the landscape, drinking in the sight of distant mountains. She marveled at the wildflowers that seemed to welcome her to this new life.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Charles asked, his voice betraying a hint of pride.
“Oh, yes,” Rosie replied. “I hope I never look around me and take the scenery for granted.”
Charles chuckled, a sound that seemed out of place. “If it ever seems like you are, I’ll find a stick and poke you with it.”
Rosie couldn’t help but giggle. It sounded like something her mother would have said, and as much as she missed her mother, it felt good to be reminded. So good.
As they crested the final rise, the homestead came into view. It was a sturdy structure that looked as if it could survive harsh winters and blistering summers. But as they approached, Rosie saw that the house had been neglected. Dust stained the windows, and cobwebs clung to the eaves like tattered lace.
“Here we are,” Charles said, gesturing toward the house with a sweep of his hand.
Rosie stepped inside and was greeted by a kitchen that seemed to have been abandoned mid-meal and left to the mercy of time. A fine layer of dust coated every surface, and pots and pans lay scattered, bearing the crusty remnants of meals long past. The entire kitchen smelled sour.
“Seems I’ve got my work cut out for me,” Rosie said, rolling up her sleeves. She was thrilled to know she was needed. “Can’t start supper with the kitchen in this state.”
“Apologies,” Charles murmured. “It’s been some time since anyone took care of the place.”
“Then it’s high time someone did,” Rosie replied with a smile.
She filled a bucket with water drawn from the pump outside. She was no stranger to housework, and though she’d rather bake any day, she was happy to have a purpose here. As she scrubbed at the grime, the soapy water turned murky with neglect. The task was arduous, but Rosie found satisfaction in the way the room slowly transformed under her care. Here, at least, she could make a difference.
“Looks like you’ve done this before,” Charles observed from the doorway.
“Many times,” Rosie said, dipping a rag into the bucket. “Though I confess, I never imagined doing so in my own home.”
“Your home,” Charles repeated softly. “It’s growing late, and I’m getting hungry.”
Rosie knew Ana would have told him that supper would have long since been over if the kitchen had been clean, but she wasn’t her sister. “I’ll get it as soon as the kitchen is clean enough to cook in. Is there a restaurant in town you could go to, and I’ll just make myself something when I’m done?”
Charles sighed. “You’re here so I don’t have to eat at the diner so much.”
Rosie sat back on her heels. “The way I see it, you have two choices. You can wait until I’m finished and can cook for you, or you can go to the restaurant.”
“I’ll wait.”
With each swipe of her cloth, Rosie uncovered more of the kitchen’s potential, imagining the meals she’d prepare and the warmth she’d infuse into this space. She so loved it when the house smelled like something had just been baked.
“Better?” she asked, standing back to survey her handiwork.
“Much,” Charles agreed.
“Supper won’t be grand tonight,” Rosie warned, her cheeks flushed with exertion. “But it’ll be made with care.”
“That’s all I can ask for,” said Charles, his gaze lingering on her longer than necessary before retreating back to the safety of distance. He’d married a very beautiful woman...again. Why hadn’t he specified an ugly woman in his letter?
Rosie cracked the last egg into the sizzling skillet, the rich aroma of frying bacon mingling with the smell of cleanser still lingering in the air. She had found the larder nearly barren, save for these few staples. Staring at the cast-iron pan, she wished for bread to sop up the yolks, but there was none to be had.
“Supper’s almost ready,” she called over her shoulder, feeling a curious blend of domesticity and independence.
Charles sat at the head of the rough-hewn table, his chair creaking as he leaned back, watching her with an intensity that made her hands fumble with the spatula. “It smells good,” he said, his deep voice carrying a note of genuine appreciation that warmed Rosie more than the heat from the stove.
“Thank you,” she replied, her cheeks tinged with a rosy glow. She plated the food with care, setting down the heavy dishes with a clatter that seemed too loud in the quiet space between them.
As they began to eat, Charles cleared his throat, a sure sign he was about to impart something of importance. “I reckon I should tell you more about what keeps me busy,” he started, piercing a piece of bacon with his fork. “I got a large herd of cattle, which means most of my time is spent out on the range.”
