“Caleb Rourke?”
He nodded.
“Abigail Truett.”
“I know.”
Her eyes moved over him.
Not shyly.
Not nervously.
Assessing.
“You're late.”
“Yes.”
“How late?”
“Forty minutes.”
“That's inconvenient.”
“I know.”
She looked toward his horse.
“Is that yours?”
“Yes.”
“Can it carry two?”
Caleb blinked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She picked up her valise.
He reached for it.
“I can carry that.”
“I didn't say you couldn't.”
She handed it to him.
It was heavier than expected.
Caleb raised an eyebrow.
“What is in here?”
“My books.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
“You packed six books in one bag?”
“I packed the important ones.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
They mounted.
Abigail settled into the saddle with the ease of someone who had ridden since childhood.
Caleb noticed immediately.
“You ride well.”
“My father believed girls should know how to stay on a horse.”
“Good father.”
“He was.”
She looked toward the mountains.
“Is the ranch far?”
“Ten miles.”
“What do you call it?”
“Broken Antler.”
“Why?”
“My father found a deer antler broken in three places near the creek when he claimed the land.”
“Sentimental.”
“Not really.”
She nodded.
They rode in silence.
After several miles, Abigail said, “You imagined me differently.”
Caleb nearly pulled his horse to a stop.
“What?”
“You imagined me differently.”
“How?”
She looked straight ahead.
“Shorter.”
He said nothing.
“Quieter.”
Still nothing.
“Softer.”
Caleb swallowed.
“I didn't know what you would look like.”
“Yes, you did.”
He glanced at her.
“You described yourself.”
“I described myself. You changed it.”
He had no answer.
The wind strengthened.
Abigail tightened her coat.
Then she said quietly, “Don't worry, Mr. Rourke. I won't be offended by an imagination.”
“Caleb.”
“What?”
“Call me Caleb.”
She considered him.
“All right.”
“And I'm sorry.”
“For being late?”
“For imagining you.”
Abigail looked at him for several seconds.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
It was not a delicate smile.
It was warm.
Real.
“That's the first sensible thing you've said.”
By sunset, they reached Broken Antler Ranch.
Abigail looked at the house.
Then at the barn.
Then at the fence.
Then at the fields.
Finally she looked back at Caleb.
“You weren't exaggerating.”
“No.”
“You live here alone?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Seven years.”
She studied him.
“Then we have a lot of work to do.”
Caleb frowned.
“We?”
Abigail climbed down from her horse.
“Yes.”
She picked up her valise.
Then she walked toward the cabin as though she had lived there for years.
Caleb watched her go.
For the first time in seven years, Broken Antler Ranch did not feel empty.
It felt dangerous.
And alive.
A HOUSE WITH TOO MANY SECRETS
Abigail discovered the cabin's problems before supper.
The roof leaked over the kitchen table.
The chimney smoked when the wind came from the north.
The bedroom window had a crack running from corner to corner.
There were three chairs, although only two were usable.
The pantry contained coffee, salt, flour, beans, dried beef, and one jar of peaches Caleb had been saving for Christmas.
Abigail opened the jar.
Caleb stared.
“Those were for Christmas.”
“Christmas is months away.”
“Yes.”
“And you haven't eaten them?”
“No.”
“Then they are wasted.”
She took one peach.
Caleb watched her chew.
“Well?”
“Very good.”
She ate another.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
She smiled.
“You are generous.”
“I don't feel generous.”
“You will.”
That evening they ate beans and beef.
Abigail asked questions.
How many cattle?
Thirty-eight.
Horses?
Six.
Acreage?
Nearly six hundred.
Mortgage?
Caleb hesitated.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Eight hundred dollars.”
Abigail stopped eating.
“When is it due?”
“October.”
“That is five months.”
“Yes.”
“How much cash do you have?”
Caleb stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because if we are going to share a household, I would prefer to know whether the roof will fall on us before winter.”
“We'll manage.”
“That isn't a number.”
“Three hundred and twelve dollars.”
“That's not enough.”
“I know.”
“Any debts besides the mortgage?”
“No.”
“Then why are you behind?”
“Last winter was bad.”
“How bad?”
“Lost twelve cattle.”
“Disease?”
“Snow.”
Abigail nodded.
“And the spring?”
“Late.”
“Then this summer matters.”
“Yes.”
She finished her meal.
“I can help.”
Caleb looked at her.
“You don't need to prove anything.”
“I know.”
“You just arrived.”
“I know.”
“You should rest.”
“I've rested.”
“You traveled for three days.”
“Four.”
He frowned.
“Four?”
“I spent one night in Omaha.”
“Why?”
“My train was delayed.”
“Why didn't you mention it?”
“You didn't ask.”
Caleb leaned back.
There was something about Abigail that made every conversation feel like a test he had not prepared for.
Not because she wanted to defeat him.
Because she expected him to be honest.
The next morning she woke before him.
Caleb found her outside at sunrise, splitting firewood.
He stopped.
She struck the axe again.
The log cracked.
“Good morning,” she said.
“You don't have to do that.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because you were nearly out.”
She swung again.
Caleb watched.
Her technique was good.
Not perfect.
But good.
“You're holding it wrong.”
She looked at him.
“Show me.”
He stepped behind her.
“Keep your shoulders relaxed.”
“I am relaxed.”
“No, you're fighting the wood.”
“I've met stubborn things before.”
He smiled despite himself.
“Then you'll like ranching.”
She swung.