One man had laughed that Jonah had probably ordered a wife the same way a man ordered a new saddle.
Jonah had ignored them all.
Then he saw Gideon Rusk's cowhands beneath the saloon porch.
There were four of them.
Cal Vickers stood in the middle.
Vickers was Rusk's foreman and one of the meanest men Jonah had ever encountered.
He smiled when their eyes met.
“Mercer!”
Jonah didn't answer.
“You expecting somebody?”
The others laughed.
Vickers stepped into the street.
“Maybe a sweetheart?”
Jonah's hands tightened.
“Leave it alone, Cal.”
“Aw, we're just curious.”
Vickers came closer.
“Never figured a woman would willingly marry you.”
Jonah looked at him.
For one dangerous second, something old and hot moved through his chest.
His father's voice returned from memory.
You're bigger than most men, Jonah. Don't become worse than them.
He breathed slowly.
Then he looked away.
Vickers laughed.
“There he is. Big Jonah Mercer. Scared of his own shadow.”
Jonah said nothing.
The stagecoach arrived before the argument could grow.
Its wheels slid through the mud.
The horses were exhausted.
The driver climbed down and opened the passenger door.
Three travelers stepped out.
An old man.
A traveling salesman.
Then a woman.
She stood alone in the sleet.
She wore a dark brown traveling dress, a gray wool coat, and a bonnet that had clearly seen better days.
One small leather suitcase hung from her hand.
She looked toward the depot.
Her eyes found Jonah immediately.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then she walked toward him.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Jonah swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Mara Bell.”
“I know.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“That is convenient.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
“You're cold.”
“So are you.”
Jonah looked down at himself.
Snow clung to his shoulders.
“You've been waiting long?”
“Most of the afternoon.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You don't have to apologize.”
She looked across the street.
Her gaze landed on Vickers and the other cowhands.
Then she looked back at Jonah.
“Are those your friends?”
“No.”
“Good.”
That time Jonah did smile.
It surprised both of them.
He took her suitcase.
“I brought a wagon.”
Mara nodded.
“Then let's go home.”
The words struck him unexpectedly.
Home.
Nobody had called Blackstone that since his father died.
They walked toward the wagon.
As Jonah helped her climb aboard, Mara hesitated.
“I want to be clear about something.”
He waited.
“I came because I agreed to your terms.”
“I know.”
“I won't pretend this is a love story.”
“It isn't.”
“And I don't expect you to pretend either.”
Jonah nodded.
“Fair.”
She studied him.
“You're quieter than your letter suggested.”
“I didn't write much.”
“No.”
She climbed into the wagon.
Jonah took the reins.
They started north.
Neither spoke for several miles.
Then Mara asked, “How far is Blackstone?”
“Seven miles.”
“Is there work?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Jonah glanced at her.
“You don't have to work.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because sitting still makes me nervous.”
He nodded.
“So does talking.”
Mara laughed softly.
It was the first sound he had heard from her that wasn't practical.
And for some reason, Jonah remembered it long after the storm had passed.
The House on the Hill
Blackstone Ranch appeared at sunset.
The house stood on a low hill overlooking the southern pasture.
It was not large.
Two bedrooms.
A kitchen.
A sitting room.
A narrow porch.
A barn.
A corral.
A windmill.
And beyond all of it, the endless grassland stretching toward Willow Creek.
Mara looked around quietly.
“This is yours?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“The house and eighty acres.”
She nodded.
“It's enough.”
Jonah glanced at her.
Most people would have complained.
Mara didn't.
He showed her the spare bedroom.
The bed had clean sheets.
A small washstand stood beneath the window.
There was a cracked mirror on the wall.
“I repaired the window latch,” Jonah said.
Mara tested it.
It worked.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“There are blankets in the chest.”
“Thank you.”
“You can lock your door.”
She looked at him.
“Why wouldn't I?”
“I don't know.”
Jonah immediately regretted saying it.
Mara's expression softened.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Jonah.”
She smiled faintly.
“Jonah.”
He waited.
“You don't need to be frightened of me.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
He looked away.
She didn't press him.
Dinner was awkward.
Jonah had cooked beans, potatoes, and beef.
Mara ate quietly.
Then she looked toward the wall.
“Who was that?”
“My father.”
His father's portrait hung above the fireplace.
Elias Mercer had been a stern man with gray eyes and a hard mouth.
“He looks angry.”
Jonah almost choked on his coffee.
“He usually was.”
Mara studied the portrait.
“What happened to him?”
“Heart failure.”
“I'm sorry.”
Jonah nodded.
After dinner, Mara washed the dishes.
Jonah tried to stop her.
She ignored him.
“You're paying for half this arrangement already,” she said. “Let me earn the other half.”
“That isn't necessary.”
“It is to me.”