No men.
No advertisement.
No dead mother.
No abandoned engagement.
Only two adults discovering something neither had requested in the original arrangement.
When they separated, Avalene remained close.
Wyatt’s forehead rested against hers.
She whispered:
“You taste like coffee.”
“You made it.”
“That doesn't make it romantic.”
He smiled.
She smiled too.
Then someone outside shouted:
“Can we come back in yet?”
Wyatt closed his eyes.
Avalene began laughing.
Higgins shouted:
“Halfpint is starving!”
“He ate four biscuits!” Wyatt yelled.
“Five!” Halfpint corrected.
Avalene pulled away.
“Let them in.”
Wyatt sighed.
“That boy is ruining my marriage.”
“You barely started it.”
He looked at her.
“Then maybe we should work faster.”
Her cheeks flushed.
He enjoyed that far too much.
The ranch hands returned.
Nobody mentioned the kiss.
Not immediately.
Then Dobs saw Avalene’s face.
He looked at Wyatt.
Looked back at her.
Higgins said:
“Don't.”
Dobs closed his mouth.
Progress.
The next several months changed the ranch in ways Wyatt had never expected.
Avalene planted a kitchen garden twice the size of his mother’s old one.
She reorganized storage.
Started preserving fruit.
Bought a milk cow because, in her words, paying town prices for butter was “financial foolishness dressed as convenience.”
Wyatt did not argue.
Mostly because he liked butter.
The men became fiercely loyal to her.
When Avalene caught a fever in late summer, the ranch nearly collapsed emotionally.
She was in bed two days.
Higgins attempted breakfast.
The biscuits became weapons.
Dobs burned bacon.
Halfpint drank coffee strong enough to make his hands shake.
Wyatt entered the kitchen.
“What happened?”
Higgins looked at him.
“Your wife can't ever die.”
Wyatt stared.
“That's a strange thing to say before sunrise.”
“I mean it.”
Dobs held up a biscuit.
“This broke a plate.”
Wyatt looked toward the stairs.
He smiled.
Avalene recovered.
The first morning she returned to the kitchen, twelve men applauded.
She nearly turned around and left.
Wyatt caught her gently at the waist.
“You caused this.”
“I cooked breakfast.”
“Exactly.”
She looked at the cheering table.
“They're ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“You too?”
“Probably.”
He kissed her temple.
The ranch hands suddenly became fascinated with their plates.
Their marriage developed quietly.
Wyatt moved back into the bedroom after two months.
Not because either declared a date.
One rainy night, Avalene found him asleep in the chair outside her room.
She woke him.
“What are you doing?”
Wyatt opened his eyes.
“Nothing.”
“You are sleeping in a chair.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
He rubbed his face.
“Study roof leaked.”
“That is a terrible lie.”
He looked guilty.
Avalene understood.
“Were you going to knock?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you?”
“I wasn't sure.”
Avalene stepped aside.
“You're my husband.”
Wyatt looked at her.
“Properly?”
She smiled.
“Come inside.”
He did.
Nothing hurried.
Their marriage had begun without desire.
Perhaps that was why desire later felt so meaningful.
Every touch was chosen rather than assumed.
Every step became something they decided together.
By autumn, Wyatt could no longer remember why he had once thought solitude was easier.
He still worked long days.