Three letters later, they agreed.
Six weeks after that, Avalene stepped off the Bell Haven train.
Wyatt saw her immediately.
She was not what he had imagined.
He hated himself for having imagined anything.
She was softly full-figured, broader through the hips and chest than the fashionable women who passed through town.
Her gray traveling dress did not fit particularly well.
It looked altered from something made for another woman.
She carried a large trunk.
A porter struggled with it.
Avalene finally took one handle herself.
Wyatt walked forward.
“Mrs. Marsh?”
She turned.
Warm brown eyes.
Tired face.
No coy smile.
No theatrical inspection of him.
“Mr. Calder?”
“Yes.”
They stared at each other.
Then Avalene nodded.
“Good.”
Good.
That was their courtship’s conclusion.
He loaded her trunk.
They married that afternoon.
By supper, she was sitting across from him in the ranch house while twelve men tried not to openly examine her.
Nobody succeeded.
Higgins was polite.
Dobs was curious.
Cully whispered something to Halfpint and received an elbow from the foreman.
Avalene barely ate.
Wyatt noticed.
He said nothing.
That became the first mistake.
The second was allowing her to carry her own trunk upstairs.
She reached for it before anyone offered.
Wyatt assumed she preferred independence.
Avalene assumed nobody wanted the burden.
Both were wrong.
That night, Wyatt showed her the bedroom.
His bedroom.
Their bedroom now.
Avalene stood in the doorway.
Wyatt suddenly understood the problem.
He had arranged a practical marriage.
He had not considered practical sleeping.
“I can use the study.”
Avalene looked at him.
“You don't have to leave your room.”
“I’m not asking you to…”
His sentence died.
She understood.
Her face softened slightly.
“Thank you.”
Wyatt moved into the study.
For three nights.
He told himself it was temporary.
Then Avalene cooked breakfast.
Everything changed.
By the end of the first week, ranch hands who had once arrived whenever they pleased began entering the house within five minutes of meal time.
If Avalene said breakfast was at six, men appeared at five fifty-five.
If supper was at seven, nobody volunteered for unnecessary late work.
Halfpint developed a mysterious habit of finding kitchen jobs around four in the afternoon.
Avalene caught him one day beside a cooling apple pie.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking the window.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing.”
She stared.
He stared at the pie.
Avalene cut one small slice.
Halfpint nearly smiled himself unconscious.
“Don't tell Higgins.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Higgins entered.
“Don't tell me what?”
Halfpint froze.
Avalene cut another slice.
Higgins closed the door.
“Good woman.”
The kitchen changed first.
Avalene scrubbed years of grease from shelves.
Organized flour, sugar, salt, beans, coffee, spices, and preserves.
She opened every cupboard.
Created a list.
The next morning Wyatt found it beside his coffee.
Flour
Cornmeal
Yeast
Molasses
Dried apples
Potatoes
Onions
Carrots
Salt pork
Pepper
Cinnamon
Lard
Coffee
Soap
At the bottom:
If budget allows: raisins.
Wyatt looked at the list.
“Why wouldn't the budget allow raisins?”
Avalene stood near the stove.
“I don't know your household allowance.”
“My what?”
“The amount I’m permitted for food.”
Wyatt frowned.
“You're permitted whatever the ranch needs.”
“That isn't a number.”