He changed diapers badly.
Held the baby awkwardly.
Learned.
At two weeks, Rose stopped crying when he walked with her.
At one month, she fell asleep against his chest regularly.
At six weeks, Nathaniel could prepare a bottle better than Evelyn.
He became unbearably proud.
“You measure poorly.”
Evelyn said one night.
“I measure by instinct.”
“That is why half the milk is on your shirt.”
Nathaniel looked down.
Rose had spit up.
He sighed.
Evelyn laughed.
They began kissing again after her recovery.
Slowly.
The attraction had not disappeared.
If anything, familiarity made it deeper.
One night, after Rose finally slept, Evelyn entered the kitchen wearing only a loose nightgown and shawl.
Nathaniel sat at the table.
He looked up.
Then immediately looked down.
Evelyn smiled.
“You’re staring again.”
“I stopped.”
“Coward.”
Nathaniel laughed.
She sat beside him.
Their knees touched.
Neither moved away.
Evelyn whispered:
“Do you still want me?”
Nathaniel looked genuinely shocked.
“What?”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
“Even now?”
He frowned.
“What does ‘now’ mean?”
Evelyn gestured toward herself.
Her body had changed after birth.
Softer.
Heavier in places.
Tired.
She had not slept properly in weeks.
Nathaniel stared.
Then said:
“Evelyn, if you keep asking questions with obvious answers, I’m going to become offended.”
She laughed nervously.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He leaned closer.
“You were beautiful at the station.”
“You were beautiful pregnant.”
“You were beautiful screaming at me during labor.”
“I was not.”
“You were terrifying.”
“That’s different.”
“And you’re beautiful now.”
Her eyes filled.
Nathaniel’s expression softened.
“Who taught you to keep asking permission to be wanted?”
Evelyn looked away.
“Everyone.”
Nathaniel touched her chin gently.
“Then everyone was wrong.”
He kissed her.
Adult.
Warm.
Long enough that Evelyn forgot uncertainty for several seconds.
Nathaniel stopped first.
Forehead against hers.
“Tell me if this is too much.”
She smiled.
“You’re very worried about behaving.”
“You threatened to evaluate me at the station.”
“I did.”
“How am I doing?”
Evelyn kissed him again.
“Improving.”
Their relationship changed quietly after that.
Not instantly into marriage.
They shared affection.
Talked late at night.
Sometimes slept together after Evelyn fully recovered and when both wanted it.
Nothing became a debt.
Nothing secret.
Nothing promised beyond what they could honestly offer.
Evelyn learned Nathaniel snored.
Nathaniel learned Evelyn stole blankets.
Romance became ordinary.
That made it stronger.
Then James arrived from Denver.
Fifteen.
Tall like Nathaniel.
His mother’s lighter eyes.
He stepped from the stagecoach carrying one trunk.
Saw Evelyn holding Rose.
Stopped.
Evelyn’s stomach tightened.
Nathaniel had written to him.
Explained.
Not everything.
Enough.
James looked toward his father.
Then Evelyn.
Then the baby.
“Hello.”