Lillian looked from the ring to Wyatt's earnest face. Then to Emma, who had rolled onto her side and was watching them with curious blue eyes. What about Emma? She's not your child. She would be in every way that matters," Wyatt said firmly.
"I'd raise her as my own, give her my name. And if Charles ever finds us," Wyatt's expression hardened, "he'd have to go through me to get to either of you, and I promise you, Lillian, that wouldn't end well for him." The fierce protectiveness in his voice seemed to reassure her. She studied his face for a long moment, then slowly nodded. "Yes," she said softly. I accept your proposal, Wyatt.
Relief and an unexpected surge of joy flooded through him. He slipped the ring onto her finger where it sat a little loosely but gleamed with promise in the afternoon light. We can be married tomorrow, he suggested. Reverend Thomas would do it, I'm sure. And then I can take you and Emma home to the ranch.
Home? Lillian repeated, testing the word. That sounds wonderful. Wyatt smiled, then impulsively leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. I'll do my best to make it so for both of you.
The wedding took place the following morning in Clearwater's small church. The ceremony was simple, attended only by doctor and Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Landry, and Mr. Henderson, who had written in from the ranch to show his support.
Lillian wore a borrowed blue dress from Martha Harrison with Emma in her arms, dressed in a new white gown that the women of the town had quickly sewn as a gift. Wyatt, in his best shirt and cleanly shaven, felt a strange combination of terror and contentment as he repeated his vows. When Reverend Thomas pronounced them husband and wife, he hesitated only briefly before placing a chasted kiss on Lillian's lips there first. The touch sent an unexpected warmth through him, a promise of feelings that might deepen with time. After a small celebration at the boarding house, Wyatt loaded Lillian and Emma's few possessions onto copper.
Mister Henderson had thoughtfully brought a wagon to transport the new family back to the ranch along with a rocking chair that Mrs. Henderson insisted was essential for a mother with a young baby. The ride to the rocking h was quiet with Emma sleeping peacefully in Lillian's arms and both adults lost in thoughts about the significant step they had just taken. As they approached the ranch, Wyatt pointed out landmarks. The creek where the cattle watered, the stand of cottonwoods that marked the property line, the distant mountains that turned purple in the evening light.
It's beautiful, Lillian said sincerely. So open and free. It can be harsh, too, Wyatt cautioned. Winters are brutal, and summer storms can appear out of nowhere. But there's a piece here I've never found anywhere else.
The foreman's cabin stood apart from the main ranch house and bunk house, offering privacy while still being close enough for convenience. It was rustic but solidly built with a front porch, two rooms inside, and a small lean to that served as a kitchen. Wyatt had spent the previous evening cleaning it as best he could, though he worried it would still seem primitive to a woman raised in Philadelphia. As he helped Lillian down from the wagon, Emma still cradled in one arm, he felt a sudden uncertainty. "It's not much," he began apologetically.