Jake interrupted, laughing. You can turn the whole house purple if it makes you happy. It's your home now. Our home. Our home.
Like together. The words held weight and promise. Not just a place to work and survive, but a true home built on love and choice rather than duty and desperation. "I love you, " she said suddenly, surprising herself with a declaration. I should have said it earlier when you asked, but I was so overwhelmed.
You said yes, Jake replied, setting aside the dish towel to pull her against him. Soap suds and all. That told me everything I needed to know. But for the record, I love you, too. Have for weeks.
Probably from the first time you made the men laugh over dinner. They stood there in the kitchen that had witnessed so much. Burned biscuits and perfect pies, medical emergencies and quiet evenings. The slow building of trust and love between two people who'd thought those chances were behind them. Outside, snow began to fall.
The first of the season, dusting the prairie white and clean. A new beginning, Margaret thought, watching the flakes drift past the window for the ranch for the season and for two hearts that had found their way home to each other. "Merry Christmas, future Mrs. Caldwell, " Jake murmured against her hair. ""Merry Christmas, Mr. Caldwell, " she replied, and knew that all future Christmases would be measured against this one, the year she came west, seeking work, and found everything she hadn't dared to hope for. Christmas Eve arrived with a fresh blanket of snow that transformed the Circle M into something from a fairy tale.
Margaret stood at the kitchen window, watching the sunset paint the white landscape in shades of rose and gold. Tomorrow, she would become Margaret Caldwell. The thought still seemed dreamlike, even with the sapphire ring catching the light as she rolled out one more batch of cookies. The kitchen was a symphony of scents. Cinnamon, nutmeg, roasting meat, fresh bread.
She'd been cooking for two days straight, preparing for the wedding feast. The cowboys had pitched in with touching enthusiasm. Tom had ridden to town three times for supplies. Bill and Frank had scrubbed the main room until it shone. And even gruff old Pete had contributed by carving a wooden cross to hang above the fireplace.
"You should be resting, " Jake said from the doorway. "It's bad luck to exhaust the bride before the wedding. " Margaret turned, flower dusting her cheeks, and smiled at the sight of him. He'd been working to finish ranch business before their wedding day, wanting to give her his full attention afterward. "I'm too happy to be tired.
Besides, someone has to feed all those hungry cowboys tomorrow. The ladies from town are bringing dishes, too. He reminded her, crossing to steal a warm cookie. Mrs. Morrison insisted on a proper wedding cake. Mrs. Patterson is bringing her famous pickled vegetables.
Even Mrs. Henderson promised to contribute, though Lord knows what that'll be. Probably talk, Margaret said dryly, making him laugh. Probably, he caught her around the waist, pulling her close despite her protests about floury hands. Are you sure about this, Margaret? It's not too late to change your mind.