Caleb gathered the coins and bills, his hands shaking slightly. He left the deed on the table. He walked over to the young woman, stopping a few feet away. He didn't know what to say. There were no words for this.
He was a simple man. He knew horses and cattle and the turn of the seasons. He knew nothing of this. "Ma'am," he said, his voice rough. He gestured toward the door.
"Come on. " She didn't move. She just watched him, her dark eyes searching his face. He saw a flicker of something then, a deep weariness that went bone deep. He softened his voice, trying to strip the command from it. "Please," he said.
It was the only other word he could think of. After a long moment, she gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. She walked toward the door, her steps measured and silent. She did not walk behind him like a servant, nor ahead of him, but beside him, her head held high. As they stepped out into the dusty street, the setting sun casting long, distorted shadows, Caleb felt the weight of every eye in town on his back.
He had never felt more alone. The ride back to his ranch was silent. The wagon creaked and groaned over the rutted track, the two sturdy horses pulling at a steady pace. The sun bled out of the sky, painting the clouds in shades of orange and bruised purple. Caleb kept his eyes on the road ahead, his knuckles white on the reins.
Besides him, the young woman sat perfectly straight on the hard wooden bench. She hadn't said a word since they left town. Caleb didn't even know her name. He had tried once. "I'm Caleb Hayes. " He'd offered, the words sounding clumsy in the vast quiet.
She had only looked at him, her expression unchanging. He figured she didn't speak English. Or maybe she just had nothing to say to the man who'd won her like a new saddle. He couldn't blame her. His ranch was little more than a cabin, a barn, and a few corrals nestled in a small valley with a creek running through it.
It was modest, but it was his. He'd built it with his own two hands on a homestead claim. As they pulled up in front of the small clapboard cabin, the horses nickered softly, glad to be home. He hopped down and came around to her side of the wagon. He held up a hand to help her down, but she ignored it, sliding off the bench with a fluid grace that seemed out of place in her stiff, formal dress.
He led her to the cabin door and pushed it open. It was a single room, clean but sparse. A bed in one corner, a stone hearth for cooking, a table with two chairs, and a few shelves holding tins and sacks of flour. He'd built a small loft for storage, accessible by a simple ladder. "You can You can take the bed. " He said, gesturing.
"I'll sleep in the barn. " "Or up there. " He pointed to the loft. She looked around the room, her gaze taking in every detail. She walked over to the hearth, ran a finger along the cool stone, then turned to face him. She gave a slight bow, her hands pressed together. It wasn't a bow of subservience, it was one of formal acknowledgement, like a greeting between equals.