Yates couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. They do indeed, and I happen to know the head of the school board. Her eyes widened with hope. You do? Charles Montgomery owns the bank.
Good man. Desperate to find a qualified teacher before the fall term. He hesitated, then added, "You could stay at the Lazy K while you get established. It's not far from town." "You've already done so much for me.
It's a big house," he interrupted. "And Martha would love the company. She's been telling me for years the place needs a woman's touch." A slow smile spread across Bethy's face, lighting her eyes in a way that made Yates's heart skip. "That's very generous of you.
I accept on the condition that you let me contribute in some way, perhaps by organizing your library properly or helping with the accounts. Deal, he agreed, fighting the urge to take her hand. Now, let's go inside before Martha sends out a search party. Over the next few weeks, Bethany became an integral part of life at the Lazy K. She completed the reorganization of Yates's library, helped Martha with household tasks, and even took an interest in the ranch operations, asking intelligent questions about cattle breeding and land management that impressed even the most seasoned hands.
Yates arranged a meeting with Charles Montgomery, who was so impressed with Bethy's credentials and demeanor that he offered her the teaching position on the spot with a salary generous enough to allow her to eventually secure her own accommodations in town. Though there's no rush, Yates assured her when she shared the news. The Lazy K is your home for as long as you want it to be. The word home hung between them, waited with meaning neither of them was quite ready to acknowledge. As July turned to August, they fell into a comfortable routine.
In the evenings, they often sat on the porch, sometimes reading aloud to each other from Bethy's growing collection of books, sometimes simply talking. Yates found himself sharing stories he'd never told anyone about the war, about his sister's death, about his dreams for the ranch. In turn, Bethany spoke of her childhood in Boston, her passion for education, and her complicated relationship with her parents, who had loved her but never quite understood her independent spirit. On one such evening, as they watched a spectacular sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and gold, Bethany asked a question that had clearly been on her mind. Yates, why have you never married?
The directness of the question startled him, but he found he didn't mind. Never met the right woman, I suppose, or when I did, circumstances weren't right. What do you mean? He considered how to explain. There was someone in Kentucky before the war.
Caroline was her name. We planned to marry, but then the fighting started. I joined up and by the time I came back, she'd married someone else. I'm sorry, he shrugged. It was for the best.
After the war, I wasn't the same person. Needed a fresh start. And once I came out here, building the ranch took all my energy. Didn't leave much time for courting. But you must get lonely sometimes," she said softly.
"In this big house." Their eyes met in the fading light, and Yates felt something shift between them. A boundary crossed, a truth acknowledged. "Yes," he admitted. "Until recently."