It's perfect, Amelia replied and meant it. The ride back to the ranch was companionable, both of them content with the day's accomplishments. As they crested the hill overlooking the property, Carrick pulled his horse to a stop. "What is it?" Amelia asked, halting beside him.
He gestured toward the house and surrounding land, golden in the late afternoon light. Just wanted you to see it like this. Your home, if you still choose it to be. Amelia studied the scene, the sturdy house, the well-maintained out buildings, the cattle grazing peacefully in the distance. It wasn't grand or luxurious, but there was beauty in its honesty, its purpose.
I do choose it, she said softly. and I'm grateful for the choice. Carrick turned to look at her, his expression serious. Amelia, before Sunday comes, there's something I should tell you. What is it? He seemed to struggle for words.
I want you to know why I advertised for a male order bride rather than courting locally. Amelia waited, curious after Beatatrice Wilson's comments. I was engaged once before the war, he said finally. Elizabeth was from my hometown in Pennsylvania. We'd planned to marry when I returned.
His voice grew distant. I came back changed. We all did. Elizabeth. She tried, but she couldn't understand what I'd seen, what I'd done.
She broke the engagement. Amelia guessed gently. Carrick nodded. Said she wanted the man who'd left, not the one who returned. Can't blame her for that.
He took a deep breath. Afterward, I couldn't bear the thought of courting of trying to explain myself to someone who expected a different man. Coming west was a fresh start. "But you still wanted a family," Amelia said, understanding dawning. "A partnership," he corrected.
"Someone who'd accept me as I am now. Not measuring me against who I was before. That's why I was direct in my advertisement. No romantic notions, just honest terms." And then I arrived in tears.
Completely contrary to what you'd requested, Amelia said with a small, self-deprecating smile. To her surprise, Carrick laughed. Yes, you certainly weren't what I expected. His expression softened, but maybe that's for the best. They continued down the hill toward home.
Something new growing between them. Understanding perhaps, or the beginnings of trust. The next day passed in a flurry of preparations for both the wedding and Sunday dinner at the Brennan. Amelia baked pies to bring as their contribution, while Carrick finished repairs on the smokehouse and cleared away the last of the storm debris. By Saturday evening, Madame Bouvier had delivered the wedding dress, a simple but elegant creation in cornflour blue that complimented Amelia's eyes.