But there's satisfaction in it. I'm not afraid of hard work, Amelia assured him. Though I should confess, I've never actually milked a cow. We have exactly one milk cow, Carrick said with amusement. Old Bessie.
She's gentle as they come. I'll teach you tomorrow if you'd like. I would, Amelia said, realizing she meant it. That night, lying in bed listening to the rain, Amelia reflected on the unexpected turn her life had taken. Two days ago, she'd been weeping on a stage coach, certain she'd made a terrible mistake.
Now she was considering a future that, while uncertain, held genuine possibility. Carrick Montgomery was nothing like she'd imagined from his letters. The serious, practical rancher had depths she hadn't expected intelligence, consideration, and a quiet strength that put her at ease rather than intimidated her. It wasn't love, of course. Such feelings couldn't develop in a single day, but it was something, a foundation, perhaps on which something real might be built.
The next morning dawned clear and fresh after the storm. Amelia woke earlier, determined to have breakfast ready before Carrick began his chores. She found him already in the kitchen, however, coffee brewing on the stove. Good morning, he said, looking up from the letter he was writing. Sleep well.
Very, thank you, she gestured to his paper. Important correspondence list for the general store. thought we might ride into town today. If you're agreeable, you can meet some folks, get supplies." The prospect of facing the town's folk made Amelia nervous, but she recognized the necessity. "Of course.
What time were you thinking?" after the morning chores. "There's a dress shop Martha Brennan recommended. Thought you might want to look in, maybe order something for Sunday." Amelia glanced down at her practical brown dress, one of only three she'd brought with her. None were particularly suitable for a church wedding.
"That's thoughtful of you," she said. Carrick folded the list and tucked it into his pocket. "Also thought we might discuss the wedding. Preacher Jenkins will be here Sunday if you've decided." He left the sentence unfinished, his expression carefully neutral.
Amelia took a deep breath. I'd like to proceed as planned if you're still willing. Relief flashed across Carrick's face, quickly masked. I am. Then Sunday it is, she said, surprised by her own certainty.
After breakfast, Carrick made good on his promise to teach Amelia to milk Bessie. They walked to the small barn together, where the placid brown cow greeted them with a soft moo. She's friendly, Carrick assured Amelia, patting the animals side. Just approach her calmly. He demonstrated the technique, then guided Amelia's hands, showing her how to grasp and pull in the proper rhythm.
His callous hands were gentle over hers, his voice patient as he explained. The unexpected intimacy of the moment his chest nearly against her back, his breath warm near her ear, made Amelia acutely aware of him as a man, not just a potential husband. "You're a natural," he said approvingly as milk streamed into the pale. "I had a good teacher," she replied, glancing over her shoulder to find his face closer than expected. Their eyes met, and Carrick held her gaze a moment longer than necessary before stepping back.