Chapter Five
The ranch looked nothing like Ruth had imagined.
As the wagon had rattled along the final stretch of road from Weatherford, Ruth had tried to picture the home described in Nora’s letters. A ranch owner with acres of land. Horses and cattle. A comfortable household in need of a wife.
The reality was far less reassuring. The property itself was beautiful in the way only Texas could be.
Wide skies stretched endlessly overhead, painted in shades of blue so vast they seemed to swallow the world.
Stands of oak and mesquite dotted the rolling land, and in the distance she could see cattle grazing among the dry summer grasses.
Yet the ranch bore unmistakable signs of struggle.
Several sections of fencing sagged noticeably.
One gate hung crooked on its hinges. The barn roof showed patches where repairs had clearly been made at different times and with different materials.
Even the farmhouse appeared weary, as though it had been standing against wind, drought, and hardship for longer than it could comfortably endure.
The sight made something tighten inside her. Not disappointment, but recognition. She knew what hardship looked like. After all, she had lived beside it her entire life.
James Tucker, however, seemed determined not to notice any of it.
The young man had met her at the train station with an easy smile and a warmth that immediately put her at ease.
He possessed a kind face, sandy-brown hair, and the relaxed confidence of someone who genuinely enjoyed people.
During the drive from town, he had filled nearly every moment with conversation, telling stories about Weatherford, the local church, and various mishaps involving cattle, horses, and neighbors.
By the time they reached the ranch, Ruth felt she knew him remarkably well—or at least, better than she knew the man she had supposedly traveled here to marry. The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her stomach and she tightened her grip on her porch railing.
Lord, please help me. The prayer rose silently. She had repeated versions of it all morning. Ever since stepping off the train and realizing how quickly she would have to become someone else.
Throughout the remainder of the journey, she and Nora had spent hours reviewing every detail they could think of.
Nora had described her childhood, her family, the town she had come from, and the contents of the letters exchanged with James.
Ruth had listened carefully, committing every fact to memory.
Yet now, standing on the porch of an unfamiliar ranch in an unfamiliar town, she suddenly feared she would forget all of it. What if someone asked a question she couldn’t answer? What if Henry Foster immediately realized she wasn’t the woman he expected?
A bead of perspiration slipped down her back despite the shade of the porch roof. She glanced toward the yard.
James had left her there nearly half an hour earlier while he went in search of Henry and the delay had done little to settle her nerves. If anything, it made them worse.
The front porch creaked softly beneath her feet as she shifted her weight.
Somewhere nearby, a windmill turned lazily, its blades groaning with each rotation.
The scent of horses drifted from the barn, mingling with the smell of sun-warmed wood and dry earth.
A pair of swallows darted beneath the porch eaves.
The ranch was alive with so many goings-on and yet strangely lonely.
As though too much responsibility rested upon too few shoulders.
Ruth’s gaze drifted toward a small paddock where a little girl stood brushing a chestnut pony.
The child appeared to be around six years old.
She was dark-haired and skinny. Even from a distance, there was something solemn about her.
Nora had mentioned that there was a niece, Lola. The sight of the girl tugged unexpectedly at Ruth’s heart. Children should not look so lonely.
Movement near the barn drew her attention, and she turned from the girl to see two men crossing the yard. Ruth’s breath caught.
The man walking beside James, who she gathered was Henry, was taller than almost anyone she had ever seen.
Broad shoulders stretched beneath a faded work shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His movements carried the easy strength of someone accustomed to physical labor.
Sunlight glinted against dirty-blond hair beneath the brim of a weathered cowboy hat.
Even from this distance, she could see the severity of his expression. His jaw was set and his stride purposeful. He looked thoroughly displeased and her stomach dropped. Oh dear.
Yet, as Henry came closer, Ruth found it difficult to look away.
His eyes were an unexpected shade of green, clear and vivid against skin darkened by the Texas sun.
A strong jaw, straight nose, and high cheekbones gave his face a rugged strength, though the stern set of his mouth suggested a man who smiled rarely.
There was a weariness about him that seemed older than his years, as if responsibility had settled heavily upon his shoulders and refused to leave.
He looked like a man carved from the same stubborn earth as the ranch itself. Weathered by hardship, held together by determination, and far stronger than appearances alone would suggest. Ruth immediately lowered her gaze, willing her heart to stop racing.
This was hardly the moment to be noticing such things.
Her future hung in the balance, and judging by the expression on Henry Foster’s face, that future was about to become considerably more complicated.
Henry mounted the porch steps and his gaze landed on her.
For one awkward moment, nobody spoke before James finally cleared his throat.
“Miss Smith, this is Henry Foster.”
Ruth managed a smile, but it was fragile. “Mr. Foster. It’s very nice to—”
“I never wrote to you,” he said. “Nor did I have any idea of the existence of this arrangement before just now.”
The words cut cleanly through her greeting. Her smile vanished and for a moment she wondered if she had misunderstood. But Henry’s expression remained unchanged. Beside him, James looked as though he wished the porch would collapse beneath his feet.
Henry folded his arms. “My cousin wrote those letters.”
Ruth blinked. “Yes,” she agreed. “But I was under the impression you were aware—”
“I wasn’t,” he said firmly. “And I never asked for a mail-order bride.”
The bluntness of the statement struck like a slap and Ruth winced.
“Henry—” James said.
“No,” he snapped, his attention fixed on Ruth. “This arrangement was made without my knowledge and you are not my responsibility.”
A dreadful sensation settled into Ruth’s stomach. “I see.”
Henry nodded once. “You’ll have to leave.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis and for a moment she could only stare. Surely he couldn’t mean immediately. Surely—
Panic surged through her chest as Ruth struggled to find her voice. “Mr. Foster—”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” He didn’t sound particularly sorry, as he refused to meet her eye. “You’ll need to make other arrangements.”
What arrangements? She barely possessed enough money for food. A boarding house would consume what little she had within days. She drew a steadying breath. “I can’t leave.”
Henry’s jaw tightened. “You can and you will.”
“I have nowhere to go.”
His expression flickered briefly, the smallest hesitation, but it disappeared as quickly as it arrived. “That isn’t my problem.”
The words hurt more than they should have. Perhaps because they reminded her of someone else. Someone she had spent her entire life trying to please.
Ruth straightened. Fear still churned inside her but beneath it a stronger feeling began to emerge—determination. She had not crossed half of Texas to surrender on this front porch. “I’ll stay.”
Henry stared at her. “No.”
Then he turned toward the steps, as though the matter were settled. Desperation seized her.
“One month.” The words escaped before she could reconsider them.
Henry stopped. Slowly, he looked back.
“Give me one month,” she repeated. Silence settled over the porch for a beat before Ruth pressed on, “You clearly need help.”
The words slipped out before she could soften them and she flushed.
The state of the ranch had spoken for itself.
Still, there was no taking the comment back now.
She swallowed. “I can cook.” She gestured toward the house.
“I can clean. Organize. Sew. Keep accounts if necessary.” Her voice strengthened.
“If, after one month, I haven’t been useful, I’ll leave. ”
The promise hung between them. Henry studied her and Ruth held his gaze, refusing to look away in a display of strength. Inside, her nerves felt stretched to breaking. Still, she couldn’t afford to show it. This was her chance, possibly her only chance.
She held her breath as a breeze stirred a loose strand of hair around her face. Somewhere in the yard, a horse snorted. Finally, Henry exhaled slowly and the sound carried equal parts frustration and resignation. “One month.”
Relief nearly buckled Ruth’s knees.
He pointed toward her. “One month only,” he said.
Ruth nodded quickly. “Yes.”
His expression remained stern. “Because you’ve traveled a long way,” he said. “And because it’s not your fault my cousin is an idiot.”
Ruth nodded as Henry held her gaze for another moment. Then, without another word, he stepped past her and disappeared into the house. The screen door slammed behind him and silence settled over the porch. For several seconds, Ruth simply stood there trying to steady her racing heart.
Beside her, James released a long whistle. “Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That went better than I expected.”
Ruth stared at the closed door, then turned to the sprawling ranch beyond it. One month. Thirty days. It wasn’t much, but for the first time since fleeing Devil’s Hollow, she had something that looked remarkably like hope.