Chapter Twenty
The ride back to the ranch was quiet.
The wheels creaked steadily beneath them, the horses moving at a measured pace along the long stretch of road unwinding beneath a sky beginning to soften toward evening.
Henry hadn’t spoken since they left the auction.
He’d watched Victor stand there, as composed and self-assured as ever, acting like he hadn’t just poisoned an entire sale with a few well-placed words. The man had worn that same easy smile that never reached his eyes, the kind Henry had learned long ago meant trouble.
And beside him … Beatrice.
Her memory struck with the same force it always had, anything but gentle, dragging the weight of her departure. He hadn’t expected to see her there, standing at Victor’s side as though she’d always belonged there.
The whole thing had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Not because he still wanted her—the thought was laughable—but because of what her departure had cost him. What she’d taken from him when she left, only to deliver it straight into the viper’s den.
Henry’s chest tightened as he stared ahead at the road, the rhythm of the wheels doing little to settle the tension that had taken hold of him.
Some things, it seemed, did not stay buried.
Beside him, Ruth sat quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Henry could feel the patience in her silence without needing to look at her. She hadn’t pressed, hadn’t tried to force the truth from him the way others might have.
Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
Part of him resisted that more than he cared to admit, because once spoken aloud, the past had a way of losing its distance. It stopped being contained, manageable, and became immediate again, sharp at the edges and nearly impossible to ignore.
He’d spent years keeping the past buried, and he wasn’t certain he would ever be ready to dig it back up.
“Henry?”
He turned to look at Ruth.
“I know you’re upset about the horses,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“What is there to walk about?” he replied curtly, turning back to the road.
Ruth hesitated, but Henry knew her well enough now to know she was stubborn and straightforward when she wanted to be.
“Well, there’ll be other auctions,” she said. “This will all blow over.”
Henry exhaled slowly through his nose. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know it’s disappointing—”
“Ruth, can you just leave it?” he snapped.
He saw her flinch out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized.
“Okay, if you don’t want to talk about the horses, then can you tell me about that woman? The one who was with Mr. Wilkes, I mean,” Ruth continued. “I saw how you reacted when you saw her. Who is she?”
Henry stared ahead, the road blurring slightly at the edges. He could brush it off, shut the conversation down the way he usually did, but …
He thought of Ruth standing beside him at the auction, her hand in his. When everyone else had turned their backs on him, she’d stayed, and that meant something, whether he was ready to admit it or not.
“She’s … someone I knew,” he said at last. “A long time ago.”
“That’s not all, though,” she said softly.
Henry let out a slow breath. “No,” he admitted. He hesitated. “She was my fiancée.”
Ruth went still beside him.
“I thought…” Henry shook his head, a humorless breath leaving him. “I thought we were in love.” The memory surfaced with startling clarity. “She was different from most women out here. Refined. Educated. I figured I’d give her a life. Something solid.”
He paused.
“I met her not long after my parents died,” he continued. “Things were … unsettled. I was trying to keep the ranch going and raise Dorothy at the same time, trying to make sense of everything all at once. She made things feel …” He hesitated, searching for the word. “Less rough, I suppose.”
Less lonely.
He didn’t say that part aloud.
“But she saw something in me, too. Or, at least, I thought she did. She listened. Took an interest in the ranch, in what I was building. Told me it was impressive …” His voice trailed off. “No one had ever said that to me before.”
Ruth remained still beside him.
“She made me believe I could be more,” Henry added. “That I could build something worth sharing. A home. A future—and after losing everything the way I had, I held on to that. Probably tighter than I should have.”
The admission sat heavy between them.
“When she agreed to marry me, I thought that meant something real.” He exhaled slowly. “I let myself believe I wasn’t alone in it anymore.”
“So what happened?” Ruth asked.
“I found out that she’d been paid by Wilkes.”
“W-what?” Ruth stammered. “What do you mean he paid her?”
“He wanted to bring me down,” Henry explained, “and he tried to use Beatrice to do it. All the while, I thought she was in love with me, but she was actually using me. Feeding information to Wilkes about my business deals. Buyers I’d been working with.”
“Oh, Henry …”
“I was so blinded by my feelings for her that I didn’t see it.
I didn’t even consider that she might have something to do with the fact that my sales were suddenly going to Wilkes instead.
” He shook his head, anger flickering. “She knew what I was building—what I was working toward—and she handed it over to him.”
Ruth’s expression hardened.
“He even tried to buy my ranch out from under me,” Henry added. “Went to the bank and offered them double for the mortgage.”
Ruth’s breath caught. “Could he do that?”
“He tried,” Henry said, “but the bank didn’t bite. I’d paid enough. Built enough trust.” His gaze darkened. “There was a time I thought I was going to lose everything.”
“That’s …” she began, her jaw setting. “That’s just cruel.”
“That’s business, according to Wilkes.”
Ruth shook her head. “No,” she said. “That’s something else.”
They fell silent for a moment.
“And what happened with Beatrice?” she asked.
“Well, when I found out what she’d been doing, I told her to get off my ranch, and I never saw her again until today.”
“It must have been hard, seeing her again.”
Henry exhaled slowly. “I’d hoped I’d seen the last of her,” he admitted, “and the fact that she’s returned and is working with Wilkes again …”
His voice trailed off, and to his surprise, Ruth leaned forward and put her hand over his. He turned to look at her.
“My mother used to say that, when the world feels unjust,” she began, “you must remember that truth doesn’t change, simply because others ignore it.”
She met his gaze. “There’s a verse,” she added gently. “The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and He helps me.”
Henry didn’t respond right away, but he listened.
Then, Ruth reached over, her hand brushing his cheek.
Henry stiffened.
“Look at me,” she said softly.
He did.
“You didn’t lose everything. You’re still here.”
A lump rose in his throat. “I should’ve told you about Wilkes,” he said. “About her. About all of it.”
Ruth shook her head gently. “We all have things we carry.”
Henry searched her face. “Do you feel … deceived?”
Ruth’s expression softened. “No,” she said. “Just … closer to understanding you.”
Henry’s breath slowed as the wagon came to a stop. They’d reached the house without either of them noticing.
Guess it’s a good thing the horses know their way home.
Henry climbed down, then turned, offering his hand to Ruth.
She took it, then lifted her skirt with the other hand and stepped down, but as she shifted her weight to her foot, she slipped.
Henry caught her with one arm around her waist, pulling her in—and suddenly, her face was inches from his, one palm pressed flat against his chest, her breath fluttering against his skin.
Then, their eyes met, and everything fell away until all he could see was Ruth.
He leaned in to kiss her.
Before he could do more than taste her breath on his tongue, the rapid patter of childlike footsteps shattered the moment.
Henry looked up to see Clara tearing across the yard, a harried-looking George walking behind her. He let go of Ruth, stepping back as soon as she was secure on her footing.
In that moment, then and there, he knew: although she was no longer in his arms, she was slowly creeping into his heart.