Chapter Six
Caleb had stared down charging bulls without much concern, yet none of them had prepared him for standing in Jonah Bell's bedroom before breakfast, wrestling with a collar that seemed determined to finish what the rustlers never had.
The Sunday-best shirt Caleb wore had once belonged to Jonah. It fit well enough across the shoulders, but the collar squeezed his neck whenever he turned his head.
His neighbor, Lydia Whitcomb, had taken one look at him trying it on the evening before and planted her hands on her hips. "Grief shrunk Jonah," she'd declared. "But ranch work widened you."
Before Caleb could argue, she'd snatched the shirt from his hands, fetched her sewing basket, and set to work with the determined air of a woman fixing a problem no sensible man would have created.
She'd done what she could. The shirt no longer threatened to split across his back, but the collar still felt determined to choke him. The black coat hanging beside the wardrobe belonged on a banker far more than on a rancher who still carried dirt beneath one stubborn fingernail.
He managed to fasten the final button on the shirt, and studied himself in the spotted mirror above the washstand. The reflection there wore Jonah's clothes, carried Caleb's face, and looked entirely unconvinced the two belonged together.
Wedding days seemed made for men who smiled easily and offered sweet words without sounding uncomfortable.
Men who could stand beside a bride without wondering whether she'd regret her decision once the excitement wore off.
Caleb had never worried about work this way.
There was usually a problem to solve, and a way to solve it.
Marrying Amy Bennet, however, required a kind of courage no ranch had ever demanded of him.
She'd chosen to stay. The thought settled deep in his bones. She'd looked straight at everything waiting for her: two children mourning their father, a ranch hanging by a thread, and a man too stubborn to admit how much he needed her, and still decided to take it on.
He still couldn't decide whether she possessed remarkable courage or astonishingly poor judgment. A husband ought to provide more than patched roofs and promises. Since he had brought her here, he was going to do what he could to make a good life for her.
A crash echoed downstairs, followed by Maggie's shrill cry and Noah barking at someone with all the authority six years could muster. Caleb's heart lurched. He was already moving before he realized it, rubbing a hand across his forehead as he hurried downstairs.
He found Noah planted beside the kitchen table with his fists jammed against his hips, half his shirt hanging loose and his trousers only partially buttoned, while Maggie hid beneath the table wearing the pink dress Lydia had delivered at sunrise, her stockings puddled around her ankles and one ribbon dangling beside her ear.
Amy lingered a few steps away, clearly uncertain if she should help or stay out of the way.
Every time she reached for Maggie's ribbon, the little girl twisted away, and Noah looked ready to argue with anyone who came too close.
Noah pointed at a shoe on the floor before Caleb could speak. "Maggie threw it."
Maggie frowned. "Did not."
"You said you hated weddings."
Maggie gripped her skirts and glared at him with watery determination. "I said I hated shoes."
Amy lowered her head, though he spotted a smile tugging at her mouth. A few curls had escaped their pins already, framing her face in soft waves that made the kitchen feel warmer than the stove ever could.
Caleb leaned against the doorway. "I left for ten minutes."
Amy looked up, ready with an answer until her eyes drifted toward the collar squeezing his neck. "You clean up rather well."
"I'm being hanged one button at a time."
Noah folded his arms. "We don't have to go."
Caleb turned toward him. "Yes, you do."
"Why?"
Caleb searched for an answer. ‘Because she's your family now’ felt too large, too soon, and he wasn't sure Noah would believe it anyway. So he reached for the safest thing he knew: dry humor. "Because weddings work better when somebody shows up."
Amy shot him a look so calm it carried more weight than a scolding ever could. Caleb winced inwardly. Noah deserved better than a joke. He tried again. "Because," he started. "Amy's joining this family, and you're part of it."
Noah's gaze shifted toward Amy, uncertainty replacing some of the stubbornness that had settled on his face. "What if she leaves later?" The stubbornness vanished from Noah's face, leaving only a frightened little boy who'd already lost too many people.
"That'll always be her choice," he replied. "She decided to stand with us today, so the least you can do is stand with her."
Noah studied the floor before giving a small shrug that looked suspiciously close to surrender. Caleb accepted it without comment. Victories came in modest sizes around this ranch.
The front door opened before the silence grew awkward, and Lydia Whitcomb swept into the kitchen carrying a basket beneath one arm.
Their neighbor had spent part of the previous afternoon welcoming Amy to Copper Bend, determined to make her feel less like a stranger before supper.
Her gaze swept over the kitchen once before she smiled.
Whatever she'd expected to find, the chaos clearly wasn't a surprise.
"Well," she said brightly, "I can see everyone's been keeping busy."
Relief crossed Amy's face as she stood. "I had no idea weddings required this much negotiation."
"Weddings and children are a lively combination," Lydia said. "I've yet to see one without a bit of commotion." Lydia set the basket on the table and fixed Noah with a look no sensible youngster would argue with. "Finish buttoning those trousers before the judge mistakes you for a scarecrow."
"I’m dressed!"
"You've made an admirable start, so finish strong."
Maggie covered a smile with both hands. Lydia crouched beside the table and peeked underneath. "And what have we here? A little rabbit in its burrow?"
"I'm hiding."
"So I gathered. You know, brides enjoy cake after weddings, while bunnies only celebrate with carrots."
Maggie's eyes grew round. "There's cake?"
"There will be if everyone remembers how civilized people behave."
Maggie scrambled out from beneath the table so fast she nearly bumped her head. "I can be civi…civized!"
Caleb watched Lydia work with quiet amazement. She never barked an order or hurried the children. She simply kept talking, smiling, and setting little problems right until Noah stopped resisting and Maggie forgot any plan to hide.
Amy excused herself to change while Caleb headed outside to hitch the horses to the wagon.
He wondered whether Amy had imagined wearing whatever dress she would wear somewhere else, in a different life altogether.
The thought left a sour weight in his chest. She deserved better than what he'd brought her to.
Caleb cinched the final strap a little harder than he meant to, and the bay gelding snorted and tossed his head, the harness jingling in protest. "You've got plenty to say, haven't you?"
The horse answered with a long breath that sounded suspiciously judgmental. Caleb shook his head. The front door opened behind him. Expecting another argument about shoes or ribbons, he turned.
Amy stepped onto the porch instead, and every sensible thought in Caleb’s head disappeared.
Her pale blue dress had clearly been handled with care, folded neatly through every mile between Missouri and Wyoming.
The dress wasn't grand, yet Caleb couldn't imagine anything finer.
It fit her as though it had been made with this very day in mind.
She twisted her gloves in nervous hands.
Caleb had known she was beautiful. He'd seen it the moment he’d met her.
But this was different. She wasn't the uncertain young woman who'd arrived in Copper Bend with a carpet bag in one hand and questions in the other.
She was his bride, standing on the porch waiting to marry him.
For one impossible moment, Caleb forgot every word he'd meant to say.
Amy paused halfway down the steps when his silence stretched longer than courtesy deemed proper. "Does the dress look all right?"
Caleb opened his mouth. Nothing came out. By the time he found the words, Amy was already looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. "It suits you."
Amy's fingers curled more tightly around her gloves. "Oh."
The quiet disappointment reached him immediately. Caleb gripped the wagon rail tightly. The words caught again, but he refused to let them die this time. "You look lovely."
Amy met his eyes again. The compliment carried little polish and even less charm. Even so, a blush blossomed across Amy's cheeks as though he'd handed her a bouquet instead of a few awkward words. Caleb looked away before she noticed how thoroughly she'd flustered him in return.
Lydia looked from Amy to Caleb with the satisfied air of a woman watching a difficult quilt finally come together. "Well done, Mr. Whitaker. You almost sounded like a husband."
"I'd be pleased just to survive the morning."
Amy's smile widened, and some of the tightness left her shoulders. “You're not the only one who's nervous."
Noah climbed into the wagon with a dramatic sigh that suggested he'd accepted his fate only under protest. Even so, Caleb noticed Noah had buttoned his shirt properly and smoothed down his hair.
Maggie slipped her hand into Lydia's and climbed into the wagon with great importance, as though she were the guest of honor.
Caleb then stepped forward and offered Amy his hand.
Her gloved fingers rested lightly in his palm as she climbed into the wagon, and the sensation of the faint tremor he felt lingered long after she'd settled beside him.
Once everyone was settled, Caleb climbed onto the driver's bench and flicked the reins. The wagon rolled toward town.