Chapter Six
The screen door slammed behind him with more force than necessary.
Henry crossed the front room without slowing, his boots striking the worn floorboards in sharp, deliberate steps.
The familiar scent of the house surrounded him—woodsmoke lingering from the stove, dust warmed by the afternoon sun, and the faint smell of leather from the saddle hanging near the door.
He barely noticed any of it. All he could think about was the woman standing on his porch. What had James been thinking?
No, that wasn’t entirely fair. Henry knew exactly what James had been thinking. The same thing he’d been thinking for the last year. The ranch needed help, Lola needed a woman in her life, and Henry needed a wife. The last conclusion irritated him most of all.
He shoved open the door to his study and stepped inside.
The small room had once belonged to his father.
A sturdy oak desk sat beneath the window overlooking the north pasture.
Shelves lined one wall, crowded with account books, farm ledgers, and a scattering of worn volumes of encyclopedias.
The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating dust motes drifting lazily through the air.
Removing his hat, he dropped into the desk chair and reached for the ledger lying open before him. A stack of unpaid invoices sat nearby and the figures waiting on the page should have demanded his full attention. Instead, he stared blankly at the columns.
His thoughts drifted back toward the porch.
Toward the woman who should not be there.
He still wasn’t entirely sure how she’d managed to convince him to let her stay.
Most people backed down when confronted.
Especially after traveling such a distance only to be told they weren’t wanted.
Nora Smith had simply stood there and argued with him and the memory was strangely unsettling.
Henry dipped his pen into the inkwell and attempted to focus on the figures before him.
The ranch’s expenses had risen again, no surprise there.
After all, the drought had reduced grazing, so feed costs continued climbing.
Several sections of fencing still required replacement before winter.
His attention lingered on the numbers for all of ten seconds.
Then, his thoughts wandered once more. Annoyed, he set the pen down.
What irritated him most was not the situation itself. It was the fact that she had caught him off guard. He had not expected a woman who looked like—
Henry stopped the thought before it finished, because that way lay trouble. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed a hand across his face.
She was beautiful, there was no point pretending otherwise, and that annoyed him.
Beauty complicated things, it made people foolish.
He’d seen enough of that over the years.
The woman on his porch didn’t possess the polished elegance some women cultivated in town.
Her traveling dress had been plain. Dust from the journey still clung to the hem.
A few strands of chestnut-brown hair had escaped whatever efforts she’d made to keep them tidy.
Yet, somehow, those details only made her seem more real. Her eyes had struck him most unexpectedly…
No.
Henry reached for the ledger again and forced himself to examine the figures. Three calves lost during spring, repairs needed on the eastern fence line and outstanding payments owed to the mercantile.
These were the only matters that should concern him. Romance had no place in his life and neither did marriage. Or any of the foolish ideas James seemed determined to force upon him. The ranch demanded every spare ounce of his energy.
***
For nearly an hour, Henry sat at his desk pretending to work while his attention wandered everywhere except the account book lying open before him.
The columns of figures blurred together.
Every time he forced himself to concentrate on feed costs or cattle prices, his thoughts drifted back toward the woman downstairs.
Finally, with a muttered curse under his breath, he shoved the ledger aside and stood.
The study had grown stuffy in the late afternoon heat.
Sunlight slanted through the window, casting long golden bars across the floorboards.
Outside, the sounds of the ranch drifted through the open window—the distant lowing of cattle, the creak of the windmill, and the occasional whinny from the horse pasture.
Henry crossed the room and stepped into the hallway. As he approached the stairs, voices floated from the kitchen and he hesitated.
“...and this is where Mrs. Foster used to keep preserves,” James was saying as he showed Nora around the kitchen. “Though these days, we’re lucky if we remember to preserve anything.”
A soft laugh answered him and the sound surprised Henry. Curious despite himself, he walked down the hall towards the kitchen, stopping before the threshold.
The room sat at the rear of the house, its windows overlooking the garden and barnyard. Evening sunlight poured through the glass, illuminating the room in warm shades of gold. Nora stood near the large wooden worktable, listening as James pointed out various cupboards and shelves.
The strain he’d noticed on the porch had softened.
Another loose strand of chestnut hair had escaped her braid and curled against her cheek.
Her traveling dress remained dusty from the journey, yet she carried herself with a quiet dignity that made the worn fabric seem unimportant.
As he watched Nora, she reached for the silver cross hanging around her neck.
“That’s pretty,” James said, nodding to it. “Looks like it’s important to you.”
“It was my mother’s,” Nora explained. “It’s all I have left of her.”
“Well, it’s mighty fine,” James complimented. A smile touched Nora’s face.
Just then, the back door opened and Lola appeared. The little girl lingered near the threshold, half-hidden behind the frame. Her fingers twisted nervously together as she watched the stranger in their kitchen. Nora noticed her immediately. “Hello, Lola.”
The little girl froze and then turned abruptly and disappeared back outside, her footsteps echoing across the hard ground. Henry inhaled, guilt tight in his chest. Nora’s smile faded.
James sighed. “Don’t take it personally.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
She laughed softly. “Perhaps a little.”
“It’s not you,” James assured her.
Nora glanced toward the back door through which Lola had disappeared. “Has she always been shy?”
For a moment, James seemed to choose his words carefully. “No,” he said, leaning against the counter. “Before everything happened, she was a completely different child.”
Henry’s chest tightened. James rarely spoke about Samantha, but growing up they had all been close. James had practically grown up alongside them.
His family had lived in another town, but every summer he had arrived at the Foster ranch the moment school ended and remained until the fall.
The three of them had spent countless days exploring creeks, climbing trees, fishing in stock ponds, and riding horses across pastureland that had seemed endless when they were children.
Henry and Samantha were twins and had been inseparable from the day they were born.
Wherever one appeared, the other was usually close behind.
James had often joked that befriending one Foster meant getting the other, whether you wanted to or not.
The truth was, James had loved Samantha almost as fiercely as Henry had.
Some of Henry’s happiest memories included his cousin.
Long summer evenings chasing fireflies and swimming in the Brazos River despite repeated warnings from their parents. Sleeping beneath the stars and telling stories around campfires while Samantha insisted on proving she was every bit as brave as the boys. She usually succeeded.
A faint smile tugged unexpectedly at Henry’s mouth. Samantha had always possessed a stubborn streak nearly as strong as his own. Stronger, according to their mother. James certainly used to think so. As they grew older, some things changed, others didn’t.
James remained a constant presence at the ranch. When Henry left to fight in the war, it was James who helped Samantha and her husband, Tom, manage things at home. It was James who repaired fences, hauled supplies, and checked on them whenever he could. And when the worst happened...
Henry’s chest tightened. It had been James who buried them. The thought struck with its familiar mixture of gratitude and pain. Henry had been hundreds of miles away when Samantha died. James had been the one who stood beside her grave and the one who had held Lola afterward.
The one who remained when Henry could not. Perhaps that was why neither of them spoke of Samantha very often. The grief belonged to both of them and some losses never grew easier to discuss.
“Lola used to follow her mother everywhere,” James said quietly. “Always talking. Always asking questions.” A faint smile touched his lips. “She never stopped talking, actually.”
Nora smiled. “I find that difficult to imagine,” she admitted. “She looks like such a solemn little thing.”
“She wasn’t always so,” he said softly. “When our cousin Samantha and her husband were killed, Lola saw more than any child should.”
The kitchen grew quiet. “She remembers it?” Nora asked quietly. The genuine sadness in her tone made Henry pause.
“Enough.” James rubbed the back of his neck. “Then Henry came home and suddenly became responsible for a four-year-old he barely knew.”
The statement wasn’t criticism, but merely truth. Still, Henry shifted uncomfortably on the staircase.
“He does his best,” James added quickly.
“I can see that.” Nora’s answer came without hesitation. The certainty in her voice surprised Henry. She had been here less than a day. What could she possibly have seen?
James looked surprised as well. “You can?”
“Of course,” she said, glancing around the kitchen. “The house is cared for as best as it can be.”
James snorted.
“There is food in the pantry and clean washing on the line,” Nora continued.
“Children just want to be cared for and loved. That is all they need to thrive and grow.” Something in her tone made Henry pay closer attention.
“My father wasn’t always kind,” she said.
“And as a child, I learned there are many ways to be neglected.”
The words were spoken softly, but without self-pity, simply as fact. And in that moment Henry could not help but feel himself drawn to this woman and the story of who she was and where she came from.
“What I see here isn’t neglect,” Nora continued
“What do you see?” James asked.
Nora considered the question. “A little girl who is grieving a life she once knew,” she said.
At that moment, Henry thought of Pastor Luke’s words.
About how children need community. He thought of the Sundays she’d spent on the ranch because he couldn’t bear to hear another sermon about God’s goodness.
Most of all, he thought about the years after Samantha’s death.
The years he’d spent retreating into work and grief.
At first, he’d told himself it was temporary, that he needed time to heal and to make sense of everything.
But somewhere along the way, time had become a habit.
And habit had become distance not only from God, but also from Lola, too.
The truth of it settled heavily upon him.
The little girl had lost both parents and he’d denied her the church community, as well.
She had lost nearly everything familiar, and what had Henry done?
Guilt stirred uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He had convinced himself that keeping the ranch afloat was enough, but perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps, all along, James had been right. Lola needed someone in her life who could give her what he couldn’t. A mother.
His gaze returned to Nora. Whatever circumstances had brought her here, they could not have been easy. No woman crossed half of Texas to marry a stranger unless she believed she had little waiting for her elsewhere.
The thought lingered. Nora had nowhere to go. Lola needed stability and despite all his protests, he knew perfectly well that one month would not solve any of those problems. Thirty days would pass quickly. And then what? Send her away? To where?
For a long moment, Henry stood motionless.
Then, he released a slow breath. The decision settled over him gradually.
Not because he wanted a wife—he was still convinced he didn’t want one—and not because he suddenly believed in romance, because he certainly didn’t.
But because there were responsibilities larger than his own preferences. Responsibilities he had been avoiding.
Straightening, Henry took a step into the kitchen and the conversation in the kitchen stopped immediately. “Nora,” he said.
She turned toward him and Henry cleared his throat.
“I,” he hesitated. “I need to ask you something.”
She nodded. “What is it?”
He searched for the right words, although they proved frustratingly difficult to find. “Do you truly wish to go through with this?”
For a moment, confusion crossed her face.
“The marriage.”
Her mouth popped open in surprise. “I-I-do.”
Henry studied her carefully before he nodded. “All right.”
Relief flickered across Nora’s features before she quickly composed herself. Beside her, James looked dangerously close to smiling. Henry shot him a warning glance and the grin vanished.
“I’m going to talk to Lola.” Without waiting for a response, Henry turned and headed down the hallway. He found the little girl sitting on the back porch steps. The evening sun painted the pasture in shades of gold and amber. Lola looked up as he approached and then immediately looked away again.
Henry sat beside her, the boards creaking beneath his weight. “Nora’s going to stay.” Lola’s eyes widened. He pressed on. “We’re going to get married.”
The little girl stared out at the pasture; her expression remained impossible to read. Eventually she shrugged. “Oh.”
“You don’t seem excited.”
Lola picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “She’s not my mother.”
“No.”
Lola kept her eyes fixed on the grass. “And you’re not my father.”
Henry swallowed. The evening breeze stirred through the oak trees. Somewhere in the distance, a meadowlark sang. The truth of her words settled heavily between them. “No,” he said softly. “I’m not.”
For a moment, neither moved. Then, Lola leaned her head briefly against his arm.
The gesture was so unexpected that Henry thought maybe he was imagining it.
When she pulled away, he could still feel the warmth of head on his skin.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to remind him exactly why he’d made the decision.
Not for himself, but for her. And as he looked toward the house, where Nora was waiting inside, Henry found himself hoping he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.