Chapter Five
Henry stood still, his gaze fixed on Victor Wilkes, who wore the same smug expression he always did. His jaw tightened as he thought about what Victor had done to him, how much pain and humiliation he’d caused.
Yet, at the same time, his thoughts returned, unbidden, to Ruth. She’d stood her ground. There was fear in her eyes, yes, but resolve lay beneath it. Most wouldn’t—or couldn’t—have refused Wilkes without hesitation.
A strange, reluctant respect settled low in his chest, then hardened into a decision.
He stepped forward. “You heard the woman,” he said, his voice low and even, but edged with steel. “You should move along.”
Still, Victor’s smile didn’t falter. “Just offering a solution.”
“This matter doesn’t concern you.”
Victor’s gaze shifted between them, calculating. “Seems to me, if you’re about to send her off with nowhere to go, it does.”
Taking another step forward, Henry placed himself, subtly but unmistakably, between Victor and Ruth.
“That won’t be happening.”
Victor arched a brow. “Oh?”
Henry didn’t hesitate. “The wedding’s tomorrow.”
Behind him, he heard Ruth’s audible intake of breath.
Victor blinked once, then let out a soft, disbelieving chuckle. “Well, now … That’s wonderful news.”
Henry didn’t respond.
Victor’s gaze sharpened. “I was only trying to help,” he said. “After all, I have experience caring for your leftovers.”
The world narrowed, and Henry moved before he had time to think. His fist came up, his body lunging forward with a force that had nothing to do with the present and everything to do with the past.
“Henry, no!”
George caught him mid-stride, arms locking around his shoulders, hauling him back just enough to stop the blow from landing.
“Let go,” Henry snapped, struggling against George’s hold.
“Not a chance,” George shot back under his breath. “Not here.”
Victor hadn’t moved. He hadn’t even flinched. Instead, he just stood, the same smug expression painted on his face.
Henry’s chest rose and fell as his pulse roared in his ears. Everything in him wanted to break free, to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off the face of that sorry, no-good excuse for a?—
With effort, he forced himself to breathe, then turned away from Victor before he did something that couldn’t be undone.
“Come on,” he said sharply.
When Ruth didn’t move, Henry stepped toward her, snatching the carpetbag from her. As his hand brushed hers, the softness of her skin caught him off guard, and he almost dropped the satchel. He recovered quickly, though, doing his best to ignore the heat rising on the back of his neck.
“Let’s go,” he said, not unkindly, but not gently, either. Without a backward glance, he strode across the platform, boots striking hard against the wood, every muscle tight with restrained anger.
They didn’t have time for hesitation. Not with Wilkes watching.
Thankfully, Ruth gathered Clara quickly and followed, her steps hurried as she kept close behind him.
As soon as they reached the wagon, which waited just beyond the station, he tossed the bag into the back without ceremony, then turned. “Get in.”
Ruth climbed into the wagon, settling Clara beside her. The child clung to her, burying her face against her sister’s shoulder.
Henry climbed up to the front and took the reins as George swung into place beside him on the wooden bench.
Henry clicked his tongue, setting the horses into motion, and the wagon jolted forward.
“You planning on punching every man who crosses your path now?” George muttered.
Henry scowled, his gaze fixed ahead. “He had it coming.”
“Maybe,” George said, “but you’ve got more than yourself to think about now.” He looked over his shoulder. “Woman and a child in tow? Might want to get that temper of yours under control.”
Henry’s jaw tightened as the wheels turned beneath them, carrying them away from the station.
His grip on the seat edge tightened as they set off toward home.
***
The wagon wheels crunched over gravel as they pulled into the yard.
Henry didn’t look back. He could feel them there, the woman and the child, a burden he hadn’t planned on carrying.
Henry pulled the reins, and the horses stopped in front of the house. The late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the fences and outbuildings.
Everything in its place, everything as it should be, except…
Henry climbed down first, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. He reached up automatically for the reins, steadying the horses more out of habit than necessity.
Only then did he turn.
Ruth sat stiffly in the back of the wagon, the child tucked at her side. Both of them looked smaller somehow, and out of place.
“Come on,” he said, nodding. “You can get down now.”
Ruth paused before moving, gathering her skirt with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the child. She stepped carefully, but her balance faltered just as her boots met the ground.
Henry reached out without thinking; his hand closed around her waist, and he felt it again: that same unexpected spark from before.
He let go at once.
Flushing, Ruth stepped back, her breath a little uneven as her focus shifted to the girl, Clara.
“Stay close,” she murmured.
Clara pressed into her side, wide eyes taking in everything.
The house stood at the center, solid and square, its weathered wood bleached by years of sun and wind.
It wasn’t grand, but it was sturdy: built to last, not to impress.
A wide porch stretched along the front, its posts worn smooth, with a pair of chairs sitting off to one side where he rarely took the time to sit.
Beyond it, the land opened wide. To the right, the main barn rose tall, its red paint faded in places, doors thrown open to release the scent of hay and horseflesh. Smaller outbuildings sat nearby—the tack room, the feed shed—each placed with purpose. Nothing wasted, nothing unnecessary.
Fences cut across the land in long, straight lines, carving the open fields into order. Beyond them, horses moved—strong, well-kept animals grazing or shifting lazily in the sun. A few lifted their heads as the wagon rolled in, ears twitching at the sound.
Further out, the pasture stretched toward the horizon, rolling grass bending gently with the wind. No walls. No boundaries but the ones he’d built himself.
Henry reckoned this place was a far cry from wherever Ruth and her sister had come from.
He cleared his throat. “Well, this is it.” He grabbed the satchel and started toward the house without checking if they followed.
After a moment, though, he heard their footsteps behind him.
Inside, the air was cooler, the faint scent of wood and dust settling around them. The house was clean, if plain.
Henry set the bag down near the table, then turned.
“This is how it’ll work,” he said.
Ruth straightened, resting her hand on Clara’s shoulder.
Henry folded his arms. “You’ll keep the house. Cooking, cleaning, laundry. Same as agreed.”
She nodded quickly. “Yes.”
“My men eat here most nights,” he continued. “They expect hot meals. No excuses.”
“I understand.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the child. “And her—” he said.
Ruth’s posture changed instantly.
“She stays out of the way,” Henry finished. “This is a working ranch. Not a place for … disruptions. And don’t let her wander. There are real dangers out here—snakes, coyotes, and the like.”
Clara’s small fingers tightened in the fabric of her dress as she stared up at Henry.
Ruth lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “I’ll do everything you’ve asked. Everything we agreed to.” She held Clara’s hand protectively. “But Clara is my responsibility, and she will be treated with kindness.”
Henry studied the woman. Most in her position would’ve agreed to anything. Nodded. Kept their heads down—but not her.
She might look like a doe, he thought, but she has the heart of a lion.
“So long as she listens and keeps out of trouble, we won’t have a problem.”
“She won’t be any trouble.”
Henry turned away, dragging a hand down the back of his neck. “This arrangement …” he started, then paused. “If you stay here, it’s done proper.”
Ruth nodded.
“I don’t run a house with an unmarried woman living under my roof. People talk. I don’t give them reason to.”
Ruth swallowed. “And this is what you want?” she asked quietly.
Henry hesitated as the honest answer sprang into his mind: no, it wasn’t.
But that’s not the point.
“It’s what makes sense,” he said instead.
Her gaze remained on him, searching, like she was trying to understand the man behind the words.
“Before we marry, though,” he continued, “I need to know that you aren’t hiding anything else from me.”
He looked into her eyes as he spoke and saw her hesitation.
“No,” she said. “There’s nothing else.”
Henry held her gaze a moment longer, trying to determine whether he should believe her or not.
Then, Clara tugged at her sister’s hand, and Ruth looked down.
“She’s tired.”
Henry stepped back, putting distance between them. “I’ll let you get some rest, then.”
“Thank you,” Ruth said.
Henry started to turn, but stopped. “We’ll go into town in the morning,” he said. “Get it done.”
Ruth nodded once.
With that, he walked out the door and closed it behind him, then stopped for a moment. He’d wanted this marriage, hadn’t he? This had been his choice and yet, in a single afternoon, he’d come to question every part of his decision.
He’d arranged this marriage of convenience in the hopes that it would make his life easier; now, however, he had a feeling that Ruth Bennett and her sister would only make everything messier and more complicated.
Henry exhaled heavily.
Am I making a mistake?
Somehow, the question itself made him less nervous than knowing he’d have his answer soon enough.