"Yes," he said.
His voice was almost a whisper.
"They are."
In the days after the attack, the Caldwell household changed like river ice breaking beneath spring warmth.
At first, only small things.
Thomas's hand lingering briefly on Eleanor's shoulder.
Conversations lasting longer than necessity required.
Glances containing more warmth than a business arrangement could explain.
Eleanor noticed it in the ordinary moments.
When Thomas returned from cattle work, he sought her out in the kitchen.
Not merely to report what happened.
To ask what she thought.
What she worried about.
What she planned for the boys' lessons.
When Eleanor tended Jake's healing shoulder, Thomas watched every competent movement of her hands.
"You've got a gift for healing."
He said it one afternoon while Eleanor replaced Jake's bandages at the kitchen table.
Jake had been recovering steadily.
"My mother taught me."
Eleanor secured the clean dressing.
"She said every woman should know how to tend injuries and illness because you never knew when you might be the only help."
"Wise woman."
Something in Thomas's voice made Eleanor glance up.
He was watching her with an expression she couldn't fully read.
Admiration.
Perhaps more.
Jake cleared his throat, reminding them both he was still sitting between them.
"Mrs. Caldwell, I can't thank you enough. Doctor in town couldn't have done better."
Eleanor's cheeks warmed.
"I'm only doing what needs doing."
Later, after Jake returned to the bunkhouse and the boys were occupied, Thomas approached Eleanor again.
"Eleanor."
Her name sounded different.
Softer.
Personal.
"What you did that night, when those men entered the house..."
Eleanor paused over the dishwater.
"I protected my family."
"That's exactly it."
Thomas stepped nearer.
"When did you start thinking of us as your family?"
He looked almost vulnerable.
"Really thinking of us that way?"
Eleanor considered.
"I'm not sure there was one moment."
She dried her hands.
"It happened gradually."
Eleanor smiled faintly.
"Watching Daniel struggle with letters and feeling proud when he got them right."
She continued.
"Seeing Samuel's face light up when I taught him little crafts."
A pause.
"Listening to you talk about expanding the herd and realizing I cared whether those plans succeeded."
She lowered her eyes.
"And that night, when I heard the men breaking into the house, I didn't think about myself."
Eleanor looked back at Thomas.
"I thought about keeping them away from the boys."
Then softer:
"And from you."
Thomas remained quiet.
When Eleanor finally met his gaze fully, the intensity stole her breath.
"I've been thinking," he began carefully.
"About what this marriage was supposed to be."
Eleanor's heart accelerated.
Had he begun regretting the arrangement?
Had she overstepped?
"It was supposed to be practical," he continued.