"A business arrangement that solved problems for both of us."
"Yes."
"But somewhere along the way..."
Thomas stopped.
"It became something else."
His hand moved toward hers.
"At least for me."
His fingers brushed hers on the towel.
"Eleanor, I need you to understand something."
He drew a slow breath.
"You're not Margaret's replacement anymore."
Eleanor's eyes burned suddenly.
"You're not a solution to a problem."
Thomas struggled for words.
"You're... you."
A faint, self-conscious smile.
"And I find myself caring about you in ways I never expected."
Tears pricked Eleanor's eyes.
"Thomas, I'm not asking..."
"I'm not asking you for anything you're not ready to give."
He spoke quickly.
"I know this isn't what you agreed to."
His fingers remained against hers.
"But I needed you to know what I feel isn't obligation."
Thomas's voice lowered.
"Or gratitude."
His gaze held Eleanor.
"It's real."
Before she could answer, running feet came through the house.
Samuel's voice called for her.
The moment shattered.
Yet warmth remained in Thomas's eyes as they turned toward whatever new emergency the boys had created.
That night Eleanor lay awake in Margaret's room.
Her room.
She stared at the ceiling, attempting to untangle everything Thomas had awakened.
Eleanor entered the marriage expecting shelter.
Security.
Nothing more.
She never expected to genuinely care for the severe, practical rancher who had turned out to be far more complex than she first assumed.
More troubling was the possibility that her feelings had grown beyond gratitude.
When Thomas smiled one of those real smiles Daniel mentioned, something fluttered in her chest.
When he praised her competence or sought her opinion, Eleanor felt valued in a way she'd rarely experienced.
And when Thomas stood in the kitchen admitting he cared for her, she had wanted to step into his arms.
To discover what it felt like to be wanted.
Not merely needed.
The realization thrilled and frightened her equally.
Three weeks later, Territorial Marshal William Brady finally reached the ranch with two deputies.
He was a weathered man in his 50s who listened to the family's account with the patience of somebody familiar with similar crimes.
"Railroad speculation," he confirmed after Thomas explained his suspicions.
"We've been tracking a group working across three territories."
Brady accepted a cup of coffee from Eleanor.
"They identify valuable land, then use theft and intimidation to pressure owners into selling cheaply."
Eleanor sat near Thomas.
She noticed he had unconsciously positioned himself close to her.
Not possessively.
Protectively.
"What can be done?" Thomas asked.
"We've got enough evidence to arrest the men you've been holding."
Marshal Brady's smile was humorless.
"And they're talking. Hoping for lighter sentences."
He opened a notebook.
"Main organizer appears to be operating from Denver. Fellow named Harrison Blackwood. He's been buying land options for an eastern railroad syndicate."
Thomas stiffened.
"Blackwood?"
Brady looked up.
"I know that name."
"Figured you might."