The elderly preacher sat stiffly in the front parlor with his Bible clutched in weathered hands, casting disapproving glances between Thomas and Eleanor as if they were unruly children who had tracked mud through his church.
"This is highly irregular," he said for the third time, adjusting wire-rimmed spectacles. "Marriage is a sacred institution, not a business transaction."
Eleanor smoothed her hands over her best dress.
The same navy wool she had worn the morning after the storm, now freshly pressed and adorned with a simple white collar fashioned from part of an old petticoat.
It wasn't much of a wedding dress.
It would have to do.
"With respect, Reverend," Thomas said patiently, "the marriage will be legal and binding. The reasons behind it are our concern."
The preacher pursed his lips.
"And the children? What example does this set for Daniel and Samuel?"
"It sets the example that sometimes practical decisions serve everyone better than romantic foolishness."
Eleanor caught movement near the doorway.
Both boys peeked around the corner.
Daniel's expression was unreadable.
Samuel looked ready to burst from excitement.
The younger boy had spent the entire morning asking whether Eleanor would really be his new mama after the "wedding ceremony."
"Can we start now?" Samuel called.
"Boys, go to the kitchen," Thomas instructed. "Mrs. Murphy will give you bread and jam."
Eleanor smiled.
Mrs. Murphy, a neighboring woman who had volunteered to witness the ceremony and prepare a simple meal afterward, was practical enough to regard the entire arrangement as perfectly sensible, much to Reverend Morrison's frustration.
When the boys finally left, Reverend Morrison opened his Bible with obvious reluctance.
"Very well. But I want it understood that I'm performing this ceremony because you've asked it of me, not because I approve of the circumstances."
"Understood," Thomas replied.
The ceremony itself was mercifully brief.
Eleanor repeated vows that felt foreign on her tongue, promising to honor and cherish a man she'd known less than a week.
Thomas delivered his responses in the same matter-of-fact tone he used to discuss cattle prices, though his eyes never left her face.
When Reverend Morrison pronounced them husband and wife, an awkward silence followed.
It became obvious the preacher expected Thomas to kiss his bride.
Thomas looked at Eleanor.
A question in his eyes.
She gave the smallest nod.
He leaned down and pressed his lips briefly against hers.
A chaste, formal kiss.
A seal upon their bargain.
"Well," Mrs. Murphy said brightly as the reverend packed away his Bible, "that's done then. Mrs. Caldwell, welcome to the family."
Mrs. Caldwell.
The name gave Eleanor a strange jolt.
She was no longer Eleanor Hayes, displaced schoolteacher.
She was Eleanor Caldwell.
Wife.
Mother.
Mistress of one of the largest ranches in three counties.
The boys burst into the room.
Samuel launched himself at Eleanor with enough enthusiasm to nearly knock her off balance.
"Are you really our mama now?"
"I suppose I am."
Eleanor smoothed his wild hair.
Daniel stayed farther back.
His wary gaze met hers over Samuel's head.
A challenge.
Prove yourself worthy.
After Reverend Morrison and Mrs. Murphy departed, the new family stood alone together for the first time.
The house seemed different somehow.
As though the few minutes of vows had shifted something in its foundation.
"I'll show you your room," Thomas said.
Eleanor realized that while she had stayed downstairs in the housekeeper's room, being Thomas's wife, even only in name, required something else.
Thomas led her upstairs.
At the far end of the hall, he opened a bedroom.
It was unmistakably feminine.
A delicate writing desk stood beneath the window.
The bed was covered by a quilt worked in shades of blue and yellow.
Beautiful.
Yet heartbreakingly still.
Like a room waiting years for someone to return and breathe life into it.
"This was..."
Eleanor stopped.
"My wife's room," Thomas said. "Margaret's."
His voice was carefully neutral.