His clothes were clean but worn.
His hat sat at an angle that might have been careless, except his posture was anything but.
"I'm Norah Callaway," she said. "Soon to be Mrs. Greer, I suppose."
"Thomas."
He didn't offer his hand.
"I'm supposed to bring you to the ranch."
"You're Harlon's son."
"Oldest one."
He picked up her bag before she could protest, testing its weight with a slight frown.
"This all you got?"
"I travel light."
"Good. Ranch ain't got room for extra."
He turned and started walking toward a wagon hitched to two horses that had seen better days.
Norah followed, acutely aware of eyes tracking her movement.
The man outside the saloon.
A woman sweeping a porch.
Two children who stopped playing to stare.
The mail-order bride had arrived.
Entertainment for a town starved of novelty.
Thomas loaded her bag with more care than his attitude suggested, then climbed up to the driver's seat.
Norah pulled herself up beside him without waiting for help.
She'd learned years ago that waiting for help was often the same as waiting for nothing.
The wagon lurched forward, and Sorrow Creek began to recede behind them.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
The only sounds were hoofbeats, creaking wood, and wind that carried dust instead of mercy.
The land stretched out in every direction, flat, brown, stubborn.
Here and there, patches of scrub brush clung to life with what looked like spite rather than hope.
"How far?" Norah finally asked.
"Six miles."
Thomas kept his eyes forward.
"Road gets rough about halfway."
"Rough compared to what we just traveled?"
His mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
"You'll see."
More silence.
Norah studied him from the corner of her eye.
He held the reins with practiced ease, his jaw tight, his shoulders carrying weight that had nothing to do with physical labor.
This was a boy who'd been forced to become a man too soon, and the transformation hadn't been kind.
"Your father," she began carefully. "What should I know about him?"
"He works hard. Expects the same from everyone else."
Thomas's tone flattened.
"That's about it."
"And your brothers?"
"There's five of them. They're around."
The vagueness was deliberate.
Norah let it sit between them for a moment before trying again.
"The reverend's letter mentioned six boys total."
"Eli's 15, Cade's 12, Porter's nine, Reeve's seven, Ru's four."
Thomas rattled off the names like a roster.
"You'll meet them soon enough."
"What happened to your mother?"
The question hung in the air too long.
Thomas's hands tightened on the reins, and something in his expression shifted.
Not anger exactly, but a door slamming shut.