"She died two years back. Fever."
He glanced at Norah briefly, and his eyes were hard.
"Don't expect us to call you Ma. That ain't happening."
"I wouldn't ask you to."
"Good."
They hit the rough patch of road Thomas had mentioned, and Norah understood why he'd smirked.
The wagon jolted over ruts deep enough to crack axles, bouncing them both like stones in a jar.
She gripped the seat, her teeth rattling, and wondered if this was some kind of test.
When the road finally smoothed, relatively speaking, Thomas spoke again, softer this time.
"Why'd you agree to this?"
Norah considered lying.
Considered the easy answer about fresh starts and new opportunities.
But something in the boy's question felt genuine, and he'd probably heard enough lies to recognize them.
"Because staying where I was would have killed me," she said simply. "Maybe not right away, but eventually."
Thomas nodded slowly, like that made sense to him.
"Ranch might kill you faster."
"Maybe."
Norah looked out at the unforgiving land.
"But at least I'll have tried something different first."
Another almost-smile crossed his face.
Gone before it fully formed.
They continued in silence, but it felt different now.
Less hostile.
More like two people who'd recognized something familiar in each other.
The exhaustion of surviving.
The Greer Ranch appeared gradually, rising from the landscape like something that had grown there by accident.
The main house was larger than Norah expected, but in worse condition.
Planks had been nailed over planks to patch holes.
The roof sagged in the middle.
One shutter hung at an angle, held by a single hinge.
Outbuildings clustered around the main structure.
A barn missing half its doors.
A chicken coop held together with wire and prayer.
A smokehouse that leaned so far it looked drunk.
Fencing stretched across the property in various states of collapse, marking boundaries that seemed more wishful than actual.
And everywhere, dust.
Dirt.
The residue of drought and defeat.
"Home," Thomas said without inflection.
Norah climbed down from the wagon, her legs unsteady.
The front door of the house opened, and boys spilled out like water from a cracked jug.
Too many.
Too fast.
All talking at once until they spotted her and went silent.
She counted them quickly.
Five, not six.
One missing.
The tallest after Thomas, Eli, she guessed, stood with his arms crossed, expression suspicious.
Beside him, a boy with sharp features and sharper eyes watched her like she might steal something.
Two younger ones hung back, half hidden behind their brothers.
The smallest was nowhere in sight.
"This is her?" the sharp-eyed one asked Thomas.
"Yeah."
Thomas grabbed Norah's bag.
"Norah Callaway. She's the new wife."