Rugged Hunter, Delicate Heiress

Chapter 2: A House with One Door

I woke the next morning to the sound of an axe striking wood.

The bed was narrower than the one I'd grown up in, and the quilt smelled faintly of smoke. I had slept badly, with my shoes placed neatly beside the trunk and my wedding ring on the table. I put the ring back on before I went outside.

Cal stood in the clearing, splitting logs. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. I tried not to notice that he had bathed the night before.

"You're up," he said.

"I've been up for several minutes."

"Good. Breakfast is ready."

There was porridge on the table. I sat down and stared at it.

"Is there anything else?"

"Eggs, if the hen lays."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then there aren't eggs."

I let out a breath. "You have a talent for making ordinary things sound like personal failures."

"I'm not the one disappointed in a chicken."

The corner of his mouth moved. It wasn't quite a smile, but it came close enough to irritate me.

He put a plate in front of me. I ate half the porridge and tried not to think about the cook at the estate, who would have known I disliked cinnamon.

Cal leaned against the counter. "The lawyer sent word. The bank will hold off until October first, but the foreclosure papers are still moving."

"We have five months."

"Four and a half."

"We need an attorney."

"The lawyer who read the will is an attorney."

"One who works for us."

"He represents the estate."

"He represents the estate as it stands. I want someone who represents our interests."

"Then we should hire one."

I blinked. I'd expected resistance. "You agree?"

"I agreed to help you save the land. I didn't agree to let the bank take it."

His directness left me with nothing to argue against. I set down my spoon.

"I know nothing about negotiating with banks."

"Then you'd better learn."

I looked at him sharply. "You could try being less pleased about that."

"I'm not pleased. I'm telling you what the job is."

We rode to town together the next day. Cal's horse was steady, but the saddle was rough, and I was conscious of the way the skirt of my riding dress caught on the stirrup. He offered to help me down in front of the lawyer's office. I declined and nearly slipped.

Cal caught my elbow.

"I had it," I said.

"You had the ground."

Inside, I met Mr. Harlan, a narrow man with silver spectacles and an office crowded with ledgers. He explained that the foreclosure could be challenged if we proved the bank had mishandled the estate's loan. It was possible, but not easy. The bank had already hired its own legal counsel.

"And what would that cost?" I asked.

"More than the estate can pay."

Cal set a small roll of bills on the desk. "This is what I have."

I stared at it. "You're putting in all your savings?"

"I said I would."

"That doesn't make it sensible."

"No. It makes it mine to decide."

The lawyer counted the money and wrote a receipt. Cal didn't look at me. I didn't know what to do with the shame that rose in my throat.

On the way back, I asked why he'd saved the money.

"For the lease," he said. "I planned to buy the hunting rights outright."

"So the land matters to you."

"Yes."

"More than your money?"

He glanced at me. "That's why I saved it."

I had imagined our marriage as a transaction that rescued me. I had not considered that he was putting his own future on the line.

At the cabin, he heated water for my bath without being asked. I watched him carry the bucket in.

"You don't have to keep doing that."

"I know."

"Then why do you?"

"Because you asked me to wash before I got into bed."

"That was a rule, not a request."

"Either way, I heard you."

I looked down at the water, then back at him. "I was cruel yesterday."

"You were honest."

"I was both."

He left the room before I could say more. I closed the door, set the bolt, and sat beside the tub, listening to his footsteps fade across the floor.