PART 2 — THE WIFE HE NEVER BOTHERED TO KNOW

Wyatt’s question remained between us.

“Clara, what have I done?”

I stood beside the kitchen table, holding a serving spoon in one hand.

For four days, I had waited for my husband to see me as something other than a signature on a property deed. Now, with five exhausted cowboys watching, he finally seemed to understand that I was a person.

But understanding came too late to erase everything.

“You married me,” I answered quietly. “That is what you did.”

Wyatt lowered his eyes.

The ranch hands shifted uncomfortably.

Hollis, the oldest of them, stepped forward and removed his hat.

“Ma’am, I reckon we’ve all been waiting for a meal like this longer than we care to admit.”

One of the younger cowboys laughed.

“That cobbler smells better than anything I’ve eaten since Christmas.”

“Then sit down before it gets cold,” I said.

They obeyed.

Within minutes, the room filled with the sound of plates being pᴀssed, chairs scraping against the floor, and men asking for second helpings.

Wyatt remained standing.

“Your leg,” I reminded him. “Sit before you fall.”

He looked at me as if he wanted to say something, but finally allowed Hollis to help him into a chair.

I placed a bowl of stew in front of him.

He stared at it.

“You cooked all this today?”

“Most of it.”

“And you went to the ravine?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I stopped.

“Because you were there.”

He looked up.

“Even after the way I’ve treated you?”

I set the spoon down.

“Wyatt, I didn’t leave you beneath that steer because I was angry. I helped you because nobody deserves to be abandoned when they need help.”

His face тιԍнтened.

Across the table, Hollis quietly cleared his throat.

“Mr. Mercer, that woman saved every man who rode out with you today. Maybe it’s time we started treating her like the lady of this house.”

Nobody disagreed.

Wyatt took a spoonful of stew.

He swallowed, then looked down at the bowl.

“My mother used to make something like this.”

I hadn’t expected that.

“Did she?”

He nodded.

“She died when I was twelve. After that, the kitchen was mostly empty.”

He glanced around the room.

“I suppose I got used to it.”

“Getting used to something doesn’t make it right.”

He accepted that without argument.

The meal continued until every dish was nearly empty. When the men finally stood, Hollis approached me.

“Thank you, Mrs. Mercer. I haven’t seen this house look so alive.”

I smiled.

“Then perhaps we ought to make it a habit.”

“That would suit us fine.”

The cowboys left for the bunkhouse, carrying the remaining cobbler with them.

Only Wyatt and I remained.

He tried to rise, but his injured leg gave way slightly.

I caught his arm.

“Easy.”

“I can manage.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I said easy.”

He looked at me.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

It was a small, tired sound, but it was the first time I had heard him laugh since our wedding.

I helped him upstairs.

When we reached his bedroom, he stopped at the door.

“I owe you an apology.”

“More than one.”

“I know.”

He looked at the floor.

“I thought marrying you would settle the water dispute. I thought I’d made a practical arrangement and that was all either of us needed.”

“And you ᴀssumed I would be grateful simply because you gave me a room.”

His jaw тιԍнтened.

“Yes.”

I waited.

He continued.

“I never asked what you wanted. I never asked what your father taught you. I never even asked whether you liked this place.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Can I ask now?”

I considered him.

“Tomorrow.”

He looked surprised.

“Tomorrow?”

“You’re injured, Wyatt. You need rest. And I have a kitchen to finish cleaning.”

For the first time, his expression held something other than impatience.

“Good night, Clara.”

“Good night.”

I turned toward the stairs.

Then he spoke again.

“Thank you for saving my life.”

I did not turn around.

“Thank me by giving me a reason to believe this marriage can become something better than a business agreement.”

That night, I slept in my own room.

And for the first time since arriving at Willow Creek Ranch, I heard no angry footsteps crossing the hallway.

The next morning, the ranch was unusually quiet.

Wyatt remained upstairs while I prepared breakfast.

I made eggs, biscuits, fried potatoes, and coffee. The ranch hands came in one by one, and each greeted me with a respect that had not existed four days earlier.

Hollis pulled out a chair.

“Morning, Mrs. Mercer.”

“Morning, Hollis.”

He looked toward the staircase.

“How’s the boss?”

“Resting.”

“Good. He needs it.”

Then he leaned closer.

“There’s something you ought to know about that valley.”

I put down the coffee pot.

“What is it?”

Hollis glanced at the other men.

“Your father and Mr. Mercer had a disagreement before the wedding. About the water.”

I already knew that much.

“What disagreement?”

“Your father wanted the spring protected. He believed the ranch should pay for every gallon it used. Mr. Mercer thought the water ought to be shared without a formal agreement.”

I frowned.

“That doesn’t sound like a reason for a marriage.”

“It wasn’t the only reason.”

Hollis hesitated.

“Your father had been receiving letters from someone in town. Someone who wanted the valley sold.”

“Who?”

Before he could answer, a voice came from the doorway.

“That’s enough, Hollis.”

Wyatt stood there, leaning on a wooden cane.

The old ranch hand lowered his eyes.

Wyatt slowly crossed the room.

“Clara, there are things I should have told you.”

I folded my arms.

“Then tell me.”

He glanced at the men.

“Not here.”

“Why not?”

“Because this concerns your father’s land.”

My heart began beating faster.

“What about it?”

Wyatt took a folded paper from his coat.

It was a map of Willow Creek Valley.

Several sections had been marked in red.

I recognized the spring, the creek, and the narrow stretch of land where my father had built his old stone storage shed.

Wyatt placed the map on the table.

“Someone has been surveying your property.”

“Who gave them permission?”

“No one.”

He pointed to a red line running along the eastern boundary.

“This is where they intend to build a diversion ditch. If they succeed, the water will be redirected away from your valley and toward the southern properties.”

I stared at the map.

“Who is doing this?”

Wyatt hesitated.

Then he said a name I had not heard in years.

“Silas Crowley.”

My father’s former business partner.

The same man who had visited our house shortly before my father’s death.

And the man my father had once warned me never to trust.

I looked at Wyatt.

“How long have you known?”

“Three weeks.”

“Before we married?”

He nodded.

“Then you knew someone wanted my land.”

“Yes.”

“And you still married me without telling me?”

His silence answered.

I stepped away from the table.

“Wyatt, did you marry me to protect the valley, or did you marry me because you thought I would be too inexperienced to understand what you were doing?”

He looked as though I had struck him with the truth.

“I thought I could control the situation.”

“And me?”

He did not answer.

I nodded slowly.

“Then you have not learned nearly as much as you think.”

I left the room.

But I had barely reached the kitchen when Hollis called after me.

“Mrs. Mercer! There’s a rider coming up the south road.”

I turned toward the window.

A black carriage was approaching the ranch.

And seated beside the driver was Silas Crowley.

He had not come to congratulate us on our marriage.

He had come for the valley.