PART 2 — THE WOMAN WHO BROUGHT WARMTH BACK INTO HIS HOUSE

Harrison had not expected Daisy Jennings to last three nights.

By the second morning, he was beginning to suspect she might outlast the winter.

She woke before sunrise, built a fire in the kitchen, and somehow persuaded Penelope to stop shouting long enough for the coffee to boil.

When Harrison entered, he found Daisy standing beside the stove in one of Margaret’s old aprons.

He stopped.

The apron was pale yellow, with tiny embroidered flowers along the pockets. Margaret had worn it almost every morning.

Daisy noticed his expression immediately.

“Oh, goodness. I’m sorry. I found it folded in the kitchen drawer. I thought it belonged to the household.”

“It did.”

Daisy began removing it.

“I’ll put it back.”

Harrison hesitated.

“Keep it. Margaret wouldn’t have wanted it sitting unused.”

Daisy studied him for a moment.

“Your wife?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know her.”

“No. But I know what it means to lose someone who made a place feel like home.”

Harrison looked at her.

She didn’t explain further.

Instead, she turned back toward the stove.

“Would you prefer eggs or oatmeal?”

He almost answered that it didn’t matter.

It had never mattered.

For three years, he had eaten whatever was easiest, usually alone, standing beside the kitchen counter.

“Eggs,” he said.

Daisy smiled.

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

By the end of the first week, Harrison’s house had changed in small ways.

There was always something cooking.

The kitchen table no longer held only unpaid invoices and leatherworking tools.

Daisy had placed a vase of dried wildflowers beside the window. She had also opened the curtains in the sitting room, allowing winter sunlight to reach the old furniture.

She never touched Margaret’s bedroom.

Harrison noticed that.

He also noticed that Daisy never asked why he slept downstairs.

One afternoon, he returned from the ranch to find her sitting at the kitchen table, repairing a torn shirt.

Penelope was perched beside her, watching suspiciously.

“Your bird has been insulting me all morning,” Harrison remarked.

Daisy didn’t look up.

“She’s protective.”

“Of you?”

“Of her reputation.”

Penelope suddenly shouted, “Handsome devil!”

Harrison stopped.

Daisy closed her eyes.

“She heard that somewhere.”

“Apparently.”

“Please don’t encourage her.”

Harrison walked toward the stove.

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Penelope flapped her wings.

“Handsome devil!”

Harrison laughed under his breath.

Daisy looked up so quickly that her needle slipped.

He noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You look surprised.”

She hesitated.

“I heard you laugh.”

His expression changed.

Daisy immediately lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

But Harrison stood still.

He had not realized how long it had been since anyone had noticed that sound.

Samuel came to visit on the ninth day.

He arrived carrying a basket of apples and wearing the expression of a man who had rehearsed an apology several times without finding the right words.

Daisy opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cole.”

“Please call me Samuel.”

“Very well. Have you come to apologize again?”

He looked startled.

“Actually, yes.”

Daisy stepped aside.

“Then you’d better come in before Penelope decides you’re a suitable target.”

Samuel entered cautiously.

The parrot watched him.

“Fool man!”

Samuel stopped.

Daisy sighed.

“She has strong opinions.”

Harrison appeared from the sitting room.

“What are you doing here?”

“Bringing apples.”

“We have apples.”

“Then I brought too many.”

Samuel placed the basket on the table.

He looked at Daisy.

“I owe you more than an apology. I had no right to write those letters in Harrison’s name. I thought I was helping my brother, but I never considered what it would cost you.”

Daisy’s expression softened slightly.

“Thank you for saying that.”

“I’ll pay for your return journey whenever the road opens. And I’ll help you find respectable employment in town if you want it.”

Daisy nodded.

“I appreciate that.”

Samuel looked between them.

“Have you two been getting along?”

Harrison answered immediately.

“She’s been reorganizing my house.”

Daisy looked offended.

“I have been improving it.”

“She moved my tools.”

“They were on the kitchen table.”

“That’s where I work.”

“That’s where people eat.”

Samuel began smiling.

Harrison pointed at him.

“Don’t.”

Samuel raised both hands.

“I didn’t say anything.”

But his eyes were shining.

For the first time in three years, he had heard his brother argue about something that wasn’t cattle, money, or the weather.

And it sounded wonderfully ordinary.

The real trouble began with the first heavy snowfall.

A storm arrived from the north and buried the roads beneath thick white drifts.

The stagecoach stopped running.

The telegraph line went down.

And Daisy’s return to the East became impossible.

Harrison told her not to worry.

“The roads will open eventually.”

Daisy nodded, but he noticed she had begun counting her remaining money.

One evening, she sat beside the kitchen window with a small notebook.

Harrison set a cup of tea before her.

“What are you calculating?”

“How long I can afford to stay.”

He frowned.

“You don’t have to pay me for the room.”

“I know. But I don’t intend to become a burden.”

“You aren’t.”

Daisy gave him a small, tired smile.

“Mr. Cole, you have been very generous. But I cannot stay here indefinitely.”

He pulled out a chair.

“Have you considered working?”

She looked up.

“I would be delighted to.”

“Mrs. Bell at the boardinghouse needs someone to help with meals. Her cook has been ill.”

Daisy’s face brightened.

“Really?”

“I can ask her tomorrow.”

“That would be wonderful.”

He watched her put the notebook away.

Then he asked, “What kind of work did you do before Boston?”

Daisy was quiet.

“I taught children. Reading, writing, arithmetic, music. I also worked as a companion to an elderly woman for two years.”

“You might find a position teaching here.”

“Would anyone hire a woman who arrived in town because of a marriage advertisement that turned out to be a lie?”

Harrison considered that.

“Then they’ll have to explain why they wouldn’t hire a capable woman because of someone else’s foolishness.”

Daisy looked at him for a long moment.

“You’re kinder than you pretend to be.”

He looked away.

“Don’t spread that around.”

Two days later, Harrison accompanied Daisy to the boardinghouse.

Mrs. Bell was a practical woman in her sixties who had little patience for gossip.

She listened to Daisy’s experience, asked several questions about cooking and teaching, and then offered her a position helping with meals.

But something unexpected happened.

When Daisy noticed two young children struggling with their reading lessons in the common room, she sat beside them and began helping.

Within twenty minutes, both children were reading aloud.

Mrs. Bell watched from the doorway.

“Miss Jennings?”

Daisy looked up.

“Yes?”

“I believe I have another position for you.”

She explained that several families in Dry Creek had been asking about a teacher for their children. The previous schoolmistress had left for Cheyenne, and the schoolhouse had been closed for nearly two months.

Daisy could hardly believe it.

“You mean I could teach?”

“If you can keep those two little ones interested for another half hour, I’d say you can teach anyone.”

Harrison watched Daisy’s face change.

It was the first time he had seen her look genuinely excited about something that belonged entirely to her.

That evening, Harrison returned to the ranch alone.

He found himself thinking about the woman who had arrived with one trunk, seven dollars, and a parrot with an unfortunate vocabulary.

He thought about the way she spoke to people.

The way she listened.

The way she had made his kitchen feel less like a place where he stored memories and more like somewhere people could make new ones.

Then he remembered Margaret.

He stopped beside the old cottonwood tree near the house.

For three years, he had believed that allowing happiness into his life would somehow mean betraying the woman he had loved.

But standing beneath that tree, he realized something he had never allowed himself to consider.

Margaret had loved life.

She had loved music, warm kitchens, children laughing, and evenings spent talking about nothing important.

She would never have wanted him to spend the rest of his days treating joy as something forbidden.

The thought frightened him.

But it also brought a strange sense of peace.

The following Sunday, Harrison attended church.

He had not been inside since Margaret’s funeral.

Samuel nearly dropped his hymnbook when he saw him enter.

Harrison took a seat near the back.

Daisy was sitting beside Mrs. Bell.

She wore a simple dark green dress, and her hair was pinned neatly beneath a small hat.

When she noticed him, she gave a polite nod.

After the service, she approached.

“Good morning, Mr. Cole.”

“Good morning.”

“Did you come to hear Reverend Morris?”

“Something like that.”

She smiled.

“Then I hope you found what you were looking for.”

Harrison looked at her.

“Perhaps I did.”

Before she could answer, a young boy ran into the churchyard.

“Miss Jennings! Mama says the school board wants to meet you tomorrow!”

Daisy turned.

“Tomorrow?”

The boy nodded.

“They need a teacher before the spring term!”

Her eyes widened.

Harrison smiled.

“Looks like you’ve found your next adventure.”

Daisy laughed.

And he realized he wanted to hear that sound again.

But before either could say anything more, Mrs. Bell approached with a concerned expression.

“Miss Jennings, there’s something you should know.”

Daisy turned.

“What is it?”

Mrs. Bell lowered her voice.

“A woman arrived in town yesterday asking about you. She said she knew your former employer in Boston.”

Daisy’s smile vanished.

Harrison straightened.

“Who was she?”

Mrs. Bell shook her head.

“She didn’t give me a name. But she left a message.”

She handed Daisy a folded piece of paper.

Daisy opened it.

Her face went pale.

There were only two sentences.

You cannot run from what happened in Boston.

Your former employer’s wife is coming west.

Daisy’s fingers began to tremble.

Harrison stepped closer.

“Who is she?”

Daisy looked up.

And for the first time since arriving in Wyoming, she seemed genuinely afraid.

“Her name is Eleanor Whitcomb,” she whispered.

Then she added something that made Harrison’s expression turn cold.

“She is the woman who destroyed my reputation.”