“Because it was wrong.”
“That’s all?”
Cole glanced toward him.
“Should there be more?”
Jack shrugged.
“My pa always said people usually want something.”
“Your father was probably right.”
“What do you want?”
Cole thought.
“Peace.”
Jack looked toward the wagons full of children behind them.
“You picked wrong.”
Cole laughed.
It was short and rusty.
Jack looked surprised.
Cole nodded.
“Starting to realize that.”
Blackwood Ridge appeared before dark.
Sarah had expected a lonely cabin.
Instead, she found a sprawling timber ranch house surrounded by barns, corrals, workshops, bunkhouses, and pine forest.
Smoke rose from three chimneys.
A woman stood on the porch.
Martha Bell had silver hair tied in a severe bun and wore an apron like armor.
She watched seven children climb from the wagons.
Then she looked at Cole.
“What did you do?”
Cole removed his hat.
“Brought help.”
Martha stared.
“You brought a town.”
Lily approached her.
“Do you have cookies?”
Martha looked down.
“Yes.”
Lily immediately took her hand.
“I like you.”
Martha glared at Cole.
“This one stays.”
Sarah laughed before she could stop herself.
Martha looked at her.
For one frightening second, Sarah thought she had offended the woman.
Then Martha smiled.
“Good.”
Sarah frowned.
“What?”
“You laugh.”
“I sometimes do.”
“Not enough, judging by your face.”
Sarah liked her immediately.
The first night was chaos.
Rooms had to be opened.
Mattresses carried upstairs.
Dust beaten from blankets.
Ben and Jack refused separate bedrooms.
Emma and Ella wanted the same bed.
Jacob wanted a room near Jack.
Grace cried because the hallway was unfamiliar.
Lily disappeared.
For eight terrifying minutes everyone searched.
Cole eventually found her asleep beneath the kitchen table with a cookie still in one hand.
He carried her upstairs.
Sarah saw him.
Cole held the four-year-old as though she might break.
Her cheek rested against his broad chest.
One small fist clutched his shirt.
Sarah stopped in the hallway.
Cole looked uncomfortable.
“She fell asleep.”
“I see that.”
“What room?”
“Mine tonight.”
Cole carried Lily inside.
He placed her gently on Sarah’s bed.
When he straightened, Sarah was close.
Too close.
They looked at one another.
“Thank you.”
Cole nodded.
“For today.”
Another nod.
“For keeping them together.”
His expression changed.
“You don’t have to thank someone for not doing something cruel.”
Sarah swallowed.
“In Dry Creek, apparently I do.”
Cole looked away.
“Sleep.”
She smiled slightly.
“Is that an order?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Sarah closed the door.
Cole remained outside for several seconds longer than necessary.
The next morning began before dawn.
By seven, Jacob had spilled milk.
Ella lost one shoe.
Ben accidentally released three chickens.
Grace cried because she believed the chickens were escaping forever.
Jack argued with one ranch hand about how to stack firewood.
Lily fed half her breakfast to a dog named Amos.
Cole stood in the kitchen staring at the destruction.
Martha approached.
“Peaceful enough?”
Cole looked at her.
“Not a word.”
Sarah entered carrying laundry.
“I heard that.”
Cole glanced toward her.
“What?”
“You wanted peace.”
Jack laughed from across the room.
“He said that yesterday.”
Sarah looked at Cole.
“You invited seven children because you wanted peace?”
Cole sighed.
“It sounded better before they arrived.”
Sarah smiled.
Something changed in the house over the following weeks.
At first, Cole resisted it.
He had spent nearly nine years preserving silence.
Every object remained where he left it.
Meals happened at exact hours.
Nobody entered the western sitting room.
Nobody touched the piano.
The upstairs nursery remained locked.
Then the Dawson children arrived.
Silence died by Tuesday.
Jacob discovered the barn loft.
Emma began leaving wildflowers in jars despite winter making flowers nearly impossible to find.
Ella found scraps of colored fabric and started sewing them into a quilt.
Grace followed Martha everywhere.
Ben developed an obsession with horses.
Jack worked harder than some grown men.
And Lily followed Cole.
Everywhere.
He would enter the barn.
Lily appeared.
He checked fencing.
Lily wanted to ride.
He repaired tack.
Lily sat on a barrel and asked questions.
“Why you got a scar?”
“Horse.”
“What horse?”
“Mean one.”
“Did you hit him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He was scared.”
“So he hit you?”
“Something like that.”
“Did you cry?”
Cole paused.
“No.”
Lily frowned.
“Mama says people should cry.”
“Your mama says many things.”
“Mama’s usually right.”
Cole glanced toward the house.
“Yes.”
That answer came too quickly.
Lily noticed nothing.
Martha did.
So did Jack.
Sarah worked harder than Cole expected.
She cleaned the rooms Martha could no longer manage.
Reorganized the pantry.
Cooked breakfast and supper.
Kept household accounts.
Within two weeks, she found three suppliers overcharging the ranch.
Cole stared at the ledger.
“How?”
“Because you never check invoices.”
“I check invoices.”
“You look at totals.”
“That’s checking.”
“No, that is recognizing numbers.”
Cole scowled.
Sarah smiled.
“You paid twelve dollars too much for lamp oil last month.”
“I can afford twelve dollars.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“What is?”
“You were cheated.”
Cole leaned closer across the desk.
“You enjoy telling me I’m wrong.”
“More than I expected.”
Their eyes met.
Sarah’s smile slowly faded.
Cole noticed the small freckles across her nose.
Sarah noticed the gray threaded through his beard.
Neither moved.
Then Lily burst into the office.
“Cole!”
They jumped apart.
Cole looked annoyed.
“What?”
“Jacob stuck his head in the fence.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“Again?”
Cole stood.
“Again?”
Sarah followed.
“He did it at home once.”
“Why?”
“He said he wanted to know if it would fit.”
“Did it?”
“Yes.”
“Then he had his answer.”
“The problem was getting it back out.”
They hurried outside.
By the time Jacob was freed, Sarah was laughing so hard she had to lean against the fence.
Cole watched her.
It had been years since a woman’s laughter affected him.
He did not like how much he wanted to hear it again.
Cole Blackwood had once had a wife.
Her name was Rebecca.
Nobody spoke about her around him.
Sarah learned why from Martha.
It happened one evening while they kneaded bread.
“Rebecca was twenty-nine.”
Martha’s hands slowed.
“Beautiful girl.”
Sarah stayed quiet.
“She and Cole married young.”
“What happened?”