That's not practical. That's desperate. Heat that had nothing to do with the fire or the tea flooded Rose's cheeks. And if I am desperate, does that change our arrangement? No.
Wyatt's voice was flat. I asked for a practical woman. Desperation can make a person practical faster than anything else. But I need to know what I'm dealing with. Your letters were vague about your circumstances.
Rose lifted her chin. She'd known this moment would come. Had rehearsed what she'd say. But somehow sitting here in borrowed clothes, still shaking from her near death in the snow, the practiced lies felt impossible to speak. My father died six months ago, she said.
He was a Union cavalry veterinarian during the war. Took a bullet in the leg at Chikamaga. The wound never properly healed. Infection set in spread slowly over the years. He lived on Ldinum and willpower until both ran out.
Wyatt said nothing, just listened, waiting. My mother died when I was 12. Chalera. After she passed, it was just father and me. He taught me everything he knew about treating animals, horses primarily, but also cattle, dogs, anything people brought to him.
I assisted with surgeries, deliveries, setting broken bones. By the time I was 16, I could handle most cases myself. Go on. After father died, I took a clerk position at a textile factory. The pay was poor, 30 cents a day, but it was regular.
I had a room in a boarding house. It wasn't much, but it was mine. Rose's hands tightened on the mug. 3 months ago, the factory closed. No warning.
Just showed up one morning to find the doors locked and a notice saying the owner had declared bankruptcy and no one would hire you. I sent 47 letters to potential employers. Not one replied. Rose met Wyatt's eyes, forcing herself to hold his gaze. I had one week before my landlady would put me out.
I had $9 to my name, and I had no family, no friends with means to help. So when I saw your advertisement, I answered, "Because the alternative was the streets, or worse. " Silence stretched between them. The fire crackled. Wind howled outside, rattling the windows. Wyatt studied her with those winter gray eyes, and Rose couldn't tell what he was thinking.
Finally, he nodded. "That's honest, at least. I appreciate that more than you might think. " He moved to the stove, poured himself a cup of coffee, took a long drink before continuing. I'll be equally honest with you, Miss Caldwell. I'm 32 years old.
I own this ranch free and clear 200 horses, 6,000 acres of grazing land. I breed quarter horses primarily for cavalry contracts. Business is good, not wealthy, but comfortable. He paused, set down his cup. I was married before.
Her name was Anna. She died three years ago in childbirth. The baby a son was still born. Rose's breath caught. She'd expected a widow might be willing to take a mail order bride.
But this this was raw grief barely scabbed over. I'm sorry, she said and meant it. So am I. Wyatt's voice was carefully neutral. Anna hated it here.
Hated the isolation, the hard work, the lack of society. We fought about it constantly. She wanted me to sell the ranch move back east. I refused and then she died. And I wonder sometimes if I killed her through stubbornness.
He looked at Rose directly. I won't make promises I can't keep. I won't tell you I'll love you because I don't know if I'm capable of that anymore, but I will treat you fairly. You'll have your own room, your own space. I won't force intimacy you don't want.
This is a business arrangement exactly as I said in my letter. Partnership, not romance. I understand, Rose said quietly. Do you? Wyatt crossed his arms.
Because you need to know what you're agreeing to. This ranch is isolated. Nearest neighbor is 5 miles. Town is 12 miles. And in winter, we might not get there for weeks at a time.
The work is constant. The weather is brutal, and I'm not an easy man to live with. Anna made that clear enough. And yet, you're offering me a choice. Rose said, "You could have simply married me the moment I arrived.
The law would support you. But instead, you're telling me the truth and giving me the option to refuse. That suggests you're more decent than you're admitting. Something flickered across Wyatt's face. Surprise, maybe.
The stage coach won't run again until the storm passes. That could be days. You'll stay here until then. If after spending time here, you decide this isn't what you want. I'll pay your passage back to Helena and give you enough money to make a fresh start somewhere else. $50.
Enough to last until you find work. Rose stared at him. You do that? After paying for my travel here, I asked you to come all this way based on letters. That's not a fair basis for a lifelong commitment.
You deserve the chance to see what you'd be committing to before you make the choice. Rose thought about the alternative. $50 would last her perhaps 3 months if she was careful. And then what? She'd be right back where she started scrambling for work that didn't exist, counting pennies, sleeping in cheaper and cheaper rooms until there were no rooms left, only alleys and doorways, and the slow slide into the kind of desperate poverty that destroyed women completely. I don't need time to decide, she said.
I came here knowing what I was agreeing to, a business arrangement, partnership without romance. I can live with those terms. Can you? Wyatt's eyes searched her face. Because I'm 40% certain you'll be running back to Helena the moment the snow melts.
Then you'll lose your bet, Mr. Thorne. I'm not a woman who runs from hard work or harsh conditions. And I'm certainly not so foolish as to throw away security because it comes without love poems and flowers. The corners of Wyatt's mouth twitched almost a smile.
You're not what I expected, Miss Caldwell. I could say the same about you, Mr. Thorne. They regarded each other across the cabin. Outside the blizzard raged on, but inside the fire burned warm, and the tea was hot, and Rose Caldwell felt for the first time in months like she might actually survive.
"You should rest," Wyatt said finally. "The room at the top of the stairs is yours. " "It was Anna's sewing room, but I had the hands cleared out last month and put in a proper bed. It's not fancy, but it's private. " "Thank you. " Rose stood her legs still unsteady. Wyatt reached out as if to help her, then stopped himself, maintaining that careful distance he'd established. "One more thing," he said.
"Tomorrow, if the weather breaks enough, I'll need to check on the horses. Winter storms are hard on them, especially the pregnant mayors. I could use an extra set of hands if you're willing. " Rose paused at the base of the stairs. "I'm willing, but you should know I'm more than just an extra set of hands. My father taught me veterinary medicine.
If any of your horses are in trouble, I can help. Wyatt's eyebrows rose. Your father was a veterinarian for 20 years and I worked beside him for eight of those. I'm not licensed. Obviously, women aren't allowed to attend veterinary college, but I know anatomy, pharmarmacology, surgical technique.
I've delivered fosed collic set, broken legs, sutured wounds. Whatever you need, I can do it. For a long moment, Wyatt just looked at her. Then slowly, deliberately, he smiled. It transformed his face completely, erasing the hard lines and making him look younger, lighter.
"Miss Caldwell," he said, "I think this arrangement might work out better than either of us expected. " Rose climbed the stairs to her new room, her body aching with exhaustion, her mind spinning with everything that had happened. She'd nearly died tonight, had come within minutes of freezing to death in a Montana blizzard. And yet, somehow she felt more alive than she had in months. The room Wyatt had given her was small but clean. A narrow bed with a quilt that looked handmade, a dresser and washand, a window that looked out over what she assumed was the ranch, though in the dark and snow she couldn't see anything.
Rose sat on the bed and allowed herself finally to shake. Delayed reaction to her near death hitting all at once. She wrapped her arms around herself and breathed through it, forcing her mind to remain calm even as her body trembled. She'd made it against all odds. Through a blizzard that should have killed her, she'd made it.
And tomorrow, if the weather allowed, she would prove to Wyatt Thorne that he'd made the right choice in sending for her. She would show him what a woman trained in veterinary medicine could do. She would make herself indispensable. Because Rose Caldwell had learned one fundamental truth in her 24 years. The only person she could rely on was herself.