“What do you want from me?”
She answered immediately.
“One year.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“One-year marriage.”
“A real marriage legally.”
“You manage cattle.”
“Help me protect the ranch.”
“I feed and house your children.”
“Pay you a wage separate from anything owed as my husband.”
“After a year?”
“If we want an annulment or legal separation, my attorney can arrange whatever is possible.”
“And if we don't?”
Isabella held his eyes.
“Then we decide again.”
Gabriel’s voice lowered.
“Where do I sleep?”
Her cheeks colored.
For the first time that evening Isabella Navarro looked uncertain.
“There are guest rooms.”
Gabriel almost smiled.
“Earlier you sounded less committed to separate rooms.”
She stared.
“Earlier I needed Rafael convinced.”
“And now?”
“Now your son is watching.”
Samuel immediately looked down at his bread.
Gabriel nearly laughed.
Isabella’s face went redder.
Gabriel crouched beside Samuel.
“You hear too much.”
Samuel said:
“She talks loud.”
Isabella put both hands on her hips.
“I do not.”
Samuel looked at Gabriel.
He whispered:
“She does.”
Gabriel laughed.
A real laugh.
The first in months.
The sound startled him.
Lucía had loved his laugh.
For one instant guilt arrived.
Sharp.
Immediate.
He looked down.
Isabella saw the change but did not ask.
That restraint mattered.
Gabriel stood.
“If I agree…”
“Yes?”
“My children come first.”
“Yes.”
“No man enters this house threatening them.”
“Agreed.”
“I am not property.”
“Neither am I.”
“Good.”
“I do not take wages for pretending affection.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“What does that mean?”
“If we act like husband and wife before Rafael, fine.”
“But in private, do not touch me because you think you owe me something.”
She stared.
Gabriel continued.
“And I will not touch you because a paper says I may.”
Her breathing changed.
“That was not what I expected you to say.”
“What did you expect?”
“That you would ask whether the marriage included my bed.”
Gabriel glanced deliberately at her.
“I wondered.”
Isabella’s cheeks warmed again.
“But?”
“But wanting something is not the same as being owed it.”
For several seconds she said nothing.
Then:
“You may be more dangerous than Rafael.”
Gabriel frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he has never made me curious.”
Gabriel stared.
Isabella turned away.
“Maria!”
From the kitchen:
“Yes?”
“Send someone for Father Esteban.”
Gabriel blinked.
“Who?”
“The priest.”
“Tonight?”
Isabella looked over her shoulder.
“You wanted a real marriage.”
Gabriel swallowed.
Apparently he had.
Father Esteban arrived after dark.
Small man.
Sixty.
Weathered face.
He knew Isabella well enough that he did not look shocked.
Only tired.
“You finally decided to remarry.”
“Yes.”
He looked at Gabriel.
“You appear surprised.”
“I am.”
“You are the groom?”
“Apparently.”
Father Esteban looked at Samuel.
Then Emma.
Then back.
“Good.”
Gabriel frowned.
“That is all?”
The priest shrugged.
“I have seen worse beginnings.”
Isabella muttered:
“Comforting.”
The ceremony happened in the ranch house parlor.
Maria stood witness.
Two trusted ranch workers attended.
Samuel held Emma.
Father Esteban asked Gabriel if he entered freely.
Gabriel looked at Isabella.
She stood in her teal blouse and dark skirt.
No flowers.
No veil.
No preparation.
But she looked beautiful enough to make the question complicated.
“I do.”
The priest asked Isabella.
She did not hesitate.
“I do.”
Then vows.
Simple.
Promises.
Respect.
Fidelity.
Protection.
Isabella’s voice trembled once.
Gabriel noticed.
The priest pronounced them married.
Then:
“You may kiss.”
Both froze.
Maria smiled.
Samuel looked fascinated.
Isabella whispered:
“We do not have to.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Rafael may ask witnesses.”
Her eyebrow rose.
“Tactical?”
“Entirely.”
Isabella stepped closer.
Gabriel put one hand lightly at her waist.
The contact changed everything.
Her eyes widened slightly.
His thumb rested against the leather vest at her side.
Isabella lifted her face.
Gabriel kissed her.
Softly.
He intended one second.
Perhaps two.
Then Isabella’s hand moved against his chest.
Exactly as it had at the gate.
Gabriel felt her fingers curl into his shirt.
The kiss deepened without either of them deciding aloud.
Warm.
Slow.
Dangerously natural.
When Gabriel finally pulled away, Isabella’s eyes remained closed for half a heartbeat.
Father Esteban cleared his throat.
Samuel whispered:
“That was longer than necessary.”
Maria covered a laugh.
Gabriel looked at his son.
“Bed.”
Samuel grinned.
Isabella turned away, trying to hide her own smile.
After everyone left, the house became quiet.
Gabriel carried Emma upstairs.
Isabella showed Samuel a small bedroom across from hers.
There was already a bed.
Clean blankets.
A wooden horse toy on the shelf.
Samuel touched it.
“Can I keep this?”
Isabella looked surprised.
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
“If you want.”
He nodded seriously.
“Thank you.”
Gabriel watched.
Something inside him shifted.
Samuel had received almost nothing new since Lucía died.
Isabella knelt.
“Tomorrow we can find you boots that fit.”
Samuel looked toward Gabriel.
“Papá?”
Gabriel nodded.
“If Señora Navarro says so.”
Isabella looked at him.
“Señora Morales now.”
Gabriel froze.
So did she.
The name sounded strange.
Isabella Morales.
She stood.
“I suppose.”
Gabriel’s voice lowered.
“Regret it?”
“No.”
She held his gaze.
“Not yet.”
Samuel groaned.
“You both talk strange.”
Gabriel kissed his son’s forehead.
“Sleep.”
He carried Emma toward the guest room.
Isabella stopped him.
“Where are you going?”
“You said guest rooms.”
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
“Rafael will return early.”
“So?”
“Servants talk.”
Gabriel stared.
“You want me in your room?”
“I want the house to look consistent.”
He nearly smiled.
“Tactical.”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
They entered Isabella’s bedroom.
Large.
Beautiful.
Fireplace.
Dark wooden bed.
A portrait of Mateo stood on a dresser.
Gabriel stopped.
He looked at the painting.
A handsome man with gentle eyes.
Isabella noticed.
“I can move it.”
“No.”
“Gabriel.”
“No.”
He walked closer.
“That was your husband.”
“Yes.”
“Your life does not begin because I arrived.”
Isabella stared.
No man had ever said that to her.
Not Rafael.
Not lawyers.
Not neighbors who told her a widow needed to move forward as though grief were furniture.
Gabriel continued:
“I had a wife too.”
“Lucía?”
He looked at her.
“How?”
“You said her name when Emma cried earlier.”
Gabriel had not realized.
“Yes.”
Isabella looked toward the portrait.
“Then neither of us is starting empty.”
“No.”
She nodded slowly.
“That seems fair.”
Gabriel placed Emma in a cradle near the bed.
Isabella had ordered it brought from storage.
It had belonged to a worker’s child.
He adjusted the blanket.
When he turned, Isabella was watching.
“What?”
“You are gentle.”
“She is eight months old.”
“I mean generally.”
Gabriel almost laughed.
“You have known me one evening.”
“I have watched enough men handle frightened animals and children to know gentleness cannot be faked long.”
He leaned against the cradle.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Can you be gentle?”