“Three.”
“Still.”
Grant studied her.
“What would make you comfortable?”
“A wage.”
He blinked.
Eliza almost regretted it.
Then Grant nodded.
“Fair.”
They negotiated.
Actually negotiated.
Grant offered too much.
Eliza accused him of charity.
He reduced it.
She countered.
Samuel watched from the doorway as if witnessing international diplomacy.
Finally they agreed.
Eliza would manage household and ranch accounts three afternoons a week.
She would be paid.
In her own money.
Not “pin money.”
Not allowance.
Wages.
That first month, she bought a red ribbon.
Nothing practical.
She stood in the mercantile holding it.
Grant waited.
“You like it?”
“Yes.”
“Then buy it.”
She looked at the price.
“Twenty cents.”
“You have twenty cents.”
“That's not the point.”
Grant understood.
He stepped away.
“I'm going to look at nails.”
She stared.
“What?”
“You don't need an audience.”
He left.
Eliza bought the ribbon.
At home she tied it in her hair.
Grant saw at supper.
His fork stopped.
Eliza smiled.
“What?”
“That ribbon.”
“What about it?”
“I approve.”
“I didn't ask.”
“Then I withdraw approval.”
“You can't.”
“Apparently.”
After Samuel went upstairs, Grant found Eliza putting dishes away.
He stood behind her.
“Still approve.”
She smiled without turning.
“I know.”
His hands settled at her waist.
Eliza leaned back against him.
“You keep staring at my mouth.”
“I've developed a habit.”
She turned.
“You know habits require correction.”
“Do they?”
Eliza caught his collar.
“Sometimes.”
Grant's gaze dropped.
“What correction do you recommend?”
She kissed him.
That night she did not ask him to sleep elsewhere.
Their marriage finally became complete not because a wedding certificate demanded it, but because Eliza chose the moment.
Grant asked twice if she was certain.
The second time she covered his mouth with her hand.
“If you ask again, I may change my mind from irritation.”
His eyes smiled.
“Understood.”
Later, lying beneath the quilt, Eliza listened to his breathing.
She expected regret.
Instead she felt something almost frighteningly peaceful.
Grant's fingers traced lightly over her hand.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“Hungry?”
She laughed softly.
“Is that your solution to everything?”
“No.”
He turned toward her.
“Some things require kissing.”
Eliza smiled.
“And others?”
“More advanced research.”
She hit his shoulder.
Grant laughed.
Their happiness might have remained small and private if the carriage had not arrived in January.
Red Willow Ranch rarely saw carriages.
Wagons.
Buckboards.
Horses.
A carriage meant money.
The black vehicle appeared shortly after noon, polished wood shining against snow.
Two matched horses.
Driver in a dark coat.
Samuel saw it first.
“Someone rich is here!”
Grant looked up from the porch.
Eliza was inside.