Caleb’s ranch stood in a valley north of Fort Collins.
Eliza loved it immediately.
She hated admitting that.
The house was larger than expected.
Margaret’s presence remained everywhere.
Curtains she had sewn.
Dishes she had chosen.
A blue shawl folded behind a door.
Eliza stopped the first time she saw it.
Caleb noticed.
“You don't have to use anything.”
“I know.”
“If something makes you uncomfortable—”
“Caleb.”
He stopped.
“She lived here.”
“Yes.”
“I don't need you to erase her so I can enter.”
His eyes softened.
“Thank you.”
Eliza took the downstairs bedroom.
Caleb took the loft.
For two months, courtship became both absurd and tender.
They already knew more intimate truths than most couples learned in years.
Yet Caleb insisted on formality.
He brought wildflowers.
Asked before entering her room.
Took Eliza and Ruth into town for supper.
Once he wore a coat so uncomfortable that Eliza finally said:
“Take that thing off before you suffocate.”
“I’m courting.”
“You're dying.”
He removed it.
Their first proper evening alone happened after both babies finally slept through several hours.
Eliza sat on the porch.
Caleb joined her.
Warm summer darkness covered the valley.
He handed her a cup of coffee.
She took it.
Their shoulders touched.
Neither moved.
“You're quiet,” she said.
“Thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
He smiled.
“About the stagecoach.”
Eliza groaned.
“Pritchard complaining?”
“No.”
“You.”
“What about me?”
“You scared me.”
She stared.
“I did?”
“You opened your arms and asked for Samuel.”
Caleb looked toward the dark fields.
“I wanted to trust you.”
“But?”
“I had buried Margaret three weeks earlier.”
“My son was all I had left.”
Eliza touched his hand.
“You gave him to me anyway.”
“I had to.”
“Yes.”
He turned toward her.
“But I think part of me trusted you before I understood why.”
Eliza’s heart beat faster.
“Caleb.”
“Yes?”
“You may kiss me without asking every single time.”
He studied her.
“That sounds like a trap.”
She laughed.
“It isn't.”
He leaned closer.
Their kiss began gently.
Then changed.
Months of grief, restraint, gratitude, and carefully controlled desire finally found somewhere to go.
Caleb’s hand moved to her waist.
Eliza touched his beard.
He pulled back enough to breathe.
“Still all right?”
She smiled.
“You ask too many questions.”
“I can stop.”
“Not all of them.”
He kissed her again.
Later, when he stood to return to the loft, Eliza caught his hand.
Caleb looked down.
Her courage almost failed.
Almost.
“Stay.”
His face changed.
“Eliza.”
“I know what I'm asking.”
He searched her expression.
“This isn't because of Samuel?”
“No.”
“Or Ruth?”
“No.”
“Or gratitude?”
“No.”
She stood.
“Caleb Warren, if you ask me one more reason, I may change my mind out of irritation.”