When the question came to her, she did not hesitate at all.
“I do.”
Not because she trusted him.
Because she had decided that if men intended to build a transaction around her life, she would at least enter that transaction awake.
The wedding supper took place at her father’s house.
Guests ate roast beef and potatoes while whispering about the match.
She heard nearly all of it.
“Big woman.”
“Strong enough for ranch work, I suppose.”
“He must be desperate for that spring.”
“Her father finally found someone.”
The young wife sat with both hands in her lap and kept eating.
The rancher heard less, but what he heard was enough.
At one point, a neighboring cattleman leaned toward him and muttered, “Water must be worth more than I thought.”
The rancher slowly set down his fork.
“What?”
The man grinned.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
The rancher turned his chair.
“Finish it.”
The table quieted.
The cattleman looked toward the bride.
Then back.
“I only meant you made a practical bargain.”
The rancher’s jaw tightened.
“So did she.”
The cattleman’s grin faded.
The rancher continued.
“Difference is, I knew what I was buying.”
The young wife looked at him sharply.
The entire table went still.
For one awful second, she thought he had just reduced her publicly to the spring.
Then he finished.
“She didn’t get the same courtesy.”
Her father’s face darkened.
The rancher stood.
“We’re leaving.”
The bride looked toward him.
Supper had barely ended.
He held out one hand.
Not demanding.
Offering.
She did not take it.
But she stood.
They left together.
That was the second point in his favor.
Still not enough.
The ride to his ranch lasted nearly two hours beneath a hard silver sky.
They barely spoke.
His wagon rattled across frozen ruts while their breath clouded in front of them.
At last he said, “You can have the east bedroom.”
She turned.
“What?”
“My room is west.”
She studied him.
“You expect separate rooms?”
“I expect whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“That wasn’t in the agreement.”
“I didn’t sign an agreement about beds.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“My father did.”
“I didn’t.”
He kept his attention on the road.
She asked, “How long?”
“How long what?”
“Do I get the separate room before you decide marriage entitles you to more?”
He pulled the horses to a stop.
In the middle of nowhere.
Wind moved across the open range.
The rancher turned toward her.
“I married you for water.”
The bluntness made her flinch despite already knowing.
He saw.
His voice softened.
“I’m ashamed of that.”
She did not answer.
“But I will not compound one bad bargain by treating your body like another clause.”
Silence.