“One week.”
Lena Hart had been standing on the porch of the Reid ranch for less than sixty seconds when the oldest boy announced the wager.
He did not say it cruelly.
That almost made it worse.
He said it with the confidence of someone reporting tomorrow’s weather.
Sixteen-year-old Thomas stood directly in front of the door with his arms folded over a faded brown coat. He had his father’s broad shoulders beginning to form beneath a body that had grown too quickly, dark hair that needed cutting, and gray-blue eyes already trained to measure disappointment before it arrived.
Beside him stood six younger brothers.
Samuel was fourteen and suspicious of almost everyone.
Peter, twelve, had one boot untied and a smear of grease along his cheek.
Eleven-year-old Matthew watched Lena’s luggage instead of Lena.
Nine-year-old Jacob stared openly.
Seven-year-old Ben held a wooden horse missing one leg.
And five-year-old Eli sucked the inside of his cheek as though he were trying very hard not to ask a question.
Behind them stood their father.
Reid.
Thirty-nine years old.
Widowed two years.
Tall enough that the porch roof seemed lower around him.
He had written Lena twelve letters over six months.
In those letters he had been careful almost to the point of awkwardness.
He owned a cattle ranch in western Montana.
He had seven sons.
His wife had died after a winter fever.
He did not need romance from a stranger.
He needed partnership.
He could offer a lawful marriage, a home, honest work, and respect.
He could not promise ease.
Lena had appreciated that more than flowers written onto paper.
Nothing in the letters had prepared her for seven boys standing like a jury.
She placed her suitcase beside the porch rail.
“Only a week?”
Thomas looked briefly uncertain.
“The last woman lasted five days.”
Lena glanced at Reid.
His jaw tightened.
“The last woman was a housekeeper,” he said.
Thomas shrugged.
“She still left.”
Samuel added, “And the one before that lasted nine.”
“Nine days?” Lena asked.
“Hours.”
Peter snorted.
Reid closed his eyes.
“Boys.”
Lena lifted one hand.
“No.”
He looked at her.
She turned back toward Thomas.
“What happens if I make it past a week?”
The boys exchanged glances.
Clearly, nobody had planned for this question.
Finally Jacob said, “You win.”
“What?”
He looked around helplessly.
“The bet.”
Lena smiled.
“What do I win?”