“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes.”
Adelaide frowned.
“You are supposed to be disappointed.”
“I am.”
He almost smiled.
“But I spent too long confusing fear with love.”
“I don't want you doing same.”
That answer entered her more deeply than any declaration could have.
She looked down.
“Then recover.”
“And afterward?”
“Ask me again when you can stand.”
Gideon smiled.
“I will.”
Recovery took six weeks.
Longer than Gideon expected.
Much longer than he tolerated gracefully.
The first week he was too weak to rise without help.
He hated that.
Adelaide enjoyed it slightly more than was virtuous.
When he attempted to stand without her and nearly fell, she crossed her arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking.”
“No.”
“Apparently falling.”
“Yes.”
She brought a chair.
He glared.
“I don’t need—”
Adelaide raised one eyebrow.
Gideon stopped.
Then sighed.
“I need the chair.”
“Good.”
He sat.
“You are enjoying this.”
“A little.”
“Cruel woman.”
“You married me.”
“Temporary insanity.”
She smiled.
For the first time, their roles reversed completely.
Adelaide handled cattle with help from two neighboring ranchers who came after the roads reopened.
She negotiated feed.
She repaired the pantry inventory.
She arranged for a carpenter to replace part of barn roof.
She even found the missing cow.
The animal had wandered into a stand of pines and somehow survived.
Gideon nearly cried when Adelaide led her back.
“You love that cow more than me.”
He looked offended.
“She produces milk.”
“So do not I.”
“No.”
Adelaide stared.
Gideon’s eyes widened.
“I did not mean—”
She started laughing before he could finish.
His face turned red.
“Go back to bed.”
“Gladly.”
The ranch did not collapse without Gideon’s full strength.
That changed him.
For years he had believed survival depended on one person doing everything.
That had been part of Abigail’s tragedy too.
She had tried to prove she could do what Gideon did.
Gideon had tried to prove he needed no one after she died.
Adelaide broke both illusions simply by organizing.
She asked neighbors for help.
Then repaid them with preserved food, labor, and future assistance.
When Gideon protested the expense of hiring two men to mend the north fence, Adelaide looked at him.
“You have money.”
“Not much.”
“You have cracked ribs.”
“They’re healing.”
“You have one body.”
He frowned.
“That is obvious.”
“Then stop spending it as though another arrives in the mail.”
He stared.
Then laughed.
“Where did you learn to talk like that?”
“From spending a month with a stubborn man.”
Gideon began listening.
Not always.
But enough.
The first true test came when Amos Pike returned.
It was nearly February.
Snow had hardened along the roads.
Gideon could walk around cabin but still could not lift much with injured shoulder.
Adelaide was kneading bread when horse approached.
She looked through window.
Her entire body stiffened.
Amos.
Gideon saw.
He moved toward door.
Adelaide caught his sleeve.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of him.”