Some evenings, she climbed the stairs so exhausted that she barely had the energy to remove her boots.
Silas noticed.
He never mocked her fatigue.
Instead, he reminded her that learning required time.
"You don't have to master twelve years of ranching before supper," he told her once.
Eleanor smiled tiredly.
"Only eleven?"
He laughed.
Then brought her warm water to soak her hands.
She watched him place the basin beside her chair.
For a moment, her eyes filled.
He looked alarmed.
"Did I do something wrong?"
She shook her head.
"No."
Then she whispered, "I'm not accustomed to being cared for without somebody expecting obedience in return."
Silas went quiet.
He sat beside her.
For several seconds, he considered her words.
Then he answered simply.
"You don't owe me obedience because I brought you water."
She looked toward him.
He smiled faintly.
"Though I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to carry full buckets on icy steps."
Eleanor laughed through tears.
"That sounds suspiciously like an order."
"A request from a man who's spent too much time repairing broken bones on this ranch."
She smiled.
Then reached toward his hand.
He took it.
And for a few precious minutes, they sat beside the stove with their fingers intertwined.
The first letter from Boston arrived two weeks after the wedding.
It bore Horace Whitmore's signature.
Eleanor recognized the handwriting immediately.
She had seen it on thousands of invitations, business letters, financial agreements, and instructions left for household servants.
The letter was brief.
It expressed disappointment in her conduct.
Questioned her judgment.
Described Silas Boone as an unsuitable husband.
And demanded that she return to Boston before the family became an object of scandal.
Then came the threat.
If she refused, Horace would not intervene to protect Boone Ranch from the consequences of its financial obligations.
Eleanor read the sentence twice.
For a moment, she felt physically ill.
Her father knew exactly what the ranch meant to Silas.
He had chosen the threat deliberately.
She placed the letter on the table.
Then stared at it.
Silas entered carrying firewood.
He noticed her expression.
"What happened?"
She handed him the page.
He read it.
His jaw tightened.
Then he folded it carefully.
"Well."
Eleanor watched.
He looked toward the stove.
Then back at her.
"Your father writes like a man who expects everyone to thank him for making threats."
She gave a strained laugh.
Silas set the letter down.