That was why she was disappointed to find the large dining room table set that night for only two. For some reason she couldn’t quite name, the thought of being alone with the man who was her husband put her nerves on edge. Not that she’d seen that much of him since he’d shown her around the ranch.

Now he greeted her with a wary nod and held her chair for her until she was seated. He then took his place clear at the opposite end of the long table. It was their first meal together, and for once, he seemed to lack his usual self-confidence. Instead, he looked as uneasy as Emily felt.

Grateful for the distance between them, she glanced about the room. Accustomed to the noisy family gatherings she’d grown up with, she felt a wave of homesickness wash over her. It was only after her mother had died that things began to fall apart. Her grandparents, aunt, and uncle said it was too painful to visit the Beacon Hill mansion, and that put an end to the lush parties and festive dinners.

Perhaps if the family had been more supportive, her father might not have grieved himself to death. If he were still alive, she wouldn’t be stuck on an isolated ranch miles away from anything, that’s for certain. Nor would she be married to a stranger.

Emily heaved a sigh. It was hard to know what affected her more—thoughts of the past or the gloomy surroundings. Not even the soft glow of candlelight could make the room with its stark white walls, rough-hewn rafters, and austere furnishings feel warm or inviting.

As if sensing her troubled thoughts, Chase visually followed her gaze to one of the bare walls. “Something wrong?”

Shaking her head, she stared across the vast expanse of maple wood. Chase had removed his pearl-gray hat. His slightly disheveled brown hair gave him a boyish look. Twisted-wire garters held his shirtsleeves to his elbows.

“No, nothing,” she murmured. Everything. She hated how her life had taken such an unexpected turn. This wasn’t the kind of life she’d hoped for, had indeed planned for.

Chase studied her a moment before accepting her answer without further questioning. “I asked Cookie to serve us in here. Thought you’d feel more comfortable.” He glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “This room hasn’t been used much since my grandmother died. She liked to entertain and would throw large dinner parties here.”

Emily moistened her lips. “Where do you normally dine?”

“In my office,” he said.

“And the others?”

He sat back in his chair. “The others?”

“Your men. Do they take all their meals in the bunkhouse?” The lack of a kitchen meant Cookie had to carry everything from the main house, and that seemed to her a needless chore.

The question seemed to surprise him. “That there’s their livin’ quarters.”

“It just seems like a lot of extra work for Cookie,” she said. “It would be easier if the men ate here.”