If her interest in the domestic workings of the ranch surprised him, he didn’t show it. “I’m fixin’ to add a kitchen to the bunkhouse next year.”

“I see,” she said. “And Peggy Sue? Where does she dine?”

“Peggy Sue and her daughter take meals in their room.”

She’d yet to make the child’s acquaintance, but she already felt sorry for her. Growing up in such a somber place couldn’t be much fun.

Cookie entered the room, and all at once, the tension in the room vanished. “And now for my famous son-of-a-gun roast beef,” he announced and placed a steaming hot plate on the table in front of her. Cooked to perfection, the roast looked and smelled delicious and was surrounded by garden-fresh vegetables.

Whether it was that cold, sterile dining room or her husband’s remote expression, she didn’t know, but she suddenly had no appetite. Still, not wishing to hurt Cookie’s feelings, Emily forced herself to eat, each bite feeling like a lump of coal in her mouth.

10

Later that night, Emily leaned her head against the rim of the metal tub with a sigh and tried to relax her tense body.

Filling the tub with water had required Peggy Sue to make several trips back and forth to the kitchen downstairs, and for that, Emily felt bad. The ranch had been built years earlier and didn’t have the amenities many newer buildings had, such as a separate room for bathing. The ranch still relied on a galvanized tin tub for personal hygiene, though such a receptacle was better suited for its original purpose of washing clothes.

The housekeeper had stoically insisted that preparing Emily’s bath was no trouble and had resisted all attempts to be drawn into friendly conversation. After making certain Emily had the necessary soap and towels at her disposal, Peggy Sue quietly left the room.

Emily closed her eyes and tried to relax her tense body. Fortunately, she’d agreed to stay married to Chase for only a year.

Her eyes flew open. Oh no, what was she thinking? Twelve months on a cattle ranch now seemed like an eternity. The mere thought made her feel faint. If the relentless heat, dust, and bugs weren’t enough, every shift of the wind brought the sickening smell of cattle. There simply was no getting away from it.

But honestly, what choice did she have but to stay here? No one in town would hire her. Even more frustrating, not one person she’d approached for a job had been impressed with her Vassar College degree in liberal arts. Indeed, no one seemed to know what it was. The proprietress of the Feedbag Café had even said she wasn’t looking for an artist, liberal or otherwise.

The degree that she had worked so hard to earn appeared to be as worthless here as last month’s newspaper. Now that she knew her tuition had been paid for with ill-gotten funds, it seemed like retribution, however undeserved. The sins of the father or, in this case, her uncle…