Sighing, she opened the sack of candy purchased in town and peered inside. A sweet, sugary smell floated upward. Curious about the little strip of paper Kate had dropped in the bag, Emily pulled it out and unfolded it.

It was written in feminine handwriting and read:

A happily married couple shares everything—even their candy.

Emily sighed. Happily married? Was there really such a thing? She thought of all the married couples she’d known in Boston, including her parents, and happy wasn’t the word that came to mind.

She thought of her uncle—a man she’d once idolized. But that was before she knew his greed and ambition came before all else. She’d vowed she would never marry a man who didn’t put family first. That was why she could never stay married to a man like Chase. No woman could compete with his precious ranch, his precious cattle.

She dropped the slip of paper on the dresser with a sigh and refolded the sack. It wasn’t the future that worried her. It was surviving day by day for the next several months. That would only happen if she and Chase could put their differences aside and make some sort of peace.

It wouldn’t be easy, but it was the only way to make the duration of their agreement tolerable.

A plan forming in her head, she tied and retied the belt on her dressing gown, more out of nervousness than need. Inhaling, she reached for the bag of candy and let herself out of the room. At the top of the stairs, she stopped and listened. The quiet told her that the other household members had retired for the night.

Just before reaching Chase’s office, she paused. A shiver of anticipation raced down her spine.

The glassy eyes of the stuffed wild cat stared down from the wall. The grandfather clock that loomed in the corner sighed and struck nine. Each bong echoing through the room seemed to sound a warning.

On the last note, she knocked on Chase’s door.

“The door’s unlocked.”

The sound of his voice made her breath whoosh out of her, and she reached for the doorknob. Chase looked up from his desk as she entered, his gaze steady beneath a furrowed brow. A lock of brown hair had fallen across his forehead, giving him a rakish look. The glow of gaslight softened the hard lines of his features. Tonight, his face looked more sculpted than chiseled.

He stuck his pen into the penholder and sat back in his chair. On the desk in front of him, a ledger yawned open. “Feeling better?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “There a problem?”

She shook her head. “No. I just came to”—she cleared her throat—“apologize.”

He ran a hand over the day-old whiskers at his chin. “Apologize?”

“I shouldn’t have gone to town against your wishes. I thought I was prepared to handle myself. I never counted on Daisy throwing a shoe.”

He folded his hands across his middle. “It happens.”