Two years later

Wesley yanked the wire tight while Gideon made sure it was secured to the fence post.

“You’re getting slow there,” Wesley told him.

Gideon glanced up beneath the brim of his hat. “No, I’m getting smart. There’s a difference.”

Wesley huffed. “Looks like slow from here.”

“That’s because you’re young enough to mistake working harder for working better,” Gideon told him. “You’ll learn eventually.”

Wesley let out a hearty laugh and reached for the next length of wire.

The morning sun had already warmed the back of his neck, though a light breeze moved through the grass, making it dance. Whitcomb Ranch stretched around them, green and familiar, with cattle scattered across the pasture and the mountains rising up like great, watching sentinels in the distance.

Two years had changed the ranch for the better.

There were more cattle now. Another section had been fenced for more horses by Tillie’s request, and the barn had been expanded by four stalls before the previous winter had come around. The little writing room Wesley had built for Eliza stood beneath the cottonwoods, its windows often glowing late into the evening when she became too absorbed in her pages to notice the hour.

Gideon hammered the last staple into place, pulling Wesley from his thoughts.

“There, that’ll do it.”

Wesley tested the wire, shaking his head. “Crooked.”

Gideon gave him a flat look, and Wesley grinned widely.

A familiar voice carried from the road before Gideon could answer.

“Papa!”

Wesley turned to see Tillie come running toward them with a wide grin on her face.

At eleven, she was still a short child, but she seemed to have grown into all legs and elbows, with her hair escaping its braid and a beat-up schoolbook tucked beneath one arm. Her voice, once lost entirely, carried across the ranch as sweetly as birdsong now.

Behind her walked Eliza with a soft smile on her pretty face, and she held baby Alice cradled against her chest.

Wesley forgot about the fence.

He crossed the yard as Tillie reached him, wrapping her in a hug.

“How was school, my girl?”

“Long.”

“It was three hours,” Gideon said with a chuckle.

“Exactly,” Tillie pointed out, looking at him over Wesley’s shoulder.

Wesley laughed and tugged lightly at her braid before continuing toward Eliza as Scout came bounding over from the house, as happy as ever to see Tillie.

His wife smiled at him. There were moments, even now after so long, when that word caught him by surprise.

Wife.

Eliza Whitcomb Harcourt. He couldn’t help but feel pride when he thought of it.

He bent and kissed her, and laughed sweetly.

“You’re filthy,” she murmured, but she was smiling.

“You married me anyway.”

He kissed her again before she could open her mouth to speak, and little Alice made an indignant sound between them, cooing softly.

Wesley immediately reached for her.

“Come here, my little lady,” he said, his voice going high and gentle.

Eliza laughed softly as she placed the baby in his arms.

Alice was only seven months old, and she had already learned that her father was incapable of refusing her anything. She stared solemnly up at him before wrapping her tiny hand around his finger, like always.

Wesley’s chest tightened. It happened every time.

He had once believed he wanted nothing more than a quiet life where no one depended upon him. Now, though, a baby could close her fist around one finger and bring him to his knees. Tillie or Eliza could call his name across the yard, and he would come running.

“We missed you,” Eliza said softly.

Wesley grinned at her. “She saw me at breakfast.”

“We always miss you.”

He smiled. “That makes more sense.”

Eliza swatted his arm, but she was laughing.

Tillie groaned, unable to hide her smile. “Are you two going to do this all day?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Wesley said solemnly.

“Probably,” Eliza agreed.

Gideon chuckled from the fenceline.

“We should go,” Eliza said. “Rosamund will think we’ve forgotten about them.”

Wesley shifted Alice against his chest. “Ambrose has a newborn in his house. He’s probably forgotten what day it is.”

“I’ll be along soon,” Gideon said, letting out a long breath. “I’m going to wash up first.”

They took the wagon to the neighboring ranch.

Ambrose had bought the property the previous year after selling most of what remained of the Harcourt holdings. It was smaller than the ranch where he and Wesley had grown up, but Wesley thought that suited his brother better. It was nothing grand, but it was a beautiful little home all the same.

Rosamund hurried out onto the porch before they had fully stopped the wagon.

“You’re here!” she called out excitedly, waving at them.

Tillie jumped down, grinning. “Where’s the baby?”

“She’s inside,” Rosamund told her with a quiet laugh.

Tillie ran right past her.

“Tillie, wait!” Eliza called. “You need to wash your hands before you touch Caroline.”

“I know!”

Wesley climbed down with Alice in his arms, and Ambrose appeared in the doorway looking exhausted but happy.

Wesley grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “You look awful, brother.”

Ambrose pointed at him. “You said that yesterday.”

“And it’s still true.”

“Wait until your next one,” Ambrose said, yawning around the words.

Wesley glanced at Eliza. She was helping Rosamund carry a basket from the wagon and didn’t appear to hear.

“We’ll see.” He chuckled as he looked back at Ambrose. “Two is enough for now.”

Alice grabbed his collar, yanking and giggling, and Ambrose laughed.

Inside, Rosamund and Ambrose’s newborn daughter slept in a cradle near the window. The little girl was only a few weeks old, and Tillie stood beside the cradle staring down at her with enormous seriousness in her sun-freckled face.

“I brought her something,” she said

Rosamund looked suspicious. “And what is that?”

Tillie disappeared through the back door, and she returned carrying a tiny, chirping little chicken in her hands.

Eliza reached out a hand to stop her. “Tillie, no.”

“What?”

“You brought a chicken into Rosamund’s house. Did you sneak that into the wagon?”

“Maybe,” she said, looking innocent. “It’s for Caroline.”

Ambrose stared at her. “My daughter is three weeks old. What exactly is she supposed to do with a chicken, Tillie?”

Tillie looked at him as though the answer were obvious. “Keep it, of course.”

Rosamund covered her mouth, trying very hard not to laugh.

Tillie held the chicken toward her. “I named her Beatrice for you.”

That finished everyone, and the room dissolved into laughter. Ambrose’s chuckles may have been sleep-deprived and a little deranged, but Wesley was happy to see him so happy.

A knock sounded at the door, and Maude entered first after Rosamund called out to come in.

Gideon followed, carrying a pie in his freshly washed hands. Wesley noticed immediately that Maude’s hand rested lightly and affectionately on Gideon’s arm, and he raised his eyebrows.

He looked toward Eliza, who smiled at the sight. Rosamund noticed too, and a soft look took over her expression.

Nobody said anything. Some things needed to bloom in the darkness before they found the light.

“Oh, look at this precious little darling,” Maude cooed, looking into the cradle.

Gideon set the pie down, and Wesley leaned toward him, unable to stop himself.

“You two ride together? What’s going on there?”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed. “Careful.”

Wesley grinned, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, keep it that way,” Gideon grumbled.

The gathering in the house grew louder as food was laid out on the table and Alice was passed from one pair of arms to another. By the time they had all eaten, Maude’s hot apple cake was out on the table and coffee steamed in cups all around.

Then another knock came, and Sheriff Silas Treadwell stood outside. The room quieted when they saw his expression.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Come on in, Sheriff,” Ambrose said. “You’re always welcome.”

“Thank you.” Treadwell removed his hat. “I have news.”

Wesley instinctively moved closer to Eliza, wrapping an arm around her.

“It’s about your father,” the sheriff said.

Ambrose stiffened, and Rosamund rubbed a hand over his back.

Treadwell continued. “Thaddeus was sentenced this morning. Life imprisonment.”

Wesley thought he might feel anger or satisfaction. Instead, he just felt tired. He knew it was coming.

Treadwell reached inside his coat. “He sent this to you both.”

The envelope was addressed to both brothers, and together, they opened it.

The room was silent as Wesley read the words quietly beside his brother.

Thaddeus wrote that he knew he would never leave prison, and he didn’t care. He didn’t ask his sons to forgive him. He wrote of their mother and admitted that after she died, he had buried himself in the empire he was building until power became the only thing he could understand.

He had convinced himself that winning justified whatever it cost, and he was very sorry. He said that he was wrong.

Wesley reached the final line and lowered the letter to the table, swallowing hard.

Ambrose’s eyes were wet.

“He finally said it,” he whispered.

Wesley nodded. “Too late to matter anymore.”

Eliza’s hand settled gently against Wesley’s arm, and he gave her a small smile. Beside them, Rosamund slipped her hand into Ambrose’s, and Wesley was glad he had someone who cared about him.

Perhaps truth mattered even when it arrived late.

Rosamund wiped her eyes and looked toward Eliza. “I think we need something happier now.”

Eliza smiled. “I think we do.”

“Sheriff,” Rosamund said, waving him into a seat. “You sit down. You’re family now too.”

The man shifted awkwardly into the seat, but he was smiling when he sat down.

The women disappeared into the next room, and then they came back carrying a small stack of bound pages in their arms.

Tillie immediately brightened. “I drew those!”

“We know,” Wesley told her, laughing. “What’s all this, Eliza?”

Eliza stood at Rosamund’s side. “We wrote something together for the circle.”

“Well, we wrote it for the circle, but we’re going to read it here first,” Rosamund told them all as she held up the pages. “It began as something about the women who came west and were forgotten in the stories.”

“But it became something else,” Eliza finished for her. “It’s about the women who built lives from nothing.”

Rosamund continued. “Women who found their voices in the hardest soil.”

“And they made something bloom,” Eliza finished, grinning at her best friend.

Wesley couldn’t take his eyes off of his wife, and he couldn’t help but smile.

He could still recall the woman who had once told him shyly that she wrote a little at the orphanage. Now she stood in the middle of a room full of people she loved and who loved her, holding words she had written without any sort of apology.

Eliza and Rosamund took turns reading the story, and Tillie’s illustrations filled every page with children, horses, mountains and the wide, blue Wyoming skies.

When they finished reading, the room erupted into loud applause and whistles.

Tillie stepped forward and bowed, and Wesley laughed louder and happier than anyone.

Later, by the time they returned to Whitcomb Ranch that evening, both children were exhausted, and Tillie fell asleep almost immediately. Alice required more convincing, but eventually her tiny body relaxed into her cradle and slipped into sleep.

Wesley found Eliza sitting in a chair on the porch with Scout lying beside her chair, fast asleep.

Wesley sat down in the chair next to hers, and stretched his legs out with a yawn. For a while, neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to.

Stars spread across the valley, twinkling in the dark sky.

Eliza wrapped her hand around his. “I got a letter too, from Cordelia.”

Wesley turned to look at her, questioning.

“She’s living in a town not far from here, I think. She’s been going to church and working. She says she’s trying to live her life honestly after she was pretty much banished from Laramie.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Wesley asked her quietly.

“I don’t know,” Eliza admitted. “She asked if she could come and visit Tillie and Alice this summer.”

He looked at her. “That’s only two months away.”

“I know.” Eliza nodded. “I think I might say yes.”

He smiled slightly and Eliza leaned against him, letting out a breath.

“Do whatever you think is right,” he said, wrapping an arm around her.

Eliza sighed. “I just don’t want what she did to be the only thing that remains between us either. She’s still my family.”

Wesley kissed her hair, nodding. “Then you’ll decide when you’re ready.”

She looked up at him, a small smile on her face. “You’ve gotten very good at that.”

“At what?” Wesley asked.

“Letting me decide things.”

“Well, I had a strict teacher.”

Eliza laughed, and the sweet sound carried out into the night.

Wesley looked across Whitcomb Ranch. The place had grown and so had they. His father had built an empire by taking, but Wesley had built his own out of love and patience.

Wesley had spent years believing the only answer was to want nothing, but he had been wrong.

There were things worth wanting, and he had them all now. He had a life full of love and Eliza. Always Eliza.

She sat upright, as if remembering something, and her expression shifted.

“What is it?”

But she did not answer him. Instead, she took his hand in hers. Slowly, she pressed it against her belly, looking up at him.

Wesley went completely still, and joy wound its way around his heart, filling him with warmth.

“Eliza?”

Her smile answered before she did, and his breath caught.

“Are you—”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Wesley stared at her, joyful tears gathering in his eyes. “You’re certain?”

She laughed softly, nodding.

He could not speak, and Eliza’s eyes filled.

“I thought you might be happy,” she said. “But I heard what you said to Ambrose earlier about two being enough, so I wasn’t sure.”

Wesley moved so quickly Scout lifted his head in alarm, and he pulled Eliza into his arms.

“Happy?” His voice broke. “Eliza, I don’t even know what to call this. More than happy, much more.”

She laughed against him while Wesley pressed a kiss to her forehead, her cheeks, then finally her mouth, over and over again.

When he pulled back, he left his hand over her belly. Here was another piece of the family he had never imagined himself having.

He looked toward the dark outline of the ranch.

Once, this land had been something people fought over, but none of them had understood what made a parcel of land worth anything.

It wasn’t who owned it; it was what grew from it.

Inside the house, Alice made a small sound in her sleep, and Scout lowered his head onto Wesley’s boot. He could hear Tillie snoring lightly. Eliza rested against his shoulder while his hand remained over the place where their child was growing strong and new in her belly.

Wesley looked down at his wife, then at the land that had survived lies, greed, and everything darkness had done trying to possess it and make it into something it wasn’t.

Eliza wrapped her fingers around his, and Wesley held on tight.

And as he sat beneath the twinkling stars in the late spring sky, Wesley finally understood that the life that they had built was everything he had spent years thinking he did not need.

It was everything he never knew to want, and now he would never let it go.

THE END