Virgil chuckled darkly. “That’s cute, but I’ve seen your kind before. Come in with empty hands and big promises. Next thing you know, the widow’s got nothing left.”
“I’m not a widow,” Abby snapped.
“No, but it sure looks like you’re fixing to be something close,” Clyde added, smirking. “You got two babies sleeping in your parlor and a man patching your roof. That walks like a duck, Cousin.”
Abby took a step forward, eyes fierce. “This land is mine. It’s in my blood and in every callus on these hands. I’ve worked it alone and I’ve kept it alive.”
“You’ve barely kept it breathing,” Virgil said, jaw clenched, “until he showed up.”
“And what’s that tell you?” Caleb interjected. “That maybe you should have stepped in when she was burying fence posts in the snow instead of waiting until it looked worth stealing.”
Virgil bristled. “Don’t get high and mighty with me, stranger. You don’t even have a name in this county.”
“I’ve got two sons and a spine,” Caleb said. “That’s more than I can say for some folks born here.”
Abby held up a hand. “Enough.” She turned to Virgil, voice calm again, but sharp as cut stone. “You bring your papers. You bring your lawyer. I’ll bring my proof.”
“Proof of what?” Clyde laughed.
“That this land isn’t abandoned, that it’s producing, that it’s home, and that neither of you has lifted a damn finger to help it grow.”
Virgil’s mouth flattened. “Then you’ll be hearing from the court.”
“Then I’ll be seeing you there.”
The two men turned without another word, climbed back onto their wagon, and rode off with the kind of retreat that didn’t feel like a loss, just a pause. Abby didn’t move until they were out of sight. When she finally did, she turned to Caleb, who was standing motionless, fists clenched.
“They’ll file, won’t they?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “They will.”
Caleb looked toward the pasture. The wind was picking up. “And they’ve got legal grounds.”
“Maybe,” Abby admitted. “That clause is real. I remember Pa mentioning it once, said it was foolish but he signed anyway, because they made it sound like a formality.”
“Exactly.”
They both stood there, the weight settling over them like dust before a storm.
“You could fight it,” he said.
“I plan to.”
“But if they challenge it on marital status…” Abby looked at him. “Then I need to make a decision.”
Silence.
“You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” he said, voice low.
“I’m not offering anything,” she said. “Not yet. But you’re considering it.”
She nodded once.
“For the land?” he asked. “Or for you?”
She hesitated. That silence was longer.
“You’re a good man, Caleb,” she said. “You work hard. You keep your word. You care for those boys like they’re your whole world.”
“They are.”
“And you’ve helped breathe life back into this place, but…”
“But we’ve known each other a week.”
He let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I know.”
She looked down at the ground, then back up. “I don’t want to make this decision because I’m cornered.”
“Neither do I.” He stepped forward, lowering his voice. “But Abby… If this leads somewhere… I don’t want it to be because you have to. I want it to be because you choose to.”
Her throat tightened. “I don’t know what I’m choosing yet,” she admitted. “But I know I don’t want to lose this place. And I don’t want to lose what we’ve started.”
He gave a slow nod. “Then let’s fight it. Together. However we have to.”
She looked up at him and for the first time since the dust had settled, she smiled. “All right,” she said. “Let’s start with proof. That this place is alive again.”
That evening, they walked the land together. They counted the hens, measured the yield from the back garden, checked the irrigation on the west side. Abby scribbled figures into a ledger. Caleb built a fence post repair checklist. They were building their case. Not just for the court, but for themselves. Inside the house, the boys slept soundly in their cradle. The fire crackled with promise.
Tomorrow they would go into town, and if the rumors hadn’t already reached the ears of the courthouse, they would soon.
The fire had burned low by the time Caleb spoke those words. Abby sat still, pen frozen above her paper, the warmth from the hearth dancing across her fingers but not quite reaching her chest. She looked at him slowly, like the words had landed from across some great distance—louder than thunder, quieter than breath.
Caleb didn’t flinch. He sat across from her at the kitchen table, back straight, elbows resting on the worn wood like he’d finally placed something down. His eyes weren’t demanding. They weren’t pleading, either. Just steady, like a man who’d come to a conclusion and was ready to stand by it.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “Not tonight.”
But the silence was already answering something inside her. She set the pen down. “You mean it?”
“I do.”
“You’d stand beside me, even if it meant marrying someone you’ve only known a week?”
He nodded. “I’ve known enough people longer and trusted them less.”
That made her blink, not because it was sweet, but because it was true. She leaned back, folding her arms, trying to get her breath back.
“This isn’t some storybook, Caleb. I’m not some lonesome widow waiting for a man to ride in and rescue her.”
“I know that. You’ve rescued yourself more times than anyone ever will.”
“Then why would you offer to tie yourself to a storm like me?”
He smiled. “Because I don’t think you’re a storm, Abby. I think you’re the place people crawl to after the storm’s over.”
She let that sink in. And damn it, it sank deep. Outside, the wind had picked up again. The shutters groaned and a low whistle moved through the cracks in the old window panes.
“I’m not saying yes,” she said finally. “But I’m not saying no.”
“That’s enough for me.”
She watched him for a long moment. Then she stood. “You should get some sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long one.”
He nodded and stood too, pausing as he passed her. “Whatever happens in that courthouse, I won’t walk away unless you ask me to.”
“I won’t ask,” she said quietly.
And he left.
The morning came cold and bright, sunlight spilling across the plains in streaks of pale gold. Abby rose before the boys stirred, made coffee, packed a basket with bread, and laced up her boots like she was preparing for battle. She wore her mother’s coat, thick black wool with carved bone buttons, and pinned her hair back tight.
When she stepped onto the porch, Caleb was already there, saddlebag over one shoulder, papers tucked under one arm. The twins were wrapped and strapped into the back of the wagon, bundled tight, small faces peeking from between quilts.
“You sure?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But we’re going anyway.”
They rode in silence at first. The trail into town was rutted from last week’s storm, and the wheels creaked under the weight of both the cargo and the moment. About halfway there, Abby broke the quiet.
“You ever been married before?”
Caleb glanced over. “No. Thought about it once, years back. Before Sarah.”
Abby looked at him. “Sarah wasn’t your wife?”
He shook his head. “She was the mother of my boys. We lived together, planned to make it official after harvest, but she went into labor early.”
Abby didn’t speak for a long time. “I’m sorry,” she said eventually.
“Me too.”
A moment passed.
“I was engaged once,” Abby said. “To a boy named Martin Bishop. He was kind. Simple. Too simple. My father liked him because he didn’t ask questions.”
“What happened?”
“I asked too many.”
That made Caleb chuckle under his breath. “Sounds about right.”
They rode the rest of the way into town without another word, but the silence felt different this time. Shared. Not empty.
The town of Cold Spring was small, but it had everything a Wyoming settlement needed: post office, saloon, general store, and a courthouse with walls so thin you could hear arguments through the clapboard siding. Abby parked the wagon outside and carried the twins in herself. Caleb walked beside her, documents in hand.
Inside the courthouse, it smelled like dust, ink, and stale coffee. Miss Ethel was already there, seated in the back row with a bundle of papers on her lap.
“You came,” Abby said, surprised.
“Didn’t trust those weasels not to twist the truth,” Ethel replied, standing. “And I thought you could use another voice.”
Caleb helped settle the boys in the back as Abby stepped forward to the front desk. The clerk raised his eyebrows.
“Miss Monroe,” he said too loudly. “You’ve come prepared.”
“I’ve come legal,” she replied. “Which is more than I can say for Virgil.”
At that, the side door opened, and in strode Virgil and Clyde, dressed like this was a funeral and a celebration all in one. Behind them was a man in a gray coat with papers in hand, clearly their lawyer. The judge entered last, an old man named Wallace who smelled like pipe smoke and didn’t suffer fools quietly.
They all sat. The proceedings began.
For over an hour, Virgil’s lawyer painted Abby as unstable, irresponsible, and reckless, unfit to manage the property on her own, having abandoned the traditional structure expected of a landowner per the clause in the deed. Then Abby stepped up, ledger in hand, voice calm and clear. She showed the judge her yield, her livestock count, her sales, her water records. Then she gestured toward Caleb…
