Her Sisters Sent Her West to Be Humiliated. She Arrived Plain and Uncertain. One Year Later She Was Running the Ranch, Raising His Son, and the Man Who Thought He Could Never Love Again Was Writing Letters to Her Sisters Telling Them They Were Fools.
Through the open window, Norah could hear her sister’s laughter spilling from the parlor like champagne from a too-full glass.
“Oh, this is absolutely wicked. Mother would die if she knew.”
“Mother doesn’t have to know. Besides, it’s just a bit of fun. No harm in it.”
“Read it again, Viv. The part about seeking a woman of gentle nature and modest beauty.”
More laughter. Norah set down her mending and moved quietly to the window, staying just out of sight. Vivien cleared her throat dramatically.
“Rancher seeking bride. Widower, age 36, owner of the Ror Creek Ranch in Wyoming territory, seeking woman of gentle nature, modest beauty, and strong character for marriage. Must be willing to relocate. Serious inquiries only.”
“Can you imagine? The man’s probably ancient and desperate.”
“Father heard about the Ror Creek operation. This Jack Ror fellow is supposedly worth a fortune. Cattle, land, everything.”
The silence that followed made Norah’s stomach turn cold.
“Oh, but I am.” Vivien’s words dripped with malice. “Dear, sweet, unfortunate Norah. Twenty-four years old and never been courted. Father’s greatest disappointment. The daughter who inherited mother’s mousy hair and father’s unfortunate nose instead of any of the Bennett beauty.”
“Vivien, that’s cruel even for you,” Margaret said. But she was giggling.
“Is it? Or is it genius? This rancher wants modest beauty — well, Norah is certainly modest. He wants gentle nature — she’s about as threatening as a church mouse. And strong character — she’s put up with us for twenty-four years, hasn’t she?”
Caroline howled with laughter. “Oh God, the look on his face when she steps off that train.”
Norah backed away from the window, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might crack her ribs. She should storm in there, confront them, tear up whatever letter they were composing. But she didn’t.
Because underneath the hurt and humiliation, a tiny seed of something else was sprouting. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.
Six weeks later, the letter arrived.
His handwriting was bold and masculine. His words were nothing like what she’d expected.
Dear Miss Bennett, I received your letter and photograph with great interest. Your words showed character and sincerity, qualities I value above all others. I am prepared to offer you marriage and a home here at Ror Creek Ranch. I will not mislead you about the nature of this arrangement. I am not a romantic man and I do not make promises about love or passion. What I can offer is security, respect, and a comfortable life. The choice is yours entirely. Respectfully, Jack Ror.
She looked up from the letter, her eyes moving from her father’s stern face to her sisters’ gleeful expressions. They wanted her to refuse — to become the laughingstock who couldn’t even hold on to a husband she’d never met.
But as she stood there holding the stranger’s straightforward letter, something crystallized inside her. He had read her sisters’ mockery of a letter. And he had responded not with flowery promises or romantic delusions, but with honesty.
I am not a romantic man. The choice is yours entirely.
There was a strange dignity in that. And more importantly, there was an escape.
“I’ll go,” she said quietly.
“You’ll what?” Vivien’s face went pale.
“You didn’t think what?” Norah’s voice was steady now, stronger than she’d heard it in years. “You didn’t think he’d actually respond? You didn’t think I’d actually go?”
She turned to her father.
“This gentleman has made me an honorable proposal. If you’ll permit it, father, I’ll accept.”
She climbed the stairs to her small bedroom and only when the door was safely closed did she let herself unfold the letter again with shaking hands. The choice is yours entirely. She pulled out her mother’s old trunk from under the bed.
And began to pack.