“Something’s weighing on her,” Quinn told Da that evening. “She said she was tired, but I know it’s more than that.”

They sat on either side of the fireplace. Mirabelle was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

“Was she angry?” Da asked.

“She seemed more sad than anything else.” Quinn had fully expected to return to the mercantile and find her as cheerful and bantering as she’d been when he’d dropped her there. “I’d only just paid my respects to Ma and sat down with my book when Mirabelle came walking up. She had such a look on her face, like her whole world was crumbling.”

“That doesn’t sound like Mirabelle. She’s about as likely to crumble as the mountains themselves.”

For precisely that reason, Quinn couldn’t shake the impact of seeing her so heartbroken. She’d made a valiant effort to hide her feelings, but the pain had been there in her eyes and in the quiver he’d heard in her voice.

Quinn scratched the back of his head. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Considering you brought her here as a worker, I’d say you’re ‘supposed to’ not be bothered by her unhappiness.” Da’s tone emerged drier than dust. “Less complicated, remember?”

“I ain’t heartless, Da. She’s hurting. What can I do?” His mind had grown heavy as she’d sat in his embrace. The comfort he’d offered hadn’t seemed sufficient. “What did you do when Ma was upset?”

“’Twas different between your ma and me. We knew each other well, deeply. There was seldom need for guessing what she needed and why she was hurting.” As always, speaking of Ma brought a sadness to Da’s expression that nothing else did.

“I don’t have that with Mirabelle.”

“Then I’d say you have the answer to your question.” Da skewered him with such a look. “You care enough to want to comfort her, so care enough to let her into your life and your heart as well. It’ll be complicated, but it’ll be worth it.”

“Considering your half decade of agony, I’ve a difficult time viewing things that way.”

“You think a life spent loving your ma wasn’t enough for me, that I’d rather give that up than grieve?” Da sounded almost offended.

“You’ve far more than grieved. You’ve disappeared, faded to nothing. If that’s what love does to a man—”

“No matter the pain I’ve felt, I’d not trade a single moment I had with her. I’d love her fully and deeply, even if it meant hurting more now. You’d understand that if you allowed yourself to care even a little about the woman you’ve made your wife.”

The sharp rebuke raised Quinn’s hackles. “I do care about her. More than just ‘a little.’ I care that she’s unhappy. I care that she’s lonely. I care that she’s desperate for people to come over because she feels like no one here ever talks to her.” His bluster quickly ebbed. “I do care.”

“But maybe not enough,” Da said quietly. “Maybe that’s why she’s grown more unhappy.”

I’m lonely.

I’d have someone to talk to.

I found what I’d expected to find.

Mirabelle’s words that afternoon repeated in his mind but with new meaning. He assumed she’d been saying that she wanted to have company over or that she had a successful bit of shopping. What if Da was right, though? What if she had, instead, been telling him why she was so sorrowful lately?

“Dinner is on the table, if the two of you are ready to eat.”

There was something odd in thinking about someone only to have them speak without warning. Da seemed to have no such moment of surprise. He simply nodded and rose from his chair, heading for the dining room.

Quinn pulled himself together and followed the same path. He slowed a bit as he approached the spot where Mirabelle stood, just outside the dining room doorway. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Whatever had been weighing on her hadn’t entirely lifted.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

“That nap in the churchyard was just what I needed.”

Perhaps he had helped her more than he’d realized.

Da stepped out of the dining room and passed them, holding a dinner plate heavy with food. “I want to eat by the fireplace. You two don’t need to join me.”

His “don’t need to” held a heavy hint of “better not.” Quinn met his eye. Da motioned with his head back toward the dining room.

“Talk to her,” Da mouthed silently.

Talk to her. Da had told Quinn to build something more between himself and Mirabelle than was currently there; he was providing the opportunity to begin.

I can work on a friendship. There needn’t be more risk than that.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” Quinn indicated she should return ahead of him.

She sat in her usual seat, one a bit apart from where he and Da usually sat. Why was that? He’d never asked her nor insisted she distance herself from them. He couldn’t easily talk with her if they sat away from each other. He snatched up the plate meant for him and sat in the chair nearest hers. She looked confused but not upset. He took that as encouragement.

He chose easy topics to begin with: the ranch, the neighbors, improvements he meant to make around the house going forward. She seemed genuinely interested, offering thoughts and insights. She mentioned things inside the house she’d like to work on over the months and years to come. Some of the weariness in her expression eased as they spoke. He hoped that meant he was helping.

“I mean to start on my dress tonight for the calico ball. I picked a blue gingham. I’ve always wanted a blue dress.”

“Blue will look nice with your eyes.” He could easily picture it, in fact.

She smiled, the upward tilt of her lips so tiny he might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching.

“My friend Caroline showed me a few dance steps. I’ve been practicing them in my room at night. I’m still really terrible, though.” She laughed lightly.

Quinn let his smile blossom. “I’ve known the steps nearly all my life, and I’m still really terrible too.”

Amusement twinkled in her eyes. “Perhaps you will distract everyone from my awkwardness.”

“If that’d help you enjoy the evening, I’d be glad to.” Friends did that sort of thing, after all.

She swallowed a bite of supper. “I plan to enjoy the calico ball either way. I’ve dreamed all my life of going to a dance. I finally get to.”

She’d never attended a dance?

“And to be making a new dress for myself for a change . . . that is a fine thing as well.”

It was good to see her in better spirits. Ma had always appreciated a new dress or a little bauble.

“I’m heading to Topeka in a few days,” he said. “Is there anything I can bring you back from there?”

“You’re leaving?”

“Sam and I need to fetch a few supplies before winter sets in for good.” Da had often made trips to Topeka during Ma’s final years, fetching her trinkets and adornments. “Are you wanting anything?”

She didn’t look intrigued or excited or anything other than confused. “When are you leaving?”

He nodded. “In a little less than a week. We’ll be gone about ten days.”

Her mouth tugged downward. “The calico ball is in only two weeks.”

“I’ll be back by then.”

“What if you’re not?” The same look of heartbreak that had touched her face in the churchyard flitted over her features once more. An echoing pain filled his chest.

“I’ll be back for the ball.” He set his hand on hers where it rested on the tabletop.

“I’ve dreamed all my life of going to a dance. If I miss it . . .”

“I promise I’ll be back,” he said.

She smiled at him, a trusting and pleased sort of smile. Her hand remained in his. He liked the feel of her slender fingers beneath his, but the degree of pleasure he took in it caught him entirely by surprise. He’d been aiming for friendship; he’d do well not to overshoot the mark.

They sat like that as the evening wore on, hand in hand, speaking easily of whatever topic flew to mind. She seemed happier. He hoped she truly was.

He had sent for a wife as a matter of convenience, but he’d not appreciated the simple pleasure of a companion, someone to talk with, someone to listen. Someone to hold.

Someone he could feel himself beginning to truly care for.