his horse and tied her bag and the boxes in place behind the saddle. He rode close to the porch so he could lift Aggie up in front of him.
She might be shy, but her willingness for adventure surprised him. He’d half expected her to refuse to go with him. He’d bluffed her into following when they’d left the train, but he had no idea what he would do this time if she refused. He didn’t know her well, but he didn’t think Aggie would take too kindly to being tossed over the saddle against her will.
Mary Carol rushed out with two bags. “Here’s her wet clothes,” she said, pulling her shawl around her head. “I also packed a few supplies—bread, milk, and coffee just in case you don’t have any out at your place.”
“Thank you.” Aggie accepted both bags.
“No problem. I put them on your account.”
Hank’s arm tightened around his bride as he turned the horse toward home.
“Maybe you should stay and wait out the storm?” Mary Carol yelled as they pulled away.
“Want to wait?” he whispered near Aggie’s ear.
She shook her head. “I want to go home.”
Hank no longer cared about the weather. He’d been so many years without a family, without anyone, heading home with Aggie seemed almost too good to be true. He had a feeling any moment he’d awake from this dream and find some other man had won her hand. The thought brought to mind Potter Stockton’s frown last night. The railroad man had made fun of the proposal almost all the ride back to Fort Worth. Hank hadn’t missed the anger in Potter’s remarks. He’d hinted twice before they split near the depot that Hank would be smart to go on back to Amarillo alone and leave the courtship of Aggie to a man who knew how to treat a woman like her.
Hank couldn’t help but wonder, if he’d missed the train last night, would she have agreed to meet Potter Stockton again, or would she have turned both men down and moved on to the next sister’s house? Hank remembered how Stockton talked about her beauty and how he’d laughed and commented that shy ones always “take the bit” without too much fighting. Hank didn’t even want to think about what Stockton meant.
If Hank hadn’t already asked for her hand, he would have turned around and ridden back to Aggie just to warn her not to see the railroad man again.
If she wasn’t cocooned in her slicker, he might have tried to tell her where his land started, but with the rain she could see little. He wished he’d had time to telegraph ahead and have his hand, Blue Thompson, light the fire in the house and put lamps in the windows to welcome her.
When they reached the ranch, even though it was late morning, all was dark. He leaned down to open the gate. She twisted in front of him, holding tightly to his slicker.
He straightened and pulled her close once more. “It’s all right, Aggie. I won’t let you fall.”
Her hood slid back enough that he could see her nod, but she didn’t turn loose of her grip on him. When they reached the long porch that rounded three sides of his house, he lifted her with him as he stepped from the saddle and carried her up the steps. Old Ulysses, his guard dog, barked from beneath the porch.
“Hush, Ulysses, it’s just me,” Hank mumbled.
The dog growled, but quieted.
When they were well out of the rain, he sat Aggie down beside the only piece of furniture he’d brought north with him when he’d homesteaded—his father’s rocker. “Don’t worry about Ulysses. He’s mean and hates everyone, including me, but he’s a good guard dog. He keeps snakes away and warns me if anyone gets near the place.”
Hank straightened and gripped the doorknob. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have . . .”
He didn’t finish. It was too late for explanations or apologies. “Welcome home,” he managed as the door creaked open.
Aggie walked in ahead of him and didn’t stop until she was in the center of the polished floor. The storm’s gray light shown