Bonus Chapter

Summer 1886

Lockwood-Carver Ranch, Rapid Creek, Dakota Territory

Five years later

Naomi rested her forearms along the porch railing, the wood smooth beneath her palms. The morning sun beamed generously over the ranch. At her back, the house stood sturdy and whole. Larger, too, with the added room Jacob had predicted they’d “grow into.”

He’d been right: the yard buzzed with the happy chaos of children and livestock.

Jacob stood in the paddock, hat pushed back on his head, sleeves rolled to reveal strong, sun-browned forearms. He held the lead rope of a small chestnut pony, patient as ever.

Their son, Samuel—four years old and fiercely determined—sat upright in the saddle with exaggerated seriousness. Both his new boots and hat were slightly too big, but that was intentional; Naomi was well-versed in how quickly children outgrew things.

“I’m ready,” Samuel declared.

“You’ve said that three times,” Jacob replied mildly, “and each time, you were leaning sideways.”

“I wasn’t leaning.”

“You were.”

Naomi smiled.

Beside them, their three-year-old daughter, Grace, clutched the horn of a dappled gray pony, grinning with reckless delight. Her curls escaped the ribbon Florence had tied in them only moments before.

They’d named her after Jacob’s sister, which was apt, as she was so much like Jacob.

“I go fast!” Grace insisted.

“You go slow,” Florence corrected from just outside the fence, “and sit up straight, before I come over there and straighten you myself.”

Grace sat ramrod stiff.

Opal, eleven now, long-legged and sun-kissed, stood near Samuel’s pony, steadying the stirrup with confident ease.

“Don’t pull the reins too tight,” she instructed him pompously. “They don’t like that.”

Samuel sniffed. “I know.”

“You don’t,” she replied.

Jacob glanced toward Naomi and caught her watching.

Even after five years, that look still kindled something steady and warm inside her.

He gave her a small salute with two fingers to the brim of his hat, and she shook her head fondly.

The air smelled of warm grass and clean earth. The windmill creaked in its familiar rhythm. The scent of rising bread from the open kitchen window drifted on the breeze.

The ranch had grown quite a bit in the last five years.

More cattle now. Two new barns. The orchard Jacob had planted the spring after the fire now bore fruit, peaches blushing against green leaves.

And the house had known laughter more often than anything else.

Samuel wobbled in the saddle.

“Balance with your legs,” Jacob instructed gently, walking beside his pony. “Trust him.”

“I am trusting,” Samuel muttered.

Grace, impatient, attempted to kick her pony forward.

“Not yet,” Opal warned, grabbing the lead rope just in time.

Naomi chuckled under her breath. Opal had grown in ways that filled her with quiet pride. No longer the small child Naomi had shielded from grief, but a young girl with strength in her spine and kindness in her heart.

Naomi and Jacob had offered to send her East for schooling when she turned ten, but Opal had chosen to stay.

“I belong here,” she’d said simply.

The memory warmed Naomi now.

Samuel finally managed a straight-backed circle of the paddock.

“I did it!”

Jacob clapped once, firm and approving.

“That you did.”

Grace demanded equal praise. “I do too!”

“You will,” Jacob assured her patiently. “One at a time.”

Naomi watched him closely. There had been a time when he carried grief like a weight across his shoulders, when guilt shadowed every quiet moment.

Now, he carried children instead. He laughed more easily and slept more soundly. He still rose before dawn, still worked harder than necessary, but there was lightness in him now.

He’s found something he thought he’d lost forever, Naomi thought. A family.

Grace finally managed to goad her pony into a small, uneven step forward.

Florence gasped dramatically. “Careful!”

Jacob was suddenly at her side, taking the pony’s lead from Opal with practiced calm.

“All right, wildcat,” he murmured to Grace, a term of endearment he’d first used for Opal. “Let’s try that again.”

Naomi leaned her cheek against the porch post. Her heart felt full in a way she’d once feared it never would again.

Jacob handed the rope back to Opal and stepped toward the porch, wiping his hands on his trousers as he climbed the steps.

“You approve of my teaching methods?” he asked.

“I do,” she replied.

He leaned against the railing beside her. “They’ll be riding alone by next spring.”

“They’re already braver than I was at that age.”

He glanced sideways at her. “I don’t believe that for a second,” he said. “They’ve got their mother’s courage.”

She met his eyes.

“And their father’s,” she said quietly.

Grace delighted shriek rose into the air as Opal led her pony around the paddock, completing a full circle without mishap.

Samuel puffed out his chest in pride, and Naomi laughed.

Florence clucked approvingly.

Jacob slipped his arm around Naomi’s waist. “You ever think about that first day?”

She smirked. “When you showed up looking like you hadn’t seen soap in a year?”

“Exactly that day.”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“What would you have done if I’d turned around?”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” she said.

Samuel hollered up to the porch, “Mama! Watch!”

Naomi straightened, laughing. “I’m watching,” she assured him.

“All right,” Jacob called. “Let’s get the ponies back to the stables.”

“Already?” Sam whined.

“It’s getting late, and you know how Florence feels when we’re late for dinner.”

“That’s right,” Florence said, nodding.

The children groaned but did as they’d been asked, leading their ponies to the stables.

Naomi stepped off the porch and crossed the yard behind them, skirts brushing against late-summer grass, taking in the steady hum of it all.

The herd moved like a slow tide across the prairie, glossy-backed and well-fed. Two hired hands were mending a gate near the far fence. In truth, Jacob rarely needed to touch a fence post himself these days—not since Miles had taken over.

Naomi spotted him near the new barn, hat tipped low as he spoke with two young ranch hands. He’d grown several inches, his shoulders broadening into a man’s build; Jacob still towered over him, but Naomi had yet to meet a man who could look her husband in the eye without lifting his chin.

Five years ago, Miles had been a shy boy with calloused hands and big dreams; now, he was foreman of the Lockwood-Carver ranch.

He kept a small ledger tucked into his vest pocket, in which he took notes on anything and everything he deemed relevant to the ranch’s success. He oversaw branding schedules. Negotiated fair prices in town. Knew the grazing cycles better than most men twice his age. Recently, he’d purchased a small plot of land adjoining theirs, with Jacob quietly cosigning the first payment.

As Naomi watched, Miles clapped one of the ranch hands on the back. She imagined him issuing instructions as he always did, in a manner that was firm but fair.

He had learned well.

The windmill turned steadily overhead.

The orchard had borne fruit for the first time last year; now, a third of the trees drooped under the weight of peaches, with swollen buds promising a fall harvest of pears, as well. The apple trees, of course, would need a few years yet. The smokehouse behind the barn had doubled in size. A new well had been dug two summers prior. The rebuilt kitchen had proven too small after all, so a proper pantry had been added.

They had not merely recovered; they’d prospered.

Gus remained in territorial prison, serving his sentence far to the east.

Naomi found she rarely thought of him now. The bitterness he’d once spread over their lives had thinned into memory, like smoke carried off by wind. He no longer haunted the edges of her thoughts.

He was but a shadow behind them.

Just then, a wagon rolled up the drive, wheels rattling over familiar ruts.

Naomi shaded her eyes.

The driver stood before the wagon fully stopped: Sarah McKae, still bright-eyed and fearless—and wearing a grin that warned of incoming chaos.

“Naomi!” she called, waving enthusiastically. Her skirts were dusted from travel, her dark braid pinned loosely over one shoulder.

Naomi laughed and walked forward. “You look smug,” she said by way of greeting.

“I am smug,” Sarah replied cheerfully. “I’ve earned it.” She turned toward the wagon and extended a dramatic arm, indicating a tall, dark-haired man who stood behind her with the steady posture of someone accustomed to long rides and careful decisions.

“Allow me to present Mr. Benjamin Hale.”

Benjamin removed his hat and nodded politely. “Ma’am,” he said with a faint Eastern lilt.

“Benjamin is a land surveyor,” Sarah continued proudly. “He draws maps.”

“I assure you,” Benjamin said gently, smiling with patient amusement, “my qualifications extend beyond cartography.”

“That, they do,” Sarah said, grinning at him. Since making his acquaintance, she’d talked of little else, and Naomi had been looking forward to meeting the man who’d captured her best friend’s heart.

Naomi extended her hand warmly. “It’s a pleasure.”

Benjamin shook her hand firmly. “Sarah has spoken highly of you and your husband.” His fingers bore the callouses of his trade—not rancher’s hands, but working hands, nonetheless.

“How kind,” Naomi replied. “We’ve heard wonderful things about you, too.”

Sarah grinned somewhat sheepishly, and Benjamin chuckled.

“Have you heard from Noah?” Naomi asked.

Sarah’s grin softened slightly. “Yes,” she said. “He and Clara are well.”

“I’m glad.”

Naomi had attended their wedding three years ago, after which Noah had taken a deputy position in Clara’s hometown in Minnesota. Naomi wrote to him often about the children and the ranch

“Any news?” Naomi asked.

Sarah’s expression warmed. “Well, it’s supposed to be a secret, but… I’m going to be an aunty!”

Naomi gasped. “That’s wonderful news!”

Just then, Samuel and Grace came racing toward them, skidding to a stop in a tangle of limbs and curiosity.

“Is that your beau?” Samuel demanded bluntly.

“Yes.” Sarah beamed proudly. “And he dances.”

Benjamin blinked, then sighed. “I was not informed this would be part of my introduction.”

Grace circled him thoughtfully. “Do you ride?”

“I do.”

“Good,” she decided.

Opal emerged from the barn, her braid swinging behind her, confidence in every step.

“Naomi,” she said quietly, leaning close. “Miles says the north herd’s ready to move.”

Naomi nodded. “We’ll move them later—we have company now.”

“Company?”

“Yes.”

Seeming to notice Sarah and Benjamin for the first time, Opal smiled politely and stepped forward to introduce herself properly to Benjamin, poised beyond her years.

Naomi watched her with quiet pride. Opal had grown into a bridge between childhood and responsibility. She handled ledgers better than many grown men, rode like she’d been born in the saddle, and spoke of perhaps teaching school one day—though she hadn’t decided yet.

She had options. That mattered most.

Jacob approached from the stables, wiping his hands on a rag, and paused when he saw the wagon. “So, this must the famous Benjamin Hale we’ve heard so much about.”

Sarah looped her arm through Benjamin’s. “It is,” she said. “And don’t worry—he’s been vetted.”

Jacob extended his hand. “Welcome to the ranch.”

“Thank you,” Benjamin said, shaking Jacob’s hand. “I’ve heard this place was built on stubbornness.”

“That, and luck,” Jacob replied.

“And love,” Naomi added quietly.

Sarah rolled her eyes affectionately. “Don’t start with the sappy stuff. We just got here.”

Laughter rippled through the yard. Beyond them, the sinking sun gilded the barn roof in amber light as the ranch moved in steady rhythm: cattle lowing in the distance, wind rustling through the orchard, children darting between barn posts.

“You’ll be staying for dinner?” Naomi asked.

Sarah winked. “Did you think our timing was just pure coincidence?”

“You’re shameless,” Naomi said, shaking her head.

Sarah slid her arm through Naomi’s. “It’s been much too long since I tasted Florence’s cooking.”

Naomi laughed. “Well, come on, then.”

As they approached the house, Florence emerged, clapping her hands once from the porch. Her voice carried across the yard like a bell.

“Supper!”

“I’m starving,” Samuel groaned dramatically.

“You’re always starving,” Jacob replied.

“Go and wash up,” Naomi instructed.

Grace darted toward the pump without argument, skirts flying, curls bouncing. Opal followed more composedly, nudging Samuel in the right direction.

Jacob cupped his hands around his mouth. “Miles—supper!”

Miles whistled sharply toward the two ranch hands by the barn doors. “Wrap it up, boys—it’s dinner time!”

The house glowed warmly from within. The kitchen windows—those larger panes Jacob had insisted on—caught the fading light and reflected it back across the yard. The scent drifting through the screen door was rich and comforting: roasted beef, slow-cooked since noon; fresh bread pulled straight from the oven; carrots glazed with honey from the ranch’s own hives; green beans simmered with bacon; and a blackberry pie Florence had declared “only slightly overdone,” though it looked perfect to Naomi.

Inside, the table stretched nearly the length of the room.

They’d added a leaf three years ago, when Grace had been born, then another after the hired hands began staying for meals more frequently. It bore the marks of five years: faint knife scratches, water rings, patches worn of polish where hands had rested often.

Florence stood near the stove, ladle in hand. “If anyone sits without washing,” she warned, “they’ll be eating outside.”

“I washed,” Grace announced proudly, holding up damp fingers.

Florence inspected them. “Acceptable.”

Benjamin removed his hat and hung it near the door. Sarah swiped a carrot from a serving dish and yelped when Florence swatted her hand with a spoon.

“Patience,” Florence scolded.

They settled into seats, chairs scraping wood, children whispering secrets, Samuel attempting to switch places twice before Jacob gently steered him back.

Naomi moved around the table, setting dishes down, one by one. The roast glistened under lamplight. Steam rose from the carrots. Butter melted into golden pools across split bread.

She paused briefly at the head of the table.

“Go on,” Jacob said softly, gesturing for her to sit in the seat to his right.

She did.

They bowed their heads as Jacob offered a short grace.

“For food. For this home. For the hands that built it and the hearts that keep it full.”

“Amen,” Florence added firmly.

Conversation followed the moment forks touched plates. Samuel insisted on recounting his riding triumph in precise detail. “I went all the way around without falling once.”

“You nearly fell twice,” Opal pointed out.

“I did not!”

“You did.”

Jacob leaned back, watching with amused patience as Grace demanded that Benjamin explain what a surveyor actually did.

“I measure land,” he said.

“Why?”

“So people know where their property begins and ends.”

Grace considered this. “I know where ours begins.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Right there.” She pointed out the window toward the ranch gate.

Laughter rippled down the table.

Sarah nudged Benjamin. “See? Clearer than any map.”

Florence refilled plates before anyone could protest, and Miles cleared his throat modestly after swallowing a bite of roast.

“I been thinkin’,” he began, folding his napkin carefully beside his plate, “if the weather holds another week, we might move the north herd earlier than planned.”

Jacob looked up, attentive. “Earlier, how?”

“Tomorrow,” Miles replied. “Grass is thinning faster than expected, and if we wait until the frost sets in, we’ll lose weight on ’em before sale.”

Samuel perked up. “Are we driving them far?”

Miles smiled at him. “Far enough to earn your supper.”

Naomi tilted her head. “You’re worried about the pass?”

“Not worried,” Miles said quickly. “Cautious. The lower trail’s been muddy since the last rain. If we cut east instead, it’ll add half a day, but the footing’s better.”

Jacob nodded slowly. “You think the men can manage the longer stretch?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jacob’s mouth curved faintly. “You’re foreman. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ at my own table.”

Miles flushed slightly. “Habit.”

Florence snorted softly from the head of the table. “Good habits never hurt anyone.”

Grace leaned across her plate. “Can I go on the cattle drive?”

“No,” three adults answered at once.

She slumped dramatically.

Samuel grinned. “I’m going.”

Jacob shot him a look. “You are not.”

“But I can ride now!”

Opal snorted. “You mean you can sit on a pony.”

Samuel scowled. “I can ride.”

“Nuh-uh,” Grace said, sticking her tongue out.

Naomi looked back at Miles as the children continued to bicker. “You’ve thought it through.”

“I have.” He nodded. “I’ve been watching the numbers, too. If we move sooner, we’ll have the chance to negotiate before larger ranches flood the market.”

Benjamin leaned forward with interest. “Smart. Beat the price drop.”

“That’s the idea.”

Jacob reached for his cider. “Let’s do it, then.”

Miles exhaled. “Thank you.”

Opal, who’d been quiet for most of the meal, spoke up.

“I borrowed a book from Mrs. Henderson.”

Naomi turned toward her. “Oh?”

Opal nodded, eyes bright with intelligence and enthusiasm. “It’s about a woman in Boston who becomes a doctor.”

Samuel wrinkled his nose. “Girls aren’t doctors!”

Opal lifted one brow at him, a gesture so reminiscent of Naomi, it was almost comical.

“She is in this story,” Opal replied calmly, “and she’s better at it than most of the men.”

Florence smiled approvingly.

Benjamin leaned in. “Boston, you say? That’s a long way from here.”

“Yes,” Opal said, eyes shining. “She had to fight to attend school. They told her she didn’t belong.”

Naomi’s chest tightened. “And did she prove them wrong?”

Opal’s chin lifted. “She did.”

Grace leaned over eagerly. “Does she ride horses?”

“No,” Opal admitted, “but she did deliver a baby in a snowstorm.”

Florence nodded once. “That’s courage.”

Jacob glanced at Opal thoughtfully. “You thinking of becoming a doctor?”

Opal hesitated. “Maybe,” she said eventually. “Or a teacher. Maybe both.”

Sarah let out a delighted laugh. “You’re going to terrify half the territory!”

“Good,” Opal replied smugly.

Samuel looked scandalized. “You can’t leave. Who’ll tell me what to do?”

Opal reached across and flicked his forehead gently. “I can boss you around from anywhere.”

Naomi studied her sister quietly. Five years ago, she’d feared Opal would grow up under the shadow of loss and fear. Instead, she was growing toward possibility.

“Does the book say how she convinced them to let her study?” Jacob asked.

Opal smirked. “She didn’t bother—just kept showing up.”

Florence’s eyes twinkled. “That’s how most worthwhile things are done.”

Miles raised his glass slightly toward Opal. “Showing up works.”

Naomi caught Jacob’s eye across the table. He’d shown up, and it hadn’t been polished or perfect, but determined.

Opal looked toward Naomi now. “Would you have wanted to do something like that?”

Naomi blinked. “When I was your age?”

Opal nodded.

Naomi considered it honestly. “I wanted to ride faster than anyone else,” she said, “and I wanted to keep this ranch standing.”

“You did,” Jacob said proudly.

Naomi smiled.

Miles leaned back. “Boston’s not the only place with schools.”

Benjamin nodded. “There’s a medical college in St. Paul now.”

Opal’s head snapped up. “Really?”

Samuel groaned dramatically. “This is the most boring supper ever!”

“You said that last week,” Grace reminded him.

“That was different.”

Florence pushed the breadbasket toward him. “Eat.”

Jacob reached for the salt at the same time as Naomi, and their hands brushed. The contact was small, but it sent a familiar, quiet spark through her.

She looked up to find him looking at her.

There it is, she thought. That’s the same look.

The look he’d given her the first day he’d arrived in her yard, dusty and uncertain. On the porch, when he promised she wouldn’t stand alone anymore. At the stream, asking to marry her again.

Even now, years later, after children and hardship and harvest seasons, he could still undo her with a single glance.

He lifted one brow. “What?” he murmured.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

“So are you.”

Heat rose in her cheeks—ridiculous, after over five years of marriage and two children, but there it was.

Across the table, Sarah smirked knowingly. “Don’t go getting sentimental, you two,” she warned. “You’ll put the children off their dinner.”

Florence huffed. “Nonsense. Let them be.”

The pie was brought out, and Florence served everyone a generous piece.

Samuel declared it the best he’d ever tasted, though he said that about most desserts. Grace somehow managed to smear blackberry filling in her hair. Benjamin offered to fetch more cider. Miles volunteered to clear plates, though Florence refused assistance on principle.

The room felt full and anchored. The past had shaped them, but it no longer defined them.

Jacob’s hand found Naomi’s beneath the table, fingers threading together naturally. She squeezed, and he squeezed back.

Her attention turned to Samuel when his fork clattered against his plate.

“I’m still hungry,” he announced.

“You are not,” Florence replied without even looking at him as she sliced another piece of pie. “You’ve had two pieces of pie already.”

“I’m a growing boy,” Samuel argued.

Jacob folded his arms, watching the exchange. “Growing what, exactly?”

Samuel puffed out his chest. “Muscle.”

Grace gasped theatrically. “For what?”

“For riding faster than you.”

Grace shot to her feet on her knees in her chair. “I’ll ride faster than anyone—even Papa!”

Jacob feigned horror. “Treason, at my own table!”

“You’re old,” Grace informed him.

Sarah nearly choked on her cider. “That’s bold, Grace.”

Across the table, Opal sighed softly. “Speed isn’t everything,” she said. “It’s balance.”

Samuel pointed at her. “I bet you read that in a book.”

“So?”

“So, it don’t count.”

“What? Why not?” she challenged.

Benjamin reached for the breadbasket and examined it. “I propose we settle this properly,” he said. “A timed race. Official markers. I can draw a map.”

Sarah leaned into him. “You would turn a footrace into a land survey.”

“I would bring order to chaos.”

“There’s no chaos,” Grace declared loudly, knocking her cup over in the process.

Cider spilled across the table.

Florence heaved a long-suffering yet unsurprised sigh and reached for a cloth. “Chaos,” she repeated firmly.

Jacob laughed, rising to help mop up the spill.

Samuel apparently saw the distraction as an opportunity to sneak another piece of pie.

“Samuel,” Florence warned without turning.

He froze mid-way, probably remembering how Opal had warned him that the cook had eyes in the back of her head.

“I was only—”

“Returning it?”

He hesitated. “Yes?”

Jacob leaned back into his chair, shaking his head. “Very subtle, son.”

“I’m growing,” Samuel reminded him stubbornly.

Grace leaned close to Naomi. “When I grow up, I’m going to have ten ponies.”

“Ten?” Naomi asked.

Jacob blinked. “That sounds… busy.”

“And I’ll name them all after desserts—there will be Chocolate and Caramel!”

“Who else?” Samuel asked.

“Apple pie,” Grace said, grinning.

Sarah wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “This is better than any saloon entertainment.”

“It’s certainly lively,” Benjamin murmured.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Sarah replied with a wink.

Naomi felt Jacob’s knee bump hers beneath the table. She glanced up.

He was watching the children, not with exasperation or even pure amusement, but with something deeper: quiet gratitude.

Grace began demonstrating how she would “absa-tootly outride everyone,” nearly toppling her chair again.

“Sit,” Jacob ordered gently.

She obeyed, though only after dramatic protest.

Opal leaned toward Miles. “If you leave early, I can help Naomi with the ledgers while you’re away.”

Miles smiled at her. “You already do half my work.”

Suddenly, Benjamin raised his glass. “To organized chaos.”

Sarah clinked hers against his. “To never being bored!”

Florence lifted her own cup with measured dignity. “To full tables.”

Jacob raised his cider next. “To showing up.”

The children lifted their cups clumsily.

“To dessert ponies!” Grace shouted.

Laughter rose—not polite or dignified, but the kind of unbridled merriment that filled corners, pressed against walls, and wrapped itself around rafters. Not fragile or fleeting, but steady and lingering.

Love had been chosen, built, and rebuilt, and it strengthened with every season.

Naomi met Jacob’s eyes again across the lamplight. The spark was still there, and she knew, with quiet certainty, that it always would be.

And as the prairie night wrapped around their home, Naomi realized that the life she’d fought so fiercely to protect had grown into something even greater—a legacy of love that would endure long after the lanterns dimmed.