said. “You and I haven’t been happy together for a long time. I’m sure you remember what I told you the day we left Daddy at the doctor’s—that I wanted to stay married. But I’ve been rethinking my position. I want this ranch for myself and for Mason. But if we’re still married when my father dies, the ranch will go to you and me—which means it would actually go to you.”
Joe stared at his wife. What was Amelia implying? Was it what he thought—what he barely dared to hope?
“This is what I’m proposing,” she said. “Give me a quick divorce now, while Daddy is still alive. That way, I can inherit the ranch as a single woman. In return, I’ll deed you all the property you acquired in my name. We can make a clean break and move on—both of us.”
“And what about Mason?” Joe asked. “The rest is fine. But there’s no way I’m giving up my son.”
“I can’t see any need for change,” she said as if the question had meant nothing. “As the future heir to this ranch, I’d like him to be raised here, of course. But he’d still be your son. You could still see him and have him with you—just as you do now.”
“And if you remarry?” Joe almost mentioned Ralph Tomlinson, then thought better of it.
She shook her head. “If I needed a husband, I would just keep you. At least you haven’t been around enough to give me much trouble. No, this ranch will be mine—and Mason’s. I won’t share it with any man. And I won’t have a man telling me what to do. I’ve had enough of that. So what will it be, Joe? I saw my lawyer in Miles City earlier this week. We drew up the papers. I have them right here. All you need to do is sign.”
A large, brown envelope lay on the seat of the swing, partly covered by her skirt. Picking it up, she thrust it toward Joe. “Here. Take it. There’s a pen and ink in the study. Once you’ve signed, I’ll file the papers with the court, and we’ll be done.”
Taking the envelope, Joe struggled to find his voice. This was a new Amelia, as clearheaded and ruthless as any man. He found himself admiring her, almost liking her. But he didn’t want to stay married to her. “Fine,” he said, “but I’m not signing anything until I’ve read this document.”
“Of course you aren’t,” she said, getting up. “Come on inside. I’ll light the lamp in the study so you can see every word.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Joe said good night to Mason, mounted his horse, and rode away a free man. He felt the loss of a marriage he’d entered in good faith, but the twinge of regret was nothing compared to the euphoria of having resolved his life with the stroke of a pen.
He fought against the urge to gallop back to town, knock on Sarah’s door, and sweep her into his arms. Years ago, his impetuous act had ruined her plans and almost ruined her life. This time would be different.
He would wait a decent interval after the divorce was final. Then he would court her the way a lady deserved to be courted—with flowers, little gifts, picnics, dinners, and sweet words. He would take the time to know his son, teach him to ride, fish, and shoot. Maybe his two boys would even get to know each other. Only when the way was clear and everything felt right, would he ask Sarah to marry him.
His beautiful Sarah had endured shame, disappointment, poverty, and hard work, much of which was his fault. Now that he was free, he would make it up to her. He would treat her like the magnificent woman she was—the woman who had always been first in his heart.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
November 23, 1891
Back to the beginning . . .
BY THE NEXT MORNING THE STORM HAD MOVED ON. THE FIRST glimmer of dawn revealed a clear sky, the stars fading, the wind so frigid that Joe’s breath emerged in white puffs as he hitched the two big draft horses to the sleigh. The snow, which lay almost two feet deep in the drifts, would be impassable for a buggy and dangerous for a mounted rider. But the sleigh, which Joe had built after the first hard Montana winter, would glide over the snow behind the massive bay horses, who wore special coverings to protect their