“I Don’t Know How To Be A Wife,” She Said, The Cowboy Replied, “We’ll Learn Together Every Day”

…

Something flickered in James’s eyes, perhaps approval or relief.

That makes sense.

Let me take your bag.

He reached for her carpet bag and his fingers brushed hers briefly, rough and calloused against her softer skin.

Catherine released the bag and followed him to the wagon, accepting his hand as he helped her up onto the wooden seat.

The touch was brief but steady, and she found herself studying his profile as he climbed up beside her and took the reinss.

They rode in silence for the first few minutes, leaving redemption behind and heading into the vast expanse of Montana grassland.

The landscape rolled out in waves of golden prairie grass broken occasionally by clusters of pine trees and rocky outcroppings.

Mountains rose in the distance, their peaks still touched with snow despite the summer heat.

Catherine had never seen anything like it.

The sheer openness of it all.

The way the sky seemed to stretch forever in every direction.

In Boston, buildings had hemmed her in.

Streets had been crowded with people and carriages.

Here there was nothing but land and sky and the rhythmic sound of the horses hooves.

It’s beautiful, she said finally, breaking the silence.

I’ve never seen so much open space.

James glanced at her and a small smile tugged at his lips.

It can be overwhelming at first or lonely, but I’ve always found it peaceful.

He paused, seeming to consider his words.

Miss Montgomery, I want you to know that I understand this situation is unusual.

You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, not really.

The arrangement we’ve made, it’s practical, but I don’t expect you to feel comfortable right away.

Catherine turned to look at him more fully.

That’s kind of you to say.

I admit I’ve been nervous about this, about all of it.

I answered your advertisement because I had few other options, but I want to be honest with you.

I don’t know how to run a ranch house.

I don’t know how to cook for farm hands or preserve food or any of the things a rancher’s wife would need to know.

In Boston, we had a small household, and my mother handled most of the domestic affairs.

I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.

The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and she felt her face flush with embarrassment.

But James didn’t look disappointed or angry.

Instead, he slowed the horses and turned to face her, his expression thoughtful.

“Miss Montgomery, can I be honest with you as well?” When she nodded, he continued, “I’m not looking for someone who already knows how to do everything.

I’m looking for someone willing to build a life together.

My mother passed away when I was 15 and my father followed her 3 years ago.

I’ve been running this ranch mostly by myself since then with help from a few hands during cattle drives and branding season.

I can handle the ranch work, but the truth is I’m lonely.

I’m tired of coming home to an empty house and eating meals by myself.

I’m tired of having no one to talk to about anything beyond cattle prices and weather patterns.

He paused and Catherine saw something vulnerable in his eyes.

I don’t expect you to know how to be a wife any more than I know how to be a good husband, but I’m willing to figure it out if you are.

We can learn together every day until it feels natural instead of strange.

Catherine felt something shift in her chest, a easing of the tight anxiety that had gripped her since she left Boston.

We’ll learn together every day,” she repeated softly.

“That sounds almost bearable when you put it that way.

” “Just bearable,” James asked, and there was a hint of humor in his voice that made her smile despite her nervousness.

“Perhaps more than bearable,” she amended.

“Perhaps even hopeful.

” They continued riding and James began pointing out landmarks, a creek that ran through his property, the boundary where his land met his neighbors, a stand of cottonwoods where eagles nested in the spring.

He told her about the cattle, a herd of about 200 head that grazed across several hundred acres, and the horses he was starting to breed, focusing on sturdy animals that could handle the harsh Montana winters and the demanding work of ranch life.

“Do you ride?” he asked, and Catherine shook her head.

I’ve been in a carriage many times, but I’ve never actually ridden a horse myself.

Is that something I’ll need to learn? It would be helpful, James said.

The ranch is spread out, and sometimes the quickest way to get somewhere is on horseback, but we can start slow.

I’ve got a gentle mayor named Daisy who’s patient with beginners.

The ranch came into view as they crested a small rise, and Catherine caught her breath.

The house was larger than she had expected, a solid twostory structure made of weathered wood with a wide porch wrapping around the front and one side.

Outbuildings dotted the property, a barn, a stable, what looked like a bunk house and several smaller sheds.

A vegetable garden, currently looking rather neglected, sat near the house, and beyond everything, cattle grazed peacefully in the distance, dark shapes against the golden grass.

It needs work, James said.

And Catherine could hear the defensiveness in his voice.

I’ve focused more on keeping the ranch running than on the house itself.

But the structure is sound, and there’s room for well, for a family, if that’s something you’d want eventually.

Catherine felt her cheeks warm at the implication, but she kept her voice steady.

It’s lovely, truly.

Much more substantial than I expected.

James helped her down from the wagon, and this time his hands lingered at her waist for just a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back.

Let me show you inside.

The house was indeed solid, though clearly lacking a woman’s touch.

The main room served as both kitchen and living area with a large stone fireplace dominating one wall and a sturdy wooden table surrounded by chairs in the center.

Cabinets lined the walls, and Catherine could see dishes and supplies stacked somewhat haphazardly on the shelves.

A parlor opened off to one side, sparsely furnished with a worn sofa and two chairs, and stairs led up to the second floor.

“Three bedrooms upstairs,” James said, climbing the stairs and gesturing for her to follow.

“The main bedroom here, two smaller ones there.

I’ve been using the main one, but I can move my things if you’d prefer to have it.

” or he hesitated.

Well, we can discuss the sleeping arrangements.

I don’t want you to feel pressured about anything.

Catherine walked into the main bedroom, taking in the simple furniture, a large bed with a plain quilt, a dresser, a wash stand with a chipped basin and pitcher.

A window looked out over the prairie, and she could see the sun beginning its descent toward the mountains.

“I appreciate your consideration,” she said quietly.

“But Mr.

Holloway, we came to an arrangement.

You sent for a wife, not a housekeeper.

I understand what that means.

James moved to stand beside her at the window.

James, he said, please call me James.

And what I’m saying is that we can take our time with all of this, the ceremony, the other aspects of marriage.

I want you to feel comfortable here first.

I want you to feel like this is your home, not just a place you’re trapped.

Catherine turned to look at him.

Really look at him.

studying the earnest expression on his weathered face.

He meant what he said, she realized this wasn’t some ploy to get her guard down.

He genuinely wanted her to feel safe.

That’s very kind, she said.

And you should call me Catherine or Kate, which is what my father used to call me.

But James, I don’t want to draw this out indefinitely either.

I came here to start a new life, and I think having clear expectations will make things easier for both of us.

Then let’s start with the ceremony.

James said, “There’s a circuit preacher who comes through redemption once a month.

He’s actually in town this week, which is lucky timing.

We could go back tomorrow and make things official.

Then we can figure out the rest as we go.

” “Tomorrow,” Catherine echoed.

It seemed impossibly soon and yet entirely practical.

“All right, tomorrow.

” That evening, James prepared a simple meal of beans and salt pork, apologizing for the plainness of it.

Catherine insisted on helping, though she quickly revealed her lack of kitchen skills when she nearly burned the cornbread she attempted to make.

James rescued it with good humor, scraping off the worst of the charred bottom and declaring it perfectly edible.

“My cooking isn’t much better,” he admitted as they sat at the table together.

I’ve been living on simple things for years, but I have my mother’s old recipe book somewhere.

Maybe we can work through it together, figure out some better meals.

I’d like that, Catherine said, tearing off a piece of the salvaged cornbread.

My mother tried to teach me, but I was always more interested in reading than cooking.

I’m afraid I was rather stubborn about it.

What did you like to read? James asked, and that simple question opened a conversation that carried them through the meal and into the evening.

Catherine told him about the novel she loved, the poetry that moved her, the newspaper article she devoured about the changing world.

James listened intently, asking questions, sharing his own limited reading experiences, mostly practical manuals and the occasional newspaper that made its way to the ranch.

I’ve got some books somewhere, he said, rising to light a lamp as darkness fell.

Nothing fancy, but you’re welcome to anything I have.

and the general store in redemption sometimes gets new stock.

We could pick up some books when we go in for the ceremony.

They talked until Catherine could barely keep her eyes open, exhausted from the long journey and the emotional weight of the day.

James showed her to one of the smaller bedrooms, which he had clearly attempted to clean, though dust still lingered in the corners.

He brought up her carpet bag and a picture of fresh water, then paused in the doorway.

“Thank you for coming all this way,” he said.

for taking a chance on this on me.

I know it took courage.

Thank you for being kind, Catherine replied.

It makes this much less frightening than I expected.

That night, lying in the unfamiliar bed and listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the ranch, cattle lowing in the distance, wind rattling the windows, the creek of the house settling, Catherine felt something unexpected, not quite happiness that seemed too strong a word for circumstances still so uncertain, but perhaps hope.

Perhaps the sense that she had made the right choice after all.

They rode back to redemption the next morning.

both dressed in their best clothes, though Catherine was painfully aware that her traveling dress was the finest thing she owned, and it was already showing signs of wear.

James wore dark trousers and a clean white shirt, his hair still damp from washing.

He had shaved carefully, and Catherine found herself noticing the strong line of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled at her.

The preacher, a weathered man in his 50s named Reverend Thomas, performed the ceremony in the small church at the edge of town.

There were no guests except for the Reverend’s wife, who served as witness, and who clucked sympathetically over Catherine’s lack of a proper wedding dress.

The ceremony itself was brief and somewhat impersonal, but when James slipped a simple gold band onto Catherine’s finger, a ring that had belonged to his mother, she felt the weight of the commitment settling over her.

“You may kiss your bride,” Reverend Thomas announced, and James leaned in carefully, pressing a chased kiss to Catherine’s lips.

It was quick and awkward, both of them clearly uncertain, but his lips were warm and gentle, and Catherine felt her heart skip in her chest.

“Mrs.

Holloway,” James said when they stepped out into the bright sunlight, trying out the name.

“How does it sound?” “Strange,” Catherine admitted.

“But I suppose I’ll get used to it.

” Catherine Holloway.

Kate Holloway.

She tested the variations, rolling them around on her tongue.

“Yes, I think I can become used to it.

” They stopped at the general store where James insisted on buying supplies, including three books that Catherine admired, a collection of poetry, a novel about the frontier, and a practical guide to household management that the shopkeeper recommended.

He also purchased fabric, several yards of blue cotton and green calico, suggesting that Catherine might want to make some new dresses more suited to ranch life.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a seamstress either,” Catherine confessed as they loaded the supplies into the wagon.

I can do basic mending, but making a whole dress from scratch might be beyond my abilities.

Then we’ll figure it out together, James said, echoing his words from the day before.

Or maybe there’s a woman in town who does sewing and could teach you.

We don’t have to solve everything immediately.

The ride back to the ranch felt different now.

They were married, legally bound, and the weight of that hung between them even as they maintained easy conversation.

James pointed out more features of the land, showed her where he planned to expand the herd, talked about his hopes for the ranch’s future.

Catherine listened and asked questions, genuinely interested in understanding this new world she had entered.

That evening, after another simple meal that they prepared together with slightly better results, they found themselves standing awkwardly in the main room.

As the sun set and darkness crept across the prairie, the unspoken question hung between them.

Where would they sleep and what would happen in those sleeping arrangements? Kate, James said finally, using her nickname for the first time.

I meant what I said about taking time.

We’re married now legally and in the eyes of God, but that doesn’t mean we have to rush into into everything.

If you’d prefer to continue sleeping separately until you feel more comfortable, I understand.

Catherine twisted the gold ring on her finger, considering.

Part of her wanted to take him up on the offer, to retreat to the safety of the small bedroom and postpone the inevitable, but another part, the part that had been brave enough to travel across the country to marry a stranger, wanted to move forward.

“I think it would be easier if we didn’t drag things out,” she said quietly.

“I’m nervous.

I won’t pretend I’m not, but you’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I trust that you’ll continue to be so.

Perhaps we could we could share the main bedroom and see how things unfold naturally.

James looked at her with something like admiration.

You’re braver than you give yourself credit for, he said.

All right, but Kate, if at any point you’re uncomfortable, you need to tell me.

I won’t be offended and I won’t be angry.

I’d rather go slow than have you frightened of me.

I’m not frightened of you, Catherine said, and realized as she spoke that it was true.

She was nervous about the situation, about her own inexperience, about the physical intimacy that marriage implied.

But she wasn’t frightened of James himself.

In just two days, he had shown her more respect and consideration than many men she had known in Boston had managed in years.

They climbed the stairs together, and Catherine changed into her night gown in the privacy of the room while James waited outside.

When she called that she was ready, he entered and began his own preparations for bed, moving about the room with careful consideration for her presence.

Catherine slipped beneath the quilt on one side of the large bed, her heart pounding, and watched as James extinguished all but one lamp before joining her.

The bed dipped under his weight, and Catherine was acutely aware of his presence beside her, the warmth radiating from his body, the sound of his breathing.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then James turned toward her, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Kate,” he said softly.

“May I kiss you?” “Properly, I mean, not like the quick thing in church.

” Catherine’s mouth went dry, but she nodded.

Yes.

James leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.

But Catherine held still, and when his lips met her, she was surprised by the gentleness of it.

His hand came up to cup her face, his rough palm surprisingly tender against her cheek, and he kissed her with careful attention, as if learning the shape of her mouth.

Catherine found herself responding, her hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her palms.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing a bit harder, James rested his forehead against hers.

“Was that all right?” “It was more than all right,” Catherine whispered.

“It was lovely.

” They kissed again, longer this time, with more confidence on both sides.

James’s hand slid into her hair, loosening the pins she had secured before bed, and Catherine made a small sound of surprise and pleasure as the mass of dark waves tumbled down around her shoulders.

“You have beautiful hair,” James murmured against her lips.

“I noticed it yesterday, but didn’t want to say anything and seemed forward.

” “You can say things like that now,” Catherine said, emboldened by the darkness and the intimacy of the moment.

“We’re married.

I think we’re allowed to notice such things about each other.

Then I’ll tell you that I think you’re lovely, James said.

Not just your hair, all of you.

I felt like the luckiest man alive when you stepped off that stage, coach, and turned out to be even prettier than I imagined from your letter.

Catherine felt heat rising to her cheeks.

You’re quite handsome yourself, she admitted.

I was worried you might be, well, older or unkind looking, but you’re neither of those things.

What followed was tender and careful.

James guiding them both through intimacy with patience and attention to Catherine’s comfort.

He checked in with her frequently, asked if she was all right, adjusted when she expressed uncertainty.

Catherine discovered that while the physical aspects of marriage were indeed as awkward and strange as she had been led to believe by her mother’s vague warnings, they were also surprisingly pleasant when undertaken with someone who genuinely cared about her well-being.

By the time they finally settled into sleep, Catherine curled against James’ side with his arm wrapped around her.

She felt fundamentally changed.

Not just legally married now, but truly beginning to be bound to this man in ways that went beyond signatures on a certificate.

The next weeks unfolded in a pattern of small discoveries and shared learning.

James taught Catherine to ride, starting with Gentle Daisy, as promised.

Catherine proved to be a capable student once she overcame her initial nervousness, and within a week, she could manage basic riding well enough to accompany James on short trips around the ranch.

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