Stupid Ian Silver had teased her. She’d been so close to having a good man and the promise that life around the homestead would be less overwhelming, but he’d been here a total of five minutes before he left. Typical.
With a growl, she stomped out of the newly cleaned and entirely empty coop, then stabbed the earth with the pitchfork with every step she took toward an old water trough. Running water up here was sketchy. Uncle Jim had set it up to feed from a natural spring at the back of the property, but the water pressure left a lot to be desired, and it was cold as icicle piss. She grabbed the old rusted handle of the water pump and worked to get the water flowing. When it trickled an acceptable amount, she hurried to wash her hands and arms with the bar of soap that sat on the ledge. And when she was done with that, she turned her attention to the shelter for her two horses, Milo and Demon, the last one aptly named because he was a biting, bucking asshole to anyone in his saddle.
Shoes squishing in the mud, she swatted at a bug that was hovering right in front of her face, then skidded to a stop as she spotted Ian’s pickup coming down the road again. He wasn’t being careful about her driveway this time. Instead, he was skidding this way and that, pulling the trailer behind and going faster than she would ever advise with the short clearing she had for a yard.
He locked up the brakes, and the tires stopped spinning. The truck, however, took a good extra twenty feet to skid to a stop. Ian got out and slammed the door behind him, then marched over to her. He stood a good foot taller than her, so she had to arch her neck all the way back to take in his angry face. From the fire in his eyes, she thought he would ream her out, but instead, he held up a simple gold band between his pointer finger and thumb.
“This is a bad idea,” he muttered. Clearing his throat, he sank down to one knee in the mud and dragged his furious gaze up to her. “I can’t in good conscious marry you without you seeing what kind of man I am for one full winter. I can’t explain to you why, but I don’t feel right tethering you to me legally until you know all of what you’re in for. But I can give you this.” He held up the ring, and the sunlight glinted off it like newly washed miner’s gold. “I’ve never asked a woman to marry me, never even considered it, and this is the first and last ring I’ll ever buy. This ties me to you and to this place as well as any marriage license would. I’ll be your man, Elyse Abram. I’ll make sure you don’t go hungry and that you are safe. As long as I’m alive.” The last part he said in a quieter voice as the heat cooled from his eyes. “Wear my ring, and it’ll make me a part of this place. This is the only vow I can give you right now. It’s my final offer.”
Her mouth was hanging open, so she closed it with a small snap. Her breath trembled as she looked down at her dirty clothes and muddy, floppy galoshes in shock. “You’re proposing?”
Ian pursed his lips and nodded once.
“But I smell like chicken poop.”
He nodded again. “That you do. What’s your answer?”
Stunned, she gulped and shook a strand of loose hair out from in front of her eyes. “I accept your negotiations.”
Ian frowned slightly, then stood to his full, towering height and shoved the ring roughly onto her finger. He spun to walk back to his truck, but hesitated with his back to her. He turned and stared at her, his stormy eyes troubled. His throat moved as he swallowed, and slowly he rested his hand on her waist. She froze under his touch as warmth pooled in her middle. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, his rough beard tickling against her skin. His lips lingered there, and she closed her eyes to savor the unexpected moment.
Easing away, he dropped his hand from her hip and nodded toward his truck. In a deep, growly voice, he murmured, “I brought you an engagement present.”
“You did? What is it?”
“Chickens.”
And as she stood there stunned, with the weight of the gold band heavy on her finger, watching her new fiancé unload cardboard boxes with holes poked in the tops from the back of his truck, a weight lifted from her shoulders. The advertisement had worked, and better than she’d ever imagined.
Ian Silver was hers, and not only that, but the man had already pegged the clear and direct way to her heart.
Pretty promises and poultry.
Forcing her legs to move, she squished up to him and took a box from his hands. It was heavier than she’d expected, and when she heard the mature squawking and fluttering from inside, she understood. He hadn’t bought her chicks to raise. He’d bought her adult hens that would already be egg producers. He’d probably paid a pretty penny for these, and now her respect for him as a capable man bloomed.
“Have you worked a homestead before?” she asked, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by how much she didn’t know about her fiancé. Fiancé. Geez, she’d really done it.