She Was Sold Beside Her Sister, The Cowboy Said “You’ll Both Have A Home With Me”

Chapter 8

The next morning, in the study where they had spent so many hours working side by side, Garrett took the contracts from his desk drawer. Rose and Eliza stood watching as he tore the documents into pieces, and the sound of tearing paper was unexpectedly emotional.

“There,” he said, dropping the fragments into the waste basket. “It’s done. You’re free.”

Rose rushed forward to hug him, her eyes bright with tears. “Thank you, Garrett. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, little one,” he said affectionately, and when she stepped back, he turned to Eliza. “A word in private.”

Rose exchanged a knowing look with Mrs. Beale, who had appeared in the doorway. “I think I’ll help Mrs. Beale with the preserves,” she said, practically skipping from the room.

When they were alone, Garrett took both of Eliza’s hands in his. “Now there’s nothing between us but what we choose,” he said softly. “No contracts. No obligations. No debts.”

“Just two people who found each other against all odds,” Eliza added.

“Exactly.” He took a deep breath. “Eliza Whitfield. I love you. I think I’ve loved you since I saw you standing proud and protective beside your sister, even in the worst of circumstances. These months with you have been the happiest of my life. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Joy bubbled up inside her as bright and warm as the summer sun. “Yes, Garrett Maddox. With all my heart. Yes.”

He gathered her into his arms, and when their lips met for the first time, it felt like coming home.

The news spread quickly — through the ranch, then to town. Rose was ecstatic. Mrs. Beale was smug with satisfaction. Letters of congratulation arrived from neighbors, and even Mrs. Farrow sent a note expressing her delight at the match. “She’s just happy to be proven right about our living arrangements,” Eliza laughed as she read the letter.

“Let her think what she likes,” Garrett replied, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “As long as you’re happy, nothing else matters.”

They set the wedding for September, when the pressing ranch work would be done and before winter made travel difficult for guests. Rose threw herself into creating the wedding dress, working with fine fabric Garrett ordered specially from Denver. August passed in a whirl of preparation and happiness. They spoke of children, of expanding the ranch, of growing old together at the Aurora.

One evening in late August, as they watched a spectacular sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and gold, Garrett handed Eliza a small velvet box. “This was my mother’s,” he said, as she opened it to reveal a delicate gold ring set with a perfect sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. “My father gave it to her when they homesteaded this land. I’ve kept it safe, waiting for the right person to wear it.”

Tears filled Eliza’s eyes as he slipped the ring onto her finger. “It’s beautiful, Garrett. I’ll treasure it always.”

“Not as much as I treasure you,” he replied, drawing her close for a kiss.

That same evening, an envelope had arrived from the East — a letter in her uncle’s hand, postmarked weeks ago. Eliza had set it aside, unread, her stomach tight with old dread. Uncle Abraham had never answered them in time before. What could he want now?

She meant to read it in the morning.

But the letter waited on her dresser all night, and when Mrs. Beale found it at breakfast and slid it across the table with a pointed look, Eliza knew she could not put it off again.

She broke the seal. Read. And gasped.

“What is it, dear?” Mrs. Beale paused in her bread making.

“Uncle Abraham has finally settled Father’s estate,” Eliza breathed. “There was an investment that paid out after all — a small one, but enough that Rose and I each have a modest inheritance.”

The two sisters stared at each other across the table, and the weight of it settled over them like a change in weather. If the money had arrived earlier, they might have avoided the auction entirely.

But then, Eliza thought, she would never have met Garrett. Never have known this life, this love, this home. And the two halves of that truth pulled at her from opposite directions — grief for what had been taken, gratitude for what had been given.

“God works in mysterious ways,” Mrs. Beale observed, dusting flour from her hands. “Sometimes the darkest moments lead to the brightest futures.”

Eliza turned the letter over in her hands, and thought of a gavel coming down, and a man in black with rain-colored eyes.

The path that had brought her here had been painful.

But the destination was worth every step.