Page 25 of Marrying the Billboard Cowboy

“Maybe you should start with a slow transition. Schedule one or two days a week to start cooking, while still taking care of the rest of your responsibilities on the other days?”

“That’s an idea,” Zeke murmured, offering a small smile. Glancing at his watch, he stood up abruptly. “Time to get Stet to the bus stop.”

“Wait,” Kaitlyn said as he started to clear the table. “What about tonight?”

“Tonight?” He paused, his posture relaxing slightly as he remembered. “Oh, right. The service project at church.” He met her gaze squarely. “We’re still on for that. I think it’ll be good for us, for the community too.”

“Okay,” Kaitlyn replied, a warmth spreading within her at the prospect of contributing to something beyond the confines of the ranch.

“And, Katie?”

She raised her eyebrows and waited, a silent thrill rolling through her at the nickname.

“Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime,” she said.

With a nod, Zeke strode down the hallway to hurry Stetson along, leaving Kaitlyn alone in the kitchen with her thoughts. As the sound of their interaction echoed softly back to her, sheallowed herself a moment to admire the strength and tenderness that coexisted in the man she’d married. Even if she hadn’t found her precise role yet, the love and purpose that filled this home were becoming clearer with each passing day.

Kaitlyn’s hands moved deftly to set the cabin to rights. She cleared the table, whisking away crumbs from breakfast, then swept and mopped the floor. She made the beds, tucking away Stetson’s bedding from the couch and fluffing pillows that had been squished overnight. Every task that she could think of in the tiny house, she completed. And it was barely ten in the morning.

Her body thrummed with the need to be useful beyond the walls of their cozy haven. With a last glance at the pristine kitchen, she slipped out the door and made her way to the stables, the earthy smells drawing her in like an old friend.

Muscles flexed beneath her thin jacket, Kaitlyn hefted the pitchfork and set to work on the stalls. The rhythmic scrape and tumble of soiled straw onto the wheelbarrow was oddly meditative. A horse nickered softly nearby, seeking attention from the stall next door. She paused to stroke its muzzle, offering a gentle smile that no one but the animal could see. The fear she’d felt initially around the huge animals had mostly faded, but she was still hesitant.

“Kaitlyn?” The low timbre of Zeke’s voice cut through the calm, bringing her back to the reality of her duties.

She turned to face him, finding his broad figure framed by the stable doorway, the sunlight igniting highlights in his dark hair. “You know we pay people for that, right?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown of mild irritation.

A nonchalant shrug lifted her shoulders as she returned to her task. “I want to help,” she replied, her voice steady, though her heart raced at the thought of displeasing him.

Zeke’s boots thudded across the stable floor until he stood beside her, his presence solid and undeniable. “My wife doesn’t need to be out here shoveling horse manure.”

His words were firm, with an edge she couldn’t decipher. Did it reflect poorly on him to have a wife doing grunt work? She’d seen Cassie out here doing the same tasks, so what was the difference?

Kaitlyn’s grip tightened on the wooden handle of the pitchfork, her resolve not to be seen as idle or ungrateful pressing against Zeke’s protective stance. She met his gaze squarely, the dark depths of her eyes alight with a quiet defiance born of past struggles. “I’m not just your wife, Zeke. I’m part of this ranch now too. And I’ll find my way to prove it.”

His hand reached out, hovering in the air between them, a silent offer of support she hadn’t expected. Zeke’s expression softened, the gruff exterior giving way momentarily to reveal the caring heart that had drawn her to him despite her fears.

“Let me,” he said.

Kaitlyn’s fingers stilled on the pitchfork, the scent of fresh hay and earth filling her senses. She studied Zeke’s face, searching for a hint of understanding in his furrowed brow. “Is it about how it looks?” she ventured, her voice threading through the soft whinnies and rustling of the stable. “I don’t think anyone cares what I do. Does it… make you look bad?”

Zeke frowned sharply. “What? No, of course not. I just mean… I don’t expect you to do this. You’re not a slave.”

“I want to work, Zeke. If I’m not helping here, could I find work somewhere else? I’d like to earn some money anyway,” she admitted.

Zeke’s boots shifted on the floor, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that fell over the half-cleaned stall. “You don’t need a job, Kaitlyn,” he said, the casual tone of his voice belying the weight of his words. It was a simple statement, but it hungbetween them, heavy with implications she wasn’t sure she wanted to unpack. She didn’t need one? Wasn’t allowed to have one? Surely, he wasn’t restricting her so completely.

A sparrow flitted past, its wings beating a soft rhythm as it disappeared into the rafters. Kaitlyn watched it go, feeling a twinge of envy for its unburdened flight. Her gaze returned to Zeke, finding the lines of his face softened by the morning light that seeped through the slatted walls.

“But what if you change your mind about us?” The question slipped out, quieter than she intended, revealing the tremor of insecurity she’d fought so hard to keep at bay.

Zeke paused, the silence stretching out as he seemed to consider her words. His eyes, the color of the Colorado sky after a storm, held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. He didn’t have to say anything; his steady gaze was a promise all its own. But still, she waited, the echo of her own vulnerability ringing in her ears.

Tendrils of straw stuck to her gloves, and Kaitlyn’s arms ached from the repetitive motion of mucking out the stalls. She hadn’t expected the work to be glamorous, but there was a simple satisfaction in it, a way to feel like she was earning her keep on Redemption Ridge Ranch.

He reached out, his rough hand cupping her cheek with a tenderness that contrasted with the calluses that grazed her skin. “I’m not going to change my mind,” he assured her, his thumb brushing away a smudge of dirt from her face. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m a man of my word. But even more than that... I want to. You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

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