Snow Fell as She Begged for Work, The Cowboy Said “I Need a Wife More Than a Worker”

Chapter 1

The cold had teeth that night.

It bit through the threadbare wool of Rose Callahan’s coat, through the thin cotton of her dress, through the skin and into the bone, until she could no longer tell where the storm ended and her body began. Snow lashed her face like a thousand tiny whips. Her boots, worn thin as paper, had stopped keeping the wet out hours ago. She could not feel her fingers anymore. She could not feel much of anything except the stubborn, beating heart of a girl who had walked fifteen miles through a Colorado blizzard and refused to die.

When the lights of Montezuma finally appeared through the swirling white, Rose actually laughed. It was a broken, breathless sound, half sob, half prayer.

The town. Oh God, the town.

She pushed through the door of the saloon like a ghost returning from the dead, and the warmth hit her like a physical blow. The smell of whiskey and wood smoke and unwashed men flooded her senses, making her dizzy. Water dripped from her hair, her chin, the hem of her ruined coat, pooling on the rough wooden floor at her feet.

Twenty pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

The piano stopped. The laughter stopped. Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath, watching to see what this frozen specter would do next.

Rose lifted her chin. It took everything she had left, every ounce of the stubborn pride her dead father had taught her, but she lifted her chin and met their stares.

Behind the bar, a portly man with a barrel chest and a face like a slab of beef folded his arms. Henderson, the owner. Rose had heard his name whispered in the last town, always with a note of caution.

“We don’t serve women in here,” Henderson said, his voice carrying across the silent room, “unless they’re working. And I’ve got all the girls I need.”

A few men laughed. The sound was ugly, hungry.

Rose’s voice came out steadier than she expected, a small miracle considering her knees were knocking together like dice in a cup.

“I’m not looking for that kind of work. I can cook. I can clean. I can mend clothes, tend horses, do anything honest. I’ll work for room and board until spring.”

Henderson’s laugh was a bark. “Girl, you look like you’d blow away in the next strong wind. What ranch owner’s gonna take on someone who can’t even afford a proper coat?”

The laughter swelled. Rose felt it press against her chest like a weight, pushing her down, telling her she was nothing, telling her she should just walk back out into the storm and save everyone the trouble.

And then, from the corner of the room, there was the sound of a chair scraping against wood.

Silence fell again, sharper this time.

A man rose from a table in the shadows. He was tall — very tall — with shoulders that had been built by years of hard work, and dark hair that needed cutting. His eyes, the color of storm clouds, swept the room once and silenced every single man in it.

He was not a young man. Not old either. Somewhere in his thirties, with lines at the corners of his eyes that spoke of sun and wind and long, lonely nights.

“I’ll hear her out,” he said.

His voice was quiet, but it carried like a rock across still water. He gestured to the empty chair across from him.

“Sit down before you fall down.”

Rose’s eyes widened. For the first time since she’d crossed the threshold, she felt something other than cold and fear. She looked at this stranger, this tall, weathered man with the storm-cloud eyes, and she saw something she had not seen in a long, long time.

She saw a chance.

She crossed the room with as much dignity as she could muster, her legs shaking with every step. Up close, she could see the fine lines around his eyes, the calluses on his hands, the careful way he studied her. He was not looking at her like the other men had. He was looking at her like she was a problem to be solved, a question to be answered.

“Hot coffee,” he said to Henderson, raising two fingers. “And whatever stew’s left in the back.”

The coffee arrived in a chipped mug, and Rose wrapped her hands around it like it was the most precious thing in the world. The warmth seeped through her frozen fingers, and she felt a sting of returning sensation, painful and wonderful all at once.

The stranger watched her over the rim of his own glass. Whiskey, she noticed. He had been sitting alone with a glass of whiskey, in a saloon full of men, and none of them had dared join him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“You’ve been walking since dawn.”

It wasn’t a question. She nodded, taking a sip of the coffee, letting the heat burn its way down her throat. “The stagecoach left me at the last town. I couldn’t pay the full fare.”

“That’s fifteen miles.”

“Fifteen miles in a blizzard,” she agreed. “I figured it was better than freezing to death on the side of the road.”

“You’re either very brave or very desperate.”

“Both.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, there and gone. “I’m Adam Xavier.”

“Rose Callahan.”

“Well, Rose Callahan. Eat your stew.”

The stew was thick and hot, full of potatoes and tough beef, and Rose ate it like a woman who had not eaten properly in days. Which was true. She had been surviving on scraps and hope since Kansas, and both had run out somewhere around the Nebraska border.

Adam did not rush her. He sat across from her, nursing his whiskey, patient as stone. When she had finished half the bowl, when the color was finally creeping back into her cheeks, he spoke.

“Where are you headed?”

“California.” She said it with less certainty than she had in the beginning. “I was going to make it to California. I had a plan. Then my father died of cholera, and the boarding house owner sold everything we had to cover the back rent. I’ve been working my way west since. Laundry, cooking, mending. Whatever I could find.”

“And winter caught you.”

“Winter caught me.” She set down her spoon and met his eyes directly. “I’m a hard worker, Mr. Xavier. I know I don’t look like much right now, but I learn fast and I don’t give up. If you have work — any work — I’ll prove my worth.”

Adam took a long drink of his whiskey, his storm-cloud eyes considering her. She could see him thinking, turning something over in his mind, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that whatever it was, it was bigger than a job.

“I don’t need a worker,” he said slowly.

Rose’s heart sank.

“I need a wife,” Adam Xavier said, “more than I need a worker.”