They Forced the Rancher to Marry the ‘Old Maid’ — What She Did Next Shook the Whole County

Chapter 3

Clara had never known that kind of love. She’d had suitors in Boston, before her father’s death and the rumors that followed. But none had inspired anything more than polite interest. She’d made peace with spinsterhood, built a life around it.

But now she was a wife. A mother. A woman whose body belonged to a man who didn’t want her.

Dinner was a disaster. Sophie refused to come down, despite Ethan’s repeated calls. Clara could hear the child’s muffled refutes through the ceiling. Finally, Ethan gave up, his face tight with grief.

“She’ll come around,” Clara said.

He didn’t respond.

They ate at opposite ends of a long table, the chair between them empty. Clara had tried to sit elsewhere, but the housekeeper had firmly directed her to the foot of the table.

“It’s your place now.”

The meal was excellent — roasted chicken, potatoes, green beans — but Clara could barely taste it. She cut her food into precise pieces, her manners impeccable. Ethan ate mechanically, barely looking up.

“I understand you have a library,” Clara ventured.

Ethan nearly choked. “A library?”

“Mr. Morrison mentioned you had books. I thought perhaps a few shelves in the study.”

He didn’t respond. She saw pain flicker across his face.

“Would you mind if I —”

“Do whatever you want.” The words came out harsh, dismissive. “This is your home now, after all.”

Clara set down her fork carefully. “Mr. Walker, I understand this situation is not what either of us would have chosen. But taking your anger out on me serves no purpose. We are both victims of circumstance. I would appreciate it if you could remember that.”

Her words were calm, but there was steel beneath them. She saw surprise in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “My apologies.”

She nodded, picking up her fork. “Perhaps we should establish ground rules.”

She laid them out with clinical precision. Separate rooms. A united front in public. No pretense of affection in private. She would fulfill her duties; he would run the ranch. They would stay out of each other’s way.

“And Sophie,” she added. “I won’t force myself on her. But I will be here, patiently, until she’s ready.”

“That could take a very long time.”

“Then it takes a very long time. I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Walker. This marriage may be a prison, but I intend to make the best of it.”

She’d survived worse situations. She’d survive this, too.

That night, lying in the narrow bed, Clara listened to the house settle around her. Somewhere above, a floorboard creaked — Sophie, perhaps, unable to sleep. She heard Ethan’s footsteps pacing in his room.

In the darkness, she allowed herself a moment of weakness. A single tear escaped, trailing down her temple into her hair.

She wiped it away quickly.

There was no room for tears here. Only for strength.