Matthew was married to a stubborn woman.

With his frown deepening, he waited until the supplies were loaded into the back of the wagon before burying his hand in his pocket, finding what was left of his little savings, and handing it to the shop owner.

He had come to town to send a letter informing his father of his marriage, as well as to see about buying fabrics for new dresses for Sharon. He wasn't certain if she could sew, but he didn't exactly have a choice because the price of one dress went for the price of two fabrics, and while he was ashamed to admit to his financial status, he was unfortunately unable to afford dresses. She would just have to make some herself, or at least wait for Nana to return in six days and get started on them.

The ride home was silent. Matthew found his fingers trembling in an obvious show of nervousness —or perhaps it was a show of his unwillingness to return to his new bride? He didn't know how to feel about Sharon, for while he certainly pitied her for her misfortune of having a drunk, gambling father, it was difficult —impossible even— not to find her attitude highly annoying.

He eased the wagon through the broken-down gates of the farm, pulling it to a halt once it was before the house. Glancing up slightly at the building, he let out a soft sigh as his fingers released their hold on the reins; he did not look forward to going in there. And perhaps he didn't have to? Sharon made it very clear she didn't like him, and the more time he had to spend in her presence, the more certain he was that he didn't exactly like her either. Perhaps it was best he spent the rest of the afternoon working with the farmhands? There wasn’t exactly plenty to do, but he needed an excuse to not be with his wife.

Sighing yet again, he jumped down the side of the wagon, leaving the supplies behind as he unhitched the horses and led them to the barn.

The rest of the afternoon couldn't go by quickly enough. Matthew kept his eyes on the work before him, but his mind stubbornly reminded on the woman he was now married to. Their marriage didn't seem like it was going anywhere but he hoped it would last long enough for him to come into his inheritance.

A small frown settled on his face, a strange feeling of disappointment washing over him as he wiped his brow. It was all he wanted, wasn't it —his inheritance? He didn't need a wife, especially not now; not when it was only less than a year ago Gretchen turned down his proposal. If he let himself dwell on it, then he would reluctantly admit to being heartbroken. Perhaps Sharon's decision to eventually leave would be good for both of them?

“Who do we have here?”

Stanley's words drifted to him, dragging him back to the present.

Turning to Stanley who was now putting down his hoe, Matthew's frown deepened.

“Who's the beautiful lass?” Stanley wiped his hands on his pants, his eyes fixed on something behind Matthew.

Turning sharply around, a soft breath escaped his lips as his eyes came to settle on Sharon. Clad in Nana's white sundress, the white apron around her waist helped conceal the oversized nature of the dress. The white bonnet on her head —also belonging to Nana— kept most of her face hidden, yet he thought she looked beautiful. Perhaps it was because of the way the gentle breeze played with her skirt, tossing it back and forth her legs? Perhaps it was the way she expertly made her way down the grassy field?

“My wife,” he heard himself say. He wasn't sure why he said it, but he thought it was in response to a question he had been asked… or was it? Matthew wasn't certain he was reasoning correctly in that second, his eyes journeying with Sharon as she made her way to him. She was coming to him, wasn't she?

“Congratulations sir, she's a real good looker.”

With his face catching fire, Matthew felt a stab of pride as he waited anxiously for Sharon to reach him. As she neared, her face became more visible and his anxiousness for her to reach him quickly became less bearable.

“Isn't that George Freelance's daughter?” Stanley asked and he shrugged, waving him off. “But boss, wasn't she supposed to be married to Jen—”

“Get back to work, Stan.” Matthew barked the order, turning briefly to acknowledge Stanley, and realizing in that second that Stanley wasn't the only one who needed to get back to work —all his farmhands needed to get back to work, for they all stood on various ridges, staring at Sharon. He wasn't certain if their decision to stare was borne out of curiosity, or because the sight of a woman on the farm was a refreshing sight next to the dry soil they had been staring at all day.

Shaking his head, he called, “all of you, back to work.” He barked the order, before turning back to Sharon who was now only about three feet away.

Covering the distance between them, he offered a smile in greeting. “Need my help?” He lifted a slight brow in an attempt to hide his delight in seeing her, even if he was certain he couldn't hide the redness of his face. He however hoped she would simply assume he was sun burned.

She shook her head, to his disappointment. What was wrong with him? One minute he was avoiding her, and the next, he was excited to see her! Perhaps it was as a result of the farmhands' fascination with her? There was no doubt in his mind that he was the object of their envy and the thought did something to his ego.

“Lunch. I figured you would be hungry.”

Her words shocked and thrilled him all at once, rendering him speechless.

She frowned. “You're not? Forgive me, I assumed you would be. I had a table set on the porch for the farmhands, and...”

He watched her, his eyes fixed on her lips as she spoke —they were beautiful, as was every part of her.

Just then, she turned around, surprising him.

“Wait!” He called after her retreating back. Pausing in her tracks, she turned around, her frown deepened further. “We are indeed hungry.”

“You are?” Relief flooded her eyes, her frown dying.

A small frown claimed his face, a part of him liking this thoughtful side of her. “The men would be surprised if I offer them food and might even get used to being treated so well,” he rolled his eyes. “But they'll be extremely thankful to you.”

She smiled —a breathtaking, refreshing smile that caused his smile to broaden. “I can do this as often as they'd like. Cooking is one of my fortes. Well, cooking and sewing.”

“Great, because I got you come fabrics. Glad you found Nana's clothes,” he motioned to her outfit, “but I'm uncertain she will be pleased to find you in them when she returns.”

“Nana?”

He nodded. “My housekeeper. She's away for a few days, but she'll be back. You two will get along just fine.”

“Oh, I um—” She glanced down. “I thought...”

“What?”

Shaking her head, she raised her eyes to him. “Lunch?”

He nodded. “Have you had any?”

She shook her head, “I could eat in the kitchen. I imagine the men would want to eat and discuss, or argue about things only men understand? It'll be best to afford you all your privacy.”

“We could eat together.” He said before he had the time to think his words through. Something clouded her eyes; something he recognized very well was the wall she always managed to build around herself to keep him away.

“I always eat alone.”

Releasing a sigh in frustration, he nodded slowly. “I will just let the men know there's food then.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Matthew didn't give her words the opportunity to form, before turning around and walking away from her.

With the men on the front porch engaging in lunch several minutes later, Matthew kept his eyes on the dry soil, his hands wrapped around the hoe and his mind on the work before him, ignoring the dull pain that stabbed at his heart as well as the pangs of hunger that protested his decision to abstain from lunch.