Her eyes remained glued to the lone figure on the farm, sweat glistening off of his now bare back as he worked.

She had been watching him for several minutes, fully expecting him to put down his tools and make his way to the front porch where she had laid out lunch on a table. Still, after watching the farm hands abandon the farm to rush over to the porch for their meal, Sharon stood, silently disappointed as Matthew adamantly chose to keep working.

She didn't understand it —his decision to keep working, rather than take a lunch break— and she didn't exactly like it. Earlier, he seemed enthusiastic about pausing for a meal, even suggesting that they eat together. His suggestion had taken her by surprise, and she had tried to point it out to him, revealing the painful truth of her having to dine alone for so many years. It would have been different to have him eat with her, but rather than eat with her, he chose to turn away, abandoning lunch altogether.

And the food? It had been somewhat of an apology for her behavior earlier. She imagined it was the right thing to do, considering she had taken her frustration out on him when he hadn't deserved it. He hadn't exactly force her into marrying him, she had agreed to it, albeit not really having a choice.

Perhaps she simply did not understand Matthew Steiner? She frowned, turning from the kitchen window. He was certainly an odd man. She was at a loss for what to expect from him, which was why she was determined not to trust him. If there was one thing she had learned in her years of dealing with men, it was that they couldn't be trusted. Her own father had gone over and beyond to prove that one fact to her; men couldn't be trusted and she only had herself to look out for.

Matthew didn't return to the building that afternoon, and finally frustrated by his decision to ignore her, Sharon laid in bed that evening, eyes fixed on the white ceiling. She didn't dare think of the reason for her insomnia or the dull pain in her chest; she didn't dare think that they had anything to do with Matthew. His decision to avoid her presence was what was best, wasn't it?

Groaning, she sat upright, folding her legs before her. Perhaps a glass of milk would help her fall asleep? Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling had certainly proven to be an abortive solution after all.

Rising to her feet, she made her way out of the door. The stairway was dimly lit, the light from the kitchen helping to light it up a little bit as she walked.

Frowning, Sharon paused in her tracks; hadn't she turned off the stove earlier that evening before going to bed? She was uncertain, her mind nearly fully occupied by Matthew and his unfathomable behavior earlier. It was possible that she left it on, or that Matthew left it on when he finally decided to come into the house.

Taking the remaining stairs down to the kitchen, she paused by the entryway her eyelids widening as her eyes came to rest on Matthew.

He stood there, oblivious to her presence as he wiped his bare body clean. The tub in the center of the room where the table once was, made it apparent that he had just taken a bath, and while Sharon knew it was required of her to turn from him and run back up the stairs, her legs held her captive where she stood, her eyes fixed on him. For the life of her, she couldn't move —neither did she have the desire to do so. She stood, secretly reveling in the sight of him. Water glistened off of his skin, dripping further down the length of him and forcing her gaze to move along with it until she was pausing slightly below his waist.

Swallowing, a voice in her head yelled for her to turn away but curiosity urged her on —curiosity, as well as a strange, unfamiliar feeling of warmth crawling through every part of her skin until it was setting her entire body on fire.

She had decided to continue with her perusal of his unclad form when Matthew suddenly turned from her.

Shocked, she imagined he caught her in her shameful act and would no doubt think the worst of her. Shame made it impossible to do anything but stand there and watch as he reached for his pants that sat on top the table —which he had pushed against the backdoor to make room for the tub— and pulled it on.

She stood watching, the tension easing from her body once it became clear to her that his silence was an indication of his ignorance of her presence; if he had seen her, he would have said something by now.

Sharon waited for a few more seconds to confirm that she had indeed not been caught staring. Once this fact was ascertained by his continued silence, she slowly turned around and silently made her way up the stairs, her body trembling slightly with an unfamiliar emotion.

~*~

Matthew was avoiding her.

Sharon could tell, his presence having become scarce since the evening she stood watching him get dressed from the shadows. She only managed to catch a glimpse of him once every afternoon through the kitchen window when she stood in the cooking lunch. Her gaze would mostly wander to his body, her mind conjuring images of his nudity. She would succeed in pushing the image away, but would never succeed in pushing aside the feeling of warmth that would always accompany that image. The fact that it had been nearly an entire week since she watched him get dressed did not seem to matter because she couldn't forget the incidence.

Sighing in frustration, she took the pie out of the oven and placed it on the work table; it was time to inform the farmhands of the readiness of their lunch. Matthew had taken to eating with the men on the front porch since the afternoon he offered to eat with her, and then changed his mind. Sharon had caught herself severally desiring to have him share a meal with her, but had always pushed the thought aside, refusing to give it room to take root in her heart.

Turning from the pie, she stepped into the hot afternoon air, Matthew's gaze drifting to her just as she did.

A slight frown creased his face at the sight of her, and while Sharon fought to convince herself that the frown on his face was not an indication of his displeasure in her presence but that it was as a result of the discomfort of the sun, a part of her was fully convinced that he was indeed displeased to see her.

Straightening, she shoved the thought aside and made her way to the field, the tool in his hand dropping to the ground as she approached.

"Lunch is on the porch." She said, and rather than wait for his usual nod or muttered thanks, she decided she could do without them today; it was best to keep some distance between them. She turned around and walked away.

She entered the kitchen and ate her mashed potatoes and gravy in silence. She had barely placed the plate in the sink when the sound of the front door opening drifted to her.

Turning around, she was just in time to see Matthew entering the kitchen, a frown creasing his face.

"I will have the front porch cleaned out." She offered.

He shook his head. "The men are still eating."

"Would they like some more? I do not suppose there's a lot left, but we-"

"We have visitors, Blondie." His frown deepened.

"Visitors?” Confused, she frowned.

Nodding, he let out a breath, "my family. I suppose they'll be here in a few more minutes. I have been informed they're at the gates. "

Unsure of how to respond to his announcement, Sharon simply nodded.

Matthew let out yet another loud breath before settling on a chair by the table. Placing his elbows on the table, he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Father should have sent word ahead." He grumbled, visibly frustrated.

"Do you not wish for your family to visit?"

Shaking his head, he rose to his feet once more. "It has been an entire year without them stopping by. Obviously, he's here to confirm whether or not I'm married; to see things for himself. And if he is to see that things are not as they should... "

Groaning, he cursed and Sharon cringed. Surprised by her reaction to his foul word, she realized she hadn't heard anyone curse in days and had unconsciously gotten used to not hearing it.

"Things are not as they should be; we don't even share a room, least of all talk to one another."

Even as he spoke, the image of him standing bare before her flashed before her eyes once more, setting her entire face on fire.

Turning sharply from him, she stared at the plate in the sink.

"We have our differences."

"Differences that will act as reason enough to force my father to withhold my inheritance. I cannot let that happen. "

"I am uncertain of what is required of me, Matthew; I already married you to help you get your inheritance. What else must I do?"

Sharon heard his footsteps behind her, her body stiffening as he drew near and the strong smell of his sweaty skin mingling with the smell of dust, drifted into her nostrils. Against her better judgment, she found the smell intoxicating and for a brief second, imagined pressing her nose against the side of his neck.

Shocked by her own thoughts, she clutched her hands before her and glanced down, her cheeks catching fire.

"Blondie," desperation laced his voice, urging her to turn around and look at him; indeed, desperation shone in his hazel eyes. "I must beg your indulgence for a few days, until my family returns to San Francisco, that you pretend to be in love with me."