The mornings started as they always did for Veronica with stoking the stove fire and setting the coffee to boil before going out to disrupt the chickens for some fresh eggs. Since it was Mr. Echolls' first breakfast with them, she decided on using the last of the bacon rashers still packed in salt cure to go with the meal and start them all off right. Van and Eli had done an adequate job of discussing the details of their day and the schedule the ranch kept with Logan over dinner last night, and for the first time in months, Veronica felt lighter, just knowing that she would not have to handle the chores of the cattle on top of feeding the workers and tending to the garden and farm.

As she worked, her mind started flipping through the mental image of the seed stock at the General Store, and she contemplated what she should plant this year to keep them all fed. Tomatoes were a must, as were beans and carrots since they were plentiful. She wondered if she could call upon the men to increase her garden's size to include more potatoes, as they kept well for the winter. There was also the matter of plowing the hayfield to get planting, and she made a mental note to go and inspect that the ground frost was sufficiently melted so she could start plowing and seeding in the next week.

If she had children, there would be small chores they could be doing for the farm during this time, when they weren't in school. The girls could be helping with the chickens and planting - the boys with the feeding and care of the stock. She loved doing these things with her parents and was grateful to be an only child, so she had the advantage of learning both the 'boys' and 'girls' chores.

But she wasn't really an only child, she thought as she bundled her coat around herself, pulling her wool hat over her ears, and remorse filled her heart. Under a tree, the furthest part of their land was a wooden marker bearing the names of her mother and baby brother. For five minutes, she had a sibling, a brother who came just long enough to take a few gasps of this air before going still, as her mother lay quiet and white on the bed, still connected to him. It was a sight etched in her memory so well that even though she wished to have children to fill the farmhouse, she was sure the lingering horror was the reason no child ever nested in her womb.

Picking up the lit kerosene lantern and egg basket off the kitchen table, she walked to the door, tensing herself against the cold morning air before plunging onward toward the chicken coop. There was no time for her mind to linger on the past, not when the morning rituals had begun. Opening the tall gate to the coop, she scared the old cock, being up sooner than him every morning. She thought he'd get used to it, but she had to endure his pecking at her ankles each day, defending his offspring from her grasp.

"Oh, stop it, old man." Giving the rooster a shove with her foot, she opened the door to the shed and slipped inside, finding most of the hens still sleeping on their nests.

Inching her hands under the biggest brown chicken, she grasped an egg, holding it up to the light for a second to check its incubation before deeming it good to eat and placing it in her basket. She continued until she had a full dozen, deciding a hearty egg bread was also in order today to go with tonight's meal.

As she slipped from the shed, the rooster cried out a deep call, sure to wake the men in the barn. Squinting against the sharp sound, she hastily made her way to the fence gate, opening and closing it quickly to keep everyone inside. The sound of boots crunching in the frost-covered ground set Veronica's heart to race, and she turned quickly to spy a figure just a few feet away.

"I'm sorry, Miss Veronica. I didn't mean to startle you."

Logan raised his hands defensively as if he was sure she was going to hit him with her lantern held high in the air. Catching her breath, she shook her head.

"What are you doing up so early? The cock has only just crowed."

With a nod of his head, his eyes lowered. "I'm not much of a sleeper, ma'am, and I saw the light in the kitchen, so I thought I would come and ask if I could brew up some coffee for us all and sit by your kitchen fire with one of those books you had on your shelves."

"You…you want to read?"

Chuckling, a small smile pulled across Logan's mouth. "I do, yes. But all the books I have with me I read on the journey out here. And since there were so many books on your shelves, well, I thought I would take a chance and ask if I could borrow one."

Veronica's brow knit as she pondered the question. No one had ever asked to read the books on her shelf before. Her mother insisted that every book come with them on the journey to Canada from Montana, and her father obliged, being a strong reader as well, even if the extra weight put a strain on the horses. "At least it wasn't a piano," he used to say and would laugh as he opened another leather-bound volume.

"Why, yes. I mean, of course. I already have the coffee started, but you are more than welcome to come inside where it's warm and select one, as you wish." She pulled her coat closer around herself with a shiver and began to walk quickly towards the warm house. "I just ask that you leave the books in my home and not take them to the bunkhouse. Many of them were my mother's, and they hold tremendous sentimental value to me."

"I will honour your wishes, Miss Veronica. Just so long as I may read some after supper before I retire. I find that reading soothes my mind."

Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed him touch the scar across his forehead momentarily before removing his hand, avoiding her gaze.

Upon opening the door, they were greeted by the stove's warmth, ready to be used, and Veronica sighed with contentment as her blood instantly began flowing quicker in her veins. Knocking the frost from her boots first, she moved to the side, allowing Logan to follow her in before the door closed behind them.

Gliding her fingers through the air, she gestured towards the bookshelves. "All the books I own are there, except for the tall stack I keep by my bed. I enjoy reading before I sleep as well."

Heat rose in her cheeks as she realized what she said to this virtual stranger. Had she been cooped up so long on this ranch alone that she had forgotten how to communicate with others? If he noticed her slightly uncouth remark, Logan gave no indication, instead hanging his hat and coat on the rack before walking past the couch and into the living room space.

"Thank you. I know you're probably busy preparing breakfast. I'll try not to get in your way."

"You are a smart man." A wry grin spread across her face as she continued on towards the kitchen as he chuckled.

Placing the lantern and egg basket back on the table, she removed her coat and hat, draping it over the back of the chair. The rich smell of coffee filled the space, and when she checked on the pot, she was happy to see it was ready. She took it off the hot plate using a tea-towel, transferring the cast iron skillet to the burner instead. While her mother always preferred tea, her father and Duncan enjoyed the rich, hot shock of coffee with their breakfasts, and Veronica picked up the habit from them. As she filled two metal cups, savouring the sight of the deep black liquid filling the vessels, her stomach fluttered at the thought of having someone else in the house to share this morning ritual with again. It used to be her father—up earlier than Duncan or the other men—with whom she would engage while she made breakfast. Even if he was a stranger, having another person around to help in his absence gave her some peace.

"Coffee's up," she stated, moving her own mug near the cool window to bring the temperature down.

Shuffling the head table chair over, Veronica took the lantern up and knelt near the cellar door, grasping the cold latch and pulling it open with the loud groan of worn hinges.

"I'm taking the light with me for a minute. Be right back," she said to Logan as she lowered herself to the ladder.

The sound of his boots on the floor echoed in the cold root cellar, and she ducked into the low cellar below and quickly located the small barrel of cured bacon, hoping she didn't catch a chill in the dank earthen lair. She was so afraid of it when she was little, but as an adult, she was glad her father chose to pick-axe the ground below their home, allowing them to store all manner of food for the long cold winters and ward against the blistering Prairie summer heat. Standing on the first rung, she lifted the lantern up to the edge of the floor, giving herself just enough light to pull herself and the small barrel under her arm up and back into the kitchen.

"Let me take that," Logan offered as she appeared, and she gratefully handed the bacon over to him before closing the cellar, trapping the cool air back inside.

"Thank you."

Brushing the loose hair from her face, she smiled as he placed it on the kitchen table. Crossing to her apron, before pulling a large handkerchief from her pocket and using it to tie back her long hair. The house was sufficiently warmed, and the pan seasoning sizzled, telling her it was ready for the bacon. Logan retreated again as she pulled out the large butcher knife, pulled off the barrel lid, and reached in to retrieve the side of bacon, placing it on a tea towel to pat off the salt.

"Did you find a book to hold your interest, Mr. Echolls?"

Logan lifted the displaced chair and moved it to the edge of the kitchen, as not to get in her way and sat, book in hand. "This one—this 'Frankenstein'—is one that I've heard of but never read."

"Oh! It's wonderful. Full of chills. My father enjoyed fantastical books with mysteries and monsters, and my mother enjoyed beautiful stories about beautiful people. I read them all."

"Hmmm…." Logan flipped open the leather cover and nodded at the first page. "You can tell that your father and husband were well-read men. Even with the lack of help over the past few months, your ranch is still thriving. It speaks to a good foundation."

Veronica couldn't help the scoff that rose in her chest at the mention of her husband. "My husband thought he knew how to run this ranch, but under his guidance, we almost lost everything when my father went to war. My husband was a lot of things, but he did not have a head for ranching. My father came home just in time to save it."

Touching the scar on his head lightly, Logan frowned. "Your father was in the great war?"

"Yes. When it looked like there would be the Conscription, my father volunteered—lied about his age in reverse so they would take him. But he was in such good shape from working the ranch all the time, no one questioned his age."

"And your husband?"

Dropping the rashers into the pan, Veronica shrugged. "My husband was not of the stomach to go to war unless he was made. And my father was the proud sort who felt it was his duty to go and fight for the King, even if our ancestors left that land a long time ago."

Logan offered no more than a quiet hum in response as his eyes fixed on the book in his lap. The light from the lantern caught the subtle ridge of his long scar, and Veronica wondered if he too was in the war. But she knew from experience that a man's time in the war was his business, and it was best not to ask. Keith came home from World War I with a fractured clavicle, that never seemed to heal, and stories he vehemently stated he never wanted to tell. And he was one of the lucky ones. Every Sunday in church, the Pastor read the list of the dead soldiers from families in the area, and they all bowed their heads, praying for their souls.

For a time, she moved around the kitchen, quietly continuing her preparations as Logan continued to sit in silence. It was only as she passed near enough to him that she realized the book still lay open on the first page. The discovery put her in a state of ill-ease, wondering what could be going through his head. Did she trigger some memory that made him lost? Walking quickly away, she cleared her throat to break the silence.

"Will you be going out with the others to take the herd to graze today?"

The mention of work seemed to snap him out of his revery, and he coughed, reaching across to the table to take his coffee in hand. "Yes, ma'am. I want to check out the conditions for myself. I also want to inspect the herd and see if there are any we need to cull."

Frowning, Veronica put her hands on her hips. "But we just sold some in the fall. I don't want to deplete the herd too much."

"Yes, ma'am, but you have three heifers about to birth, and unless you're going to build a bigger barn, you may run into overcrowding, and that will lead to the possibility of disease."

"I know what it means, Mr. Echolls," she snapped. "But my intention is to keep growing this ranch, not let it slip back."

"And I understand that Miss Veronica, but unless you're going to invest in a separate barn for your heifers, then something needs to be culled to manage. Bigger ranch means more money, yes, but you also have to build everything you need to expand it first."

"I understand that, but I don't like the thought of going backwards, Mr. Echolls."

"And we won't be going backwards, Miss Veronica. But trust me, let me handle this part, and I assure you that in a year, you won't regret it."

Trust me.

Veronica took a sharp breath. Trust him. A stranger. She couldn't even trust her husband to stay in her bed, to treat her with some manner of equality in this venture, to care about her beyond whether she could give him a child, and yet this stranger was asking her to trust him.

"While it's too soon to say whether I trust you or not, Mr. Echolls," she paused, catching her word before they fell. "I will work with you to make this ranch a success."

With a shrug and a nod, Logan smiled. "That's all I'm asking for, Miss Veronica. That's all."

Veronica's gaze hesitated on Logan's smile for a moment. It was kind and warm, and the deep dimples that appeared on his unshaven cheeks gave him almost a boyish quality. In spite of herself, she smiled softly back and nodded in silent agreement with him before turning away and back to her work.