Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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The moon hung low and yellow, big as a dinner plate, as Rey staggered along the fence line. She’d meant to wait longer to leave, until the new moon, when she would have had the cover of darkness.

She’d make do. Always did.

Even if her shoulder was killing her, twice as much as her ankle. As long as a rattler didn’t bite her and she could get that horse, she’d count herself lucky. She’d figure out the rest when she got to Chicago. For now, she just had to get out of here.

Before Plutt woke up.

She stopped to rest against a fence post, glad for the cover the pecan orchard provided her. Everything she owned was in a small canvas roll, slung across her back, and paltry as that was, it felt like five hundred pounds weighing her down. The heat didn’t help, either, and she could feel the way her dress was soaked through with sweat, and the tacky, stickiness in the fabric where she’d bled through.

By her estimation, she must have been walking for an hour. Maybe more. Maybe less. It was hard to tell.

But at least she could see the silhouette of the barn ahead, a fair distance away from the rambling white farmhouse where Solo lived.

She didn’t know him. Had never seen him. But on rare trips into town, bumped around in the back of Plutt’s wagon, she’d spied it from the road. Plutt didn’t care for him over much, said he was a strange recluse with a hideously scarred face that was worth hiding. Rey didn’t care overmuch for what Plutt said. Plutt was a fool on a good day and a mean drunk the other six days of the week.

And she surely wasn’t going to marry any of his sour-breathed business associates. After all, Plutt wasn’t even her father, and he didn’t have the right to force her to it.

Rey limped, half-dragging her foot as she finally reached the barn door, and she unlatched it, fingers fumbling. Her arm was heavy, and she tucked it across her middle, grunting as she pushed her way inside. The pain made her vision swim, and her stomach churned acidly. Either from the lack of supper or water or from the pain itself, she wasn’t sure.

Inside, the hay smelled sweet, and just as she hoped, there were horses. Four in all. She heard the snuff and whicker as she tiptoed in, and in the deep shadows, she saw their ears prick upward to a one. Fine, well-fed horses with gleaming coats, nothing like the sway-backed, half-starved creatures at Plutt’s farm. Rey thought you could tell a lot by the way a man cared for his horse.

“Shhh shhh shhhh,” she whispered, holding up her good hand as if to tell the horses she wasn’t here to do them harm. Their bridles hung neatly along the side of the first barn stall, and the saddles were stacked, tidy and gleaming and smelling of rich leather oil.

A horse snorted and stomped, loud as anything, and Rey shushed them again, heart racing. She needed them quiet. She only needed one, anyway, and maybe one day, when things were better, she’d send money to Solo, by way of apology.

She was sorry for stealing, but there was no help for it.

Rey winced as she reached for the bridle, huffing at the smart of the stretch. Just moving her good arm was an issue as if her body had tensed up from the ongoing pain and didn’t want to unfurl at her command.

The real problem, however, was the saddle. It was heavier than it looked, or she supposed she was weaker than usual. Normally, she was tough as a rangy barn cat, but just lifting the saddle was impossible. She panted as she pulled at it, stumbling as her vision spotted.

She needed water. Badly. But the water was gone from her canteen, and she didn’t want to be here any longer than necessary. Every second made the risk of discovery greater.

She’d have to tough it out a bit more. Ignoring the way her shoulder screamed and the sudden pulse of wet that she knew to be blood, she gripped the top saddle with both hands and pulled.

And pulled.

It shouldn’t be this heavy. It just shouldn’t. Unless she was that tired. Which, given that she’d had little sleep in the last few days, was likely.

Rey slumped against the saddle, breathing hard, unable to bring air into her lungs fast enough. Her ankle wasn’t holding up at all, even with the tight binding around it. Her feet were sliding around in the too-big boots, anyway, probably doing her more harm than good. But walking all this way barefoot would have been a bad idea.

Everything was a bad idea.

She rubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes as if she could rub out the exhaustion and the way her vision kept blurring.

Maybe she could do this without a saddle. Maybe just the bridle would do.

Rey struggled to her feet, swaying slightly, but she made it to the stall of the first horse.

“Hello,” she said, keeping her voice gentle. She stroked its nose as it leaned over to study her, then jumped as it snorted and stepped back, its judgement of her made.

The horse knew her for a thief and whickered loudly. And so did the horse next to it, as the news traveled. Each stomped and snorted, moving in their stalls, until one whinnied, all while Rey stood helplessly, holding the bridle.

“Shh—shhhh—settle, now. I’m a friend,” she pleaded, holding her hands up, trying to see which might be the most docile. The smallish one. On the end. That one, she decided in a fit of desperation.

Rey hobbled to the last stall, ignoring the way her legs were shaking. She could do this. She knew she could.

The horses whinnied again, louder than before, making their displeasure known.

“I just—I’m not here to hurt you,” she said, hoping if she talked steadily, they might calm. “Wish I had some oats for you, or something.’”

She stepped closer to the horse, holding out her hand, hoping it would let her near. She was so focused, she didn’t hear the crunch of footsteps outside.

“That’s a good horse—” she soothed, fingers brushing over the horse’s nose as its ears pricked and shifted. “See? I’m—”

The barn door shoved open abruptly, and Rey jerked back, her ankle twisting painfully, so painfully, that she fell backward onto her rump.

There was a man, tall enough that he filled the doorway, illuminated from behind by the moonlight. He was a big fellow, wide in the chest, and long-legged, and he was dressed in a shirt and sturdy work trousers. He carried a shotgun and looked angry as the devil. This must be Solo. 

“What the hell’s goin’ on in here? I don’t hold truck with thieves. Show yourself,” he rumbled, voice dark as smoke fire.

He stepped further into the barn and the shadow shifted. The moonlight brightened his face, and for a brief moment, she saw him. A long face, with unusual angles, a long nose, and piercing eyes. And across it, a thick, angry scar that looked like someone had tried to split his face in two.

She gulped and tried to stand but her legs couldn’t seem to hold her up. She wasn’t sure if he could see her, but maybe if she came clean, he’d let her go.

That thought was quickly abandoned.

“Who the hell are you?” he shouted, lifting his rifle to his shoulder and stalking forward, his marred face as stern as any she’d ever seen in her life. He meant to shoot her. She knew in her gut.

Rey gulped. She’d already been shot once tonight. Plutt had only gotten her shoulder, at least, but she’d been a moving target then. Right now, odds were she wouldn’t be so lucky this time.

She tried to speak, but her throat went dry. And foolishly, as she watched his heavy boots draw closer, her brain leapt past all rational thinking, and she could only latch onto one word.

Escape.

Despite the screaming pain in her ankle, she lurched forward as fast as she could. Maybe surprise would help. Either way, she was a dead woman. She didn’t even blame Solo for killing her. Any smart man killed a thief on sight.

Rey fell against the stall doors, the pain in her shoulder making her vision white out. She stumbled upward and scrabbled at the wooden boards as the horses huffed and kicked, trying desperately to right herself.

“Son of a bitch,” Solo swore, throwing aside his rifle and moving to grab for her.

He moved fast for a big man, for an older fellow, but as his hand closed around her elbow, Rey grunted and kicked him in the shin with her good foot, before scrambling past him.

The barn door was miles ahead of her as she hurried. She realized her pack was slowing her down, and she flung it over her head. She’d be fine without it. Wasn’t much, anyway, she rationalized. Anyone else with more or better would see it for the junk it was.

Rey hauled up her skirts and staggered for the doorway, when the shaking in her legs started again. She could barely breathe, she found, and the barn spun as she neared the door.

Almost there, she told herself. She just needed to concentrate and keep moving. She’d be alright. She was always alright.

“Hold it there—” the man grumbled behind her, recovered from her kick, and she could hear him behind her. Miles behind her.

Miles. She couldn’t have gone miles, could she have? Not when the door to the barn was so far ahead of her. Rey gasped, tripping over the toe of her ill-fitting boots and found herself sprawled on the barn floor.

Get up, she willed herself.

Get up.

Up.

Up.

Up.

Her eyes closed and she groaned. Maybe she could rest here but a moment.

Just a moment.

And then all went black.

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Chapter Text

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The sound of pouring water, the music of liquid singing against a porcelain wash basin, was what pulled Rey from the darkness.

Water. Her lips felt cracked and dry as she tried to swallow. And pain radiated from her shoulder outward until she thought her fingertips would burst.

Her mind faltered as she blinked against the brightness of the morning—morning?—not altogether certain how it was morning already when the last thing she remembered had been the dark. The dark, and certainly not this soft bed with its cotton sheets and gaily patched coverlet and the golden sunlight streaming through clean, unstreaked windows decorated with faded cotton curtains. No, she remembered the cold of the ground, and the desperate thirst, and not—

“You’re awake.” The voice was deep and masculine.

Him. She did remember him. The rough voice and the glare over the shotgun barrel. The angry slash across his face that made him look fearsome. Plutt wasn’t right about much, or about anything, but he’d always said to steer clear.

Maybe Solo was dangerous. Maybe she’d jumped right from the frying pan into the fire.

Rey’s heart picked up as she blinked rapidly, trying to right her eyes from their fuzziness, and the large man standing at the dresser came into focus in the morning light.

What was she doing with him? Or rather, what was he doing with her? She must be in his house. And a quick glance at the window told her she must be upstairs.

“I—” she started, hauling herself upward, grimacing against the movement.

Her shoulder was tightly bound, she could feel the restricted movement—and then she noticed her dress was gone, replaced with a clean shirt. A man’s shirt. Oh. She flushed at the realization that he’d… he’d… well, whatever he’d seen, it wasn’t much. She wouldn’t think on it. And besides, she couldn’t fathom what she could say, not when her shoulder ached like the dickens, and her throat felt like sandpaper.

Why hadn’t he killed her when he had the chance? Why hadn’t he called the law on her?

“I’m sorry I was trying to steal your horse, Mr. Solo,” she finally blurted, her voice dry and as tired as her bones. “It wasn’t personal.”

He didn’t say anything to that, turning away from her to pour water from a white porcelain pitcher into a glass. And she was met with such a yearning for water, she could scarcely keep herself from leaning forward hopefully.

He walked to the side of the bed and offered the glass to her. That’s when she finally got a good look at him. Tall, that she knew. And sturdy as an old oak. But clean and neat, his hair combed tidily about his ears. He was dressed to work, in worn homespun and dungarees. His face was severe. Well, the scar was, red and gruesome as it followed a line from above his brow and across his cheek and continued along his neck and into his shirt collar. Someone had wanted him dead once.

But right now, he was calm, and he watched her with steady, intelligent eyes.

She thought they were the kind of eyes that saw a lot. Had seen a lot. He had some years on her, certainly, judging from the faint lines around his eyes and the silver in his dark hair.

“Drink.”

She took the glass from him with her good hand, unsure if she dared try the other, given the way her shoulder felt. Rey drank.

The water was clean and cool, and it was so needed, she felt tears prick at her eyes as she gulped, unladylike. She didn’t care that Solo was watching her. It soothed her throat, eased the dryness in her mouth, made her feel at least a bit more alive, and she was sorry when it was gone. But Solo brought the pitcher and filled it for her again. Then again.

Until he took the glass from her gently, his voice low but kind. “You’ll make yourself ill.”

She nodded, disappointed, but it was his glass. His water. And he couldn’t stand there all day, pouring one after another for her.

Solo fussed a bit back at the dresser, then brought over the basin and some clean cloths and a brown glass bottle of something that must be medicine. He set them down on the nightstand.

“What are you doing?” she asked, as he quietly drew a chair to the bedside and sat. Even sitting he was large, imposing. Even if he tried to bow his shoulders, look smaller before her. He shouldn’t bother. He was still enormous on the small chair.

“Checking your shoulder. I…” he swallowed, throat bobbing, and he studiously put his eyes on his hands as he arranged, then rearranged the white cloths around the wash basin. “You were bleeding something fierce when I found you. I needed to—” his jaw rolled as he swallowed back the obvious acknowledgement that he’d had to undress her to do so. Solo glanced back at her, his eyes direct enough to see right through any fib she could have thought to tell. “You were shot. But I expect you knew that.”

She did. Hard to forget the look in Plutt’s eye as he pulled the trigger, sneering at her with his yellowed teeth.

“Plutt.” This should be enough information to gauge Solo’s level of affinity for the man.

“Plutt.” He repeated the name, a frown crossing his face. That was a good sign. She knew they weren’t friends already, but the more distance the better. “Heard he had a girl working on his place. Rey, isn’t it? Why’d he shoot?”

How Solo knew any of that, she didn’t know. He might not have run in Plutt’s circles, but he had eyes and ears, she guessed, on his rare trips to town.

“Does it matter?” she asked warily. “You gonna send me back?”

Solo shook his head. “No. Not if you don’t want to be there.”

She could reasonably believe that. “You gonna hand me over to the sheriff?” Horse thievery was a hanging offence.

Solo leaned back in his chair for a moment, studying her. It wasn’t as if she weren’t a self-admitted horse thief. Well. Attempted horse thief. She’d failed at her one and only attempt.

“No.” His mouth pressed in a line. Then he gave her a faintly bemused look. “You going to let me look at your shoulder?”

She expected she had little choice. She didn’t know where her clothes were. Or her boots. And she surely wouldn’t make it far if she ran, anyway. Rey nodded her assent, and she looked away in red-faced embarrassment as Solo leaned forward and unfastened the buttons at the collar of the shirt. His fingers were warm and firm as they peeled the white linen open.

Solo was so close now, she could feel the heat of him. He was gentle as he untied the bandages, and she shivered when she felt air on her skin. Everything about his touch was slow and methodical, as he inspected, then dabbed the wound with clean water, then dried it, then dabbed the medicine against it. She tried not to gasp at the burn, instead closing her eyes and fisting the sheet tight against her chest.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she gritted out between clenched teeth. He’d sounded so deadly angry last night when he’d first entered his barn.

“It hurts that fierce?” he asked instead of answering, and she glanced up at him quickly to see his lip quirk. A joke, then. He understood her well enough. He sighed and went back to the business of applying the medicine, then with a featherlight touch to her shoulder, had her lean forward so he could look at the backside of the wound.

“Bullet went clean through you. Real lucky. Didn’t find any bits of metal. Didn’t hit anything serious,” Solo commented, and she got the sense he knew a thing or two about injuries like hers. It was in the quiet confidence of his voice. He continued with the medicine, then set it all aside as he went to fetch clean cloth bandages from the dresser. “Your ankle, now—not sure it’s broken, but it’s right swollen. You’ll need to stay off it a while.”

Rey huffed. She didn’t have a while. And she couldn’t stay here with him. She didn’t know this man, nor he her. And again, she couldn’t fathom his kindness given her attempted thievery.

And it wasn’t like she could repay him with no money and now no capacity for the hard work she’d always done to earn her keep.

“I can’t stay. I can’t pay you back, either.” She frowned at the sound of that, and she felt his hands still for a moment before they set about the business of winding clean, dry bandages around the shotgun wound. “I mean—not for a while. After I get a job, I can send money. And I will. I owe you that much for helping me and not sending for the law. I’m real sorry. Like I said, it wasn’t personal--”

Solo, strange, solemn man that he was, didn’t say a word. He drew the shirt back over her shoulder, then guided her to lean back against the pillows. His brows knit together as he studied her face, and she was struck by the oddity of this situation.

What man would take such care of a horse thief? He didn’t seem angry at all with her, and she was sure he had better things to do than nurse her back to health. His farm was a large, prosperous one, even while so many others were ramshackle.

“What did you want that horse for?” he asked, surprising her out of her thoughts.

“I was headed to Chicago. Thought I could get factory work there. Make a fresh start.” A start away from Plutt and his cronies and their leering glances and the miserable labor she’d done her whole life. She’d heard a nobody could make enough money to eat meat every week and maybe even buy a good dress. 

“Guessing Plutt didn’t know you were going.” He tucked his hands into his dungaree pockets and frowned down at her.

Rey frowned right back at him, meeting his eyes steadily. “No. Plutt’s got no say in my life anymore.”

Solo nodded as if he understood, and he looked hard at her for a long time, like he was taking the measure of her. And she suddenly felt like a whole lot weighed on his assessment. “You’ll need money to get where you’re going.”

“I know how to make do.” She’d forage and scavenge her way, however she had to survive.

He hummed slightly. A thoughtful noise. “Reckon you do.”

“I’d have paid you back for the horse,” she offered. “I swear. On the Bible.”

His cheek twitched, as if that thought made him want to laugh for some reason. “You’d have paid me for my own horse?”

“I’m not a thief. Not really,” she said heatedly, her face reddening again.

That twitch of his cheek again. “Reckon you’re not. Not a very good one, anyway.”

Rey narrowed her eyes at him. She’d have been a sight more successful if she hadn’t been bleeding out and limping and desperately in need of food and water. And if she’d been able to wait until the new moon when there wouldn’t have been as much light. She’d planned it all so well, then been forced to jump ahead.

“I promise I’ll pay you back for your kindness. As soon as I get to Chicago and find work,” she said firmly. As if she were bargaining something, even from a bed in his own house. As if she had anything to bargain with at all. But if Mr. Solo thought it strange or funny, he didn’t say. He nodded. And the lines around his eyes crinkled as he spoke.

“I can offer you work here, if you like. Been needing help around the house and farm. I hire out for the harvest, but in between it’s just me and a couple of hands.”

That made no sense. Rey startled at that, then decided maybe it made sense. Why should he let her loose without getting what was owed? “You mean for me to work off my debt to you?”

“Debt?” he asked, forehead furrowing. “You think you’re accruing debt right now?”

She frowned back at him. That’s how it worked at Plutt’s. When she took ill as a child and the doctor prescribed a physick, Plutt would make her work off the excess expense. When she needed new shoes, she took on extra chores to account for the cost.

“I can work hard as any man,” Rey offered. “Whatever the cost—I’ll make it up to you.”

Solo shook his head. “Three dollars a week, plus room and board. Starting the moment you’re up and about.”

She understood what the words meant, but they were impossible. Plutt had never put so much as a penny into her hands, all these years. “Mr. Solo—”

“I can’t afford more at this time,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck, as if that was why her mouth was gawping open. “But I promise I’m fair. You can think on it. I’ll be up later with something for you to eat.”

Solo was already on his way out, and Rey sat in the soft bed, clean and cared for and as shaken as she’d ever been in life.

“Mr. Solo!” she called, just as he had reached the bedroom door. He turned, lifting his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

Anyone else would have. And God only knew Solo’d had his rifle trained on her.

His jaw rolled slightly as if he considered what he could possibly say. Perhaps a full minute passed, but he gave her an even glance, his expression wryly solemn.

“I didn’t see a thief in my barn.”

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Chapter Text

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Everything about Mr. Solo mystified Rey.

“I’ll be downstairs fixing breakfast with the fellas, so just give a holler if you need anything.” He patted the edge of the steel bathing tub. “Soap’s here, and—” he scratched at the back of his neck. “I expect you can figure the rest.” He shifted awkwardly on his big feet, then left the room before the conversation could grow more stilted.

Solo had brought up the tub and a few buckets of water, and then her clothes, freshly laundered, though pitifully stained and shabby. They hadn’t been much better before Plutt shot her, frankly. But as she’d fingered the thin fabric, she’d noted Solo had neatly patched the bullet hole, too. She could imagine the effort of sewing with those big hands of his, but every stitch was precise.

For the last few days, he’d insisted that she rest, that she eat, that she not worry about anything but her health. He was worried about fever, but with that burning medicine of his, she didn’t think a fever stood a chance. He checked her bandages and changed them daily. He examined her ankle. He never touched her more than absolutely necessary, nor lingered in conversation.

She thought she appreciated his lack of questioning more than anything.

He never asked her why she was running from Plutt. What she’d told him that first day had satisfied him, and he treated her with quiet consideration, as if she were an invited guest and not someone he’d caught trying to steal from him.

Strange man.

The bath was heavenly, even if the water was cold. Just getting up from the bed on her own, even if her ankle was still sore and swollen, felt like progress in her recovery. She felt far more human, after, as she dried herself with the rough cotton towel, then slowly dressed herself in her drawers and shift, then the worn rust-colored calico dress. She’d never worn stays, on account of the expense, and the fact of the matter was, she’d always been scrawny, anyway.

Her meager roll of belongings was now on the dresser, and in the assortment, she found her comb and pulled it through her hair until it was tidy enough to draw back from her face with a random green ribbon left curling on the dresser. She couldn’t remember seeing that before, but she thought little of it.

There was no reason she couldn’t set to work, she considered. Her arm was sore, but she could move it. And she could stand well enough. Maybe kitchen work would be possible.

Solo was kind now, but his hospitality would wear thin if she couldn’t work. Nothing in life was free.

Rey crept out into the hallway and heard the noise of Solo and his hands from down the stairs. The clatter of plates, the sizzle of something on a griddle, and the clinking of forks and knives. And the cheerful rumble of male voices. Laughter.

Maybe she shouldn’t, she thought. Maybe she shouldn’t intrude. But the food did smell good, and her appetite had only grown stronger the longer she was in the farmhouse, eating bowls of steaming hot porridge with honey and hearty dinners the men prepared. She couldn’t remember her last good meal, and now every night she ate potatoes and meat and all kinds of vegetables and cornmeal biscuits. Real stick-to-the-ribs food, Mr. Solo had told her with a crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he set the tray across her lap. Nourishing food, good for healing what ails a body.

He might know. He looked nourished enough.

Her ankle throbbed as she went down the staircase, one step at a time, holding tight to the banister until her knuckles were white. Perhaps she’d had too much rest, because her knees didn’t seem to know what to do, and she had to bite her lip in concentration as she moved. Halfway, she paused, wondering why she was breathing so hard.

Damnation.

She took another step, another, and another, focusing on the next with a concentration that blocked all other thoughts, and she didn’t even see the young man exit the kitchen until he called to her, an amused smile on his face.

“Looking for the kitchen, Miss Rey? Thought I heard footsteps coming down those stairs. I keep telling Solo they could use some fixing.”

Rey blinked. Did she know him? After a second’s thought, she realized she did. Somewhat. He was tall and blonde, with big gray eyes and the open honest features of a lifelong farm boy. Maybe a year or so older than her, but she guessed not younger, judging the shadow of whiskers on his upper lip. She’d seen him in town, hauling in goods in a sturdy wagon, collecting provisions from the general store. They’d never spoken, but they’d crossed paths. Plutt didn’t like her to linger and make idle talk.

“I—yes. Thought I could help with cleanup? Arm’s not feeling so mean today, and—”

The fellow laughed. “Solo said you had the look of someone who meant business today. C’mon, Missy.” He stepped closer to her, offering her an arm. And at her hesitation, shook his head and wrapped his arm around her waist before swinging her gently off the stairs and setting her on her feet lightly. “Don’t be shy now. I’m Robbie Cardo. Been working for Mr. Solo for a few years now. Me and Jimmy, we stay year-round to help with everything that needs helping with. We live out in the bunk house, though.”

He was so friendly, it was impossible to be annoyed as he half-supported her on the way down the hall, past a small, formal dining room, and toward what she assumed with the kitchen. He bubbled with good nature and ease, like all in his life had been sunshine.

“Look who I found,” Robbie called cheerfully as he half-guided, half-towed her into the large, bright kitchen. Sunshine streamed through the windows, and the morning breeze was pleasant through the green-framed screen door that let out onto a back porch “Says she’s ready to start working.”

“’Bout time, lazybones,” a handsome, dark-skinned fellow said from the kitchen table, where he was polishing off a plate piled with sausage and eggs with gusto. He seemed just as young as Robbie, just as easy-natured.

“Jimmy.” Solo’s voice held a gentle warning, but he smiled over his shoulder from the blacktop stove where he was frying more eggs and bacon and flapjacks. His broad shoulders flexed under his homespun shirt as he easily flipped a flapjack onto a plate. “Miss Rey might not appreciate that, not knowing you.”

“Just teasing, Miss Rey,” Jimmy offered with a friendly wink before turning back to his food. “Good to see you downstairs.”

Robbie held a chair for Rey and she sat, watching curiously as the men interacted. Robbie left her to squeeze Jimmy’s shoulder in a way that was rather affectionate, by her account, then went to Solo to collect the ready food and bring it to her on a plate.

They all seemed thoroughly used to one another, at ease in their routine. And they didn’t seem to hold fast to any kind of formality, though it was clear the young men respected Solo.

“I suppose you’ve saved these old knees of mine a trip upstairs,” Solo said with a wry glance at her, finishing up his work and plating his own food. “I usually cook breakfast for these two so they can get started with work, and then I feed myself.”

And her, she guessed. Well, he wouldn’t be waiting on her anymore, at least, she determined with a frown that made him quirk an eyebrow in concern.

“I can clean up,” she offered, staring at the food longingly before meeting his gaze with a resolute set in her jaw to back up her declaration. Buttery, savory eggs and sausage and bacon and flapjacks with butter melting into them already. She’d be strong as an ox eating like this, strong enough to pull a plow through a field. She swallowed the little joke and began to dig in. “My ankle isn’t strong yet, but I can wash up the kitchen, and—”

The young men were listening to her with interest.

“So you’re staying to work, then?” Jimmy asked, his dark eyes filled with curiosity, and his face lifting with a hopeful smile. “Mr. Solo said you were considering joining us.”

Solo hadn’t brought it up since that first offer, nor had she confirmed anything. And she supposed she hadn’t made any real decision. Not until she knew more about what kind of place this was. It seemed nice. Seemed.

Rey frowned at her plate, tensing. She didn’t know exactly where she stood. “While I’m here, I mean to do whatever I can to earn my keep.”

She wasn’t a layabout. Wasn’t her nature. Not that she’d ever had the choice. But work meant food. Simple as that.

Jimmy and Robbie glanced at each other, passing a private joke she didn’t understand, then went back to their food. Solo joined them at the table, pulling the blue-painted wooden chair across from Rey and catching her eye with a subtle glance. His cheek twitched in that way of his, that wasn’t quite a smile, but something near to it. Like she was a little funny, but he didn’t want her to know it.

“I’d be glad for your help,” Solo told her, his deep voice kind, and he tucked into his food. He was a big man with a hearty appetite, she guessed. Used to working hard on a farm—his hands were large and callused, if clean—and that, apparently, meant quite a lot of flapjacks. “Never a shortage of things to do on this farm.”

“Nope, there sure isn’t,” Robbie said around a mouthful of food. “It’s not bad or nothing. We just keep busy. We get lots of time off, too. Harvest and planting is when things are busy, and that’s when the extra hands are on for the season.”

Jimmy nodded along at that assessment. “Planting just ended. Now we just mind the fruit orchards, take care of the animals, do some repairs.” He grinned and elbowed Robbie. “And a lot of fishing down at the swimming hole.”

That sounded… nice. Rey nodded, glancing from the young men’s faces to Mr. Solo’s. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and he dipped his chin in assent to confirm Jimmy’s words.

Still.

“I don’t know how long I can rightly stay,” she managed after swallowing a mouthful of flapjack, looking down at her hands. Just as worn and calloused as the men’s, really. Not a lady’s hands. That should be proof enough of her worth. “Just until I can walk a good distance again, and then I should probably go on to Chicago. But I’ll work.”

If Plutt caught wind that she was still around these parts, she would have hell to pay. The longer she was here, it was only a matter of time.

“As long as you like, then, Miss Rey,” Solo said, his eyes following her own to her hands. The soft lines on his face deepened as he frowned. Rey pulled her hands out of sight, her face coloring. “But light work for now.”

She nodded, and they ate peaceably, if quietly, after that, Robbie and Jimmy comparing notes on what to fix next. An old wagon or the door to the bunk house. Or maybe working on the new smoke shed for curing meat. They eventually decided on the smoke shed, and set off excitedly, debating structural ideas, and absent-mindedly leaving their plates behind with barely a goodbye to Rey and Solo.

He watched them go and shook his head, eyes crinkling in amusement.

“They’re good lads, if excitable,” Solo said, rising from his chair and reaching for their plates. “Honest, hard workers, and good-natured, too.”

By Plutt’s account, she was none of the above. By her account, she was at least two—honest and hard working. Well. Perhaps not so honest, if she wasn’t above stealing, as it turned out.

“I think they’ll be glad to have another person around, besides my ugly old mug,” Solo added with a soft huff of a laugh. “Especially a pretty young lady to tease. They don’t mean any harm; I can promise you that.”

Solo collected the plates before she could even rise from the table, and she glared at him, but he was nonplussed by her annoyance.

“Robbie said they’ve been here a few years,” Rey said, pushing her chair back. If there were dishes to wash, she would wash them. Enough of this sitting around like an invalid. “They must like it. Working for you.”

“Reckon they do. They say they’re happy, and I’m glad for it. Their lives were hard before, because of who they are. Here—” he shrugged, eyeing her as if to see her reaction. “Here, they can be themselves.”

That was nice.

Oh.

Oh.

She’d heard of men like that. Not in flattering terms, but as always, that was Plutt talking, and he had something sour to say about everyone. But Robbie and Jimmy were so personable, and Mr. Solo was suddenly so firm, staring at her, and she nodded her understanding.

“That’s… that’s good.” And it was. If they were good and kind, that was all that mattered to her. Goodness and kindness were rare enough.

“They’re like sons to me.” Solo set the dishes in the sink and crossed the kitchen to where she was finding her footing as she stood, and just as Robbie had, he looped an arm easily around her waist and glanced down at her face briefly before looking away. He was strong and solid at her side, where Robbie had been youthfully lean and wiry. “They know they can stay here as long as they want.”

Solo walked her to the sink and gave her a wry glance. “I expect you were going to complain if I didn’t set you to work right away.”

She gave him a mulish look that made his eyes glint merrily.

“That’s the water pump. Here’s the dish rack,” he stated, motioning to all the fine amenities that Plutt’s ramshackle kitchen hadn’t contained. Everything clean and functional and in its proper place. And the sink was even set before a window with a pretty lace curtain, a decidedly feminine touch in the home of a man without a wife.

“I’ve washed dishes before,” she said brusquely, and his lips quirked with a restrained laugh that made her flush. He clearly took no offense, at least, at her prickliness. She wished she could hold her tongue better, though.

“Of course you have.” He touched her shoulder lightly, then pulled it away just as quick, like his hand had been burned. His jaw rolled as he turned away from her slightly. “Apologies, Miss Rey. I’m used to the fellas. There hasn’t been a lady about in some time.”

She shrugged and gave him a little smile. She wasn’t much of a lady, but it was kind of nice being Miss Rey after years of Girl. “It’s fine.”

Solo shook his head, stalking away and then bringing her chair to her. He paused, clearing his throat. “Just in case you need a rest. Promise you won’t undo all the work I’ve put into patching you up?”

He leveled particularly severe look at her that made her feel sheepish even though she hadn’t touched a single dish yet, let alone any of the other ideas that had started creeping through her head for tidying the kitchen. It was like he could see right through her.

“I promise,” she muttered, lying through her teeth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Damnation. “Really, Mr. Solo, I promise,” she said, sensing his bemusement, and this time the crescent-shaped dimple in his cheek deepened.

He hummed slightly and strolled to the screen door. Solo slowly took his broad-brimmed hat off the hook and held it against his chest as he glanced back at her. “Promise?”

She huffed and turned to the sink, grumbling under her breath. “Yes, Mr. Solo.”

The screen door slammed as he left the kitchen, and she could swear she heard him chuckle.

She didn’t understand him at all.

#

Chapter Text

#

“Can I trust you with these potatoes?” Robbie’s blue eyes sparkled as he placed the bowl and peeling knife in front of her.

It was getting on towards supper time, and Rey had fallen into the habit of helping in the kitchen however she could. She wasn’t much of a cook, and Robbie had been teasing her ever since for her shortcomings. But she figured she’d learn, now that there was someone to show her and good food, besides. Plutt’s cupboards were always sparse, and she cooked for survival, not taste.

She picked up the knife and jabbed a potato clumsily. “Am I peeling or chopping?”

“Peeling. And not like that, or you’ll need stitches and Mr. Solo will be fussing like a mother hen.” Robbie said that like it was the greatest of jokes, and he laughed as he turned back to the stove where he was adding smoked ham to the simmering pot of purple hull peas. Along with a pot of turnip greens, that would make up supper for them all.

Her shoulder had healed up fair enough. The muscles still hurt, and there was some stiffness, but she figured that would fade in time. Her ankle, however, still pained her some, though she was careful not to say a word about it, lest they think she couldn’t keep up her fair share of the work. Not that any of them were unkind. And Mr. Solo certainly encouraged her to do tasks that didn’t require much walking or standing.

And yes, he fussed, as Robbie said, in that gentle way of his, making his opinion known in just a palmful of rumbling words while Robbie and Jimmy chattered full speed around him at all their meals, joking and laughing and spinning plans for future chores around the farm. Neither ever seemed to run short on energy. She envied that after all her inactivity.

She’d spent the week clumsily mending some of his and the fellas’ shirts, snapping pole beans, and washing up after meals. She was a little stir-crazy, honestly, and she was ready to start trying her luck walking a little further, ankle-be-damned. Rey had never sat so much in her whole life; her backside was probably getting flatter by the day. And anyway, indoor work wasn’t something she was used to. She’d never cared to be inside where Plutt was, after all.

At least the days here were easy, a consistent, comfortable routine of sunrises and meals and dishes and heavy work boots plodding across the porch. She could expect the crowing of the rooster, the squabble of the hens, the horses whickering out in the barn and the cows mooing in the fields, and the cicadas at night as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Time flowed here, gently but steadily.

Solo still asked little of her, and she wondered if this was his way of saying she had her freedom. She could work, but there’d be no demands. It was a strange fit, but every day she breathed a little easier.

The porch groaned as Solo climbed the steps and pushed past the creaky screen door into the kitchen, his face flushed from the later afternoon heat and sweat darkening his shirt front and under his arms. He’d been checking the plantings in the fields today. Hot work, but necessary. He worked hard every single day, and it showed in the solid lines of his arms.

“Jimmy back from town yet?” Solo asked, dragging a kerchief over his face to wipe the moisture from his brow. He set his hat on the hook by the door with a sigh.

From what she understood, Jimmy or Robbie went to town every other week to collect provisions and bring goods for sale to the general store. Solo was too busy, they told her, to make the trip himself.

“He’s unhitching the wagon now, settling the horses down. You know he never misses supper.” Robbie stirred the beans then lifted the lid on the pot of greens, then cast a mischievous glance back at Rey. “Miss Rey made lemonade today. Even remembered the sugar this time.”

She grumbled at his laughter, cheeks pinking with embarrassment as she made neat work of the potato skins. Robbie was just teasing, but she most certainly had put sugar in the lemonade the other day, just not enough to suit them. Sugar was expensive, after all, and it was important to be careful and not wasteful—especially when it wasn’t her sugar.

“Sounds refreshing,” Solo said, glancing her way with just a quirk of his cheek. He’d been kind about the lemonade incident, doing his best to stifle some of the fellas’ jokes. “I’m gonna wash up a bit before supper.” And as he passed Rey by, he paused and glanced down at her, his eyes dancing good-naturedly. His voice was kindly as it dropped so only she could hear. “You can tease him back, too, you know. He could use a little teasing. And he won’t mind.”

She figured he was right. But she often found she didn’t have a lot of words to offer yet among strangers. Even apparently decent ones. “Yes, sir, Mr. Solo.”

His lips quirked slightly, and he danced his knuckles against the table. Solo’s dark eyes studied the growing pile of potatoes in the bowl as she steadily peeled the skins. “That’s nice, tidy work, Miss Rey. Thank you.”

She blinked up at him, perplexed at praise for such a simple thing, and nodded in acknowledgement of his words. Satisfied, she supposed, he danced his knuckles once more, then set off.

#

Fireflies danced and sparkled on the night sky like burning embers, moving with the breeze and the lilting fiddle music as Mr. Solo played.

Supper had been pleasant. The food good, the fellas as boisterous as ever while Mr. Solo watched in his quiet way, eyes fondly on their faces as he ate his supper. Content to listen, but offering his advice when asked, and deep, rare chuckles when something struck him funny.

And when Solo had lifted his fiddle from its case, saying the mood had struck him, his slashed face was resolute in its peacefulness. Like he’d found a bit of purpose and calm as he settled in his favorite chair and lifted the fiddle to his shoulder. He set the bow across the strings and closed his eyes, breathing in, then out, and began to play one slow, sweet song after another, the silver in his hair glinting in the lantern light.

The songs poured out of his fiddle, and Rey leaned against the railing of the porch as she sat on the edge, her bare feet dangling cool and free in the air. It was easy to feel weightless in the dark, letting the music carry her.

His expression was changeful as he played, wistful, thoughtful, tender, and she wondered what memories he had behind each song. She’d heard so little music in her life, but this was the prettiest.

Maybe she could stay here. Just for a while. Spare her ankle. Save some money. Solo seemed inclined to treat people well.

Next to her, Robbie and Jimmy played cards, and Rey watched as they shuffled and traded and laughed, the rules a mystery to her.

“Heard some gossip,” Jimmy ventured in between hands as Robbie shuffled the deck. He quirked an eyebrow at Rey, expression studiously neutral. “Heard that Plutt had some trouble down on his farm. Vagrant broke into his house and he had to shoot, but they still knocked him out cold before running off and taking all his money.”

The blood rushed so in her ears, that she could hardly hear Solo’s music, and Rey’s breath caught in her throat. Her feet stilled from where they had kicked absently before. She’d seen Plutt collapse, and she hadn’t looked back. Just scrabbled together her few belongings and ran.

And she hadn’t taken a penny from Plutt, though the good lord knew he owed her wages for years of unpaid labor. But it would be his word against hers. Suddenly, she felt clammy under her arms and damp at the back of her neck.

Dread prickled along her skin. “Is he dead?”

“No. My guess is the culprit wasn’t very big or strong. Probably just a skinny little thing. Maybe even a girl.” Jimmy swallowed a laugh, thumbing through the deck of playing cards.  “She probably just gave him a bump on the head.” Jimmy tapped his chin thoughtfully, big brown eyes brightly amused. “Big fella, that Plutt. Must have hit the ground hard. Could be lying about the whole thing, too. Probably got drunk and fell off his horse and hit his head.”

The fellas looked her over. They knew. But then, they all knew she came from Plutt’s farm, and in bad shape, too. But now they knew more.

By now, Mr. Solo had stopped playing, and his fiddle was resting on his knee. His dark brows drew together, and his long face had grown solemn.

Robbie nodded, winking at Rey. “My money’s on him falling off a horse. He’s always in that saloon, and he can’t even walk in a straight line half the time. And everybody knows he don’t have any money to steal.”

Her heart throbbed in her chest painfully. What if he’d gone to the sheriff with his claims? What if he had people out looking for her? She could go to jail, or worse, they’d make her return to Plutt’s farm, and he’d—she didn’t want to think of how awful that would be. Rey scrabbled for the porch railing and worked to pull herself up, wincing as her damned ankle smarted.

She couldn’t stay here. That much was certain.

“I—” she started. She wasn’t ready to talk about this. Not with Jimmy and Robbie, even if they meant well.

A throat cleared behind them, and the three turned to see Mr. Solo rise from his chair and set his fiddle back in its case.

“I think it’s time to turn in. Thank you for the work you did today.” Solo’s words hung in the evening air, and Jimmy and Robbie collected their playing cards. “See you at breakfast.”

They bade Solo and Rey goodnight with quick smiles, then sauntered off together, arm in arm, boots crunching over the well-worn path to their bunk house.

Rey envied them their ease. And she knew Solo was going to demand the truth from her, and she owed him that, given the risk he took harboring her if Plutt was planning to cause a ruckus.

Maybe she could just leave now. Start walking. And as if Solo could read that thought clear as day on her face, he shook his head and crossed to her side. “Like the fellas said, Plutt’s a known liar and drunk and hasn’t had a penny in his pocket in years.”  

That was assuredly true. “People know it, but he has friends, too.”

And some of those friends were the cause of this mess.

Rey startled as Solo’s hand cupped her elbow, but she let him draw her into the house. His hand was warm and huge on her arm, but gentle, and he released her as soon as they were seated at the kitchen table.

The quiet loomed between them, and she realized then, he wasn’t going to ask. His eyes were solemn as he waited for her to speak. He folded his hands before him on the table, patient as a saint as he watched her.

And she watched him, with his silver and dark hair, waving a touch too long around his ears, and the odd planes of his face that fit together crookedly, bisected by the cruel scar. A scar older than she was, she realized with a wild thought.

“He bought me a dress,” she finally said, her voice low. She winced at the memory of the red dress with the low neck. He must have picked it up in the town brothel. “Plutt did.”

Solo blinked in confusion, but he dipped his chin for her to go on.

“Wanted me to wear it around his friends. They were…” she bit her lip, looking down at the table. The things they’d said, the way they’d looked at her—made her stomach roil. “Some of them had taken to noticing me. A couple had suggested they’d pay Plutt if I married up with one of them. For his troubles in raising me, and all that. So that dress—I… I couldn’t. I wouldn’t put it on. Plutt got real mad, said I’d been costing him money for years and this was the last time.”

She closed her eyes. She could see the rage on the man’s face, how red and purple he’d become. How violent, as he threw things at her and shook his fists. He was drunk and brutish, and when he saw her packing up to run, he’d grabbed his rifle.

She was his to do with, he said. She would do as he said, or die.

And he’d fired.

“My parents worked a season on Plutt’s farm, then left when the work was gone. For whatever reason, they left me behind, and Plutt kept me. So I owe him everything. For the roof over my head, the clothes on my back, the food in my mouth. Never let me forget it. But he forgot he didn’t own me.” Rey took a steadying breath and looked up at Solo.

His expression had darkened something fierce, and he reached across the table to take her hand in his. It was strong and firm, and she felt oddly comforted by his grasp as his thick, calloused fingers curled around hers. Solo’s jaw rolled like he had something to say, but he huffed and closed his eyes briefly as if swallowing the words.

“He got so mad he shot me,” Rey said, her eyes watching where his hand covered hers. “And I… I got so mad, and I don’t know where the strength came from, maybe I went half-crazy, I don’t know—but I grabbed the water pitcher and I hit him with it, hard as I could manage, and—” and he’d fallen like a felled tree, unconscious. And she’d run for her life, bleeding and exhausted and in pain from twisting her ankle in the mad dash to get away.

Solo’s thumb stroked over her knuckles delicately, and he exhaled, his expression pained. “And you found your way to my barn.”

To steal a horse from him.

She ducked her head, ashamed. Solo had given her everything Plutt had and hadn’t once raised his voice or his hand to her. And all that despite what she’d been planning to do.

“Plutt’s gonna find out I’m here, and he’ll send the law after me. I swear I didn’t take anything from Plutt. He’s got no money to steal. He drinks it as soon as it’s in his pockets.” Rey’s voice wavered. She was putting Solo and Jimmy and Robbie in harm’s way, and for nothing. Because that’s what she’d really done to Plutt—nothing.

“Miss Rey.” Solo’s voice rumbled gently, and he squeezed her hand until she looked up at him. His brows knit together, and his eyes were as gentle as she’d ever seen eyes be. “You’re safe on my farm. I promise. Plutt has no power here. The law might, but the sheriff knows by now that I don’t scare easy. And that I don’t stand for bullies.”

“He has friends. If not powerful ones, cruel ones.” Any of them would have made her life a living hell as a husband. And they were vindictive enough to come here and trouble Mr. Solo.

There was a firm set in Solo’s jaw, and he released her hand slowly. She watched as he sat back in the small kitchen chair, the huff of his breathing steady as he considered his words.

“I came here, twenty-something years ago. Found out my grandfather had left me this farmhouse and land, and, well, I had my reasons, but I wanted peace. Seen enough what a man can do to another man.” His jaw rolled, and his mouth pressed flat, stern. “Any man who brings hate and violence to my door will be thrown off my land, either head first or feet first.”

She heard the truth in those words. Solo had been nothing but gentle, but there was a steel in him that ran bone deep. He’d likely had to be hard in the past. That she could see now. But it would be wrong of her to stay and cause his quiet life to be disrupted.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, wiping at her eyes as tears pricked at them. She didn’t want to cry in front of Solo, didn’t want to be weak in front of this man whose charity she'd already been taking warily. “I don’t want to be a problem. I really should go.”

But she didn’t have the means. Not a penny. Not even decent shoes that fit her feet. And her ankle would have none of it.

His chair scraped back, and she was startled when Solo crouched before her on the floor. Even kneeling as he was, he was large, his height such that his eyes were still able to meet hers readily. And she could smell the clean of his soap and feel the warmth of his nearness and of his large, observant brown eyes.

“You’re not a problem. And I’d like for you to stay. Until you’re strong. Until you’re sure of yourself—or where you want to go.” His voice was soft, like he was worried she’d run if it were any louder.

“But Plutt—”

“Plutt can go to the devil. You can trust us. We don’t go meandering out in town. Plutt won’t assume you came here. And if he figures it out, we’ll figure something to do then. And in the meantime—” Solo’s eyes glinted kindly. “We’ll be glad to have you here.”

She couldn’t imagine what for. But she smiled tremulously. Everything before, the offer he’d made her a little over a week ago when she was first here, suddenly it seemed real. And the goodness and sincerity shining in his eyes made her sniffle. She’d resisted it from the first like a cat hissing at kindness.

“I promise to work hard,” she managed, taking a shaky breath and squaring her shoulders.

Solo’s lips curled up in a smile, like he thought she was a little funny. “You’ll do fine here. I have no doubts. And besides,” he started, his cheek twitching as if he could hardly swallow his mischief. “I’d sorely miss that lemonade of yours.”

Rey’s mouth dropped open in offense, and as she bristled, Solo chuckled, low and deep.

#

Chapter Text

#

The chickens scurried and squabbled at Rey’s feet, running ahead in unpredictable zigs and zags or barreling straight at her as she scattered the chicken feed. They pecked and flapped and scrabbled insistently, as if they didn’t get fed everyday with handfuls of cornfeed and have free range of the yard around the red-painted coop.

Rey didn’t mind this chore, however, as long as the big rooster kept his distance. He had a jealous temper and would chase anyone or anything he didn’t want around his hens. Sometimes, that included Rey, and she’d have no choice but to run awkwardly on her weak ankle and in ill-fitting boots while Jimmy and Robbie doubled over laughing, watching her from a safe distance across the yard. At least she was outside again, her chores more varied than the housework she’d been consigned to while her ankle improved.

And Jimmy and Robbie were good company, too, with their quick smiles and open, friendly natures and laughter. They teased her, but she learned to take it in stride, particularly as she realized they were glad for her presence. The first time she’d crawled under the wagon to fix the off-kilter axle and reposition the springs, they’d been impressed and eagerly reported her work to Mr. Solo at supper.

“Fixed that yourself?” he’d asked with surprise that had settled into warm approval as she’d nodded.

“Always been good at fixing things,” she admitted quietly, giving Solo a shy smile as she glanced up from her supper plate. “If it’s got moving parts, I can tinker it back into rights.”

“Well, that’s mighty fine, Miss Rey,” he’d said, eyes crinkling at her kindly. He had been well-pleased with that. “Mighty fine.”

And so it had been. When a door went crooked, she could straighten it. When a wheelbarrow’s axle broke, she rigged a replacement and reattached the wheel. When she found a broken plough in the barn, she worked the rust off it, re-oiled the hinges, and rebolted the broken hitches.

It felt good to be useful. To do what she was good at, and without Plutt shouting at her all the livelong day. The fellas thought she was clever and asked her questions about fixing things, and when she showed up to supper with axle grease on her nose, Mr. Solo had just chuckled and gently swiped at her face with a handkerchief while she blushed.

It was strange, being tired at night, but not bone wearyingly so. Stranger yet, that she woke to no dread, and no fear of what she’d see at the breakfast or supper table. Perhaps strangest of all, was that Solo spoke to them as people to be considered.

She’d only ever known Plutt’s bellowing, but Mr. Solo spoke softly, and he was still always heard and worth hearing. It certainly didn’t hurt that he paid them all weekly, without fail. It was easy to sleep at night knowing her money was tucked safe under the mattress. That it was really and truly hers.

Two weeks passed before she knew it, with no sign or word of Plutt, and she’d settled into something like a routine. They all rose at dawn, and after she and the fellas milked the cows, they’d eat breakfast in the large kitchen with Mr. Solo, and then they’d go their separate ways. Solo, often with the animals or in his fields, the Jimmy and Robbie doing repair work around the property and aiding Mr. Solo as needed. And she’d tinker and fix things and clean up the breakfast mess and see to the chickens.

One day, as she headed back to the house from the garden, where she’d been picking okra and tomatoes for the night’s supper, the fellas were stepping onto the porch carrying large canvas bags. They wiped the sweat from their brows after removing their broad-brimmed straw hats and grinned at her.

“Peaches are coming in ripe in the orchard. Do you want to help us pick?” Jimmy asked, offering her a canvas bag. “Get you out of the house some.”

Nothing sounded better. She didn’t miss Plutt’s, but she used to spend her days ranging far across his fields and missed the movement.

Robbie fetched the wheelbarrow and ladders, and they set out for Solo’s fruit orchard down the well-worn dirt path. Solo had peaches and apples and pears, and further down in his orchard, even some pecan trees.

“I’m headed to town tomorrow, and I figured I could sell a bushel or two to the general store, and maybe we could start putting some peaches aside for winter,” Jimmy told her, helping her adjust the ladder and lean it against one of the peach trees.

“Nothin’ better than summer peaches in winter,” Robbie said, his eyes bright as he took the first step up on his ladder. “Except maybe fresh baked peach pie in summer.”

“Always thinking with your stomach,” Jimmy said, looking at Robbie fondly, a look so tender, Rey felt like she was invading their privacy. But they were that way. Openly joyful, with nothing to hide.

“Does Mr. Solo need to know we’re picking his peaches?” Rey asked, a sudden hesitation setting upon her as she carefully slung the canvas picking bag across her shoulder. They hadn’t asked. And perhaps Solo had other plans…

“Aw, Solo doesn’t mind,” Robbie called. “The peaches are ripe, so that’s that. He knows we know what we’re doing. Before I came here, I did a lot of orchard work with my family.”

Rey could only imagine the hell Plutt would raise, and she stiffened with dread just thinking about it. But she shook that thought away. He wasn’t here. This orchard wasn’t his. And Solo seemed like a decent man.

The fellas set to their task, and Rey carefully climbed up the ladder. It was a wobbly bit of business, and she wasn’t altogether sure her ankle liked it. But high up like this, she could see the rolling green of the corn fields and the way the wheat was beginning to turn golden and the farmhouse, too, with its broad porch. It was a beautiful place.

The peaches were velvety and golden, and Rey carefully picked one after the other. She occasionally paused to smell the sweetness of the fruit, inhaling and thinking of that peach pie Robbie had mentioned. The peaches were so delicate in her hands, and she let her fingers caress the peach fuzz, enjoying the softness under her calloused fingertips. There was a perfect beauty in each one, and under the blue sky, the sunshine on her face and warming her through, Rey thought this might be as perfect a day as she’d ever had.

Robbie and Jimmy’s voices faded as she focused on her work, their friendly chatter just a soft buzzing at the back of her mind. Each peach was deposited in her canvas bag, and she smiled to herself as a breeze picked up and danced over her face.

“Solo!” Jimmy gave a shout, and Rey jumped slightly, she’d been so lost in idle thought.

She turned to look over her shoulder and saw Mr. Solo’s tall form as he led his big bay horse up the path, hat low over his eyes against the sun, his shirt sweat stained from his day’s work.

“Good day for picking fruit,” Solo called, dropping his horse’s reins and patting its neck. “Less hot than riding out in the fields.”

“How’s the wheat doin’?” Robbie called, climbing down his ladder.

“Still growin’ nice and tall,” Solo said with a little smile. “Good haul of peaches?”

“Gonna have plenty to take to town and sell. Should get a good price, too, I think,” Jimmy said, motioning toward Rey and her tree. “It’s quick work with three of us now.”

Solo turned with interest, squinting in the sunlight, and she could see the deep, wide smile on his face. “I thought you were taking it easy with that ankle, Miss Rey.”

She shrugged, only for Jimmy and Robby to laugh. They’d heard this before. So had she. She quirked an eyebrow at Solo, trying not to smile.

Solo ambled toward her tree and crossed his arms over his chest. He leveled a stern look at her that was still somehow kindly despite her acknowledged stubborn streak. “Hope you’re being careful.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Solo,” she said, glancing down at him with a scrunch of her nose that made his cheek quirk with a silent laugh. He always seemed so darned concerned about her. “I think I’ve picked all there is on this tree.”

“I wouldn’t dare doubt it,” Solo said solemnly, eyes twinkling.

She hefted the heavy bag of peaches on her shoulder. Any more peaches, and she wouldn’t be able to manage the bag on the narrow ladder.

Rey turned slightly and took a step down the ladder. She realized with dread that the weight of the peaches made climbing down a more precarious process. The ladder wobbled, and Rey’s breath caught as she clung to it. It steadied after a second, after she put her hand against the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes, willing the wobble to stop.

Better.

But as she took her next step down, the toe of her worn boot slipped. The sole was worn thin and the damned boot didn’t fit right besides, so the empty toe had barely skimmed the rung. Rey gasped as she felt herself slide abruptly, knowing that her bad ankle wasn’t going to take this landing with anything but pain, and besides, there were the peaches, and they’d be bruised—

Oh.

She heard an exhalation and suddenly, there were warm hands around her waist and the warm press of a tall, broad body at her back, his heart thundering straight through her spine. And she was no longer falling.

Thank god and fate and whatever heaven sent.

She closed her eyes and gripped the ladder tight. She was alright. Just startled.

“Careful, Miss Rey,” Mr. Solo’s voice said, low in her ear. Rey’s face flamed. She’d been clumsy in front of him, and now he was going to think she wasn’t a good worker. “I’ve got you. Saw your boot slip.”

He stepped back a bit, but held fast to her, his big hands near about circling her waist entirely. There was no chance of slipping now, but she held fast to the ladder and tucked her foot properly back in the rung.

Her breath was shaky. It wasn’t that far a drop, she scolded herself. Hardly would have been the death of her, so there was no need for her pulse to be this quick. But Solo kept hold of her, his grip sure and strong as she took the last few steps to the ground.

“Y’all alright?” Robbie called, and Solo’s hands dropped quickly as he stepped away from her, his face taut, none of his easy smiles in sight.

“Just a mishap,” Solo shouted in answer, before turning back to Rey.  “Nothing paining you?”

She shook her head quickly. Nothing was.

He looked over her face and then at her shoulder, as if he expected that might have something to do with it, though she’d told him it was perfectly fine, if stiff, then with a grumblesome huff, face like a thundercloud, he reached and took the heavy canvas sack of peaches from her shoulder. “Maybe you shouldn’t be hauling heavy things when your ankle’s still weak.”

“Wasn’t my bad ankle that slipped,” she said, wondering that she could hardly catch her breath. She took a step back until she was pressed back against the ladder, and Solo seemed to follow briefly, then stood back, rubbing at the back of his neck in a worried manner. “The boots are big, and my toe caught wrong.”

And maybe the bag of peaches had thrown her off balance. She’d never admit it.

“Your boots.” He looked down at them, frowning at the worn things as if offended. And when his eyes were on her face again, searching, he sighed, scrubbing at his chin with his hand. “You’ve got too much sun on you. Gettin’ red. Where’s your bonnet?”

She didn’t have a good answer for that, not having a bonnet. She frowned, looking aside from him, embarrassment creeping in.

Solo must have seen it on her face, for he stood closer to her again, close enough to count the freckles on the bridge of her nose, his gaze oddly intense.

“Gonna have a word with them about talking you into heavy work,” he rumbled quietly, brow knit in thought.

As if that wasn’t what she had done her whole life.

His hand ghosted her elbow briefly, then as if he thought better of that, jaw rolling with something feeling he couldn’t express, he moved to doff his straw hat from his head. And she realized then, with a shock, that Mr. Solo was worried for her. Her. The would-be horse thief he kindly let hide on his farm. Humoring the light work she did as a help to him.

He’d need her gone someday, if she couldn’t keep up.

“They didn’t talk me into anything,” she said in protest, freezing as Solo dropped his hat onto her head. A little sweaty, but her face was suddenly shaded. “They asked if I wanted to pick peaches, and I said yes.”

In full sun, Solo’s hair was sweaty and mussed, the thick, silvering waves stuck to his head in odd places, and the shells of his ears poked out. There was the stubble of a day’s growth on his lip and chin, and the grime of farmwork, which did little to cover the robin’s egg spattering of moles across his skin. He was handsome. Despite the brutal scar. And despite his years.

He took a breath, swallowing back some words, and she wondered if he meant to scold her, but after a moment, his expression softened. “Let’s get you some water.”

Solo hitched the bag of peaches higher on his shoulder, and he motioned for her to follow him to his horse. His gait was slow, and she wondered if it were because he was favoring a knee or trying to go easy on her. She stomped forward, despite the way her ankle twinged.

“Sorry, Mr. Solo, I’ll be more careful,” she said. And he stopped and turned, giving her a pained, perplexed look that struck her dumb.

“Miss Rey, do you think I’m sore at you?”

She blinked. “You don’t want me picking peaches, and I nearly dropped them all, besides.”

He gave her his canteen from a small saddlebag, and he set the sack of peaches in the wheelbarrow the fellas had brought.

“Sweet—” he sighed, then looked down at his boots, jaw tightening. “Sorry. Miss Rey—I take things serious. I mean to care for the people who live here and work with me. And I expect you don’t know how to care for yourself, given where you come from. Jimmy and Robbie didn’t, either, when they first came here. But here, I look after everyone.”

She took a long drink of water, then another while he watched. And he may have been right, for that water did taste sweet after all the time in the sun. Solo stood with his hands in his pockets, fretting something, she thought, by the look on his face. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her dress, then handed him the canteen.

He hesitated, then patted his saddle. His eyes were so watchful of her, and she wondered at that, the way he paid her so much mind. “I’ll take you home. They can take care of the rest. We’ll make them a nice supper.”

Then, quick as anything, Solo strode forward, and like she didn’t weigh more than a sack of cornmeal, he swung her up into the saddle.

“But—”

His mood had already shifted, and he smiled up at her. Eyes dark and golden but sparkling. And maybe a little sad. “But what, lil’ Miss?”

And she flushed, blurting the only words that she could think of. Because she'd seen a glimpse of something in his eyes that made her think Mr. Solo might be lonely. “Who looks after you?”

Solo froze, his eyes widening in surprise as if she'd just made another pitcher of sour lemonade. And Rey ducked her chin, wondering if it was the wrong thing to ask, but barreling ahead anyway. “I mean—if you look after us, who looks after you?

He shook his head and didn’t reply as he looked away, focusing on the business of gathering the reins and waving to the fellas to let them know they were departing for the house. He didn’t reply at all, even after he led his horse back to the farmyard and gently set her down on her feet.

But after supper, when Jimmy and Robbie had gone, he’d made her stand on some parchment paper, and he’d traced her feet, careful not to tickle her toes with the pencil.

Because he’d determined, with a stubborn set in his jaw as he told her so, that she was to have some new boots. And a straw hat of her own.

#

Chapter Text

#

Trousers. And a man’s shirt. Or a boy’s, really. And suspenders.

Rey’s eyebrows swept upward as she unwrapped the parcel Jimmy had handed her sheepishly. He’d gone to town to sell the peaches, a drive that was by no means short, and his brow, even now was dotted in sweat. In the late afternoon, when the steam rose off the river and the earth itself seemed to perspire, it made the return drive even longer. There’d be storms later, certainly. The towering clouds, framed by sunshine, told her that.

“Ole Mrs. Kanata runs the general store. When I was getting your boots and hat, I told her we had a new farmhand, so she gave me these things her boy outgrew—” His teeth flashed white as he smiled, dark brown eyes twinkling.

So. Rey bit her lip, mirth rising in her chest. “That was kind of her.”

“Didn’t think it’d do any good to correct her.”

No good at all. The longer she was gone, the better chance she had of Plutt giving up on finding her and punishing her. She could wear trousers. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been doing so until Plutt’s friends had noticed there was a girl under the layers of dirty, threadbare clothes.

“Thank you, Jimmy. And thank Mrs. Kanata for me, next time you see her.” Rey touched the fabric. It didn’t look altogether worn. Looked fresh made, really. She’d seen the woman a few times, wise behind her owlish glasses, always glaring at Plutt for his overdue accounts. “It’ll do. I don’t mind it. And it’s better than what I’ve got now.”

One threadbare dress, and another stained and patched. All she owned in the world, along with a tattered chemise and drawers. These trousers suited her fine. It was better for crawling around all the farm equipment as she fixed broken bits and bobs, anyway.

And along with the new work boots, which looked sturdy and, wonderfully, like they’d fit her feet and the broad-brimmed straw hat, she knew she’d be able to work the way she should. Perhaps she could make Mr. Solo glad for her, maybe even proud of what she could do. She had to smile to herself on that account. He was so kind to her in his quiet way, and sometimes she couldn’t make sense of it, but other times, it made her heart jump peculiarly.

The next morning, when she dressed in her new clothes, and pulled on her new boots over the thick socks that had come in the package, Rey flushed. It was hard not to recall the careful way Mr. Solo had traced her feet on the parchment. He’d knelt before her, and she’d watched the wide span of his back, muscles flexing as he shifted this way and that as he guided the pencil delicately around her feet. His silvering hair had fallen over his brow as his head bowed in concentration.

But when she stepped into the kitchen, Robbie and Jimmy looked up at her and grinned, cheeks twitching as they restrained the urge to tease her in her trousers and shirt. There was no malice, just their quick laughter, and anyway, Jimmy must have told Robbie what to expect.

“Finally look like a real farmhand now, Miss Rey,” Robbie said, hopping up to pull out a chair for her. He was always courtly and mannerly, and he patted her shoulder in his friendly way before returning to his seat.

Mr. Solo was busy at the stove, fixing plates and stirring in a pot, all calm movement in the morning light. He turned to greet Rey, as he always did, eyes crinkling and smile forming—only to drop the wooden spoon with a clatter and freeze.

Oh.

She’d shocked him.

She felt a pulse of embarrassment. Perhaps the trousers were a might snug across her backside. She tugged nervously at her suspenders.

“I can fix the screen doors today, and the wiring on the chicken coop,” Rey said to break the silence, shifting her hat in her hands, then settling it on her knees under the table, a blush forming on her cheeks.

“’Course, Miss Rey,” Mr. Solo finally said, turning back to the pots of grits he was stirring over the stove, the color rising on his face to the tips of his ears. She supposed he was shocked, as… open-minded as he was about things and people and the like. But he didn’t censure her, either, at least, she thought with relief. “You’ll know where the tools are for that—”

“Yes, sir,” she said quickly.

“I’ll be out in the north field today,” he said to no one in particular, then set the plates of food in front of Rey and the fellas, before sitting himself. She saw his eyes glance her way, then back at her plate. His jaw rolled, and she wondered at his odd mood. 

#

Rey cursed under her breath as she forced the screen back on the door and tapped some small nails to secure it. It was painstaking work, and the mesh didn’t want to bend or shape according to her will, but bend and shape it she did, until the frayed ends were hidden, and the door looked like new. Maybe not so new. A little paint wouldn’t hurt it, she considered, checking the hinges.

They squeaked like rusty wagon axles.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the small oil can to grease up the hinges until the door swung silently. It had been a good morning’s work. Even the big, mean rooster with the red comb had let her be as she fixed the door to the coop and the wiring protecting all the hens’ nests, as if he understood, at last, that she meant no harm.

It was good to get inside and splash cool water from the pump on her face, but that’s when she saw Mr. Solo’s slightly dented tin lunch pail, the one he took with him every day to save time from having to dash all the way back to the house for the midday meal. Jimmy and Robbie had taken theirs. Rey had not planned to venture far from the farmhouse, instead assuming she’d take her meal alone in the kitchen.

But not today, after all. No reason she couldn’t do something kind for Mr. Solo. And the walk would suit her, especially in good boots that supported her ankle.

Rey wrapped a slice of yesterday’s green tomato pie, bread, a hunk of cheese, and one of the soft, ripe peaches in the pail. She debated for a second, then added a little more of everything. Mr. Solo was a tall man, and he’d need plenty to keep him going in his work.

North field, he’d said.

Rey set her straw hat on her head and set out into the sunshine, swinging the lunch pail. Her strides were long, thanks to not having to kick around in the misery of a dress, and she made good time down the path that meandered between tall green rows.

She thought she could see Mr. Solo’s hat dipping through the tall corn, and she gave a shout.

“Got lunch for ya, Mr. Solo!” Rey waved with her free arm, squinting in the sunshine. His hat stilled, then she heard the crunch of his heavy boots as he appeared from between the rows of corn.

He was sweaty, as ever, the collar of his shirt dark with damp, and his hair tousled about his ears underneath his hat.

“Miss Rey?” he called, surprise writ on his brow. Mr. Solo pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “What are you doing out here?”

“Told you—I brought your lunch. You forgot it.” Rey held it up and ambled closer to him, beaming. “Hungry?”

“I could eat.” He gave her a rare, slow smile then, one that seemed to shine from him, and she wondered if that was just for her. He joked and teased and was affable enough with Jimmy and Robbie, but this one, his eyes were glowing.

She handed him the pail and hesitated. He might appreciate the gesture, but perhaps she should walk back, get back to work—plenty enough to do. But Mr. Solo cleared his throat, as if he could see her mind assessing her options, and he pulled her right from the torrent. “Stay a while. Keep me company.”

They found a patch of grass and hunkered down, the pail and a canteen of water between them.

“Tried to pack stuff that’s easy to eat,” Rey rambled, shifting to hug her knees. “Figured you’d need something, hard as you work, and—” She pulled her hat off, fanning herself with it briefly. The humidity was rising like boiling water. “Anyway, I’d just finished with fixin’ the screens, and I figured I could do more to help you—"

Solo huffed a little laugh and handed her one of the ripe peaches she’d packed. He was shaking his head at some private joke. “Something sweet for you.”

“But your lunch—”

His nose scrunched, and his slightly snaggled teeth glinted with his smile, deep dimples etching in his face. “It’s darn hot today, and you’ll be needing this.” He was in one of his stubborn moods. She had no choice.

She brushed her lips against the soft, velvety peach fuzz and took a bite. It was a burst of sunshine and sweetness in her mouth, and Rey sighed with pleasure, closing her eyes. She chewed, wiping at her mouth to scrub the juice from dripping, and licked her thumb before taking another bite.

Solo had turned to stare into his lunch pail like he was making important decisions and not just choosing between that green tomato pie or the cheese and bread. He chose the pie.

It wasn’t like him. The pie, yes. He loved that pie. Always sneaked a third slice at supper whenever it was on the table. But avoiding looking at her and Rey’s face flamed with the memory of this morning. He’d near burned the grits in his distraction.

“My…” she started. She didn’t know what exactly to say. She huffed and kicked the toe of her boots into the grass. “These trousers, Mrs. Kanata sent them, and I really needed something new to wear, and I’m not fussy. Clothes are clothes—but if it’s… if it’s too strange for you, I’ll go back to my dresses. I like dresses fine, they’re just not so good for farmwork all the time—”

“What?” His head jerked up and he looked at her with astonishment. “No—you—you keep wearing what you like. I just… you took me by surprise, is all.” He took an overlarge bite of green tomato pie as if to keep himself from saying another word on the matter. Then gulped, and around the mouthful of food, from behind his hand. “You look fine in them. The trousers.” He coughed slightly. “I mean—you seem comfortable.”

“Spent a lot of time in trousers at Plutt’s. He wasn’t gonna go around buyin’ anything special for me to wear when I was doing the same work as the other hands. He only got to the notion of dresses in the last few years.” Rey shrugged and took another bite of the peach, lingering over the perfectly sweet goodness of it. As sweet as the memory of Plutt was sour. “It might be nice to have a good dress one day. Something pretty. S’pose when I leave, I can get whatever I like.”

He did pay her, after all. And she was going to be able to afford all manner of things for herself that she’d never had. Dresses. Trousers. A proper hair comb. Books and paper and pencils. A horse. Sugar candy from the store.

“Still set on Chicago?”

Rey shrugged and looked at him. He was watching her kindly, with patient eyes. Eyes that were amber in the afternoon sunlight. “Guess so. Can’t stay here forever with Plutt around.”

He hummed at that and went about pursuing the bread and cheese in his tin lunch pail. “I have friends there. Quakers. If you want, I could write them a letter. They would help you find work according to your skill. You’re a smart girl, clever at lots of things.”

Ah. Then that was it. He’d prefer if she left. She had been here some weeks. And it wasn’t like that a man would want a girl being pursued by the likes of Unkar Plutt to hang around his place forever and invite trouble. She nodded, ignoring the strange hurt in her belly. It was fair. Solo had been more than fair. And so generous. The most generous person she’d known.

Rey swallowed the surge of disappointment.

“If—if you would, I’d be so grateful. Do you—do you know how much a train ticket might be? From the depot?” she asked quietly, eyes on the toes of her boots. Jimmy could take her the next time he went into town.

“Well, I don’t know—I don’t really—" He paused then. And she heard him shift, and she felt his hand cover hers where it rested on the grass, large and warm. The shock of it made her look up into his searching, concerned gaze. “Rey—are you looking to leave so soon? Are you unhappy here?”

His jaw worked, and he gave her such a patently tender look, she felt her eyes prick with tears. Unhappy? She couldn’t ever remember being this happy. “No, sir, Mr. Solo. But you said—”

“No, no. When you want, I can do that for you. I meant it when I said you could stay as long as you needed, honest. Swear on—anyway, I swear on my soul, whatever it’s worth.” His smile was crooked, and she saw the worry in his eyes beyond the gentle curve of his dimples and the slow crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “You’re always thinkin’ I’m trying to get rid of you, or that I’m looking for faults. I promise you, that isn’t so.”

She supposed she was. And he didn’t deserve that. “It’s just… it’s hard. After working for Plutt for so long.”

“I’m not him.” Solo’s voice was firm, and his thumb stroked over the back of her hand.

“You’re not,” she agreed. “You’re everything he isn’t. Kind. Smart. Gentle. I—” she flushed. “I think you’re the best man I’ve ever known.”

He closed his eyes briefly, a peculiar look on his face. Something pained in it, she reckoned. “Miss Rey, you’re so young. You haven’t known many men.”

She was not able to dispute this. Still. “Doesn’t make it not true.”

Solo closed his lunch pail, the contents gone, and he rose slowly, groaning a little. She supposed it was a long way for a tall man to stand from sitting on the ground. “I think…” he said slowly, brushing the grass from his pants and looking down at her. “I think I’m done working for the day. What about you, Miss Rey?”

Not hardly, but she gave him a shy, noncommittal glance. “I guess.”

“Hm.” He smiled at her, and she felt herself smile in return, as if by reflex, and he offered her a hand up. “You guess. You trust me?”

He pulled her to her feet. “Yes, Mr. Solo.”

“Then come for a ride with me.”

#

Mr. Solo’s arm was warm about her waist as the horse meandered down the worn trail between his fields. The thick trees that bordered his property were ahead, the same massive oaks she’d followed in her desperate flight from Plutt’s farm.

It was strange being this high up, stranger yet to be seated astride a horse, and downright strangest of all, to have Mr. Solo behind her. She tried not to lean against him too much, but she felt safer when she could feel his heartbeat at her back. He was so strong and sturdy.

“This land was my grandfather’s,” he said quietly, his deep voice a gentle rumble in her ear. “My mother didn’t want me to come here. Said it was too far from Ohio. Especially after, well... I’d had a difficult time. There’d been an accident, and, well, my recovery had not been easy. She was afraid she wouldn’t see me again if I went so far away. She’d already lost my father, and she was concerned I’d be as lost to her as he was.”

“But you went anyway?”

He laughed, a sad noise that came out as a chuckle. “It was something I had to do. Strike out on my own. My uncle was a doctor, and my parents had wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I’d studied some at university, but my heart was always with the land. Agriculture had always interested me far more, so I figured I’d try my hand at farming. My grandfather had been a successful farmer before he ended up in Ohio, living with my parents.”

Now his skill in fixing her wounds made sense. His gentle, sure hands, and his calm confidence as he examined her.

“The accident you just mentioned--what happened—” she began hesitantly, the words on her lips even before the thought completed in her head. “Is that how--Was it your…”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You mean what happened to my face?” He turned the horse toward the trees where there was shade so they could escape from the sun. “My father and I were taking a wagonload of goods to the next town for my uncle so he could help them start a clinic of their own. For emergencies, and such. We were robbed. I foolishly fought back, against my father’s instructions, and I took a knife to the face.”

Bad enough to split Solo's face in half, just about. That scar even disappeared into his shirt collar, and she wondered just how far it went.

“That must have hurt something awful,” she said, glancing back at him.

“It did. Still hurts sometimes.” He cleared his throat, and something in his expression shuttered with sorrow. “My father was killed. Broke my mother’s heart. It was hard to be home, after. Impossible.”

There was a lot in that last word.

“So, you came here.”

“I did.” His voice was somber as he turned over some past thought.

The shade was divine after the sun of the fields, and Rey inhaled of the sweet, dank undergrowth that was all life and decay mingled into one. Death fed the living and the living gave unto death.

Mr. Solo continued. “I didn't fit at home anymore. Everything familiar was strange to me. I felt the blame. People’s jokes were no longer funny. The places I knew were no longer comfortable. Even the sun seemed different. My face certainly was. But there was this farm.”

“Were you hiding?” It seemed a terrible thing to fight and win and still feel lost.

His arm tightened across her middle. “At first.” A moment’s consideration and he guided the horse toward the creek to walk along its banks as the water sparkled brilliantly under the canopy of leaves. “But then I had this idea that I wanted to run this farm with all the compassion and honesty and love I could. Treating others well. The animals well. The land well.”

“And yourself?”

He laughed a little. “Suppose so. Easier to think about others. I can’t do much good in this world. I’m just one man. But maybe I can do a little when there is opportunity. Maybe that’s what being a good man is about, seeing the call and answering it.”

Solo pulled on the horse’s reins, slowing him down, then pausing for the horse to drink from the creek. Rey considered what he said. He’d certainly given her little kindnesses, and she’d thrived for it. She had the knowledge that there was some good now to be had. That in itself was a kind of strength.

“And you’ve been helping people ever since, all by yourself?”

Mr. Solo was quiet, and Rey covered his hand with hers. It was so broad and calloused and covered with the small scars of someone who’d worked with his hands his whole life.

“At first it was me and—well, then it was just me. I’ve been alone a long time. Years.” He pulled on the horse’s reins and turned it back toward the general direction of the barn and farmhouse. “Years can pass by quicker than you think, Miss Rey. Woke up one day with pain in my knees and silver in my hair and whiskers.”

He laughed quietly. But one thing had stuck out to her. And it had rung true like a bell, until she felt it to her toes.

“Mr. Solo?”

He made a noise in his throat, acknowledging her.

Rey swallowed nervously, then quietly, without looking over her shoulder at him, afraid she’d lose her nerve.

“You’re not alone.”

#

Chapter Text

#

The days stretched into weeks, warm and languorous under the heat of the Indiana summer, and the crops grew taller, green and vivid under a blue sky.

Rey had never known a life so filled with little kindnesses and quiet moments and warmth. The pleasure of someone saving the last slice of pie just for her. The courtesy of a held chair. The lilt of music on the evening breeze as she gazed, tired from her work, at the glitter of the stars above. And best of all, the gentle regard in Mr. Solo’s eyes as he thanked her for anything she did, no matter how small the task. For some reason, the things she did mattered to him. And her heart always fluttered now at the low rumble of his voice wrapping kindly around her name.

Used to be she hated the sound of her own name, because it was always Plutt shouting it. But now, it was either the cheerful sound of Robbie and Jimmy’s voices or Mr. Solo’s deep, thoughtful cadence when she heard it. It was like a homecoming, having her name again. She liked being this Rey in this place.

“Miss Rey?” Mr. Solo wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he walked toward the porch, smiling up at her in his usual way. “Would you like to inspect the pecan orchard with me?”

She brushed her hands off on the knees of her brown trousers and rose from the porch steps where she’d been sitting, gulping from a tin cup of water. Mr. Solo had been taking her around the farm more and more, showing her the fields, explaining the way things grew and the newer farming practices he read about in his agricultural journals. He was always wanting to make improvements, was Mr. Solo.

It’s the little changes that added up to something big, he’d said to her once, showing her a new design for a plough. Something as simple as a sharper plough blade could mean a better harvest.  

“Yes, sir,” she replied. She caught her straw hat from the step and planted it on her head as she bounded toward him.

He stood tall and broad shouldered, eyes crinkling as he saw her making haste. Her ankle had healed, and she moved like she’d lost time with all the sitting, no matter how Mr. Solo chided her to take it easy. But that wasn’t her nature.

And it wasn’t his, either. And anyway, that day they’d gone riding together, she’d made a promise to herself, to work for the goodness he believed in. If she saw a thing that needed doing, she did it. And if she saw a kindness she could share, she shared it.

She took a bucket of water out to the fellas wherever they worked so they could drink and splash cold water on their faces to cool off from the relentless summer heat. For Mr. Solo, she brought towels soaked in cool water that he could wind about his neck. And he’d been forgetful lately about his lunch pail, and she’d bring the dented tin thing to him out to him in the fields at least once a week.

They’d sit, as much in silence as idle talk, but he always asked her to stay a while and keep him company. And sometimes, as she braided the long grass while they listened to the breeze rustling the fine green corn, she’d catch him studying her, amusement making his eyes dance.

And there were days like this one, where he’d ask her to inspect a field with him or the hinges of a crooked door or an off-kilter wagon wheel. She didn’t know much about planting on the scale Solo managed it, but he always asked her opinion and nodded and listened carefully to her with a kind smile on his face as she’d share her thoughts. Like now, in the pecan orchard.

He strolled alongside her under the shade of the pecan trees, stopping periodically at a tree to circle it, looking for signs of disease or distress. He and the hands had already applied the fertilizer for the season on the trees.

“The trees are mature, so I have to think of thinning the orchard and making sure seedlings aren’t crowding things,” Mr. Solo said, doing his thinking out loud. He smiled back over his shoulder at her, his dimple carving deep on the side of his face that wasn’t split by the scar. “But for now, I think pruning some of these branches will do a world of good before the harvest this fall.”

She trailed after him, following the line of his shoulder to his arm as he reached up and grabbed one of the lower, thinner branches. Reedy new growth that looked frail compared to the solid old branches that arced gracefully across the sky or even next to Mr. Solo’s arm.

“Will you plant new trees?”

He chuckled, a warm sound that made her smile and lift her eyebrows in question.

“A pecan tree can live hundreds of years. Thinning will help ‘em do just that.”

Rey paused to approach a tree and touch its trunk, looking upward through the leaves and branches, admiring the height of it. It was so large already, and she couldn’t imagine how old it must be. It was an odd thought that this tree had been here long before her and would be long after her. Time was fleeting if you weren’t a pecan tree.

The tree trunk was warm under her hand, the bark rough, and she leaned in, breathing in the tree. It was somehow a deeper smell than the peach trees, vaguely nutty, but not. Funny how she had time for this now. And no time at all, given she wasn’t going to live as long as a pecan tree.

And heard Mr. Solo’s chuckle from just behind her. “Smelling the tree?”

Oh.

She blushed and turned around, pressing her back to the tree. “Well, I—I noticed it’s not quite the same as the peach trees. Never really took the time to appreciate it. Always too busy. Before.”

She dipped her head shyly, letting the brim of her hat hide her eyes. She must have looked odd, sniffing the tree like that, admittedly.

“I guess I heard that it’s good to stop and smell the roses. Now pecan trees…” he laughed again, a soft noise that brought heat to the back of her neck.

Rey heard a rustling and the gentle snap of leaves being pulled from the lower branches, and Solo’s heavy boots crunched as he closed the space between them, leaning against her tree as well. A good thing the tree was so sturdy, with a big man like Solo there.

He was so close, she could see the cinnamon and amber of his eyes, and the faint lines that separated him from a young man. But he also had the stillness of someone steady and content with who he was in life. The stillness Jimmy and Robbie didn’t yet have, goodhearted as they were.

“Here. Smell these leaves.” He crumpled the pecan leaves slightly in his big hand, then held it out to her, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She plucked the leaves from his hand and held them to her nose and inhaled. Sweet. Nutty, like freshly shelled pecans. And spicy, like black pepper.  It was lovely. She stroked her thumb over the waxy leaves and smiled up at him.

“That’s different from the peach leaves. You don’t think I’m silly to notice?”

She hoped not, she realized. She didn’t want Solo to think her silly. She wanted—well, she wasn’t sure entirely.

“Not at all.” His eyes crinkled and it was like watching the sun rise on his face, his smile was so broad. An answering bit of sunshine warmed her heart. “I think you’re right to take the time to enjoy it. Our world moves fast sometimes, and there are all these little joys. Including knowing what pecan leaves smell like. You deserve to know and enjoy whatever you like. Life can be sweet.”

Mr. Solo’s hand shifted, and for a moment, she thought he’d touch her cheek. But he turned abashed, color rising on his cheeks behind the silver and pepper scruff of a day’s beard growth. Instead, Solo gently tugged at her braid where it rested against her shoulder.

He cleared his throat, dropping his hand quickly, and looking away from her. “We best be getting back to the house. The fellas will be clamoring for supper.”

#

Midsummer brought heat. And rain. And more heat. The heat of the morning gave rise every day to towering clouds and rain at night, which was good for the fields but just about steamed Rey inside her skin every morning as she tended the garden and fed the chickens. Fortunately, they seemed to have caught up on general repairs, and now, aside from checking the progress of the crops and tending the animals and the garden, there were long days ahead of them with little to do.

Rey had found a bookshelf in the sitting parlor, and she’d picked a book at random, called Oliver Twist. Reading wasn’t her strong suit, not having spent altogether much time in school due, but with all this idleness, it wouldn’t hurt to try, as far as she figured. And so she’d set her mind to it, sitting on the steps of the porch, thumbing over the yellowed pages of the leather-bound volume.

The words were a jumble at first, but since there wasn’t a school marm cracking her knuckles with a ruler or making her write sums on the chalkboard, she had time to form the letters slowly and sound them through until she had words. And sentences. And a story about a little orphan boy taken in by thieves.

She thought she might could understand that. But she thought she might be a far sight more fortunate than Oliver in the company she kept now.

Solo would smile as he’d pass her by, but in the evening, when it was too dark to read outside, he’d play his fiddle. Sad, sweet, lilting songs that eased the thoughts and worries of the day. She’d close her eyes and think of the story, of the smell of pecan trees, of the sparkle of the stars and the slow, thoughtful smile on Mr. Solo’s face when he watched her idle in the garden in the late morning.

Jimmy and Robbie were the only noise, as they’d laugh and guffaw and play cards and read the newspaper together that Jimmy brought back each week from his journey into town. They liked the tales about horse thieves and cattle rustlers and Mr. Solo would smile at her, eyes teasing, from across the porch.

“Did you finish your book?” Jimmy asked abruptly, turning from Robbie and setting down the deck of playing cards. “Had your nose buried in it all week. Must have been some story.”

“Ah. Well. Yes, I did finish. Guess I’m a bit slow at reading,” Rey admitted sheepishly, opening her eyes. Solo was listening, his face carefully neutral, though she thought she saw him frown at that. Her heart sank a bit. “Learned my letters at school, but, you know—Plutt—”

“You don’t need to explain nothing, Miss Rey,” Robbie told her with a broad smile, and he brushed his blond hair out of his eyes. His smile was broad and friendly. “We just want you to come fishing with us tomorrow. Thought it’d be nice to have some trout for dinner, maybe hang some in the smoke house. There’s a good spot on the river that’s nice and cool.”

“Oh—” she said. “I’d like that—thank you.” The thought of cooling off a bit was appealing after all the heat. Even now, at night, she could feel the damp of the air on the back of her neck where her hair stuck to her skin. As nice as the evening breeze was, it wasn’t half as appealing as the cold water of the river.

“We’re sorry we haven’t asked you before,” Jimmy offered. Then with a sly look down the porch, he continued, “But you’ve been real busy doing things like going to the orchards and readin’ Solo’s books, making that sour lemonade of yours that someone insists is just fine, so—”

Robbie shoved his shoulder and laughed.

Rey blinked. What? Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. But before she had a chance to speak, Mr. Solo cleared his throat and set down his fiddle.

“You can borrow my fishing pole, Miss Rey. I’ll set it out for you in the morning.” His smile was faint, and then he raised an eyebrow at the fellas, his expression suddenly stern. “Mind your mischief.”

They snorted with laughter, doubling over. Rey had nothing to do but frown. She wasn’t sure what was so funny.

When they left for their bunkhouse, Robbie’s arm slung around Jimmy’s shoulders, they winked at Rey. “We’ll go after breakfast when the fish are jumping.”

And when Mr. Solo rose to set his fiddle back in its case, he turned a wry glance to her. “They’re restless sometimes, and it turns to mischief. I think they don’t know what to do with themselves on this farm when there’s little to do but wait for the harvest. They’re young and should, by rights, be out in the world. Just like you.”

She dusted off the seat of her trousers and followed Mr. Solo in the house as he turned down the lanterns and handed her the lamp she always carried to her room at night. “But it’s safe here for them,” she said softly. “And me.”

Solo paused, his expression contemplative. “It is safe. But perhaps it’s not enough when someone’s got so much life ahead.” But after a beat he laughed and ruffled his hand through his silvering hair. “Don’t mind me. Just watching you read that book this week—I was thinking there’s a lot of books in the world that need reading. And it occurred to me you’re just getting started. With everything.”

His footsteps were slow up the creaking farmhouse stairs.

“Maybe,” she said, frowning as she considered his words. “But it seems like there’s plenty of books right here.”

He smiled faintly at that and wished her a quiet goodnight at her door. As always.

#

Jimmy and Robbie were boisterous at breakfast, scooping grits out of the pot with relish and frying up the good pork sausage and eggs while Rey busied herself with packing a lunch for the three of them. Mr. Solo had stood in the kitchen doorway, eyes wide at the hive of activity when he was usually awake before the three of them and fixing breakfast.

“You sure you won’t come, Mr. Solo? What’s so pressing?” Jimmy asked, adding butter to the steaming grits on his plate and sprinkling everything liberally with salt and black pepper.

“Well, I need to see about marking out new space for the sheep I’m thinking of getting—wool market is looking fair, and—” he stopped when he realized the fellas were looking at him with bemused disapproval.

“It’s your spot. And a swim would do everyone good—” Robbie suggested brightly. He tugged Rey’s braid in his brotherly way. She batted at his hand and gave him a mock glare that made him laugh. “Finally cool down, because I’m tired of cooking in my shorts.”

“Mr. Cardo, mind your tongue. There’s a young lady present,” Mr. Solo said gruffly, marching to the table and holding out an empty chair and motioning for Rey to come and sit. She felt the subtle brush of his fingers against her shoulder blades as she scooted the chair forward. “I don’t want it said people are picking up poor manners here.”

“Sorry, Mr. Solo—” Robbie said. “But you have to admit it’s miserable hot. And you always used to come—”

He shook his head. “Not today. But the three of you should have fun.”

#

The water was icy. The fishing spot was spring-fed and the water was clear and blue and as cold as could be.

And of course, the moment she had her boots and hat off, Robbie and Jimmy had ambushed her and thrown her bodily into the spring.

“Time to cool down, Miss Rey!”

Her shriek only made them laugh harder when she surfaced, wet and certainly her fingers and toes were going to freeze through. But at least they jumped in, too, after peeling off their shirts and swinging from a rope tied high in one of the oak trees and splashing down beside her with a whoop of joy.

She paddled out of the way, spluttering. She was a good enough swimmer, but the cold was something. But at least she could say, for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t hot.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she groused, splashing them. “I would have jumped on my own.”

“You gonna tell on us to Mr. Solo?” Jimmy said with a laugh, splashing her back. He grinned and dunked himself briefly before emerging with a gasp and a shiver.

“No—” she wrinkled her nose at them. “You were just rough-housing. I can handle it.”

She tilted her head back to feel the cold water on her scalp. Heavenly. And the water was so clear, she could see her toes and beyond to the sandy bottom and the little blue fish darting from here to there in their erratic patterns.

“Mr. Solo showed us this place when we first came here,” Robbie explained, swimming idly. “We fish a bit further down, but this is the swimming hole. We like to cool down, then we can dry off while we fish… and maybe take a quick swim again before walking back to the farm.”

She could see why this was a favorite spot with the canopy of oak trees and the calm, crystal waters.

“I feel like my blood is ice water,” Rey said, turning to float on her back. “And damned if it doesn’t feel nice after all the heat.”

Jimmy and Robbie laughed heartily. “That’s salty language for a young lady.”

She groaned, closing her eyes against the dappled sunlight streaming through the leaves of the ancient oaks. “I’m more a farmhand than a lady, and you know it.”

Silence. She bobbed upright, brushing hair out of her face. The fellas were grinning at each other sidelong, enthralled in some silent conversation.

“Mr. Solo sees you as a lady first,” Jimmy said.

That was… she held her breath and went under. No. He wasn’t… Mr. Solo was such a fine gentleman, and he treated her so… warmly. Politely. Not like Plutt’s friends who leered and said rude things. Mr. Solo… he wasn’t like them. He was good. He was how men ought to be.

Rey surfaced with a gasp. As cold as the water was, she felt her face flame. “Mr. Solo says he thinks of you like sons… and I imagine that makes me like a daughter to him.”

They looked patently unimpressed with that assessment.

“I wish he had been my father,” Jimmy said. “He’s done more for me than that old bastard ever did. But… I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not fatherly.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Rey gawked with shock.

“You shouldn’t say that!” she declared, ignoring the fellas’ laughter as she splashed them in retaliation.

“I think he might be sweet on you,” Robbie said. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

He was just fooling. Of course. They only wanted to make her flush. Mr. Solo had said they were bored and feeling mischievous.

Their teasing was working, regardless, and she was surprised she didn’t set the whole spring to boiling with the heat of her face alone. She bobbed back up for air. “No—he’s… just very kind. And he’s just… he doesn’t have so many people to talk to, and I like to hear him talk,” she said quickly.

“He doesn’t take us on quiet walks in the orchards, or riding around on his horse,” Jimmy said playfully. He splashed water her way. “And he’s always watching you.”

“Maybe he thinks I’m gonna steal the silver,” Rey muttered defensively, turning her back on them. Wasn’t like he didn’t catch her thieving in the first place.

“Aw, c’mon, now. We thought you knew.” Robbie paddled around to face her, his eyes concerned. “Don’t be sore at us. It’s nothing bad. It’s just been real funny for us to watch Solo getting all flustered because fate dropped a pretty girl on his doorstep. He’s so composed. But around you, well… he’s different. He’s always lookin’ at you and makin’ a fuss, scolding us to be gentlemen. And he never forgot his lunch pail until you started bringin’ it to him. I think he just likes seeing your face at mid-day.”

That was—that wasn’t right. Mr. Solo was just busy running things and taking care of everybody and—she, she just wanted to care for him, too. She huffed, annoyed.

“I’d be dead if not for him,” she said with heat, glaring at them with as much force as she could muster.  “I don’t think we should talk about this. Mr. Solo’s a good man.”

They rolled their eyes, unoffended. “Alright, then. But we have eyes in our head, lil’ missy.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow at her. “Would it be so bad if he did care for you?”

Rey blushed and sunk beneath the surface of the water.  She wasn’t certain she knew what to do if what they said was true.

#

As the sun warmed her shoulders through the cotton of her work shirt, drying it thoroughly, she wondered how it could be that they saw so much, and she saw… she only saw Mr. Solo. His long, interesting face with the slightly crooked angles and the large brown eyes that reflected his quiet moods.

He was her rescuer and her friend and—oh, he did make her heart flutter. But she was a girl, and he was a grown man, and surely they were wrong. He only meant to do good in the world and help others. Like her. And Jimmy and Robbie.

Jimmy and Robbie dozed in the shade, enough fish caught for dinner and the smokehouse between their combined efforts. Rey smiled wryly watching them, the way their bodies curled toward each other instinctively. They were beautiful and young. Healthy and perfect.

Mr. Solo, he—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar whuff and snort of a horse, and she hopped to her feet, only to see Mr. Solo dismounting. He waved and dropped the reins as he ambled up, a slow smile creeping across his face as he took in her disheveled state. Bare feet, trousers rolled up to her knees, shirt untucked, and her hair straggled around her shoulders under her straw hat.

His expression was fond. Nothing more than that. She could see it as he approached.

“Are you going to come swimming?” she asked curiously. “Jimmy and Robbie said you used to come all the time with them.”

Maybe he was finally done with his work.

But Mr. Solo shook his head, a bemused glance from her to where the fellas napped in the shade. “I just wanted to see how you all were getting along. I figured you young people could use a day off from chores and even from me.”

“Why would I need a day away from you?” she blurted. Aside from his stubbornness about making her mind herself and rest when she was recovering, he was an easy man to be around.

Solo chuckled and looked at his boots briefly before grinning at her, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Is that flattery, Miss Rey?”

“No, sir, Mr. Solo,” she said earnestly, and his eyebrows jumped upward. She’d never say anything she didn’t mean. Not to him.

He must have found that funny, because he barked a deep laugh, throwing his head back. The fellas even stirred and poked their heads up with curious interest.

“Solo?” Jimmy called sleepily. “Are you swimming?”

“I’ve come to steal your fish so I can fry them up for supper,” Solo said instead, chuckling to himself as he glanced back at Rey. “And maybe I’ll steal Miss Rey if she’s had enough of your tomfoolery.”

She flushed at that, particularly as Jimmy and Robbie snorted with laughter and she could certainly feel their eyes on her back. She knew if she looked at them, their expressions would be smirksome.

Mr. Solo collected the wicker baskets containing the day’s catch, and he paused while Rey pulled on her socks and boots. She ignored Robbie’s wide, mirthful grin and waggling eyebrows and Jimmy’s barely restrained laughter as she kicked a rock at them, then stomped after Mr. Solo.

They tethered the baskets to the horse’s saddle and made for the farmhouse, walking side-by-side down the dusty path. Rey enjoyed the steady crunch of their boots over the ground and the heavy snorts of Mr. Solo’s horse plodding along with them. Even the hum of cicadas rising was a kind of music.

“Did you sort out where you want the sheep to go?” she asked, and Mr. Solo hummed in assent, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief as the sun did its worst to melt them into the ground. But after the swim, Rey still felt cooler, somehow, than she normally would.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Solo?” she asked, brushing the back of her hand against his knuckles.

Seemed that she startled him, and he shook his head giving her a quick smile. “’course it is. Sometimes I just worry that this place is lonely for you young people. This is when you’re supposed to be going to dances and church picnics and enjoying your time with other young people.” His smile was wry. “Not with a grumpy ol’ fella like me.”

She snorted. Mr. Solo wasn’t grumpy. And not half as old as he made out to be. Anyway, here at his farm, she had three people to talk to every day who were good to her.

“Jimmy goes to town every week—” Rey started. “And I can’t… and I suppose Robbie has his reasons.”

“He does.” Solo shook his head ruefully.

“We’re all of us free to go if we want,” she said, her forehead furrowing in thought. “I think… I think we have what we want here. Robbie and Jimmy, they have each other, and we all do honest work, and I have—” Rey shrugged. I have you, she wished she could say.

“And what about you, lil’ Miss?” he sighed and gave her a faint smile. “I’d hate to think your time here was keeping you from something special.”

Thick branches of the live oaks arced gracefully over the path that led up to the farmhouse, and Rey stopped abruptly. And she stared up at Mr. Solo. His face was half-shadowed by his hat, only leaving the unscarred side in the light.

“My time here is the most special thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said softly. “And I don’t miss what I never had, anyway.”

His eyes closed as if pained. “What you never had—” he repeated solemnly. “Sweetheart, that’s… that’s not alright. That’s why I worry for you.”

The gentle regret in his voice made her heart twist in alarm. He shouldn’t feel that way. It wasn’t… it wasn’t exactly what she meant. Some strange urge emboldened here, and Rey reached for Mr. Solo’s hand, curling hers around his. His fingers were long and calloused, the span of his hand large. These were gentle hands, but hands that worked hard.

Almost reflexively, his hand curled around hers, and he looked down at her face, solemn and tender. “You deserve more than a lonely farm and an old man for company.”

“You’re not so old.” It was a whisper, faint over the sound of the rustling leaves in the branches of the oak tree. He wasn’t. There was more black in his hair than silver. And he was strong and vital. And he had the calm of experience, too.

He searched her face, brown eyes avid as they traced her features. “No? Because I see a young girl in front of me with her whole life ahead of her. And I’m already set on my course.”

“What makes you think I’m not already set on mine?” The words were out of her mouth before she had time to swallow them, and her face flamed.

Solo dipped his chin, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “’spose there’s some truth to that. I just—I care for your happiness. More than my own, even.”

Oh.

Rey bit her lip and looked at the toes of her boots. Her heart beat hard against her ribcage as the realization washed over her. Jimmy and Robbie were right. And she… she felt warm from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

“I care for yours.” She glanced up at him shyly. “Are you… aiming to court me?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, and it was the first time she’d ever seen Mr. Solo less than certain. His ears were very pink, she noted.

“’spose that I am,” he finally said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And he laughed lightly, self-consciously. And it was the most charmed she’d ever been by him. “It’s been a long while since I went a-courtin’, but I think I can remember how.”

Shyly, hand-in-hand, they continued on their walk back to the farmhouse. And smiled secretly at one another as Robbie and Jimmy chattered through dinner, eating the fried fish and potatoes and beans and greens with their standard enthusiasm. They didn’t seem to notice anything had changed, and Rey delighted in the secret. It was just hers and Mr. Solo’s for now.

When Jimmy and Robbie left after helping wash up the dishes, Mr. Solo stood close on the porch, watching the stars with her. The stars glittered bright as the rise of cicadas hummed in the humid night.

And when Mr. Solo turned to her, his expression tender, Rey let him tilt her chin upward with a gentle caress of his index finger. He bent down, and, ever so lightly, Mr. Solo touched his lips to hers.

And Rey was sure the stars sang.

#

Chapter Text

#

It was cooler under the graceful branches of the oak tree than it was under the open, blue, sun-soaked sky.

Rey was starting to suspect that Mr. Solo was forgetting his lunch on purpose. Each time he feigned confusion when she would amble up the path through the fields north of the farmhouse. But after a moment, he would smile his slow, gentle smile he reserved just for her. Today was no different, and he’d taken his dented tin lunch pail from her, laughing at the way she arched an eyebrow at him in silent question.

“Guess I’m just forgetful in my old age,” he’d said, his brown eyes as dancing and lively as a young man’s. And then he’d given her a whiskery kiss on her cheek, the slightest brush of his lips against her skin enough to make her blush straight to her toes.

“I doubt that,” she said, enjoying the answering twinkle in his eye.

They sat under the ancient oak, in the quiet of the shade, cool blades of grass tickling her hands as she brushed over the lush green carpet absently. Mr. Solo ate with enthusiasm, always hungry after a long morning of work and chores. As easy as he was on her and the fellas, he never was easy on himself.

“Hmm. Don’t think I can finish all this. Take this peach,” he said, pulling the small, orangeypink fruit from the pail and extending it to her.

Another of his ways, she thought. His ways being the way he treated her as if she needed more caring than she gave herself, or the manners he thought due her, or perhaps it was just the way he was. Attentive. Caring.

Being courted was… Rey shook her head, trying to rattle the right words into it as she bit into the sweet velvety peach. It was like her belly was full of butterflies all the time. Not much had changed since the declaration a week prior. He was still Mr. Solo. She was still Miss Rey. But now she looked at him, and she let herself… well. She let herself enjoy the look of his broad shoulders. Just a bit.

She caught a bit of peach juice as it ran down her chin and licked her thumb. Somehow, Mr. Solo didn’t mind, just watched her while the color rose on his face, then back down at the last bits of his lunch.

“S’good,” she managed. “You out here much longer?”

“Think I’m done for the day. Too hot for anything else. But I think I’ll sit here a while under this tree and maybe daydream a bit.”

He leaned back against the tree trunk, dwarfed by its size, despite being as sturdy as an oak, himself. Like the pecan trees, this oak must be hundreds of years old. She’d even read a story, found on the shelves in the farmhouse parlor, about a thousand-year-old oak tree. It had seen wars and storms and fires. And still it stood. She liked that idea of perseverance and resilience. She thought Mr. Solo might know something about all that, too.

Maybe that’s why she liked him. At least, it was part of it.

“Can I sit with you?”

His smile spread across his face like warm afternoon sunshine, and he nodded for her to sit closer. Heart beating faster, Rey set aside her apple core and sat very near to Mr. Solo. Through the cotton of her shirt, she could feel the rough bark of the oak tree, and almost a hum of life. She sneaked a glance up at him and found his eyes sparkling as he gazed upon her.

“What are you going to daydream about, Miss Rey?” he asked teasingly.

She shrugged, her arm brushing against his. “Peach pie.”

He laughed, leaning his head back until his hat tipped over his eyes. “I could think about pie all day.”

“What do you daydream about?” she asked, nudging her knee against his.

His cheek twitched. “Horse thieves.”

She gasped and bumped her shoulder against him. Her face flamed. “You’re as bad as Jimmy and Robbie.”

But Mr. Solo just chuckled, his chest rumbling with it as he peeked from under the brim of his hat at her. There wasn’t a trace of remorse in his face. “I can’t let them do all the teasing now, can I? And maybe I like the way your cheeks turn pink and your eyes flash. I think maybe you need a little teasing.”

It was more than the heat of the afternoon making her flush, and she bowed her head as he laughed again. She wouldn’t have believed it that Mr. Solo had so much mischief in him a week ago. “I think you should tell me a story, or I’m going to go back to the house.”

“Hm.” He settled again, then hummed as if he were deciding whether to tell her some adventure from his youth, though they both knew he would. He always did. “You’re not tired of my stories?”

“No. I like hearing about the olden days,” she said, only for him to huff a laugh.

“I don’t think I told you about the time I stowed away in my father’s wagon when I was a boy.” She shook her head—he hadn’t. Solo patted her hand and smiled, just a little. “My uncle was a doctor, like I said. But he worried about the people out in the county who couldn’t come to town to see him. So, he made it his business to travel around and visit farmsteads and do any doctorin’ that needed to be done. And my father would often go with him for company, for protection. And if my uncle's patients couldn’t pay, he’d still give them the care they needed. And half the time, those folks, when they could come to town, they’d bring something to the house. A pound of butter. A jug of whiskey. My mother was real exasperated that time someone just left chickens on our front porch.”

Rey laughed. “How often would he go on these trips?”

“Every month, he’d spend a week on the road, going to a different part of the county. And goodness, I wanted to go with him. I was so proud of my father and my uncle, and I wanted to see him help all those people. So, one day, I hid in my father’s wagon when I knew they'd be leaving.”

“How old were you?” Rey asked curiously.

“Ten, I think. Old enough to know I’d get into trouble, but bold enough not to care. I rode for hours and hours in that wagon, and it was nightfall when he camped and found me. My father yelled at me something fierce, said my mother must be worried sick to death wondering where I was, but he’d traveled too far, and he’d have to bring me along, for good or ill.”

“What happened then?” She asked. “Did he—?” punish you, she started to ask.

Solo shook his head. “No, my father wasn’t that sort of man. Never saw him lift a hand to anyone or anything. I had to go along with him, that was all. He made me help my uncle. Had to set some bones with him. Had to watch as he changed bandages. It was the same as all the work he did in town. But I will admit, it was wonderful to spend that time with them.”

“Was your mother upset when you returned?”

He chuckled and pulled the hat from his head and set it on the ground. “I thought she’d catch fire; she was so livid with my father for not checking the wagon. Furious with me for leaving without a word. She forgave me, but a week without dessert was sore punishment for a young boy.”

Must be nice, to be raised by a mother who cared. And a real father. Rey studied the toes of her boots, considering, then smiled up at him.  “Did you ever go again?”

“Years later,” he said, and she saw his smile falter for a moment. “I was expected to keep to my studies so I could go to university and study medicine. I didn’t have any real interest, but when I was older, I asked to accompany my father again. I thought maybe helping him would give me the… the vocation I needed. I was also worried about his health. He was a good deal older than my mother, and he was turning frail. Could use someone to drive the wagon for him, really.”

“And that’s when…?” she asked, her words drifting. It must have been on one of those runs with his father when they’d come across robbers.

Solo's mouth twisted slightly, but he nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said, then laced her fingers with his.

“Oh, I’ve made my peace with it.” He studied the joining of their hands and smiled. “I suppose it set me on the course I’m on now. We make our choices in life. And then we live with them.”

She knew something of that. Or at least, she was learning. "Suppose we’re all running from something, one way or another.”

His thumb stroked over the back of her hand, and he met her eyes, warm as ever. “You suppose right.”

She settled more comfortably against his shoulder. The solid warmth of him, even on a hot summer afternoon, was a balm to her soul.

“I think you must be brave to leave all you knew to come here to farm. To pursue your own ideas, instead of doing what other people had decided for you.”

The wind crackled through the leaves of the oak tree, dappling them with sunlight, turning the day hazy and golden.

“No braver than you.”

That surprised her. She’d just endured her life until she couldn’t. It had never been a choice. She peeked up at him, her brows lifted in question. He didn’t mean that.

But perhaps he did. Because Mr. Solo simply dipped his head to touch the briefest of kisses to her lips.

His lips were soft. Gentle. And when he pulled away, his eyes crinkled at the corners. And she felt in her heart that this was the finest sight she’d ever seen—Mr. Solo, peaceful and tender with her. And she thought she might kiss him as well.

Rey shyly sat up and cupped his cheek, the seam of his scar brushing against the palm of her hand. And Mr. Solo stilled, eyes wide, and he scarcely breathed. And summoning the bravery he said she had, Rey kissed him. Slow. And careful. She hardly knew what to do. But Mr. Solo held steady for her, and he let her move her lips over his in one gentle graze, then another, until something within him broke and he pulled her roughly toward him.

His hands were at her waist, then at her back, and she could feel his breath escape shakily against her cheek before he kissed her like a man starved. His lips moved against hers almost clumsily in his eagerness, and she thought she felt him shiver.

Rey’s hands scrabbled at his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then curled tight in his thick, wavy, silvering black hair.

“Miss Rey,” he whispered, his deep voice low and husky. “Lovely, clever, brave Miss Rey.”

And he kissed her, firmly, until there were no thoughts in her head, only the taste of sweet summer peaches between them. Mr. Solo’s lips traveled to her cheeks, her jaw, her throat, as if he were mapping her, tasting the salt of her skin with a sigh that went through them both.

All his kisses had been wonderful. The gentle way he touched her hand. And the affection in his gaze.

But now, his touch was like kindling building in her soul.

They never heard the footsteps on the path.

But they did hear the whistle and the burst of amused laughter. The fellas. Rey and Mr. Solo pulled apart abruptly, faces red.

“We knew it!” Robbie called, guffawing and slapping his hat against his leg. “You two have been looking at each other soft-eyed for days, then you’d disappear for hours at a time.”

Rey put her hat back on her head and stood, dusting off her britches. She pointedly refused to meet the fellas’ eyes. Mr. Solo stood beside her and did the same, putting his wide-brimmed straw hat back on his head, covering his mussed hair with a sheepish smile.

She could feel Jimmy’s grin, even from twenty feet away. “Supper’s getting cold.”

“It’s not that late!” Rey finally managed, which made the Jimmy and Robbie snort until Mr. Solo gave them a stern glare. A glare that held little fire, for the fellas had no worry of Mr. Solo ever being harsh with them.

Mr. Solo turned to her and offered his hand.

“I’m afraid we’ve been found out,” he whispered solemnly.

“It was always a matter of time,” she said, swallowing the small laugh that bubbled in her chest.

She took his hand, and they collected the lunch pail, and amidst the boisterous teasing of Jimmy and Robbie, they returned to the rambling white farmhouse with the wide porch.

When she looked up at Mr. Solo, she found him already watching her, and as their eyes met, they laughed. She’d never dreamed life could be so sweet, and she thought that perhaps Mr. Solo hadn’t thought so, either.

It was good to be wrong.

#

Chapter Text

#

The horse’s hooves clopped steadily under the bright summer sun. It was as hot and hazy as ever, and Rey could feel the sweat trickling down her back. There was no sign of the heat breaking, and it was like the earth itself was perspiring.

“Sit up tall,” Mr. Solo called to her from the edge of the paddock, and Rey straightened her spine, eyes forward, and holding onto the horse’s reins so tight, she thought they might snap. “That’s it. You’re keeping a good seat now. A horse isn’t a rocking chair.”

It certainly wasn’t. The big chestnut mare walked at a fair clip, not overly concerned with Rey’s presence as it made its way around the ring, far more interested in the oats that Mr. Solo would provide eventually. She tried to relax her grip on the reins. Being this high was strange. Being alone on the hose stranger yet. But Mr. Solo had been confident that she could do this. The whole thing had been his idea.

She’d hesitated by the horse barn. The first time she’d been in there—well. She still felt ashamed of her desperation that night, months ago now. He was such a good man, and she would have done him wrong.

But Mr. Solo had taken her hand and assured her that he’d like nothing more than to teach her. His eyes had warmed like the sunrise when she’d slowly agreed.

“I don’t think Gertie likes me,” Rey said as she passed him by, smiling down at where he stood leaning against the wooden fence, his straw hat tipped low on his forehead.

At that pronouncement, he chuckled, warm and deep. “She does. Or she’d have thrown you straight into the next county.”

Comforting. Rey smiled to herself, then looked back to Mr. Solo for his next instruction. He scratched at the back of his neck, then came to some conclusion. “Give ‘er a nudge with your heels. Let’s pick up the pace.”

“Why’re you teaching me to ride, anyway?” she asked. Though she thought she might know. He liked to be with her. Show her as much of the world as he could, as it existed on this farm.

“Figured you should know how.”

“So I have an easier time stealing a horse in the future?” Rey asked playfully, giving Gertie a little kick that quickened her pace.

Mr. Solo’s smile spread wide on his face, and he looked down at his hands as his shoulders shook with laughter. “If that’s what you like.”

When Solo had seen enough and helped her from the horse’s back, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of her braid. As tender and gentle as ever, maybe more so, since they’d started courting.

Jimmy and Robbie were still amused, snorting and laughing and elbowing each other whenever they caught her watching Mr. Solo at work. Gazing, they said, tugging at her braid. She maintained she was just watching, in case he might need a hand.

Or maybe they laughed and teased because of the way Mr. Solo cupped her elbow when she sat in the chair he held for her every morning. Or maybe it was the way she blushed when Mr. Solo said he liked the ribbon in her hair--the green ribbon she heavily suspected he’d left for her purposely.

But they said nothing. Just smiled. And tugged her braid when they walked by. And teased her about her tart lemonade.

“Proud of you, lil’ miss,” Solo said softly, looking at her lips as if he might kiss her again even though Robbie was bound to be lurking about as Jimmy had gone to town. He didn’t kiss her to excess, being the gentleman that he was. But she thought he might like to. She found she might like him to, as well, like he had the week before, when they’d been caught under the ancient oak tree. And to think, before she knew him, she’d have slapped any man who tried. “You’ll be a fine horsewoman.”

She grinned. “Or maybe a fine horse thief.”

Mr. Solo laughed easily, happily, and he wrapped one strong arm around her waist. She was featherlight in his grasp as he lifted her, her boots kicking above the ground. He gave her a little spin there in the paddock as the horses watched, his own eyes crinkling in amusement.

“You can be whatever you like.”

#

“Mail!” Jimmy shouted, clambering up the steps of the farmhouse porch and into the kitchen, digging in the leather satchel he’d slung across his shoulder.

That perked Mr. Solo’s head right up from where he’d been peeling potatoes almost meditatively. “That right?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, setting a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string on the, and offered Mr. Solo a sealed envelope. Rey could see the red wax seal and the spidery script on the back, and she watched Solo’s face curiously.

His eyebrows knit, but he smiled after a moment, then put his peeling knife and the bowl of potatoes aside. “It’s from my mother. And it seems she sent more books.” He huffed a little laugh, tapping the heavy, rectangular, paper-wrapped bundle.

“Been a while since the last batch,” Jimmy said.

He set about putting down his satchel and rummaging in it. He was whistling. He always buzzed with energy after a trip to town. Full of gossip, carrying sundry newspapers and letters and whatever Mr. Solo and Robbie had requested.

“Well, I suppose she’s been busy with her work,” Mr. Solo said wryly, like there was something bitter on his tongue, just briefly, before he was himself again.

Rey leaned forward from the string beans she’d been snapping efficiently. She scarcely noticed Jimmy’s smile as he set her requested items next to her on the table.

“What kind of work does your mother do?” she asked, curious. What kind of mother must a man like Mr. Solo have had?

She knew his parents lived in Ohio, in a town called Oberlin, but beyond Mr. Solo’s hazy description of his father’s work, she wasn’t entirely sure who they were or what they did.

He looked up from the scribble on the envelope, blinking in surprise, his full lips parting. Then he must have remembered he’d never told her.

“Ah, well. She teaches. She prepares young ladies to enter the college there, and she keeps them as boarders.” He cleared his throat slightly. “She’s… well, she’s quite well-known for her political opinions, too. My grandmother was a learned woman, and if there’s anything my grandfather did well, it was to make sure his children had schooling.”

“There’s a school for ladies there?”

She’d heard of them. But it was something other women might do, city people, or wealthy women. She’d never met any woman who’d gone. And to think that a woman of his mother’s generation would have had even fewer opportunities. She must be quite a determined person, which figured, knowing her son. He was so steadfast and unwavering in all he did.

Mr. Solo smiled. “A college. For ladies and gentlemen. They attend school together. A lady may earn a degree there, just as a man might.”

Rey’s eyes rounded. “Really?”

Now that was something. And she realized, a little piece of hope in her heart crumpling slightly, that Mr. Solo was from that world of educated, refined women and possibilities. But just as quickly, defiance flared, bright and burning. That fire that had kept her warm throughout the years. At least she could fix a broken wagon axle and make herself useful. No one could say otherwise.

Solo’s head tilted in consideration. But before he spoke, Jimmy interrupted them by thumping down a brown paper parcel for her, as well.

“Here’s what you asked for. And the change—” he said, handing a crumpled bill and some coins back to her.

It was too much. She knew it was. And she raised her eyebrows at him. Jimmy only shrugged. “Mrs. Kanata said there was special pricing today.”

She doubted it. That Mrs. Kanata was a clever fox, though, and Rey unwrapped her parcel with anticipation. Her colored pencils were in a tidy little tin, packed against a small pad of drawing paper. A real frivolity, but she’d been eager for something to do in the long afternoons, especially when the thunderstorms rolled in. She’d never had much idle time at Plutt’s, but she’d scribbled and sketched a bit on scraps of paper when she could steal a minute to herself.

Her sketches weren’t much, really. Rough, unschooled little things. But she liked creating her little world right there on paper.

“Thanks, Jimmy. I hope it wasn’t too much of a nuisance waiting around the general store,” she said, running her fingertips over the tin and grinning up at him, then over to Mr. Solo. She’d been hoping the store carried the pencils. Never a given, this far out in the country, but she’d hoped.

“What do you have there?” Solo asked, peering down at her parcel with interest. “Didn’t know you fancied drawing.”

“Sometimes I get the urge. Something gets caught up inside my mind, and I like to put it on paper as best I can.”

A slow smile brightened Mr. Solo’s face, warmth deepening in his whiskey-colored eyes. “An artist. Well, I’ll be.”

Rey colored at the affectionate regard in his voice. She didn’t deserve accolades for her unschooled scribbles. “No. Not hardly. I never had lessons or anything. I just… I just like it, is all.”

She shrugged and set the parcel aside. She still had green beans to snap, then cook with onions and bacon. And the red on her face was burning hot as she returned to her work, avoiding Mr. Solo’s gaze. She hoped he didn’t get it in his mind that her drawings would be anything remarkable.

She felt his hand brush over hers. Warm and reassuring as ever.

“Will you show me later?”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Alright.”

#

“How am I supposed to draw you if you don’t hold still?” Rey scolded from across the porch.

Robbie laughed, all rosy-cheeked good humor. He’d posed for her by the flickering lantern on the porch, his long legs kicked in front of him and his straw hat tilted jauntily on his head. He was easy enough to draw with his even features, or he would be, if he would stop with his fidgeting and carrying on with Jimmy.

Jimmy’s portrait had turned out fine. She’d done him in profile, shading in his features neatly. He had a straight nose and a square jaw and burgeoning muttonchops on his handsome face. When she’d shown him her handiwork, he’d whistled his appreciation and tweaked her pigtail. He’d shared it straightaway with Mr. Solo, and his expression had softened, and he’d looked at her like her scribbles were actually something.

“Well, you already know what I look like, don’t you?” he teased, leaning against the porch railing. “You look at me every day over breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Maybe not half as much as you do your Mr. Solo, but you’ve seen me enough.”

She blushed and ignored his gentle jab. “Light’s different on the porch. And there’s seeing someone’s face and then there’s drawing someone’s face. Not the same.”

“Well, get on with it.”

“Why, you got someplace to go?” she said playfully. “Jimmy’s right here.”

And he was, playing a card game with Mr. Solo. And he’d hardly leave until Robbie’s portrait was done, and Robbie would hardly go anywhere that Jimmy wasn’t. She thought she could understand that, now that Mr. Solo was courting her. She never wanted to be anywhere she couldn’t see the interesting angles of his face or the deep dimples that formed half moons in his cheeks when he grinned at her.

“Fair ‘nough,” Robbie replied, settling back into half shadow, half light, the dark, starry sky framing his silhouette. He was as fair as Jimmy was dark, and his face boyish, but the shadow hinted at the man he was behind the youthful smile and the man he would grow to be.

Rey made quick work, finishing the sketch in shades of gray and blue, capturing the way Robbie’s sandy hair shagged around his head in waves. Jimmy was so pleased with it, he hugged Rey tight, then turned to kiss Robbie with fierce affection.

“Keepin’ this. Gonna buy a frame for it in town.”

The fellas beamed at one another, little secrets, the kind lovers had, she supposed, passing silently but brightly between them like fireflies. And after bidding her and Mr. Solo a goodnight, they all but stumbled down the path to their bunkhouse, holding hands.

Mr. Solo shook his head and chuckled, then brushed his knuckles against her cheek, soft as a whisper. His eyes crinkled fondly. “I think they’re pleased. And they should be. Your drawings are somethin’, sweetheart. I don’t think anyone’s ever given something like that to them before.”

“They’re just… it’s just what I taught myself. But I’m glad they like it.”

His lips quirked, amused as ever at what she said. Mr. Solo cupped her cheek and she felt warm to her toes, and then he dropped his hand to grasp hers. “Come upstairs with me. There’s something I think you might like.” His eyes shined with some spark of an idea. And her heart sparked with curiosity.

“Don’t you want me to draw you?” she asked, letting him lead her inside.

The screen door slammed shut behind them, closing away the hum of the cicadas and the rustle of the distant fields as the evening breeze cast the wheat and corn to swaying.

She did want to draw him. That prominent nose of his, and the irregular planes of his face, and the soft, generous lips. The thought of how soft sometimes made her flush, especially when she was alone in bed at night. And she wanted to trace the sharp jut of his jaw that she thought about kissing in her wilder moments when their lunchtime kisses grew fiercer than a rising tower of thunder clouds.

“Oh, maybe someday, Miss Rey,” he said ruefully. “If you really want to draw my scarred old face. Can’t imagine it’s a good use of your paper.”

She huffed. “’Course I want to draw you.” Ridiculous man. She climbed up the stairs after him, picking up her pace to match his longer stride. “I’ve already drawn Jimmy and Robbie. Might as well draw you, too. Anyway, I like your face.”

He laughed at her vehemence, turning at the top of the stairs to venture down the hallway. The oak floorboards were dark from age and layers of wax and covered with a faded, red-checkered runner that ran the length of the hall.

“Well, if that’s the case, I won’t deny you.”

Mr. Solo stopped at the end of the hall at the white wooden door that always remained closed. Storage, he’d once told her. A room she could leave off cleaning unless she was truly fussed for something to do on a rainy day.

But now, he twisted the ancient brass knob and swung open the door to reveal a room of furniture covered in dusty sheets. Cluttered and forgotten, it seemed. And a little lonely.

“I guess maybe this room does need some cleanin’. I’m so busy with the farm that I haven’t kept up with the house the way I should’ve. Too much to do sometimes. Ah well. Save it for a rainy day, I s’pose. Let’s see here,” he murmured to himself, his brow knitting in thought.

After a moment, he approached a tall bookcase and pulled the sheet from it. A cloud of dust erupted in the air, making Rey sneeze and Mr. Solo cough, until the air cleared again enough for her to see not just a bookcase, but that every shelf was filled with volumes.

Far more than were in the parlor downstairs. 

“Some of these are pretty old. Belonged to my grandfather and grandmother. Some are my mother’s and uncle’s. Some we—I—brought down from Ohio.” He said this last bit fondly, his deep voice rumbling around the words like the thought was precious to him. He brushed his finger over the spine of a book before tugging it from the shelf. “This is the one I thought of. With your drawings and all. Thought maybe, well, I don’t know. It’s a beautiful book, at any rate. Thought you should see it.”

He dusted off the cover and handed the volume to her. It was larger than most books, but like so many others in the house, bound in fine leather with lettering that was embossed gold. Audubon’s Birds of America.

She flipped it open, and her eyes widened. Drawings. Elegant in their simplicity, colored so delicately it was like she could see each feather. One after another. Great herons and hawks. Little finches. Each so precisely, neatly wrought, that it seemed impossible that a hand and pencil or paint had managed it.

“Mr. Solo—” she began, her eyes wide on a particularly lovely illustration of an egret. Words tangled uselessly around her tongue as she tried to express the marvel, the wonder at such beauty as the lantern light flickered across the ancient, yellowing pages of this book. These were just birds. But they weren’t just birds. Would that she could draw her whole world with this much delicacy and attention.

“You like it?” he asked, rubbing at the back of his neck briefly, his eyes hopeful in a way that plucked at her heart.

She nodded, her tongue still knotted. It was the finest thing she’d ever seen. She couldn’t fathom the value of this book. More than she’d earn in a year, probably.

“Keep it.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she gawked up at him. He couldn’t mean it. Even if they were courting. “It’s too nice.”

“And there’s finally someone in this house who can appreciate it.” Mr. Solo peered down at the page and the fine drawing of the egret. “The world is full of beauty, but not everyone has the patience to see it. But you do, I think. I’ve seen the way you smell the leaves and observe the world around you. And your drawings tonight—sweetheart, they’re something special.”

He didn’t let her protest. Mr. Solo bent his head, and slow as honey, kissed her. Like as much to keep her quiet while he considered his next words, though she didn’t mind the sweet press of his lips or the way his fingers hovered over her cheek like he was afraid to touch her.

His voice was as velvety soft as the leaf of a peach tree when next he spoke.

“You’re somethin’ special.”

#

Chapter Text

#

Rey peered over the edge of the hayloft, moving as careful and quiet as a little, brown barn mouse, not wanting to give herself away.

Mr. Solo was below, tending to the horses, mucking their stalls, and adding sweet-smelling fresh hay. It was hard work in the heat, and she could see his shirt turning dark with sweat beneath the straps of his suspenders. Each movement was accompanied by a huff of breath, and he stopped periodically to wipe his brow with a handkerchief he pulled from his back trousers pocket.

Jimmy and Robbie had offered to do this work today, but Mr. Solo had shaken his head with a little smile and sent them to do some fishing for supper. They hadn’t argued the point. A day by the creek in the shade was a far sight better than being in a hot barn.

At least up in the loft there was some ventilation, and it felt heavenly in the shadows. And there was the thrill, too, of watching Mr. Solo at work.

Rey enjoyed the way his broad shoulders flexed, and the long strides he took. He was beautiful, was Mr. Solo, though she knew he’d protest that description. He still hadn’t let her make a sketch of him, and so she’d given to these stolen moments where she’d follow him and watch and make study of his face and form.

She’d declined going with the fellas, having more than enough to do around the house and garden. But that work had been done before mid-day, leaving Rey to her pencils and sketchbook. And without a subject. Until she’d watched Mr. Solo amble to the water pump. Quick as anything, she’d slipped off the porch and into the barn and right up into the hayloft. And waited.

Though it was with a bit of a blush that she admitted to herself, that perhaps she just liked to look at the man, foolish as that notion was. But it was more than girlishness. She’d just… never really looked before. At any man. And now there was Mr. Solo, who made her heart beat so fast sometimes, her chest ached.

She was glad for it. Even working hard as he did, there was an easy grace in his movements. A grace that extended far beyond him. Even to the horses. A grace of spirit and strength that was all his own.

She hardly knew how she’d ever capture that in a sketch. It might be that she never did, but she’d surely keep trying.

He stroked their forelocks and whispered to them in his gentle, rumbling voice as they whickered in acknowledgement. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be as natural with them as he was, but he said it was just a matter of time. Rey thought it was only a matter of time before Gertie pitched her into the dirt of the paddock in a fit of spite.

Rey held her breath as Solo passed her by to the barn’s wide doors, then doubled back to claim his broad straw hat and place it on his head. He’d finished, then, she realized. And with mischief bubbling through her, light and joyful, that she could reach his hat if she just dipped her hand over the edge of the loft.

He walked by again, and deft as could be, Rey snatched the straw hat from his head.

Mr. Solo’s hands lifted immediately to his head, and he whirled around, startlement on his face.

“What the—” he started to say, then looked up. And his confusion turned to a slow, wide smile that hung crooked on his angular face. “Lil’ Missy, up to no good.”

She waggled his hat in the air, then pulled it back as he reached for it. Not that he was trying overly hard. Rey swallowed her laughter even though the effort made her cheeks hurt. “You seem to have lost your hat, Mr. Solo.”

“Seems to have been stolen,” he said mildly, tucking his hands into his pockets and grinning up at her. “Seems to be a problem for you.”

The devil. He still could make her blush with his teasing. Ignoring the heat in her face, she popped his hat on her head, then smiled down at him. “I found it. Fair and square.”

Mr. Solo chuckled, then rounded to where the ladder hooked to the edge of the loft. “Guess I’ll have to retrieve it.”

Rey scrambled to the edge of the loft to look down and watch as he grasped the ladder. As easy as he could swing himself into a horse’s saddle, he climbed the few feet up to the hay loft. He remained on the ladder, placing his hands on the flat of the loft.

His face had the shine of hard work on it, and she could smell the salt of his skin. In the heat, the scar that split his cheek was a deeper red than usual. It was, as always, such a vicious thing, and so at odds with the gentleness in Mr. Solo’s eyes. She knelt before him, close enough to touch, holding his hat over her heart.

Her heart thumped as the moment stilled and lingered, lazy as the dust motes dancing on the sunlight streaming through the barn doors.

“Well?” he asked softly, expression soft.

“I require payment for the return of your hat, Mr. Solo,” she said, scarcely above a whisper.

“The hat you stole?”

“The hat I found. I could use a reward.” She blushed furiously at her forwardness. There was some unnamed thing, some strange lark in her, and she was enjoying the way Mr. Solo’s eyes traveled her face and lingered on her lips.

They were courtin’, after all. He’d given her plenty of kisses. But here on this hot day after watching him secretly, she was near mad for need of his kiss.

“S’pose you could, missy.” He leaned forward, placing a hand on her waist. To steady himself, or to steady her, she didn’t know. And when she closed her eyes, Mr. Solo kissed her. It was softness and warmth. Tender as ever, even as she felt his hand tighten on her waist as he shifted closer to her. Sliding her closer to him so he could deepen the kiss.

Slowly, Rey slipped her arms about his neck, pulling him near to her until she could feel the size of him, against her, broad and firm. She knew she was tall for a woman, but when she was this near to Mr. Solo, she felt small. And safe. Rey sighed against his mouth, a sound that turned to laughter as she felt him begin to pull at his hat.

“No—” she began, holding fast and looking where his fingers brushed against hers.

“I’ve paid my fee,” he said quietly, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand, and pulling back slightly until there was space between them again. An oddly abashed look crossed his face, as if he were trying and succeeding in finding fault with himself. “And I’ve a mind to be careful with you, sweetheart. I know things aren’t exactly proper, what with you living unchaperoned in the house, and I’ve already taken liberties with you that maybe I ought not to have—”

She blinked. Liberties? She held fast to his hand. “No, Mr. Solo. You’ve been a gentleman, as far as I understand it,” she said. “And you haven’t taken anything from me. You’ve given me—” She squeezed his hand for emphasis. “You’ve given me so much. Please, I—”

Rey leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. She didn’t know how else to say it. When she finally pulled back, Mr. Solo’s face was flushed, and he looked at her tenderly. “You’re just… You don’t know the way of the world, Miss Rey. Maybe in some ways, but you’ve had no mother to guide you, and that does count for something, I think.”

“But you’re guiding me—”

He huffed, and he bowed his head, his thick silvering hair falling forward and obscuring the fine, strong features of his face. And his shoulders shook silently, until she realized he was laughing. At her. She frowned and sat down roughly amongst the hay.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“Lil’ miss—” he started, then peeked up at her, his eyes mirthful, even in their warmth. “I’m a man grown. And here I am, with a pretty little thing in a quiet hayloft, with not a soul around besides us two. And this same young woman is telling me that I’m guiding her, and suddenly, I’m feeling like a fox in a hen house. Sweetheart, you’re relying on me to do the right thing by you, and by God, I’m trying. But I’m a man and not a saint.”

He shifted slightly with indecision, and after a moment’s thought, Mr. Solo pulled himself up the last few rungs of the ladder and eased his body onto the loft. His body loomed large in the small space, but he knelt next to her.

“I’ve got no experience with saints or the rest of it,” she said. But her mind reeled back and tumbled over his words. “But I know a good man from a bad.” She’d lived with Plutt and his ilk, after all. And they’d never worried about doing right by her. Not for a moment. “If you wanted to do harm, you would have tried by now. And I would have given you what-for.”

She spoke the last quickly, severely, and Mr. Solo’s eyes lit with laughter. “I don’t doubt it. I don’t doubt you at all.”

He was a rare man, that Mr. Solo. Rey grinned, sheepish, and she watched as he leaned forward. She thought he’d reach for her, but instead shifted to recline comfortably against the hay. A bemused smile played across his full lips. “C’mere, young thing. It’s been years since I’ve been in a hayloft with a pretty girl.”

Mr. Solo patted the bit of hay next to him and lifted an eyebrow. He was almost boyish in his playfulness, honey-colored eyes bright. Rey settled next to him. She could feel the heat of him next to her and smell the clean, honest sweat of his labor. His feet, in their sturdy, scuffed work boots extended far past her own.

“How many years?” she asked, turning on her side to face him, and he did the same.

It was an odd thing, laying nearly nose to nose with him.

“Oooh. A lifetime ago.” His brow knit, and for a whisper of a second, she saw such sorrow in his face, that it sent a sliver of pain into her. But then it was gone, quicker than a flash of distant lightning, and he was smiling at her again. “But I remember it well. Important part of courtin’, as I recall.” He tugged at the braid that hung over her shoulder, all boyish mischief.

It made her want to laugh loud, to see him such.

“And what happens when courtin’ in a hayloft?” she asked teasingly. Though she had an idea. And the mischief in his eyes told her she wasn’t entirely wrong. She wondered how many girls he’d courted when he’d been a young man, before he’d become the grave, kind, gentle Mr. Solo that she knew now.

“Ooh, a bit of kissing when there’s time. Some cuddling. And I might feel the impulse to whisper sweet words.” He leaned closer until his forehead touched hers. “Got some for you now.”

Her cheeks twitched as she refrained from smiling. “Do you?”

He hummed slightly. “Mmhmm. Been meaning to tell you, you have the loveliest eyes. Green as leaves in some light, warm brown like whiskey in others. And dancing bits of gold when the sun is shining on you. I think about those eyes of yours a fair amount. When I wake. When I work. When I sleep—” Mr. Solo traced the curve of her jaw with his index finger. “Yes, lil missy, I think about these eyes of yours. They woke my heart from the moment I saw them. Felt like it had been sleeping a long time, and then there you were, with those pretty eyes.”

Her heart thumped, and she fought the urge to bury her face against his chest, no matter how sweaty he was. “Those are sweet words,” she said, inching toward him, though he placed his hand on her waist as if to slow her progress. “I got a few, too.”

His smile showed his uneven teeth. “I’m willing to hear a sweet word or two from a pretty girl,” he said softly, brushing the tenderest kiss against her lips.

“I like your whiskers,” she whispered. First words that came to mind.

And Mr. Solo laughed abruptly, and she was pleased to have surprised him. “My whiskers?” He stroked the hair above his lip and about his chin. “Why?”

“I like the silver. Silver in some places, but not everywhere. Catches the light. And with the dark patches, it’s… it’s real striking. Makes you seem a bit out of time. Not young. Not old. Just here. Like maybe you’ve always been. And I like that thought, that you’re always here.” Rey smiled and caressed her fingers over his cheek, feeling the rough of his peppery scruff. And she leaned forward to kiss him. “Those words pretty enough for you?”

In answer, he pressed a slow kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, and then to the side of her neck. Each kiss a bit whiskery. Perfectly whiskery.

Perfectly.

#

“I don’t know,” she muttered, sliding the paper across the table top to Robbie as the late afternoon sun dipped low and golden, illuminating the dense trees from behind and shimmering across the top of the wheat field like glittering water. “Doesn’t look hardly like the picture in the bird book.”

Robbie gave it his most scholarly looking assessment, pursing his lips, tilting the paper this way and that. “Looks like a bird. Why you trying to copy pictures, anyway? You draw birds pretty enough.”

Rey grumbled and pulled the paper back and gave him a scowl. “Trying new ways of drawing. Seeing what it’s like, is all.” Robbie shrugged and went back to peeling potatoes. “Audubon’s pencil work is more delicate, see? So I’m just trying to whisper my pencils on the paper, not scratch, and…” she sighed and frowned at her work and cradled her chin in her hands. “Maybe I should try drawing something else.”

Robbie dropped a peeled potato into the bowl, whistling slightly. “You could draw more pictures of Jimmy and me. Two most handsome fellas on the farm. We’d be good practice for you.” He winked at her, pushing the peels back from the table’s edge and reaching for another potato. “Unless you can get Solo to sit for you. I think if you asked him right, he would.”

Rey glanced toward the door. Mr. Solo had gone with Jimmy to the orchard, leaving her and Robbie here to prepare for dinner. She’d peeled her potatoes quick and snapped all the beans, too, but Robbie did like to spin a yarn, and it slowed him down some. So now she drew while Robbie talked.

“I’ve already drawn him. But I was gonna show it to him soon, to see if he likes it—”

“If you made it, he’ll like it,” Robbie said lightly. “He eats your awful pies, drinks your sour lemonade, and even thanked you for the crooked mending you did on his shirt.”

All true. And she wasn’t a natural at keeping house, that was also true. But she did her best, and all was tidy, and besides, she was better at repairing things and helping with the farm work. Plutt had barely had a house to keep, and Rey was working hard to learn how civilized folks lived. And Mr. Solo was always so blasted kind about everything.

She wasn’t sure she could take it if he were only being kind about the drawing she’d made of him by watching him when he was idling or working. Maybe she wouldn’t show him. Maybe she’d do more practice first. He’d given her so much, and she felt so tender toward him, that she wanted this drawing to be… to be special. To be right.

Plutt would have told her it was just a damn piece of paper and not worth a fig. Rey gritted her teeth, hating how thoughts of that cruel oaf still intruded on her peace. Mr. Solo would tell her to quiet her mind and remember that she was safe now.

Worlds safer.

When Jimmy and Robbie would leave after supper, some nights Mr. Solo would play his fiddle just for her, and some nights, she’d sit near to him and read from one of his fine books, slowly but carefully working her way through another story. And when the moon hung heavy, he’d touch her cheek and kiss her and send her up to bed, heart aching peculiarly.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, going back to her small pad of paper. She’d gone through nearly all of it and would have to ask Jimmy to fetch her more from the general store next time he went to town.

The screen door slammed open, and Mr. Solo’s broad, tall body filled the frame of the door. “Maybe what?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow. She straightened so quickly in her chair, that Robbie snorted with amusement. At least, until she kicked him under the table and he yelped.

Damnation. She wasn’t ready to tell Mr. Solo about her drawing. Not until it was perfect.

“I think I need some new things to draw. Try out some of these new pencil styles and all,” Rey said quickly. She closed her notepad and gathered up her colored pencils into their little tin case. It was about time to get supper started. The potatoes weren’t going to boil and mash themselves. And by the smell of the pot roast simmering on the stove, she knew it would be falling into juicy shreds any moment. “But that can wait until later.”

Robbie scraped all the potato peels into an empty bowl. “I’ll throw these to the hogs right quick, then come back to help cook.”

Robbie had decided that Rey needed close supervision and guidance in the kitchen. And fair enough that she learn better and not waste good food.

As soon as the door was closed behind Robbie, Mr. Solo rubbed at the back of his neck with his handkerchief. He was red-faced from the heat, looking a little worn, really, and he went to the pitcher to pour himself a glass of water straightaway. “Darn hot outside today, Missy. Glad you kept indoors. Too harsh out there for you.”

She snorted a little at that. He still treated her as something delicate even though by now he should know she was as hearty as an old badger. “I’d have been fine.”

As ever, Mr. Solo was unconvinced. Stubborn man.

Sweat dripped from the ends of his hair as he gulped one glass of water after another with relish. “If you want more books with pictures to study, you can help yourself to whatever’s in the storeroom upstairs,” he said tiredly, wiping again at his face. “Damn. I mean—darn. Shouldn’t be swearin’ in front of you.” His smile was sheepish. “Real sorry, sweetheart, some days the heat just gets to me. You’d think I’d be used to it by now after near twenty years here.”

“Sometimes it’s just hot enough you think hell bubbled up,” she quipped. “Maybe tomorrow’s a good day for a swim?”

She could see he liked that idea from the slow way his expression brightened and his attention turned from ruminations on the misery of heat. “Is that what you’d like?” he asked.

A shrug was all the answer he’d get. But Solo gave her that boyish grin that sent sparks flying all over her heart.

He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Robbie’s return. One long step carried him across the kitchen, and he planted a sweaty kiss on her. “Alright, sweetheart. We’ll take a picnic.”

#

Rey coughed as the cloud of dust billowed off the sheet when she pulled it from the bookcase. Everything looked so ghostly in the storage room, with the dust motes dancing in the sunlight, and the still quiet of the covered furniture. Generations of furniture, with some chairs so frail and delicate she could scarce imagine the people who would have sat on them. Someone with manners. Someone who barely let her back touch the back of the chair.

She’d read that once, that a lady never let her back touch a chair, that she maintained perfect posture always. Rey couldn’t fathom it—she was so damned tired by the end of some days, it was a miracle she didn’t just melt into the chair and become part of what made it.

It was another brutally hot day, but because the cows had broken a fence, there was no hope of swimming this morning, as Mr. Solo and the fellas were going to ride out and do repairs.

She’d wanted to go. After all, Rey could swing a hammer as well as any of them, but it was the far pasture closest to the Maynard property, and Maynard was a friend of Plutt. Solo wouldn’t take the risk of her being sighted, even though there’d been no whisper in town in weeks of where she might be.

Mexico. Chicago. Maybe even dead. No one knew or cared what happened to Rey beyond Solo and Jimmy and Robbie. But it would be a problem if they started caring all over again just because they noticed Solo’s new farmhand had braided pigtails down her back.

The bookcases were full of volumes and little figures made of porcelain. A shepherdess and her sheep. A pretty blue and white vase. And a few ancient daguerreotypes and carefully painted portraits of very stiff, frowning people. Some had more than a passing resemblance to Mr. Solo, with long faces and noses, and large brown eyes. His family, then. 

Maybe she’d try drawing them. Recreate the poses and expressions and the old timey fashions.

Her finger smeared the dust on one frame, then another, and she wondered at these people, and idly, if her own family had anything of the sort, whoever they might be. Was there some place she’d never known where there was a room full of dusty memories? Was she one of them?

Rey sat heavily on the floor and pulled a thick tome into her lap, then exchanged it when it didn’t have pictures she could try her hand at copying.

Time disappeared in the little room as Rey searched and explored and acquired a neat stack of volumes she could study more closely. She’d explored almost a whole shelf, when as she fumbled behind a stack of books, her fingers brushed against the carved wood of a box.

When she had it in her hands, she could see it was polished, stone-smooth in places, with whorls and whirls in others. Carefully crafted, really. As much art as an oil painting, like the one of the fruit bowl in Solo’s fancy, barely used sitting parlor downstairs.

Her fingers danced over the carved designs, enjoying the deep red finish. It was heavy, and as she settled it into her lap, she could feel objects sliding around. Likely more family mementos. Maybe ancient love letters. Maybe the favorite interesting bit of rock a young boy would find and secret away. She liked that idea, that she could find anything within.

Curious as a cat, Rey flipped the delicate brass latch at the front of the box, and she looked inside.

It was a box of wonders.

Delicate, onion-skin thin packets of letters, tied with green ribbon. Love letters? But perhaps not so ancient. A dried posy of flowers, the scent long gone, now brittle and faded and crumbling sadly. Rings, two of them, one large and one small. Just simple bands of gold, and she knew them for wedding bands.  

Her breath caught in her throat at the delicate loveliness of it all. She fumbled through the box and found a golden lock of hair, woven into an intricate braid, wound round and round into a woven loop. The hair was silky and fine, even now after the passage of twine. And after it, a lock of raven hair, similarly braided. The hair was coarser, but just as soft, with a wave to it where the odd hair strayed from the confines of its woven pattern.

Husband and wife.

This box contained love. She knew that. She could feel it in the purpose and pride in which the box had been crafted and the fragile contents. It felt like a thing of power, even if it were tinged with a sadness she couldn’t explain. She supposed they were long gone, these people.

At the bottom of the box, amidst the crumbling, dried petals of the posy, Rey’s fingers brushed over something small and hard.

A locket. It was golden, too, with vines etched all about the oval shape. Simple, elegant, with a chain to match. She could imagine the woman wearing this, with her golden hair and her long, slim fingers, the locket about her neck. Maybe she sat, straight-backed in one of the delicate chairs in this room, writing love letters at a small desk.

The thought make a smile pull at her cheeks.

Intrigued, wondering if the locket contained a picture of the woman’s husband, Rey carefully opened the tiny, fragile oval.

And her heart lodged firmly in her throat, solid enough that she could scarce breathe.

For the face she saw, it was Mr. Solo’s.

Years younger. Unscarred, even. Smooth, unlined. Unharmed. His expression was serious, but she thought she could see the humor and mobility about the wide mouth. The nose was the same. The lips were the same. His eyes were eager. Open. Untouched by life's pains.

Every feature she drank in. This man was a stranger. A familiar stranger. One she knew by heart, as he was now, down to the scatter of moles on his face and the exact topography of the scar that split his face.

But in this tiny locket, here was a man she didn’t know. Handsome, assuredly. With thick, dark hair that, as ever, barely concealed his ears.

She closed the locket, and she closed her eyes. The rush of her heartbeat filled her ears.

Mr. Solo had a wife. Maybe not now, but once. Someone he’d made vows to. Someone he’d loved, because she knew from the box alone, that this woman had been loved.

And all this time, he’d never told her.

Mr. Solo had a wife.

Rey took a breath to steady herself. That was fine. A man could have his secrets. But when she heard footsteps in the hall, she did not move.

She didn’t replace the items in the box.

Her hands were heavy, and her brain stumbled over the discovery. Of a secret wife.

She heard Mr. Solo’s steps stop short in the doorway of the storage room, and she knew he saw. She heard the intake of his breath, then silence.

And gruffly, his voice thickening as if each word were difficult to speak, “Please put that aside, Miss Rey.”

Her eyes pricked painfully with tears as she turned to him, and she felt foolish. Crying over something that didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Except he hadn’t told her. “You were married?”

He was staring at the toes of his boots, hands clenched so hard his knuckled showed white. She wished she could see his face, but he kept it from her, his jaw tight as if he were gritting himself against agony. “Yes.”

“But—” she began, not knowing where she was going.

“Put it aside, Miss Rey.”

The locket gleamed golden in her hand. And when she looked up at the doorway, Mr. Solo had gone.

#

Chapter Text

#

The kitchen was silent as the fellas ate, their forks clinking against the plates rhythmically when they weren’t exchanging significant glances, worry etched in their brows. Rey found she couldn’t eat a bite. As good as Jimmy’s mashed potatoes were, they tasted like ash in her mouth. After all, it was the second night in a row that Mr. Solo had claimed to feel poorly and too tired to be good company, before taking his supper plate up to his room.

His shoulders had seemed slack as if there were some weight pulling them down, and the easy humor was gone from his face, replaced with a solemnity she didn’t recognize in him. He was lost in himself.

Even this morning, before the sun had fully made its way into the sky, he had not lingered in the kitchen, wrapping bread and cheese and cured sausage into a bit of cloth before placing it in his dented lunch pail. He’d scarce looked at her as he’d told Jimmy and Robbie he’d be in the south fields this day, and not to expect him until late. But as he’d rushed out the door, he’d paused and glanced, quick and guilty, over his shoulder.

“Miss Rey,” his voice had rumbled, and he’d tipped his worn straw hat slightly.

He hadn’t gone without saying her name at least. But even so, it was the loneliest she’d ever felt. She’d been warm for months in the regard of her Mr. Solo’s kind, attentive affection, and now it may as well be the bottom of winter when the air cracked cold against her skin.

She’d come to rely on him when she’d never relied on anybody.

And now she was picking at her pole beans as they turned waxen and cold on her plate. She couldn’t bear the quiet. It’d be better if Mr. Solo just raged at her and told her he was angry she’d gone picking through his things. Instead, he acted so melancholy, and she supposed he must miss his wife, and maybe he was reminded of that pain, him being such a good and loving man, or maybe he was sorry to be courtin’ a girl who surely wasn’t as fine a lady, based on that elegant, spidery script on those delicate letters, and maybe he thought having her about was a mistake and—

“Missy,” Robbie repeated with a sigh, interrupting her thoughts. He nudged her foot with his own. “We’ve given it all the time we can, but you and Mr. Solo are so glum that it’s killin’ us.”

“What happened?” Jimmy asked, his eyebrows drawing together. “Did you quarrel?”

She shook her head and swallowed the lump in her throat. She wondered if they knew Mr. Solo’s secret. Or if they would think she’d stepped beyond what was proper for a nobody.

“No,” she managed after a second, hating how her voice wobbled along with her chin. “Not rightly, no.”

The fellas were quiet as they regarded each other, speaking the silent language of lovers who knew one another’s mind. Robbie tilted his head to the left. Jimmy’s tilted to the right. And they sighed in unison before turning their attention to her again.

“He… when we came here, some years ago, he’d have these moods,” Jimmy said quietly, leaning onto his forearms. His expression more somber than ever she’d seen it. “It’d come on him, and he’d be quiet for days, scarce a word. And after, he’d say it was just… sometimes he was thinking about things past, and sometimes it gave him the melancholy. He had a hard time of it, plain to see as the scar on his face, I s’pose.”

Robbie smiled faintly as he added, “But it passes. Hasn’t happened in more’n a year. And aside from the quiet… he’ll be fine. It’ll just be a few days, and he’ll be himself again.” Robbie reached across to touch Rey’s hand. “I don’t expect it has anything to do with you, then. You say you didn’t have words.”

It was impossible to have words with a man who wouldn’t talk to her. Rey felt a flare of frustration at that and shoved back from the table as her eyes pricked.

“He won’t hardly look at me,” she said stiffly, looking from Jimmy’s worried brown eyes to Robbie’s blue. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “One day he’s dotin’ on me, calling me his sweetheart, and the next he hasn’t got two words. I… I upset him, I think. Accidentally. But if he won’t talk to me, I can’t tell him I’m sorry.”

And she couldn’t ask him why he wouldn’t tell her about his wife, when she’d told him everything about her own meager existence before coming to this farm. It hardly seemed fair that he hadn’t shared this with her, when it all mattered to him so dearly, as far as she could tell. She recognized now the fierce, sudden flashes of grief in his face and the way he’d dance around talking about himself as a young man.

She felt sorrow for him. But it still didn’t stop the ache of being pushed from his confidence. She’d thought—well, she’d thought.

“Rey, what happened?” Jimmy asked again, scrubbing his hand over his face.

But it wasn’t her tale to tell. Fact was, she didn’t know enough about it. Or anything else, it seemed.

#

Mr. Solo kept his silence. And his distance. And Rey felt so low, she marveled she could go about feeding the chickens, tending the garden, and picking peaches in the orchard with Robbie. The fellas didn’t press her again, nor Mr. Solo, and as she’d watch him walk toward the fields each morning, tall and solitary, she’d try not to run after him.

He was polite with her. Nothing more. This morning he had asked how she’d slept, the strained politeness hollowing her out a little more, and she marveled that his politeness could feel so cruel when he’d always been so gentle. It hurt worse than any of the things Plutt used to yell at her, as she’d never cared overmuch for Plutt’s good opinion, anyway.

And as for talking to him, her tongue felt so leaden, she simply couldn’t. There were a thousand things to say and ask, but every time she looked into his somber face, the words would weigh her down until speech was an impossibility.

It wasn’t until after supper, when she’d lingered long enough in the kitchen to hear him coming down the stairs with his plate that she was alone with him again. Her heart beat faster, battering her fragile hope against her ribcage, just at his nearness.

He was unhappy. She could see it plainly in the way his hair hung limp about his face, and the slow way he moved, as if his will had dimmed. Even his whiskers seemed dull. Her gentle Mr. Solo was all shadows and sorrow.

“Mr. Solo, I’m sorry for poking about—” she began quickly, near knocking over her chair in her haste to rise. Flustered, she righted it while he paused, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the plate. “Honest, I was just looking for something to draw. Why’d you… why didn’t you tell me? I know you have—that you’ve done more living than me, and I s’pose I should have realized that maybe you’d had a wife, but I…”

The words stuck in her mouth until she could no longer speak, and she just gazed at him balefully. She reached her hand toward him in invitation.

He sighed and stepped past her to put his plate in the sink, and she dropped her hand, stung by the slight.

“Miss Rey—” he began, his voice rough after days of saying so little, and he directed a troubled glance her way, his dark eyes red-rimmed. “I’m—I can’t explain to you what a shock it was—seeing you there with Annie’s things—you so… pretty and bright with your whole life ahead of you, and knowing that I’m just--” he huffed. “It’s… hard to talk about.”

She blinked, not following. He was here now. He was talking now, at least, and she clung to that hope desperately. “Can you try?”

He sighed. But he did take a breath, taking the count of seconds to consider her request. And she stilled seeing some grim conclusion set itself stonily, wearily on his face.

“Sometimes there’s no room for anything but the grief. And you being here—it’s… it’s giving me some complications.” His jaw rolled as if there were more to say. His lips flattened, and finally, he turned to her, despondent. And his eyes were so full of yearning, it struck her soul like lightning. For… Annie? Only natural he should grieve a wife. She could honor that, if he’d just let her. Her fingers twitched with the urge to touch him. “I’m sorry, lil’ missy. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m just so…” He groaned and closed his eyes. “…so goddamn old, and you’re so goddamn young. I won’t steal your life away from you. Not the way I stole hers. I’d rather die, myself.”

He didn’t apologize for swearing. The silence spread between them, building a sturdy wall Rey didn’t know how to climb.

“But—” she began, her voice wobbling then ceasing.

Finally, Mr. Solo opened his eyes, and his beautiful brown eyes were empty of hope, like something tender he’d been nurturing had burned to ash. “Real sorry, sweetheart. I—we can talk more another day. I don’t know that I’ve got my thoughts in proper order. Sleep well.”

The realization dropped into her heart with the weight of an anvil, crushing everything in its path. He meant not to court her anymore. He couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Not that it mattered, either way.

Rey’s shoulders drooped just as his did, and she watched, wordless, as he strode out of the kitchen without a backward glance at her.

It was a pain so brisk, it just felt cold inside her chest, and Rey shuddered. She thought, all in all, she preferred when Plutt had shot her.

#

It was hours past midnight when she made up her mind. Sleep hadn’t found her, in her snug little bed, and she hadn’t found it, either. And she wasn’t going to, as long as she was in Mr. Solo’s house.

Rey packed her things carefully, rolling her few possessions into a small pack. Her paper and colored pencils, her sparse wardrobe, and her small billfold of money from the steady pay. She wasn’t sure how much she needed for a train ticket to Chicago, but if she went before dawn and laid low, odds were that Plutt or his wastrel friends would not notice her. With months of good food to fill out her frame and clean clothes, she looked altogether different. And anyway, with her hair tucked up under her hat, she’d be taken for a gawky young boy.

The door was silent as she carefully shut it behind her, the hinges well-oiled thanks to her maintenance, and the porch didn’t dare creak as she made her way across the expanse and down the steps.

He didn’t want her. And she couldn’t bear to be here if he didn’t. Not when he could cast her off so easily, without talking to her, without letting her know what was in his heart. Not when she would see the hayloft or the porch and think of all the sweet words and tender kisses and the soft laughter as they’d spend hour after hour together.

No.

She had to leave.

She’d make her way in the world, just as she’d planned before. She’d never planned to depend on anybody, anyhow. This time on Solo’s farm, that had been, well, it had been a fluke. She’d never had that kindness before, and she didn’t expect to have that kindness again.

The horses in the barn barely whickered as she slid through the shadows, familiar with her now. And after so many weeks of lessons, it was easy work to slide the bridle and bit into place on Gertie and saddle her. Gertie snorted slightly, her ears flicking back and forth, surprised at the early hour, but willing enough, Rey was pleased to find.

Maybe Gertie liked her after all. That thought, at least, made her smile, as she led the chestnut mare from the barn and mounted her.

“For the record,” Rey whispered to the horse, nudging her into a trot toward the path that led to the far reaches of Solo’s property and connected with the bigger road that rambled onward to town, “I’m just borrowing you for a bit. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Gertie exhaled a noisy snort.

She figured she could leave Gertie with Mrs. Kanata and sooner or later, Jimmy would be in town and could fetch the horse back.

In the dark, it was a longer ride than expected, for not even the moon dared show its face to light the way. It suited her inner gloom well enough. Only the rise of the cicadas humming their morning chorus told her the sunrise was soon to come, and she took a breath to steady herself.

She’d have to be careful in town, avoiding people, avoiding meeting their eyes. She wouldn’t be safe until the train left the depot, and she was damned hopeful there’d be a train quick, or she’d have to beg to hide in Mrs. Kanata’s storeroom.

Gertie’s hooves clopped down the dusty road, a rhythmic lull that near pulled her to sleep at times.

The sun rose, glowing with the golds and reds of a perfect summer peach. Hazy light filled the air, throwing the trees and fields of crops into shadows flickering with brilliance. It was still and peaceful, the world green and blue and gold and untroubled by the worries of humankind. She expected it would be another hot day, judging how the air felt heavy against her skin. As it was, her shirt was already sticking to her skin courtesy of the dawn humidity.

Rey drank from her canteen, then splashed water against the back of her neck to cool herself. The improvement was merely marginal.

She felt the vibration before she heard it. The rumble. It thundered from behind, from below, and after a moment of confusion, Rey realized it was the sound of hooves, louder and louder, coming fast. At this hour, nothing good could come of that. Rey guided Gertie off the path and nudged her to trot faster toward a copse of trees to hide.

But apparently, not fast enough.

“Rey!”

She froze in Gertie’s saddle and pulled the reins until the horse came to a stop. Was it?—it was. She would know that voice anywhere. Under water, even, she would bet. The sound of a horse near-flying over the road filled the air. Then the shout again.

“Rey! Stop!”

The shout was ragged, desperate, and she turned to see Mr. Solo, urging his horse faster. He was as sweaty as his horse, his shirt’s buttons askew, and his silvering mane of hair a wild mess around his face. Even the lovely morning glow, he looked drained, pale, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Perhaps he hadn’t. But no matter. He’d made himself clear enough.

“What are you doing here?” she asked defensively, watching warily as his horse slowed and left the road. Mr. Solo never left his property. Never. He’d told her once, with a faint smile, that it was because there wasn’t anything he needed beyond the edge of his land.

He pulled the reins, slowing his horse to a stop some feet from her. His brows drew together into a line of concern. And in his eyes, she could see the glimmer of the Mr. Solo she knew.

“You up and left—I know—I know I’ve been… not myself these last few days and last night, I was… I was feeling so low, Rey, and I said things that had been worrying at my soul. Sweetheart, I didn’t mean for you to run away when. I’d… I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” Mr. Solo dismounted his horse, dropping the reins to the ground. “Please, come home. Jimmy and Robbie are worried. It’s… if you want to go, we can send you off better’n this, but—” He gulped, throat bobbing with emotion. “Damnation, lil’ missy, I don’t want you anywhere but in my house. You’re my whole heart.”

His eyes blazed then as he approached her horse. Mr. Solo rounded Gertie’s side and stared up at her, his eyes shining with emotion.

“I didn’t want to leave—I just thought I should, since…” she began, hardly able to think for the way her heart had begun hammering at the sight of him so near. “You wouldn’t hardly look at me or talk to me for days, Mr. Solo. And then you said you didn’t want to steal my youth, and—I thought that meant you were done courtin’ me.” She felt her hands shake. “If you want me around, you have a funny way of showing it. I thought… I thought I was special to you. No one ever made me feel special before.”

He made a pained noise, something akin to getting kicked in the shin by Gertie and reached up to touch Rey’s hand.

“That’s why I’ve been so upset. C’mon, sweetheart, look at me.”

She couldn’t look anywhere else once her eyes met his.

“I’m real sorry about your wife,” she whispered. “But if you can’t court me because you’re still grieving, I can’t live under your roof. I can’t just be your farmhand."

The words slipped out before she had time to reason them over. But once said, she knew they were true. She couldn’t go back to doing chores and sitting politely next to him. Not when the sight of him made her heart leap for joy. Not when she loved him so.

“I don’t want you for a farmhand,” he muttered sternly. “Now come on down from there. Please. I… I owe you an apology for acting a fool and confusing you. And for not telling you sooner.” When she hesitated, he squeezed her hand. “I wronged you. I know it, and I regret it. But I’d like to explain, if you’ll let me.”

Earnestness softened the harsh corners of grief on his long, angular face, and he stared at her with such need, it changed his mien altogether. Rey knew every angle of his face. She’d sketched him again and again, capturing his sharp jaw, the planes of his face, and the lovely scatter of moles across his skin. But now there was a determination she’d not seen before. And she knew him for the best of men.

Rey nodded in assent and swung her leg over the saddle to dismount, only to find herself crushed against his chest as he hugged her close and kissed the top of her head.

“Thank goodness I found you,” he said, his voice roughening with emotion as he caressed her cheek. “I’ll tell you everything, sweetheart.”

#

Her name was Annie, Annie Baker, and she had been the daughter of his father’s oldest friend. Pretty and sweet-tempered, with a stubborn will to match the devil himself, and an equally intense love for music. If times had been different, she’d have studied piano back east.

They’d grown up together, she a few years younger, but they’d been everpresent in one another’s lives. His first kiss. His only sweetheart. And when he began his studies in college, everyone expected he’d become a physician like his Uncle Luke, and he and Annie would wed, and live in his family home until they’d built a house of their own.

“I’ve told you some of it,” Solo said quietly. They’d led their horses into the copse of trees, and they’d taken off their boots and sat in the tall, cool, shaded grass. “About my father. About my family’s expectations. When I admitted to her that I had no intention of becoming a physician, Annie still loved me. She said she’d be glad to be a farmer’s wife.”

Rey leaned against the rough bark of the live oak, content to listen to his story. Bryson’s voice always spun a web of dreams around her.

His voice was deep, resonant, as he spoke. “And after my father died, when my face was slashed open and I wasn’t sure what hurt more, my face or my heart, Annie was such a bright light that I knew all would be well. The scar on my face made everyone else recoil. Didn’t change a thing for her, but then, she wouldn’t be Annie if it had.”

Solo strummed his fingers through the tall grass. “She was sickly, though. Before he died, my father said she’d become consumptive and should go west for better air. But Annie didn’t want to be around strangers, and I was tired of disappointing my mother. I knew my grandfather had this farmland and an old house, so against everyone’s wishes but mine and Annie’s, we got married. Didn’t matter that we were only eighteen. Whatever time left Annie had, I selfishly wanted it for my own.”

Mr. Solo wet a handkerchief with water and dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead, then slung it across the back of his neck. Rey did the same.

“It was wonderful at first. The farm prospered quickly. And Annie bloomed in the sunshine as we put things to rights. We were only disappointed that we couldn’t bring her piano, and she had to settle for my grandmother’s little parlor piano until we could manage something better for her. By god, we were so happy. I’d play my violin, and she’d play her piano, and we’d talk about the future. About children, even, though we both knew she hadn’t the strength for that. She was so brightly hopeful. She didn’t want to rule anything out. Life is precious, as is love, and we should fill our hearts with both, she’d say."

"H-how long were you--?" Rey asked tentatively.

Ben understood her question and gave a rueful smile. "Three years. But our third winter here, Annie’s condition worsened. Nothing I did helped her. I sent for doctors, but they had no advice for me, either. Every day, she was weaker than before, until… well. Until. We had one day, a day that had started well, near to spring, with the sun shining and the birds singing, Annie looked right at me, and she said, 'Ben! Can you bring me to the piano? I think I might play some today.' She smiled so, and I said I would, but before I could do a thing, she was gone. And the look on her face was so content, because she was thinking of her music."

Rey's heart ached for him. For Annie. She could imagine the young man Ben Solo had been, and the sorrow that must have wrapped his heart.

“I buried her myself. I couldn’t bear to go to town. Couldn’t bear to have anyone touch her. I couldn’t bear to look at any of those folk and their pitying faces. I closed in on myself. Grief made me numb, and I was glad for it, because feeling anything at all was an impossibility. My uncle sent a letter, but he scolded me. Said I was to blame, because I hadn’t taken Annie west, and that I hadn’t followed everyone’s advice in not marrying her. I took years off her life, he said. I’d stolen her time out of selfishness.

“It was his grief that made him say such things. He’d known Annie her whole life. Had held her as a baby and watched her as she grew. She was the daughter he’d never had, he’d often say. And oh, he doted on her. So naturally, when we did not take his advice, he was angered. But the words cut deep. I still fear I did the wrong thing. That Annie had more years than what she had with me. And I buried it deep, all of it. The grief. The guilt. Felt like a part of me had died. But even so, I tried to live my life in a way that honored her.”

The despondency weighed at his shoulders again, and Mr. Solo frowned at the memory. He was a might more forgiving to his uncle than Rey felt at the moment. To be so cruel to a man grieving his wife was beyond her understanding.

“Annie did what she wanted,” Rey said softly, reaching her hand for Mr. Solo’s. “You said she was stubborn as the devil. Was anyone going to change her mind?”

He laughed wryly. “Not likely. But… that’s why I worry for you, sweetheart. Annie wasn’t much older than you when she passed. She was so young, and she didn’t get to live the long life she deserved. I know you aren’t in poor health, but you’re so terribly young, as well. I don’t want to take anything from you. Not dreams, not opportunities to do and see interesting things. I don’t want you to have regrets.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles in slow, reverent kisses. A gentleman paying court to his lady.

“I don’t have any regrets. I can think through my own choices well enough without blaming others,” she said, reaching to cup his cheek, and trailing the flat of her thumb over his scar. She couldn't fathom regrets with Mr. Solo. “I don’t think Annie had regrets, either.”

Mr. Solo stilled, and she watched as his brown eyes turned watery. “You haven’t had time for regret. And I certainly don’t want to be the cause of it, just because I’m selfish enough to admire a lovely girl like you. I meant it when I told you that you woke my heart that day in the barn. I hadn’t expected to feel that way again, and there you were. I apologize for not… for not being honest with you. For not sharing my feelings or my worries.”

Her heart ached for him. He was here. She’d doubted him, but he’d followed her. He was doing his best to make it right. A good man was not a perfect man, after all. But a good man always tried to do better.

Rey moved suddenly, and she pressed herself against Mr. Solo’s chest until his arms closed around her in a tight hug, and she settled onto his lap. His chest was wide and solid, and she could hear the steady, comforting thump of his heart as she nestled closer.

“I forgive you for. I think I can understand it,” Rey whispered, playing with the collar of his worn homespun work shirt. “And I’m sorry I ran away. I’m not… well, you know how it was with me, before the farm.” Mr. Solo nodded and he brushed a whiskery kiss against her forehead.

Rey hesitated, but the question burned too bright in her mind. “Would Annie have liked me? Aside from the fact that her husband is courting me?”

Mr. Solo huffed a laugh that shook her as he held her tighter in his arms. “She would have liked you very much. And I’ll have you know, I was given instruction not to be lonely. Annie was firm on that point.”

Rey smiled into his neck. Mr. Solo stroked light fingers down her back, humming contentedly.

He cleared his throat. “In fact, she told me to find another wife when the time was right.”

Her heart thumped into silence, and her breath caught. Oh—he—was. He didn’t mean that—

“Mr. Solo?” she asked, peeking up at his smiling face. Even through the exhaustion of his grief, his eyes shone with warmth. A warmth just for her.

“Might be best if you called me Ben,” he said quietly. “That is, if you’ll have me as a husband, Miss Rey.”

Her breath caught. And she felt sunshine in her very soul.

The words stumbled and scattered as she tried to fit them all in an orderly line, and his eyes crinkled as she blushed and laughed.

“I… yes. Yes, I will. Ben.”

#

Chapter Text

#

Jimmy and Robbie had come running toward the barn upon spotting them as Rey and Mr. Solo—Ben—had directed the horses down the path leading from the main road and through the fields toward the old farmhouse and the outlying buildings. The sun was heavy in the sky, tired after another day, Rey supposed, though she didn’t feel it. She wasn’t sure she’d ever sleep again, she felt so much joy bubbling in her heart.

And Ben had the slightest smile on his face, like he was amused with something. Like life had whispered a story in his ear, something a little unexpected, and his cheek would twitch with unshared words and laughter periodically when their conversation on the journey back would lull to silence.

Regardless, now in the farmyard, Jimmy and Robbie looked upon her with relief and concern, then immediately, as they reached for the reins and stomped about in their work boots with purpose, began to scold.

“You thought you were gonna run off without sayin’ goodbye?” Jimmy complained, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirtsleeve. “After everything?”

Robbie snorted. “After we showed you the best spots for swimming and let you use us for your drawin’ practice?”

“After we drank your terrible lemonade?”

The guffaw Robbie let out sent the chickens squabbling and running, even as Rey squawked in protest. She smacked his arm, glaring as he pretended to stagger from the blow. “My lemonade is not terrible! And I swear, it couldn’t be helped—I was—”

She had been heartbroken and stubborn, is what. But that didn’t need to be said now that things were so good. And anyway, the fellas were already laughing and helping her down from her horse and clapping Mr. Solo on the arm, as if they were best pleased to see him and her after so many hours from home. They’d taken their time in their return, now with things more settled.

“Everything we did for you, and you went and stole a horse anyway,” Jimmy mused in a tone that matched the bemused smirk on his face as his eyes traveled from her to Mr. Solo. He saw a lot, always had. And what he saw now made him grin. And she was sorry, then, for running without talking to him and Robbie. They’d always been good to her.

Ben chuckled in his affable way at Jimmy’s comment, the traitor.

“I didn’t steal Gertie. I just borrowed her,” Rey said, face pinking. Try to steal one darned horse… She tugged her hat lower as a shield from the teasing, knowing that wouldn’t stop them. “I swear.” She glowered and put her hands on her hips. “If I’d stolen her, Mr. Solo would have called the law on me.”

“Like he did before?” Robbie’s teasing blue eyes twinkled at her. “Doesn’t seem like he’s so good at callin’ the law where you’re concerned, missy.”

It felt so good to be home. Rey huffed and went to fetch her belongings from the saddle bag, that meager roll of clothes and drawing pencils, glancing sidelong at Ben to see if he’d be announcing their news. He seemed preoccupied, fussing with the saddle of his own horse as they all walked toward the barn. Perfectly content to leave her to the fellas’ teasing.

“The law doesn’t always get things right,” Ben mused idly, altogether pleased with himself. He pulled the battered hat from his head and wiped his brow, brown eyes twinkling merrily. And after a long pause, he reached to take Rey’s hand in his. “Decided to take matters into my own hands. Teach lil miss here a real lesson about thievin’ horses.”

She huffed, pretending annoyance. Hard to do, when life was this sweet. She ached for Annie, and for Ben, too. She was still turning over the story in her mind, but knowing she mattered was something else entirely. Rey was home, and the knowledge was bone deep. Her dreams had always been vague, but now they seemed solid and clear, with Ben at the center of them.

“What lesson?” Jimmy teased, sliding the saddle off Gertie before leading her into her stall in the barn.

Ben’s eyes held hers, and she nodded, the silent communication passing easily between them. And it was impossible to keep her cheeks from twitching with the urge to smile.

Ben cleared his throat a bit, and he shuffled his feet a bit against the straw and dirt of the barn floor, sheepish and boyish despite the silver of his whiskers. “Well, I figured if I married her, she might be willing to stay put and stop tryin’ to steal my horses. So I asked her if that might be something she’d fancy.”

Jimmy and Robbie stood stock-still, their mouths dropping open. “You’re—” Robbie started, a grin rising on his face. “Gettin’ married?”

“S’pose so,” Rey offered, twining her fingers through Ben’s. She ducked her head slightly, smiling at the scuffed toes of her boots. The boots Ben had bought for her that were as sturdy as he was. “Might help with my thievin’ ways.” Rey glanced up quickly, first at Ben, then to Jimmy and Robbie, who were beaming.

They paused for a second, then gave a whoop before gathering in to yank on her braids playfully and shake Ben’s hand.

“Knew you’d figure it out,” Robbie laughed. “Finally. Both of you, as stubborn as anything.”

“When’s the wedding?” Jimmy asked.

Rey’s eyes met Ben’s. That they had not discussed. But it occurred to her, looking at his grinning face and the warmth in his eyes, that maybe they shouldn’t wait. Life could be terribly short. Ben had told her enough about that already.

“Tomorrow,” Rey declared. Ben’s eyes crinkled at the corners at her pronouncement, but he didn’t protest. Rey grinned, lifting her chin as she spoke. “We’re getting married tomorrow.”

#

“You don’t mind?” she asked, as the wagon rumbled over the same dusty path the following morning, just shortly after dawn. The sky streaked ahead of them, orange and gold and blue, wisps of clouds patching shadow over the glory of the horizon. And as ever, the air swelled with humidity, making her hair stick to the back of her neck already. “Going to town? We could just have Jimmy fetch the preacher to us, and we can stay home.”

By his own accounting, Ben hadn’t been to town in years, preferring to keep to himself and mind his own business. But over dinner, Ben had announced that they’d go to town together, get a marriage license and rustle up the preacher. He’d chewed thoughtfully on the baked chicken, then nodded in approval at his own plan, even as Rey’s stomach had twisted nervously. Town was—well, she wasn’t sure what would happen should someone recognize her after all this time. It had been months, and she wasn’t as half-starved as she used to be, but Plutt could hold a grudge forever.

“We’ll go, too,” Robbie had said, startling Jimmy, whose eyebrows shot upward. Robbie wasn’t one for town, either. All the same, he turned to his partner, his voice firm. “I wanna see them hitched proper. They’ll need witnesses, too, to sign the register.”

Rey’s protest had been overruled by Robbie, who smiled at her and Ben, the set of his chin brooking no debate. “You deserve to have people who care about you around you. Both of you do.”

And so they were all in the wagon, enjoying an easy breakfast of thick country bread slathered with fresh butter and sweet summer peaches. She’d worn her better dress, which was better than getting married naked, she supposed, but Ben had worn his Sunday best, as he jokingly called it, neat trousers and a white shirt that would be wilted before they ever arrived.

Ben had hummed a little at her suggestion to turn back, then shook his head. “No. I want—” he paused, then glanced at her with a tender smile. It was so rare that he shared his wants. It made Rey turn her head and study him more closely. “I want everything done in the light of day. Call me old-fashioned, but a man wants to show the world his bride. I’m not one to leave doubt. And as for those who’d do you harm—there’s a rare man who will show his sins by light of day. You’re under my protection now, sweetheart. They may as well know. They want trouble with you, they’ll have a reckoning on their hands from me. And besides—” he shrugged, a light movement for such broad shoulders, “maybe it’s time to get reacquainted with the world. A pretty young wife shouldn’t be trapped on a farm. I want your world to be as big as it can be. As big as you want it, Miss Rey.”

She knew he meant it, too. She knew he’d never stop caring for her contentment or worrying that he was holding her back. Rey slipped closer to him on the wagon’s bench seat and wound her arm around his, careful not to disrupt his driving.

“My world’s bigger now than it ever was.” Acres bigger. Miles bigger. “You’re in it.”

He huffed slightly at that, then rolled his eyes at the sound of the snoring Robbie and Jimmy in the back of the wagon.

#

Town was a dusty, haphazard affair of clapboard buildings and a denser cluster of buildings made of brick. Even the roads were either clay or scattered cobblestone as if the effort paving had been adopted, forgotten, resumed, then abandoned altogether. And beyond all that, the city was growing. The clatter of construction, hammers and men shouting rose over the still sunshine of midmorning, drowning out the birds.

Jimmy and Robbie finally awoke and yawned and stretched, blinking and groaning about the discomfort of sleeping in a rolling wagon.

Compared to the descriptions of bigger cities she’d read about in Ben’s books, London, and Paris, places so unfathomable to her they might as well not exist, it wasn’t much of a town. Still, there was the train depot, a post office and bank, and a massive brick courthouse in the square. All around, the shops and businesses were industrious enough, judging by the presence of people going about their day.

Before that last awful night at Plutt’s farm, Rey had looked forward to the rare trips to town where she could look at the goods in Mrs. Kanata’s general store and peer into the shop windows. Plutt would disappear into the saloon, and she’d be free to roam and people watch.

Now, she tensed next to Mr. Solo—Ben, she corrected herself—and hoped no one knew her, not that anyone had ever looked twice at her before. A scrawny farmhand was of no consequence. She’d had no money to spend, nothing worth stealing, and no relations of any account. She’d been nobody at all. Except now, people looked.

Women paused and turned their heads, bonnets bobbing, and men slowed their steps to crane their necks, casually pulling handkerchiefs from their pockets to stop and mop at their brows, as if suddenly overcome by the morning heat.

“Solo!” A tall, lanky man with a hat pulled low over red hair waved his hand and walked to the edge of the promenade in front of the string of brick and clapboard shops across from the courthouse. “Well, I’ll be damned—the man himself!”

Ben slowed the horses to a stop and lifted a hand in greeting. His face showed wry surprise as the red-haired man approached. His face was narrow, and his eyes were pale, but his expression was friendly enough, Rey considered, as she sat still, folding her hands in her lap, trying to be as ladylike as she could in her old dress. She’d figure it would cause too much of a scandal if she wore her trousers, even if they were in better repair.

“Hux? Haven’t seen you since you came by to buy those peach seedlings from me in the spring. How are they faring? Get them in the ground alright?” Ben’s voice was easy and warm, and he shook Hux’s hand gladly. The other man was of an age with Ben, she could see now, with faint lines around his eyes, and some faded, silvering hair around his temples.

Jimmy and Robbie made sounds of greeting from the back of the wagon, and Rey offered a slight smile.

“They’re fine, growin’ strong, even in the heat. The children are excited, even though it’ll be years yet before we’ll get a pie’s worth off those trees. What are you doing in town? I thought you were married to your solitude, with eyes only for your fields.” Mr. Hux laughed slightly, then turned to the rest of the wagon’s occupants and tipped his hat cordially. “Brought your hands, I see. Everything alright back at the farm? You need help?”

His concern was so sincere, Rey had to blink. No one had ever offered help to Plutt, even that time his horse kicked him, and he fell in the street, writhing in pain. She supposed there was something about her Mr. Solo that recommended more regard.

“No, no. Just need to find a place to put my wagon, then I’ve got a bit of business at the courthouse. Nothin’ to worry about here. Some things, as it turns out, one must do in person. Preacher’s still in the parsonage, I assume? Got some business there, too.” Ben glanced quick at her, the corner of his mouth quirking.

“Well, he cleared the creek behind the church house of the water moccasins just this morning, so if you need to be rebaptized, you’re right in time.” Hux grinned, mischief on his face. “Pretty sure he got most of them. But the rest is up to the maker, I suppose. Any takers?”

Not in the slightest bit comforting.

“Ah, not today,” Ben chuckled. “Other things on my mind.” He lifted an eyebrow, and he looked down at Rey. His cheek twitched before he smiled as broad and bright as the sun itself. “Like marrying this little lady. Can I introduce you to Miss Rey Niima?”

Ben truly must not be worried about Plutt and his ilk. She swallowed her concern. If Mr. Solo was certain, she’d have to accept it.

Hux startled, then looked closer at her. His pale blue eyes widened as he looked from her face to Ben’s, then back again. Like he hadn’t considered it wholly possible. “O-oh! Of course, of course. So sorry I didn’t greet you properly before, ma’am,” he said, extending his hand to Rey to shake. “I thought—” He thought she was a farmhand. And likely too young and not grand enough for a gentleman like Mr. Solo. Or maybe he knew that Plutt wanted her dead. She smiled slightly. “Well, never you mind what I thought. Real pleased to meet you, Miss Rey.” His startlement faded, and he smiled sincerely. “About time someone came along and convinced this old fella to settle down. It’s been too long. Best wishes to you both.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hux.”

“Much appreciated, Hux. Now—I do have a question. Your wife—does she still have her storefront?” Mr. Solo asked.  

“Mrs. Hux surely does,” the man laughed. “You can leave your wagon and horses behind her store while you attend to your business today. Head on down main, then loop back down the service alley. I’ll let her know you’re coming.”

Rey looked at Ben in question, but he just smiled and shrugged.

Up to no good, she expected.

#

“No, no, that won’t do at all,” Mrs. Rose Hux said, shaking her head as Rey stood in front of her at the back of her dress shop. She’d divested her old dress, and Mrs. Hux was now circling her like a hawk, assessing her shift, her stockings, and the work boots she still wore for lack of anything else to put on her feet. “The boots—”

“They’re good boots,” Rey protested. “I can do all sorts of work in them—”

Only, instead of acquiescing, Mrs. Hux had laughed. “But today is your wedding, my dear.”

Ben had brought her to the door of the dress shop, and despite Rey’s protests that she required no fripperies for the day, he’d pressed some bank notes into Mrs. Hux’ hands and informed her to outfit his wife however she thought best. She as in Mrs. Hux, and not Rey, it was clear from his expression and the laughter in his eyes. Only his tender kiss on her forehead had quieted her. She’d grumble at him later. He’d taken Jimmy and Robbie with him to Mrs. Kanata’s store, the three of them whistling merrily.

The shop was a cacophony of colors and fabrics, with fashion periodicals scattered across the counter. Mrs. Rose Hux was prepared for any fashion requirements, with dresses so ornate Rey marveled at who might ever need such a thing to clothes that were straightforward and simple but made with quality fabrics, nevertheless.

There was something charming and fascinating about Mrs. Hux and the way she bustled around her store, pulling skirts and blouses and dresses from drawers and cupboards and closets. Rey rather liked her round face and the way her hair sparkled with a few strands of silver. The tiny woman was kind but stern, earnest but determined, and Rey found herself shuffled into a dressing room with new underthings. She could very well imagine Mr. Hux quite put in his place by such a lady.

“Put these on, and then I’ll let you argue at me some more, Miss Rey. Though don’t think you’re like to win.” The woman laughed gaily. “I’ve got some stays for you, too. They’ll make the dresses fit properly. Goodness—you found yourself quite a catch in Mr. Solo. He’s got the largest and most prosperous farm in this part of the state. I can tell he’s sweet on you. Real sweet.”

Rey battled to close the stays over her shift but managed, at last with a gasp. She’d be leaving these off while doing farm work. Ridiculous. She couldn’t be able to climb and help in the orchards at all with such nonsense on her person, let alone crawl about under the wagons to repair axles.

“I’m sweet on him, too.” May as well make that clear, after the funny look from Mr. Hux. Mrs. Hux, if she thought anything odd about their pairing, was far better at schooling her face. But as far as Rey could tell, she was only happy for them. “He’s… he’s been good to me. Saved my life.” Better than that. Ben was gentle. Kind. Loving. And when their eyes met, fire flooded her veins.

“Course he has. Mr. Solo’s not much for socializing, but I know from Mr. Hux that he’s got real character. Honest in business dealings, and hard-working, too. Maybe now with you about, he’ll feel more inclined to come to town. I heard once that he was a fair hand with the fiddle, though that was before I came here with Mr. Hux.”

Rey knew all that and smiled. “I admire him more than any person I’ve ever met.”

Mrs. Hux grinned, her eyes bright. “I’ll try not to take offense at that. Now, what’s your favorite color? No—I’m going to guess that it’s green. Am I right?” She barely waited for an answer, just the smile on Rey’s face. “Of course I’m right. I have just the dress for you. Mr. Solo’s going to swoon when he sees you in it, I promise you that.”

Rey gulped and surrendered to the whims of Mrs. Hux.

#

Four of them stood in the parlor of the tiny parsonage, Rey with her hand on Mr. Solo’s arm, Jimmie and Robbie alongside them. The dark, wood-paneled room was cramped, with ancient, overstuffed chairs and lace doilies covering every surface, as if a prior preacher’s wife had a particularly singular passion for crochet. The frills threatened to overtake the room entirely, Rey mused, if a stiff wind blew, creating a little tornado of fancy destruction.

But finally, the preacher made his appearance.

Pastor Mitaka didn’t look like a man bold enough to clear a baptismal pond of snakes, he was so sweaty and nervous-tempered, as he took to the small lectern in the parlor of the parsonage. His round face was waxy, and his hair was slicked to his head with far too much hair wax.

But regardless, he was the man who could see them wed.

And perhaps Ben had been right after all, about the new dress, because she knew in her heart, the moment the prim preacher’s wife stepped in, her tiny gold spectacles on the tip of her nose as she looked Rey over from the toes of her boots to the top of her head, that she would have felt like a scavenger waif, instead of like a bride.

Ben was finely turned out, having apparently purchased new things for himself and the fellas at Mrs. Kanata’s store. His shirt collar was crisper than she’d ever seen it, and the suspenders were new, a deep green that suited his coloring. His hair was combed neatly about his ears, and he looked as handsome as ever, sending her heart skipping wildly. Jimmy and Robbie were grinning in their new shirts, as well.

And Rey, well. Ben’s eyes had softened the moment she stepped out of Mrs. Hux’ shop in her new dress. The spring green skirt swished about her feet, her small, supple light brown ankle boots as dainty as her work boots weren’t. The ivory blouse had a ruffle along the front, the only adornment, and the matching green jacket had ivory piping along the cuff, too. It was smart and simple, and Mrs. Hux had quite convinced her it would be useful for socials. She’d never had a new dress, let alone a dress this fine. But the real joy was the way Ben had bowed gallantly.

“You’re a vision for my old eyes, Miss Rey,” he’d said, bending to kiss her hand with teasing, tender reverence.

She hoped the vision was worth it to him, because aside from this dress, because Ben had given the woman carte blanche, Mrs. Hux had wrapped a pile of parcels containing more practical blouses and skirts and shifts and thoroughly impractical frilly bits she’d said were for Mr. Solo’s eyes only. Rey had about turned into ashes on the spot, her face had flamed so fiercely at the suggestive waggle of the other woman’s eyebrows. She’d barely managed the words to ask Mrs. Hux for trousers, as well, in all the fluster. Special ones, tailored to a lady’s figure. Mrs. Hux had eagerly accepted the challenge, measuring Rey every which way, before letting her escape back to Mr. Solo.

But Ben was pleased, and Rey couldn’t remember ever feeling truly pretty before.

“Shall we?” Pastor Mitaka asked, motioning for Rey and Ben to stand before him. Ben had bought the marriage license already, and he’d given it to the preacher’s wife to hold during the ceremony.

They nodded, stepping closer to the lectern.

Mitaka cleared his throat for an interminably long time until all in the room winced and wondered after his health.

“We are gathered here today…” he began, then cleared his throat again and pulled at the collar of his shirt. “To join this man and this woman in the holy state of matrimony—”

Mr. Solo’s hand—Ben’s hand, she thought with a happy flush--came to cover her own where it rested on his arm. Warm, reassuring, and thoroughly Ben. His eyes met hers and he smiled, before looking back at the preacher, composed but for his eyes, which shone bright.

No brighter than hers.

The words of the ceremony washed over her, each one bringing her closer yet to Ben, and they recited their vows easily. His voice rumbled, precise and deep, over every syllable, and Rey felt just as steady. The rightness of it washed over her, as Ben slid the cool metal of the gold wedding band over the third finger of her left hand.

“I wed thee,” he stated quietly, as if there were no others in the room. “And I’ll honor you with my heart and soul for the entirety of my life.”

He closed his hands around hers, and Rey fought the urge to kiss his hands and kiss him.

“I wed thee,” she replied, her heart beating with such authority she figured the entire room could hear it. “And I’ll honor you with my heart and soul for the entirety of my life.”

Mitaka turned the page in his book of sermons, the paper crinkling slightly. “Then by the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The book closed. Ben and Rey stood, foolishly smiling at each other, unable to hear the words of congratulations from the preacher or his wife or even Jimmy and Robbie. There was only them.

There were congratulations. There must have been, but all Rey knew was, propriety be damned, Mr. Solo had pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight against his broad chest. His heart was pounding so fiercely, she could feel it against her cheek. Now only one more thing could make the day perfect. 

“Take me home, Mr. Solo,” she whispered quietly.

“Yes, Mrs. Solo.” He kissed the top of her head. “As you wish, Mrs. Solo.”

#

Chapter Text

#

Rey’s wedding band glinted bright and gold in the late afternoon sun as the wagon rumbled back down the red dirt road toward the Solo farm. She couldn’t help but stare at it, so lovely in its simplicity, just strong and good and straightforward as the man who sat so tall next to her on the wagon seat.

She was a married lady now, in a fine new dress, her hair caught up in an ornate twist, courtesy of Mrs. Hux, and boots that were better for dancing than mucking barn stalls.

How life had changed. She’d collected enough misfortune for a lifetime, she thought, each wound smarting on her body and soul. But now? She smiled to herself, leaning her head against his broad shoulder, swaying against him with the movement of the wagon. Now misfortune had turned to fortune. Her heart was whole, and she had a real home and family, things she’d never dared to dream about before.

She was loved. And she loved back.

“Hmm. Penny for your thoughts, missy,” Ben said with a warm smile as a lock of his hair, dark, but shot through with threads of silver, fell over his brow.

He’d been quiet for much of the ride home, though in good humor as he would periodically laugh as Jimmy and Robbie teased them unrelentingly for the better part of the trip. At their prompting, he’d admitted to being a fool for her, even kissing her soundly at one point to illustrate to the laughter and merriment of all.

“Just thinking that life is strange and wonderful.”

She felt his smile as he dropped another kiss to her temple, then flicked the reins, urging the horses faster. “It has its moments.”

Today had been more than a moment. It loomed large in her heart, and forever would. The thoroughly serious look of deep regard… so much more than that, really, as he’d slipped the ring onto her finger, had etched itself in her memory. Even the sour lemonade the preacher’s wife had offered as a refreshment was perfect. Mr. and Mrs. Hux had wished them well, waving from the town promenade as their wagon left, laden with packages from Mrs. Hux’ dress shop and Mrs. Kanata’s general store and even a basket packed with supper items.

And if Mrs. Hux had winked at Rey, Rey had pretended not to see it, only smiled and wished she wouldn’t blush so under the scrutiny of a woman who saw much. Mrs. Hux had a sly wit, and it was clear she had robust expectations for Rey’s marriage with Mr. Solo.

“I imagine you might be needing more forgiving dresses in a few months, if the glimmer in Mr. Solo’s eyes tells me anything,” Mrs. Hux had teased, adjusting the waistband of one skirt. “I wish you joy in the making. It can be remarkably satisfying.”

Rey had laughed, burying her face in her hands. But she was grateful for the woman’s easy humor. She hadn’t thought so far ahead about that. But it didn’t seem so terrible a thing, really. But part of her hoped for time with Ben, time for just the two of them. They’d only just found one another, after all.

But tonight—oh. Tonight meant she’d bed with Ben, and they’d do what married people do. The knowledge curled low in her belly, warm and eager, and she tried to still her thoughts. She wondered how it would be between them. Mr. Solo—Ben, she hastily reminded herself again—had this fire in him, and he was so tender and protective, and she wondered what it would be like to let their clothes fall away and touch—

“Hungry?” Ben asked, and she shook her head free of the thoughts before they brought flames to her face. “We’re almost home. I think there’s enough left in the basket to make a cold supper tonight after we check on the animals. Unless you’d like something warm, then I can—”

“No,” she cut in quickly, letting her fingers trace over the neat cuff of his new shirt. His wrist tensed, and he glanced down at her quick, something heated in his gaze. “You don’t need to go to any trouble. I’m… I’m not that hungry.”

Robbie snorted from the back of the wagon. “That’s hardly likely. I’ve seen you eat your supper, lil miss. Like a badger worried it’s gonna be her last meal.” He made some undignified snorting and snuffling noises.

“That’s not true,” she retorted, turning to glare at him for a second. It might actually be true. When she’d turned up at Solo’s farm, she’d been hungry and bony and had never seen such good food or so much in her life.

Jimmy laughed, and she heard him smack Robbie’s shoulder, and the fellas scuffled. “Leave her alone. You can’t tease her like that now that she’s a married lady. Mr. Solo’s gone and made her respectable.”

Ben hummed slightly, but his eyes shone with amusement, the lines in his face curving deeper with his slight smile. “Mrs. Solo was always respectable. And an appetite isn’t such a bad thing.”

#

The farmhouse and barn existed in a red and gold haze as the sun dipped below the horizon slowly, and Rey watched from the railing along the back porch as Ben and the fellas went to settle down the horses and tend to the animals for the night. The chickens squabbled and raced across the yard, excited to be fed.

“No work for you today, sweetheart,” Ben had whispered in her ear when she made to run for the house to change into her trousers. He’d caught her by the hand and brought her back to him, drawing her close enough that her skirts whispered against his legs. “We’ll manage.”

It rankled. She didn’t relish the idea of Ben and Jimmy and Robbie doing work while she idled. “But Ben—it’ll go so much faster with four of us, and really, I’m your helpmeet—isn’t that what a wife is? The preacher said—well, you were there.” She huffed and given him a bullish look. She saw no reason why she shouldn’t carry on as she always had.

He’d chuckled and caressed her cheek, fingers ghosting over her skin. Amused as ever with her, judging from the way the smile tugged faintly at the corners of his mouth. He understood her all too well, and it always delighted him, her determined way of living.

“Yes, lil miss. But there’s plenty of time for that. Maybe…” His warm, brown eyes twinkled down at her. “Maybe I think you’re too lovely right now to muss yourself. Maybe I think my pretty bride should enjoy her day. What do you think of that?”

He pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and Rey grumbled. This was just like him to sweeten her with soft words so he’d get his way. He knew she had no defenses for that. Never had. Her heart beat too fast, even as she wanted to disagree with him.

“I’ll make supper plates for us, then—do Jimmy and Robbie need supper?” Ha. He could consider himself outfoxed. She’d make herself useful yet. But Ben only laughed, closing his eyes briefly, as if savoring the contrary little miss he’d wed.

“They’ll eat at their bunkhouse tonight. Don’t worry about them.” His voice was firm.

Rey nodded, then reluctantly pulled away from Ben. “But—”

“Sweetheart, run along.” He brought his lips to her cheek, hovering achingly close to her skin. For some reason, Rey shivered, though goodness knew it was hot enough outside. “Take your pretty new things inside, and I’ll be right along soon enough. That supper plate sounds mighty fine.”

His lips touched her cheek then, warm and firm, and she leaned into him as much as she dare.

Jimmy whistled teasingly as he walked by carrying a water pail from the pump, and Rey pulled away from Ben, cheeks pinking.

Ben ruffled his hand through silvering hair that glinted in the last of the sun, and he gave Rey a long, glance, full of promise, before turning to follow Jimmy inside.

She felt the blood rush to the tips of her ears.

Oh.

#

It still felt a bit like trespassing, putting her things in Ben’s room—their room—few as they were. There was a whole chifforobe that was empty, and she expected that once, it had held Annie’s things. Her heart panged for that lost woman, for those precious hopes cut so short.

She traced her finger over wood so smooth it may as well have been glass.

“Thank you.” A whisper, a prayer, she wasn’t sure. But she’d taken so much, she thought someone should know she appreciated it.

The chifforobe was a massive cabinet of rich, dark mahogany, with carved, clawed feet and brass handles. For all its lack of use, Ben had tended this piece of furniture well. The wood had been regularly oiled, and it gleamed. The drawers were lined with paper patterned with printed doves, with small cedar blocks to keep away moths. Another beautiful thing from the past.

Her new blouses and skirts were sorted and hung carefully, and the new underthings fit neatly into the drawers, the stays and the drawers and shifts and stockings. Most were simple enough, but one shift was edged with lace so delicate on linen so sheer, Rey wondered at the use of the clothing at all. Seemed impractical to her, if one intended to crawl about and do farm work. Mrs. Hux had laughed at her expression but assured her that it would be useful enough one day. Rey was altogether unsure. It didn’t seem as if those garments would lend themselves to much durability.

Their supper had been quick and quiet after Ben had washed his hands, and gulped water down. The heat was still too much, even in late summer. It was odd not having Jimmy and Robbie around with their laughter and jokes filling the kitchen, though Mr. Solo was not humorless. He’d always been slower to talk, more considerate of his thoughts. Or perhaps, she realized, he simply enjoyed being present and feeling the warmth of companionship.

But sometimes, she’d catch him studying her, his gaze upon her lips as she spoke, or his knee would brush against hers under the table. It was funny how that brought so much heat to her skin, and he’d scarcely touched her. She wondered if he felt the same when she found herself in deep study of his face or his strong, long-fingered hands.

After their small supper, when she’d stood to retrieve their plates, he’d placed a hand on her wrist, and she felt a wild tension in him. Like corded energy unspent, ready to free itself. Would he kiss her now? Would he have her now?

The thought was equal parts thrilling and fearsome. She’d thought—she’d thought he would wait until they were in bed, and—then.

“I’ll take care of this. Just… if you like, I mean,” he’d started, then looked abashed, directing his gaze at the sturdy kitchen table, jaw rolling. “If you wish to settle down for the night, you--I imagine you’re tired, been a long day and all. Or if you want to go ahead and move your things—"

She exhaled slightly, relieved.

Move her things to his room, he meant. Theirs. Tonight, he would not hold the small lantern as they walked up the farmhouse stairs, then to the door of her small room. Tonight, he would not smile faintly at her in the hallway, nor would she go to sleep, clutching the patchwork quilt around herself for warmth, aching to be held, and thinking of the way he’d quietly bade her sleep well, letting the memory of his voice wrap around her.

“Alright,” she had told him quickly, covering his hand and smiling up at him. “I’ll do that. Move my things, that is. Shouldn’t take me too long.” She touched his face, then, cupping his cheek in the palm of her hand. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Ben had turned his face and pressed a soft kiss into her palm, and she watched as his shoulders lifted, then dropped as he sighed. It had been a long day for him as well. Her heart panged tenderly as she watched him. He worked so hard, too. He probably wanted nothing more than to close his eyes. “Just need to check on a few more things, sweetheart. I’ll come and find you in a bit.”

“Yes, Mr. Solo,” she said softly.

#

As the sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky shifted from lilac to dark blue to ink, Rey could see the stars glimmering above and the bright of the waxing moon. It was a perfect night. Even the breeze had turned gentle, and the curtains fluttered slightly. There was hardly need for the small lamp, but she kept it burning anyway, enjoying the orange glow.

Once her things were put away, Rey had stepped behind the tall, wooden privacy screen. It separated a small table with a blue and white porcelain pitcher and basin and fresh towels on a low rack from the large bed and dressers on the other side of the bedroom.

She’d stripped out of the jacket and unbuttoned her dress, hanging them carefully over the partition, each item of clothing more expensive and precious than anything she’d ever owned previously. Her petticoat was next, and her stays, and her stockings, until she was left in her shift and drawers.

The water from the pitcher felt cool against her face, and the small rose-scented soap that Ben must have purchased this very day was so pretty-smelling, it seemed a shame to wet it and use it up. Rey scrubbed her face, her neck, and her arms of the day’s sweat, then parted with her drawers and washed below as well, too. She’d taken a real bath last night, washed her hair, too, in the small steel tub. Even so, it had been a hot and dusty journey to town and back, and it was heavenly, washing off.

And with such fancy store-bought soap, too.

She had to laugh to herself while rinsing clean and patting herself dry with the rough cotton towel. Poor Rey Niima. Nobody. Now using soap so fine it had come on a train all the way from a city. These little delights were so odd to her, and she’d have to tell Ben she didn’t really need such things. She’d lived her whole life without them, after all. But still, she stood, sniffing the little soap with a pleased smile on her face before setting it aside in the small, porcelain dish.

Rey was unpinning her hair when there was a subtle knock on the bedroom door before the iron knob turned and Ben stepped inside, his face flushed, and the collar of his white shirt unbuttoned. She dropped the last of the pins and peered from behind the screen.

Oh. She smiled at him. Her husband, she thought, barely swallowing the giddy laugh that rose in her chest.

“Sorry it took so long, sweetheart,” he said, scruffing his hand through his hair. “Spend one day away, and the chores just—” He heaved a sigh and closed the door behind him, then sat in the chair just beside the door to pull off his boots. “They pile up, you find out that the pigs loosened a post in the pen, there’re some chickens missing.”

It occurred to Rey then, that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him with his boots off, and she stared down at his big feet, in knit socks, then back up at his face. Just feet, she told herself, laughing inwardly.

“If you’d let me help the way I should, you wouldn’t be so tired,” she said lightly, arching an eyebrow at him.

He groaned, then chuckled. As if he were in any way unfamiliar with her position on doing her fair share. He leaned back against the chair and gave her a slow smile. “No, ma’am, lil miss. No bride of mine works on her wedding day. Or the day after. It’s what I wish for you.” He rested his forearms on his knees and leaned forward. “Getting settled?”

She nodded. “Put all my things in the chifforobe. I just finished washing up. S’pose you want your turn.”

She looked at his feet again, realizing, rather later than she should have, that she wasn’t altogether sure how to go about this. While she understood the mechanics of coupling, she’d never done it. And they’d never really talked about it—Mr. Solo was so careful of her, never to overstep. And she felt her face flood with color. “Do you want me to get into the bed? And wait for you there?”

They both looked across the room at the massive, four-poster bed. It seemed to have grown since she’d first dipped behind the screen. She wondered if his grandparents had slept in that bed.

“I… if you like, sweetheart.” His lips twitched like he thought her a little funny. But his expression was tender, too. “You look like I’m going to pounce on you. If you’re not ready, Rey, I’ll wait until you are. It’ll be a might bit painful for me, sleeping beside such a pretty wife, but I’ll never touch you unless you wish it.”

“No, I want it. You, I mean,” she blurted. “I want to be your wife.” She remembered every one of the kisses he’d given her while courting. And she’d scarcely deny herself more of them.

“You already are.” His voice was gentle. “No other conditions apply, missy.” His brow furrowed in concern, and he motioned for her to come closer. “C’mere.”

But of course, she didn’t have anything but her shift on, a new one that Mrs. Hux had said was the fashion. Only knee length, and such delicate muslin, Rey could see the pink of her skin through it, let alone the darker pink of her nipples, and the dark triangle of hair at her mound. Even her arms were bare, and the tiny, pearly buttons were open at the neck of the loose garment. But she couldn’t very well hide from him, either.

She stepped out from behind the screen, and Ben’s breath audibly caught in his throat. His eyes moved over her from the loose hair waving about her shoulders, downward, lingering, then to her bare feet, and when his eyes met hers again, she could see the tips of his ears turning pink. He schooled his face into something he thought was neutral, but she knew him too well for that. She went to him, crossing the room quickly. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her before when he’d care for her after she’d collapsed in his barn.

“Maybe I will pounce on you,” he said after a moment, reaching for her hand, and then he laughed quietly. The chuckle eased her soul, and she laughed, too, letting him pull her closer and closer until she stood between his knees and could look down at his face. “There we go. You were worrying yourself. It’s as it ever was between us, sweetheart. You know I’m not gonna hurt you. What are you afraid of?”

She shook her head. “Not afraid, just… not sure I know what to do, I suppose. You’re a man, and married before, and maybe you want me to be a certain way, but I haven’t ever—”

“Oooh no, missy.” He interrupted her, his smile wry as he settled his hands about her waist. His hands were firm and warm through the muslin, and even so, his touch made her shiver as that warmth flooded through her. “You don’t have to be any way for me. Now, be honest, you do know what happens between a man and woman? I know there weren’t any other women around Plutt’s to explain…” his thumbs stroked over her hip bones soothingly, and Rey fought the urge to close her eyes.

All the same, his question made her laugh, and she told him, biting her lip and giving him a wry expression, “I grew up on a farm. I’ve seen plenty.”

There had been the disgusting things Plutt and his friends had said over the years, too, not that she wanted to mention it to Ben. It had been crass and ugly, but fairly descriptive, if repellant. But she didn’t think it would be hateful with Ben, no matter how foul Plutt’s descriptions had been.

Ben’s hands gentled on her as he tried not to laugh, but the corners of his eyes were crinkling with mirth. “It’s a bit different between people.”

“The animals seemed happy enough,” she retorted, hating being at a disadvantage.

“Well, perhaps that’s true.” He stroked slightly, caressing her through the shift. And she wondered if he were gentling her the way he did a spooked horse. It was working after a fashion, she mused. “But you’ll have to trust me, that between people, coupling is… it’s more than what barnyard animals do, sweetheart. It’s… it can be a real expression of how a person feels about another person. Loving. Like I love you.”

Her pulse jumped, and she nodded. She trusted him. He’d be a good teacher in this, too, like everything else.

“Then you’ll show me what to do?” she asked, her voice growing breathless as Ben’s hands slid upward to curl around her ribcage. “Tonight?”

He huffed and brought her closer still, his brown eyes, so beautifully flecked with amber, gazing up at her. “I’ll show you.”

#

Ben had been loathe to release her, drawing her onto his knee to nudge a kiss against her neck, but there had been the necessity of washing up. He’d brushed a slow, sweet kiss against her lips before rising, and she’d gone to the bed to wait while he disappeared behind the screen.

Rey sat on the edge, swinging her legs, and it felt like every nerve in her body was awake and eager as she listened to Ben splash water on himself while he performed his evening ablutions. She tried to distract herself by looking at the quilt underneath her, studying the design that reminded her of swirls of oak leaves drifting to the ground during autumn. It was so neatly stitched, she marveled that human hands could have managed it.

“That water feels mighty fine after a long day,” he said, rounding the partition, wiping his face with a towel. “Did you like the soap? I thought it might be nice to have somethin’ for you besides homemade—”

Rey was certain she’d never breathe again. And her heart had stuttered briefly as she gawked at Ben. He was—he’d left off his shirt. And, oh, he was a sight. His chest was broad and pale, dotted with a scatter of moles, and he looked strong. Even with the jagged scar that crossed his chest, following the same path as the scar on his face, and despite the puckered bullet scars in his side, he was impressive. She’d known he was tall and fit for his years. After all, he never struggled at all through any farm chore, and she’d seen how corded with muscles his forearms were, but he was—he was beautiful and sturdy and—Rey forced herself to take a breath. She knew her cheeks were pink.

“I thought it smelled nice,” she managed, as she watched him rub the towel against the back of his neck.

His suspenders dangled about his hips, and she could see—she tried not to stare, but she could see that his trousers were loosened, drooping low, as if he’d hastily pulled them on after finishing washing. And she could well see the trail of hair below his navel and how it traveled downward into—oh.

Mr. Solo—Ben—she cursed to herself, he was… he was a whole man. He was her man.

“You don’t have to go to so much trouble for me, though,” she said, forcing her eyes back up to his. “I just wanted to be married to you. I don’t need fancy soap.”

He didn’t reply. Not straightaway. He turned to hang his towel over the partition, and she saw the long, sleek line of his back, the way his shoulder muscles flexed with his movement and oh—the dimpled hollow of his back before the curve of his backside.

He was beautiful.

“Did you like it?”

“Well, yes—”

“Then you’ll have your soap, sweetheart. I’m not the wealthiest man in the world, but there are things…” he huffed and turned around, looking at her sternly, if fondly, “There are things I want you to have. Things you deserve, that are nice, just because they please you. It makes me proud to see my wife pampered a bit, especially knowing no one’s ever done it before. You’re not a farmhand anymore.”

He strode toward her to where she sat on the edge of the broad bed. She tilted her chin up at his towering form, trying not to think on how near and how she’d like to touch his skin to see if it was as warm as hers.  “But I’ll still help. I love this farm, and I won’t sit idle and be lazy.”

“’course you’ll still help. I need your help,” he said gently, stroking her hair, his expression softening. “You’re so clever at fixing things that I don’t know what I’d do without you. But you’re my wife now, too. And that means you’re gonna have to suffer a little bit of spoiling. Think you can bear that, if only for my sake?”

His fingers brushed against her cheek, and he held her gaze. It was hard to disagree with him when he was so near and so warm and his voice was so tender.

“I’ll try.”

A wry little laugh. As if her reply was to be expected. And slowly, Ben leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You don’t know how lovely you are in that pretty shift. Mrs. Hux choose it for you?”

Rey nodded, sighing slightly as he let his lips move to her cheek, featherlight, then to her brows, as if he’d explore the whole of her face with his lips until he reached her mouth. Crooking a finger under her chin, he held her steady as he kissed her soundly, until her hands shot forward to grasp his arms for balance.

“Mmm. Well, it’s real pretty,” he murmured, stroking her jaw with his thumb in slow motions.

“She said—” Rey caught her breath, then boldly urged him down again for another kiss. She knew kissing. Ben had schooled her well in this already. “She said it would ignite your passion.”

Ben froze, then laughed, cupping her face between his big hands. “I think my passion’s just fine. But I do send her my deepest gratitude.”

He then looked down at the shift quite more pointedly than before, his eyes roving over the small swells of her breasts, and she could see the devilishness in his expression. He stepped closer, and she had no choice but to let him stand between her knees, her shift spanning her thighs, as he gazed down at her, and she thought for a split second, he looked like he wanted to bite her. Just a bit.

That thought alone sent a ripple down her spine. The longer he stared at her in the quiet of this bedroom, feeling the heat of him as he stood so close, she couldn’t help but squirm slightly.

“It’s hardly decent, and it’s not at all practical,” Rey said lightly, and she brought her fingers up to skim the little pearly buttons at her throat. “Could tear easy.”

“S’pose it could, being so delicate.” Ben’s hands slid, whispering over her skin, tracing the curve of her neck to the round of her shoulders. His fingers brushed against the thin muslin and found their way to the dainty pintucks at the shoulders, then to those very buttons. “Wouldn’t take much at all to rip this pretty shift, I think.” He twisted his fingers into the fabric slowly, gently, and Rey held her breath. “It’s a good thing I’m a gentle man.”

He released the fabric, and he grazed the buttons instead, his expression inscrutable. His eyes met hers, in silent question, and Rey dipped her chin in assent, then watched as he undid one tiny button after another with precise delicacy. For such a big man, he was nimble. Though his neat-handedness shouldn’t surprise her anymore, truly, she thought.

The fabric parted, and she could have sworn she heard a hitch in Ben’s breath. There was certainly a hitch in hers as he eased the shift off her shoulders. Emboldened, Rey slipped her arms from the garment and let it puddle about her hips, baring herself from the waist up. She ignored the flush in her cheeks—this was—it felt right. Maybe she was shameless, but she didn’t care. She needed more.

Rey captured his hand between hers and brought it to her chest, pressing it over her heart.

That helped. It always helped when he touched her. It calmed something in her soul, that part of her that had never had enough her whole damned life.

“My heart’s beating so fast already.”

His hand near covered her breast, fingers easily reaching her shoulder where the puckered scar from her bullet wound had healed, pink and shiny. “Mm, I see that it is.” He cupped her breast and studiously brushed his thumb back and forth across her nipple until it pulled into a taut peak. Rey bit her lip as she looked up at him.

“The scar doesn’t look too bad, does it? You don’t mind it?”

“I only mind that you got it, not that you have it.” Ben moved to grasp her by the hips, and as if she weighed nothing at all, he lifted her and shifted her further onto the bed. The mattress creaked as  Rey let herself fall back onto the quilt. “Don’t see you complaining about any of mine.”

She never would. His wounds must have been fearsome, but she was only sorry for the pain. They were part of him now. A person couldn’t help their scars. Lord knew she had plenty. A faint line on her cheek. A scar on her arm. A deep, twisted scar on her leg from a mishap with a pitchfork. But she’d survived it all.

“Never occurred to me to complain,” Rey teased. “I was too busy arguing with you about earning my keep.”

“Lord knows that’s the truth. Quarrelsome, stubborn little creature,” he grumbled playfully, watching her from the edge of the bed. He leaned forward, planting his hands on the mattress, and his jaw rolled, something flirtatious in the way his mouth moved, and in the glint of his dark eyes. “May I join you in bed, Mrs. Solo? I believe you asked me to show you a thing or two.”

So he’d do it now, then. Rey nodded quickly and looked up at the painted ceiling above the four poster bed. And she folded her hands across her middle as she felt the mattress dip from his weight as he climbed next to her, then reclined. She felt his hand cover hers, then his mouth at her neck.

Heavenly. His lips moved slow and sweet, and Ben took his time traveling from her jaw downward until she felt his teeth grazing her collarbone. He chuckled as she exhaled sharply. “You can touch me, too, sweetheart,” he murmured, sucking a small bruise just below her clavicle. “I won’t bite ya. Unless you want me, too, of course. Bet you’re sweet after all that time in the orchard, sneaking peaches when you’re supposed to be picking.”

Oh, he’d seen that—of course he had—Rey laughed and stroked her fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and silky the peppery waves were, and smiling as he groaned with pleasure as she scratched his scalp. “Only one way to find out, Mr. Solo.”

He grazed her collarbone with his teeth. “Mmm. I was right. Sweet little peach.”

She tugged on his hair, and he huffed against her skin, planting a string of wet kisses down to her breasts. “Sweet there, too?”

In response, his lips closed around one peak and he suckled, a low growl in his throat as his hand slid to grip her waist. Rey gasped at the sensation, arching upward, but held firm and steady, pinned precisely where Ben wanted her. It was strange how she felt, like melting like butter on the skillet, but with the pops and starts and sizzle as her nerves remained on edge. Maybe it wasn’t like barn animals.

But oh—as his tongue circled one nipple, then the other, she thought she could live like this.

“So sweet,” he finally managed, voice pitched so low it gave her shivers down to her toes. “Can I touch you? Here?”

He pressed a kiss between her breasts, and his hand slid from her waist to her belly. Then lower. Then lower still, until she felt him cup her mound. Something within her clenched at the sensation, of his palm covering her, the only thing separating them the gossamer thin fabric of her shift.

And she’d give anything to shred it from her body. Rey stirred, her hands sliding to his broad shoulders, and she knew he could feel the way her breath stuttered.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispered, squeezing his shoulders lightly. Not that he required her encouragement. He made a pleased noise and began to ruck up her shift, a little at a time, until she felt air on her sex. “Are you—”

Are you going to have me now? she wanted to ask. And Ben knew it because he nipped at the underside of her breast. “Just getting started with you, sweetheart. Gonna make everything as good for you as I can.”

His eyes were hooded as he studied her, his expression filled with reverence. But when their gaze met, she was struck by the restraint, by the wildness in him, and the need. Like he’d feast on her, if she’d just give him the word.

“Should I—” she began, stroking her hand over his chest, and watching him tremble at her touch. His skin was warm to the touch, a fire burning inside him that brought a flush to his pale skin. And when she teased the flat of her thumb over his nipple, he made a strangled noise. “Do you like that?”

He groaned, closing his eyes and hanging his head back before returning to meet her gaze again. “Too much. Let me tend you, lil miss. I promise, there’s time for all of it. But tonight, I need to—I want to please you.”

There was that need again in his eyes, that made her chest ache. Rey shifted and stroked his cheek, along that terrible scar, and she pressed a slow kiss to his mouth. “You please me,” she whispered. “You please me so much.”

He mumbled a groan of pleasure into her mouth as he cupped between her legs again, rubbing at the tender folds, pressing the heel of his palm against the sensitive nub at the crest until she shivered against him. “Let me know if you don’t like anything—”

Ben’s mouth traveled to the curve of her neck, and he nipped again there, making her exhale at the smart. “I—”

But then there were no words, because his finger began to trace, in long strokes, the seam of her sex. It was—it was shocking. No one had ever touched her there, scarcely herself beyond bathing, and it was so intimate being pet there, where she was so soft and wet. Shocking. Wonderful. And she melted into him as his long fingers caressed and fondled, tracing the delicate contours. Rey felt boneless as she exhaled a shaky breath against his shoulder.

Warm and… the warmth was flooding through her, into her, and it felt like a shiver went through her low belly.

“Ah!” she felt a pulse of pleasure as his finger slid easily through the gathering wetness between her folds. And the more she panted and squirmed, the bolder he became. His fingertip dipped inside, slightly, and she gasped again.

“Mmm, you like that?” He smiled against her neck and grazed his teeth. And with a slow, easy press, Ben pushed his finger into her. And groaned into her ear. “God almighty, you’re tight.”

Just the rumble of his voice was enough for her to clench around him, the sensation so perfectly good and strange. Some newly woken yearning called out within her, begging for more, and Rey wriggled, splaying her thighs wider in answer to his question. This slow, building sensation within her had her hot with need.

Ben pumped his finger in and out of her until she could hear the wet sounds her body was making, and he pressed a second finger into her, stretching her tight cunt. Her gasp was soundless, and Ben pressed soft kisses over her face. “Need to warm you up a bit, sweetheart. Don’t want to hurt you later.”

He shifted his hand, and with two fingers buried deep in her, he pressed his thumb over the tiny nub at the top of her slit. She jumped, as much as she could, half underneath him, held in place.

“Ben—” she gasped, lifting her hips instinctively toward the source of the pressure.

He chuckled and began to rub in slow circles. “Nice and easy. That’s a good girl.”

Rey was certain her bones were melting as the vibrations of pleasure pulsed through her belly, through to her fingers and toes, until there was scarce a thought in her head. He’d alternate, pumping her with his two fingers, then teasing her nub, then sometimes working both clumsily, eagerly, while she bit her lip and wriggled, and made incoherent noises.

It built within her, this encompassing pressure, slowly at first, then with a crack, it burst, and she felt heat burn through her like lightning.

“Ah!” she gasped, scrabbling at the quilt as her cunt clenched around his thick fingers.

Everything within her tensed, then fluttered, and she felt his fingers move even more easily, because somehow she was even wetter between her legs. He worked his fingers through this sensation as she tried hard as she might to catch her breath, as her senses reeled.

She’d never—that had been—she blinked at him blearily. “That felt—”

“Was that alright?” he asked, his hand stilling.

She nodded. Better than. Indescribable, truly. “Yes—but—what—”

She scarcely knew what to ask.

Ben finally understood, and with extreme gentleness, pulled his fingers from her and pressed his forehead to hers. “That’s… well, some call it a crisis. Or a climax, I suppose. But—” he huffed back his words and kissed her, his lips working against hers until her mouth opened, and she felt his tongue tease at hers.

When they parted, panting, she stared up at him, marveling at the flush in his face, the glassy sheen in his eyes. And even as he held her so tenderly, she knew he was holding himself in check. There was a tension that even her hands could not soothe as she kissed him again.

“I haven’t done anything to please you—” she said worriedly, lacing her fingers through his. She wanted to please him. She wanted him to feel everything she’d just felt.

“That pleased me plenty.” Ben pressed a slow kiss to her jaw. And slowly, he shifted, pressing against her hip until she felt a hard ridge through his trousers. It was solid, and heavy, and she realized at once that it was him. His… manhood. His cock. “See how much it pleased me.”

Ben pulled her hand down to his groin and pressed it to his hardness.

Curious, Rey curled her hand around him through the fabric of his trousers and he felt hot. And large. And his hips bucked instinctively.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“C-careful, sweetheart,” he groaned, closing his eyes. His mouth hung open as he took a shaky breath. “That little hand of yours feels too nice.”

“But…” she stroked again, and he shuddered, pulling away from her abruptly. His eyes blazed, and she felt an answering flood of heat in her belly.

It’d be now then.

Her soul thrilled to the thought of him between her thighs, rutting on her.

Ben reached between them, and he undid the last of the buttons on his trousers and pushed them past his hips in a quick motion. His cock bobbed, large and ruddy and leaking at the tip, against the dark, curling patch of hair that was just above his legs. He palmed it as he moved closer to her.

“I can finish myself this way, if you’d prefer I not touch you further—” he began, his voice near to shaking with restraint, but Rey shook her head.

She did not prefer.

“I want all of you,” she said, staring at his body with interest. He was so well-made, so firm, so much, and the thought of him covering her body with his made her heart skip and stutter along.

Rey drew him down to her, letting instinct guide her. Her thighs cradled his hips easily, and she settled underneath him, accepting his weight. Ben stared down at her with mingled love and disbelief and relief and want. He carefully arranged himself so he could stroke her hair and kiss her tenderly.

“Love you, Rey,” he whispered, reaching down to angle himself better until she could feel the thick head of his cock nudging against her sex.

She kissed him in answer.

Rey felt Ben smooth his hand up the outside of her thigh and hitch her leg higher, and he pushed. Her body tensed, but he whispered sweet words in her ear, kissed her neck, her jaw, her face. She softened under his onslaught until she was wet and ready for him to push into her with a shallow thrust.

He was—oh, he was large. Larger than his two fingers, and she could feel her inner muscles clench in protest.

She breathed sharply in his ear and tried to adjust her position underneath his bulk.

“Goddamn,” he groaned. He kissed her again, then again, and he pulled back before pushing in again, harder. Deeper. And again, each thrust easier than the last, until he was fully buried in her to the hilt. Rey looked between their bodies to see where Ben was firmly rooted in her, then up at him in awe.

She stroked the back of his neck, and she watched as pleasure rippled across his expression and as sweat beaded on his forehead. And after a few seconds, Ben began to thrust.

Slowly at first. His eyes constantly watched her face, tender and earnest, and he peppered her with light kisses, almost as an apology, even as he moved within her. But her body learned the ancient rhythm, her hips lifting to meet his, her hands urging him as they grasped at his back, and Ben began to work her harder.

He grunted in her ear, and she could feel his back flex under her fingertips as he rocked into her in steady strokes.

Each thrust of his cock was delicious friction inside her, and Rey grew softer and wetter, taking him more easily. It was—it was so much more than she had ever imagined. It was heat and delight and pleasurable aches as her body learned his. They were as one, she thought. They belonged to each other.

Forever.

Always.

Always.

Rey gasped as her crisis claimed her again, stark and fierce and sudden, the warmth licking up her spine and back again. Her thighs tightened about his hips, and she jerked slightly. Her muscles twitched as she shattered under him, cunt clenching around his cock like a vise.

Ben shuddered, and he began to pump harder, face beatific. He threw his head back, his mane of silvering hair wild about his face. She could feel him, hard and unrelenting inside her, and he pounded into her now, shaking her beneath him.

“Close now,” he groaned, capturing her hand and squeezing it tight.

His hips stuttered, and Ben gave a shout at the ceiling that Rey was sure echoed through the whole county. She felt a surge of something hot and wet, and held tight to him as his body trembled. After a few final, clumsy thrusts, he sagged on top of her in collapse, exhausted.

She somehow remembered to breath.

“Damnation,” he muttered, mouthing at her neck, then finding his way to her mouth. “I haven’t… Ah, sweetheart. You don’t know what you mean to me.”

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly.

“I think I do,” Rey whispered, touching the tip of her nose to his. “Same as you mean to me.”

#

Chapter Text

#

Sunrise had never been this golden. Or maybe it was just because she’d never witnessed a sunrise from her husband’s arms before.

Their bedroom was warm and bright, and the shifting amber and orange to blue was maybe the sweetest thing she’d ever seen. A new day. And the rest of her life was ahead. She lay curled in Ben’s arms, his shoulder her pillow, and she breathed in the scent of him. Safe. And above all, loved.

The sunrise was glorious. But so was the view of her husband. His silvering hair tumbled over his face, obscuring his scar. And with every breath, his broad chest rose and fell, fingers twitching in his sleep. She’d never shared a bed, but she’d found it easy enough to take comfort in the warmth of his big body and in the subtle sounds of his breathing.

He’d loved on her a second time somewhere in the pre-dawn hours, and they’d both fallen fast asleep, tangled in each other. She had a mind that neither was particularly keen to let go. Not now. Not after they’d found one another.

But Ben was already stirring, groaning a little. He rolled over her heavily and pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

“Mmm. Seem to be dreamin’,” he murmured, then pressed a slow, warm kiss to her neck. “Dreamt I had a pretty, young wife keeping me warm all night.”

She felt his smile against her skin as she carded her fingers through his hair. “Must’ve been some dream.”

“Mmmhmm. Best dream I ever had.” He pulled away from her slightly and propped himself on one arm. His whiskey-colored eyes were shining. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“You’ll have to tell me about that dream sometime,” she whispered, pulling him down for a kiss.

He chuckled against her lips and stroked the hair out of her face fondly. “Something tells me you know all about it.”

“I might.” Rey grinned, nuzzling sweetly.

He touched his forehead to hers. “How are—” his lips tightened into a thin line, like it always did he was uncertain of his words. “Are you well this morning? I wasn’t too—hmph.” His thumb stroked over the smooth skin of her cheek. She reveled in the rough of his callus. “I hope I wasn’t ungallant with you. I tried to make it tender.”

He had. And it had been, despite the deep ache between her legs. But that was to be expected. Ben was a big man. Rey turned her face into the palm of his hand and kissed it. She shifted slightly and groaned. “Sore, but… I think it will pass.”

An unhappy noise rumbled in his throat.

“M’sorry.” His words were still a bit blurred by sleep. He kissed her jaw in apology, as sweet as he ever was. “Guess you married a brute, lil missy.” At least that was teasing, like he could maybe forgive himself, and she shoved at his shoulder.

“You’re no brute, and you know it.”

Ben leaned in and nipped at her neck, making her squeal at the sharp of her teeth. “Mm. Maybe I am.”

But he pulled back after, his expression nearing sheepishness. An expression that grew wry when the cock crowed outside. The day had begun, and the chickens would be squabbling for their feed. “Suppose there are things to do today. You stay here and rest. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Rey frowned. It didn’t sit well with her to sit on her backside when everyone else would be working. “I’m not going to be a layabed—”

He huffed and rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, back muscles flexing with each movement. She was struck anew at how broad his shoulders were, how strong and firm, despite years of hard work.  “No, but my wife deserves to eat breakfast in bed the morning after her wedding.”

Ben Solo was a particular man, she was finding. With notions held dearly that wouldn’t be swayed by pragmatism.

“Mr. Solo—” she grumbled, sitting up. She only winced slightly, and she tucked the bedclothes about her. “I can eat in the kitchen, like always.” Even if she knew the fellas would be especially wicked today in their teasing.

The look Ben cast at her over his shoulder was stridently grumblesome. And more than a little handsome. She couldn’t help but smile at the expression on his face. “Not today. You’ll have no shortage of work and busy mornings and time in the kitchen eating breakfast with the Jimmy and Robbie and me.” He placed his hand on her knee and squeezed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Like as much he’d known she’d argue the point with him this morning, despite her promises last night. “You’re only a new bride once.”

She supposed so. But she exhaled a frustrated noise that only served to make him chuckle.

She tried not to stare overmuch as he rose from the bed, lean and well-muscled. His skin was bronzed where his shirtsleeves didn’t cover his arms and speckled like a robin’s egg. His step hitched as he paused to pick up his trousers from the floor, and she saw a flash of discomfort darken his face.

“Darn knee,” he muttered glancing at her. “Old injury. Nothin’ to worry about. Just gives me a little grief on occasion to remind me it’s there.”

“Maybe you should stay in bed while I fetch you breakfast,” Rey teased. Not that she had any notion he’d allow such a thing to happen. Ever.

Her sweet Mr. Solo was downright bullish at that thought, and she witnessed the stubborn roll of his jaw. He shook his head as he dressed himself.

“You be still now, lil miss,” he grumbled under his breath. He marched toward the door and put his hand on the bronze knob. His cheeks carved deep in crescent moon dimples as he looked back at her. His eyes glimmered wickedly. “Unless you want me back in that bed with you.”

Oh. She wasn’t sure she could take him again just yet. She dove under the covers with a breathy laugh. “I’m hungry!”

His laughter was soft. “I’ll bet you are.”

#

Aside from the time she’d spent recovering from the bullet wound Plutt had given her, Rey had never sat idle. Not one day of her life.

After the breakfast Ben brought her, she’d washed up at the porcelain basin behind the wooden screen, patting away the remnants of her and him and dried blood with a wet cloth, then dressed in some of the new clothes purchased from Mrs. Hux.

The shiny green ribbon was there, waiting for her. The same one Mr. Solo had given her so many months ago. She pulled her chestnut hair away from her face and tied it back at the nape of her neck. It was then she saw herself in the reflection of the mirror atop the large mahogany bureau.

She exhaled in surprise. She knew that face. And she didn’t.

As always, her freckles danced across the bridge of her nose and her gaze was clear-eyed and steady. But the flush in her cheeks and the healthy glow, that was new since coming to the Solo farm. She was softer now. She’d lost the sparse, hungry look of someone who’d lived near-starved her whole life.

Rey brushed her fingertips over her cheeks, her brows, her lips. All places that Ben had traced so lovingly with his kisses last night. His whispered praises blessed her with a vibration from her skin to her fingertips.

She was still Rey. But now she had the look of someone who had hope.

And heaven help the person who ever tried to take that from her.

Now she just needed to figure out how one spent an entire day idle.

#

Rey hauled the basket over the crook of her elbow as she picked greens for supper. The wicker basket was already heavy with tomatoes and a few yams she’d dug up from the kitchen garden she maintained. It was fiercely hot today, and her blouse clung to her back wetly, though she’d scarce been outside longer than twenty minutes.

She’d tried, really, to be idle. She’d sat in the overstuffed armchair in Ben’s parlor and read a few chapters of a book. The words let her drift into another world, one as rainy and cold as this was sunny and simmering, but after floating along in the fogs of London, she found herself blinking back into the bright reality of life here on the farm.

And still the day stretched before her.

She wandered to the piano, Annie’s piano. Lovely and untouched, but always carefully dusted. Rey tentatively pressed a key, the resulting note so doleful she felt guilty for it.

“Sorry, Annie,” she whispered.

It wasn’t guilt. Rey's only fault was that she'd been born and lived and met her Mr. Solo and loved and been loved back. But the wrongness of life, its unfairness to others, struck her, and she fled to the kitchen to retrieve her straw bonnet and her basket and into the garden. She’d reckon with that in the future. Today she’d be grateful for the life she had.

At least this was light work in the garden, hot as it was. Mr. Solo couldn’t be too sore at her, when he knew she had no talent for idleness.

She wasn’t a fine lady, not that he’d particularly fretted that fact. He hadn’t seemed to fret anything. Not at breakfast, and not at luncheon, when they’d eaten together quietly in the kitchen on cold food left from the day before. He was as quiet and regardful as ever, with his merry eyes and solemn face.

“Mrs. Solo!”

The teasing, familiar voice cut through her thoughts, and she stood, blinking in the sunlight until she recognized the figure.

Robbie waved his hat in the air, his face brightening. “Hallo there!” He bowed at the waist, folding his hand over his middle, all gallantry and jest. Her heart swelled to see him so.

“Hello, yourself.” Rey swiped at her forehead with the back of her hand. “Come get a sip of water. You look redder than these tomatoes I’ve just picked.” She tromped forward, picking carefully through the rows of vegetables.

Robbie didn’t disagree, following her to the pump where they kept a tin bucket and dipper. He batted Rey’s hands away from the pump and poured the bucket full, then dipped himself a drink. Then, with a cheeky smile, he dipped a cup of water for her as well. “Can’t have you servin’ me water when you’re supposed to be enjoying your day. Mr. Solo would have my hide.”

Foolishness. Rey rolled her eyes, unable to hide her smile before she took a sip of the cool water herself. “He’s set on dotin’ on me, I guess.” Rey studied the toe of her boots with a smile. And despite the heat, she felt that warmth in her heart. Maybe it was nice knowing someone wanted to make her life one of ease, at least, as much as he could.

“Him? That mean ol’ ogre? Wants to be nice to his bride? It’s an injustice.” Robbie’s blue eyes twinkled, and Rey swung the dipper at him as if to strike him over the head. He laughed and batted it out of the way easily. “Maybe we should call the law on him.”

“Well, I’m no good for sittin’ around. You know that.” Robbie did know that. He well remembered the grumbling and muttering and scolding between her and Ben in the early days. He and Jimmy would bite their lips and kick at each other’s feet throughout all the huffs and stomps. Hers. Not Ben’s. He was always calm. Robbie’s cheek twitched as he swallowed down a laugh.

“I’m gonna make supper. Nothing fancy. Just beans and greens and cornbread. And don’t you tell Ben, because you know he’ll just make a fuss.”

After enough cooking lessons from Jimmy, Rey made a reasonable meal of beans and greens. The cornbread was still a work in progress, but it was always improving.

“Why would I tell him? Might get in the way of my supper.”

Rey laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Well, what are you doing up at the house besides pestering me? Lollygagging?”

“Scolding me now that you’re the lady of the house?” he asked, amused. “You’ve grown big for your britches in just a day. You used to think somethin’ of my good opinion.”

“That’s some sass, Robbie Cardo.” She took her hat off and swatted him but good on his arm.

Robbie laughed. “Anyway, I just wanted to say hello, is all. Solo’s whistling and as happy as I’ve ever seen him, so I wanted to make sure you were happy, too.”

His eyes crinkled slightly, and he looked her over like he was making his assessment then and there. And came up satisfied because he grinned wide.

Rey planted her bonnet back on her head with a sheepish grin. “I’m suppose I’m happy.”

The biggest lie she ever told when she knew she’d never been more pleased with her life. And Robbie clearly knew it.

“Must be, or you wouldn’t be acting like a badger.” Robbie truly was the worst. And she couldn’t be fonder of him. He winked at her and reached for her basket of vegetables. “At least let me carry this for you, so Solo won’t come thundering around, madder than a plucked rooster, because he married himself a stubborn woman.”

Considering she’d already done as she’d pleased, Rey reckoned that letting Robbie carry things for her wouldn’t hurt. Mr. Solo just had such funny notions, sometimes. His mother sounded fancy with her schooling and her causes, and Ben had so much more education than she.

Robbie and Rey rounded the pump and headed for the back porch. It was blessed hot, and Rey was a little glad to escape indoors and out of the summer sun. But before Rey could take the stairs up to the kitchen, there was a crash.

And a shout.

A shout of pain that tore the air in half, disrupting the idylls of the summer afternoon.

Robbie heard it, too, she could tell. He’d frozen for a moment, then dropped the straw basket with its leafy greens and tomatoes on the painted porch.  

She knew the direction of the chaos. The instinct was there, a hard, fearful thing deep in her belly.

The barn. Ben. He’d said something about doing work in the barn today.

Rey’s hands fisted in her skirt and lifted it so she could run. Run without thinking. Without hesitation. Nothing good could have happened for that sound to be made. She ran blindly, ignoring Robbie’s shout, and she kicked her way through idle chickens who didn’t have the sense to get out of her path.

She raced into the barn, squinting in the dim as her eyes adjusted.

“Ben?” Her question was hoarse, caught in her throat. Then she saw him, crumpled on the barn floor next to the ladder that led up to the hayloft. It, too, had fallen. Her heart squeezed, sharp and brutal, like a hand had closed around it. “Ben!”

He groaned in response, which gave her heart reason to beat again, at least. But oh, if he were grievous hurt, she’d never survive it. “Rey—”

She flung herself onto her knees at his side. He was on his back, his face caught in a fearsome grimace, tracks of wet leading from the corners of his eyes. Bad, then. She sucked in a breath to steady herself. But he was moving, at least. Fingers and hands and arms. His leg—one of his legs, anyway.

And no blood. Thank heaven, no blood.

“What’s hurt?” She pressed her hand to his cheek as she leaned over him. He was dazed. Pale. Sweaty and dirty, because he was working too hard. After he’d told her not to work at all. Probably hadn’t had enough water, either. When she wasn’t so terrified, she’d scold him. “Did you fall?”

“Damn ladder tipped.” Each word muttered between breaths of pain as he opened his eyes to look mutinously at the damned wooden thing. “Missed a step, and my knee twisted real sudden, and down I went. At least I wasn’t too high up.”

Robbie peered over her shoulder, guilt plain on his face. “I said I’d do the hay—dammit, Solo.”

She knew Ben must be sore hurt if he didn’t scold Robbie for swearing in her presence. Ben closed his eyes and groaned again, doing his best to sit up. Rey sat at his side, heedless of the straw and dirt and helped him. Worry wobbled through her as she saw the way he wheezed.

“Get Jimmy so we can get him in the house,” she ordered briskly.

Robbie could feel bad later. Time enough for that, though she didn’t blame him. It wasn’t like Ben wasn’t more stubborn than the devil, even if he was quiet about it. It felt like patience, but she knew it now for the subtle, stubborn determination it was.

Robbie nodded, then scrambled to his feet and out the barn door. “Should we get the doctor from town?”

“No need.” More bullheaded mutterings from her husband. She was torn between wry laughter and a groan of her own. “Just need to rest.”

“Ben.” She caught his eye and gave him a stern look that made him laugh, then flinch in pain.

Not the best of signs. She’d need to get that shirt off him and look. Rags soaked in cool water to clean him and soothe bruises. She still had half a mind to send Jimmy to town to fetch a doctor, no matter what Ben said. 

“Maybe cracked some ribs, too. Still don’t need a doctor. Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I learned enough medicine on the battlefield to know what to do.”

“Then you’re gonna tell me what to do for you.” Her words were fierce, and she squeezed his hand. Her eyes watered so, and she wiped at them with the sleeve of her blouse. He had some nerve scaring her like this. When he knew—when he had to know--that it’d break her heart forever if anything ever happened to him. She’d only just found him. He was her home. “And you’re not gonna complain about it.”

His lips quirked. Most certain that he would complain. Loudly. And frequently. Until she wanted to complain right back at him. They were so like in so many ways. Well. He might be a bit more patient. She sniffed and touched her forehead to his. “Promise you’ll let me care for you.”

“I’ll be good for you, lil miss. Least I can do for ruining your day.”

He dared to chuckle.

#

Chapter Text

#

Jimmie and Robbie grunted with the effort of hauling Ben up the stairs. He could stand on his right leg, but his left couldn’t support his weight in the slightest. It made her throat tight to see her husband, such a strong man, felled by pain, reliant on others.

Ben had always seemed invincible in her mind. Calmly, quietly bulletproof, despite the scars on his face and body that should have told her otherwise. He was so easily, peacefully confident. Not a man who boasted, but who did what should be done with gravity and without question. She’d seen enough of his opposite to know.

His arms wrapped around the fellas’ shoulders, and together they made the awkward journey with Ben’s grunting assistance, and Rey raced for a bucket of cool water to bring upstairs, for washing, or drinking, or—she didn’t know.

It occurred to her right then, that she didn’t know at all what to do. Except maybe, treat Ben as kindly as he’d treated her when she’d needed saving. That was something.

She hurried up the steps, careful not to spill the water and bumped her way into their bedroom. Ben was already sprawled on the bed, forehead glistening with the effort of journeying from the barn to the house and up a flight of stairs.

“Take it easy, Solo.” Jimmy clapped his shoulder, dark brown eyes teeming with worry. Still. He gave Ben a steady, confident nod. “We’ll manage things while you recover.”

“Just need—” he grunted, shifting himself upright on the bed. “Just need a day.”

A patent absurdity, and everyone in the room knew it. Rey huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “I thought you weren’t gonna be stubborn.”

Jimmy and Robbie snorted, then elbowed each other to stop.

Ben’s dark eyes cut toward her, and he smiled faintly, not big enough by far, and she knew he must be hurting.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” He reached for her with one arm, wincing at the movement. A day, a week, a month in bed, it was starting to feel like, and she set down the water bucket with a clunk and went to him. Only when his warm arm curled around her waist did she feel any relief. “The fellas know what to do. We’re close to harvest time now, and things are about to get busy again. You don’t need to worry. I’ll be on my feet soon.”

“I wasn’t thinking of the farm.” She twined her fingers through his, touching her forehead to his. She’d known she was afraid before, but now, with her heart only just considering calming itself in her breast, she realized she’d been so much more. It was like being pulled back from a cliff at the last moment. “Only you.”

She looked back at Robbie and Jimmy, a flush coming across her face. But she couldn’t find it within herself to regret the display. “What needs to happen before harvest?”

Plutt had never had a proper crop. She knew now he did everything wrong in every possible way it was to be wrong. Most of his money came from his moonshine stills, as far as she knew.

Jimmy tapped his weather-beaten straw hat against his leg. “A lot. But he’s right that you don’t need to worry. We been here years, and we used to manage with three until the pickers came through, and I suppose two—”

“Three.” Rey frowned at them, her hand tightening on Ben’s. “My arms ain’t broke. I can work, too. Ben taught me everything about the crops this summer. I can work as hard as a man, and you know it.”

“Miss Rey—” Robbie started, blue eyes amused and concerned. “What’s ahead ain’t easy work—”

Rey bristled. She could do hard work. She’d never shied from it. And now, especially, if it meant that Ben wouldn’t have to--a throat cleared. Ben’s. And everyone’s eyes turned to him, and their heads dipped heavy with chagrin.

“I’m gonna be out of this bed before any of you know it. No quarreling. We can talk more tomorrow—now, fellas, if you don’t mind, I’d like a moment with my wife. I think I gave her a scare, and I owe her an apology.”

Sure did. She gave him a fierce look that only made him grin handsomely. The devil.

Jimmy and Robbie took their leave, and not until Rey heard their boots thunder down the stairs and the slam of the screen door, did Ben close his eyes and lean his head against the headboard of their bed. He groaned dreadfully.

“Sweetheart—do you mind—I need to get this shirt off—” he started to pull at his shirt, and she understood. She unbuttoned his collar, then helped him ease the shirt up far enough that he could slip the arm from his uninjured side out, then pulled the shirt over his head and down his arm. “Gonna need you to wrap my ribs good and tight, alright? I’ve got—” Ben grunted again as he sat up more, leaning forward to point. “Got my ol’ medicine chest there in the chifforobe. If you fetch it here, I’ll tell you what to do.”

“I thought my heart stopped when I heard you yell,” she blurted. Finding it hard to meet his eye, she did as he’d asked, and fetched the heavy, scarred wood medicine chest. It had as many battle wounds as her husband. She needed to consider another subject, when she realized her hands were trembling. "Did you use this when you were studying medicine?”

“Mmhmm. I was my uncle’s assistant for a while. Learned a lot about patching people up. Good bit of luck there. I was able to help you, little horse thief.” His cheek carved out a dimple as he looked her way. As if he could sweeten her like that. She scowled and rummaged for the bandages he’d specified.

As if he could sweeten her like that. She scowled and rummaged for the bandages he’d specified.

“You should wash up first.” He was sweaty from the day’s work, covered in the fine grime of daily life on a working farm. She set the bandages on the side table, then pulled the bucket of water over that she’d fetched and clean cloths and soap.

“Sweetheart, are you sore at me?” he asked, his voice gentle, curious. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful in the future. Never was my intention to invalid myself so quick, though there could be a certain charm in a pretty, young wife tending to my every need.”

She huffed at his teasing, feeling her ears turn hot.

“No. Not sore.” She was sore. She gave him a soapy cloth for washing without meeting his eyes and he took it. But as she turned, she felt his hand, large, calloused, strong, and capable, grip her elbow.

“C’mere.” She stepped closer and reluctantly met his gaze. His eyes held hers in his usual quiet regard. She saw there, the fullness of his concern. And he knew her too well to believe her half-fib. “Tell me what’s in your heart. You know what’s in mine.”

“You can’t just go and leave me.” Her mouth turned down at the corners. And the tightness in her throat was back, making her voice small. “I’d be lost without you. I never had anyone who loved me in my whole life, never had anyone I loved—”

A raw, wild thing rose in her throat, and she bit it back, wiping at the wetness on her cheeks. She didn’t like this. Loving Ben was the most frightening thing in the world, she realized. She loved him. And she could lose him in a moment. Just like he’d lost Annie. Just like she’d been left in the night by her parents. Love could be interrupted by the winds of fate.

She just hadn’t wanted to feel that so soon after being so happy just this morning, waking in his arms. Her throat tightened, impossibly, and she thought she might cry. And she wouldn’t. He married a tough little horse thief, after all.

“I’ll never stop loving you.” His hand smoothed up her arm to the back of her neck, tender as could be. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, tucking her head onto his shoulder as gently as she could, breathing in the sweat and musk of him and let herself be comforted. “And I promise, no more foolishness from me. If I’m climbing ladders, I’ll have you or one of the fellas hold fast for me, since I got this trick knee of mine. Now life… sweetheart, life happens, and things change without our permission sometimes. I can’t make promises about things beyond my control. Illnesses happen. Big storms roll through.”

He sighed, stroking her hair. “You’re gonna be alright, no matter what comes. Love is big. It sustains. Just… love without regret or fear. If for a day or a lifetime.”

She snuffled wetly. “It’ll be a lifetime, Mr. Solo. For you and me.”

“Sure hope it is, lil miss.” He kissed the top of her head.

#

Rey mounted Gertie, who only whuffled and snorted her displeasure faintly. She was growing used to Rey’s daily presence, even if she would have preferred Ben.

Ben would have preferred it as well, but there were some arguments he couldn’t win.

Her lunch pail was in her saddlebag, and she had her straw hat perched on her head, and her canteen, besides. Each day since Ben’s fall, Rey had taken over touring the fields, checking the crops, and monitoring the fruit and pecan orchards. She’d sleepily spoon whatever food Jimmy and Robbie made for breakfast into her mouth, take Ben a tray upstairs, let him grumble at her stubbornly, then set to do what needed to be done.

The days were growing shorter, and the crops were tall, and in a month or so, the pickers would come through to start the harvest.

“I’ll be back at midday,” she told Robbie and Jimmy. “Going to the north fields.”

They were busy with the animals today, then take over with any chores she figured needed done for the afternoon. With discussion, of course. She trusted them, and they her, and with Ben still laid up with that sore knee of his, they met morning and noon to set the day’s tasks, then they’d all provide their updates to Ben.

She could tell it was hard for him, being bedridden. His ribs were bound so tight, he could scarce move, and she knew it hurt him to breathe, and his knee was propped on pillows where she’d lay cool rags over it to soothe the ache. She’d even brewed some willow bark tea at Robbie’s advice, then made Ben drink the bitter stuff. He’d take none of the morphine in his medicine chest, saying it was only for grievous pain. Idleness suited him no better than it suited her.

But he read. He wrote letters. And when Rey would stagger in after washing the supper dishes, swaying on her feet as she washed up for bed, he’d scold her tenderly for overworking herself, then hold her close as she fell asleep, warm and comforted by his steady presence. In the early morning light, as the cock crowed, Ben would nudge her awake. And despite his frustrations, he'd tell her he was proud. Proud and grateful to have such a wife. 

Gertie set on the familiar path with little guidance from Rey, clopping along through tall corn and then onward yet to the wheat. The blue sky stretched vast and pure above her, cloudless, and she lost herself in the task of checking each field stand and for signs of pests.

Green and perfect. Or golden and perfect. Funny to think how small the crops had been when she’d arrived, and now some of the plants were taller than her.

She dismounted Gertie and patted her neck. Ben had said to check the leaves and the roots. She could tell as she slipped into the fields that the soil was good—not too dry. The rain had been plentiful this summer. Rey worried the wheat kernels between her fingers, crushing them a bit, as she’d seen Ben do.

Still good. Still healthy.

She smiled to herself. It would be a good harvest. And she and Jimmy and Robbie would manage it if they had to, though Ben would surely be well before the pickers arrived.

The roots of the plant she pulled were healthy, showing no trace of the diseases Ben had taught her about during their long rides through the fields. Still, she knew she needed another sample, and after she patted this plant back into the earth, she rounded the row to last, nearest the fence.

The wooden fence edged the outer boundary of Ben’s property, beyond it a forest of oaks. A creek ran through, keeping all green and lush. And when she heard the rise of the cicadas’ noise, swelling loud and humming in the heat, sweat prickled and dripped down her spine in answer. Rey knew she’d need to get back to Gertie soon for water and to retreat to the farmhouse to avoid the midday heat.

Rey decided to select a plant at random, but as she ambled, she could see something dark was caught on the fence.

And as she closed in on it, her skin prickled the way it did before a lightning storm.

A hat.

She stopped, the sound of cicadas falling away from her ears until there was just a hollow sound, perhaps the noise of blood rushing in her ears.

The hat was a battered thing, gray with grime and sweat, though it had once been white, with a rattlesnake tail stuck to the front. Someone’s idea of making a statement. And it was a pity to anyone who didn’t understand what such a hat said.

Rey knew exactly what it meant.

Plutt.

He’d been here.

He was coming for her.

#

Chapter Text

#

Gertie's hooves flew over the path, kicking up clouds of dirty, and Rey held tight, her heart, her thoughts, having as rough a gallop. Robbie and Jimmy startled from where they were perched on the farmhouse steps, fanning themselves in the shade and drinking water from tin cups. It was mid-day, after all, when they all usually took some time out of the worst of the day’s heat.

Robbie stood first, throwing his hat on his head, then running out into the yard to catch Gertie’s reins as Rey hauled her to a stop. She was on the ground in an instant, ignoring the way her ankle smarted from the impact.

“I’ve got talk to Mr. Solo right away. Can you take Gertie—”

She was already running toward the house, stumbling over her feet, catching herself, only to nearly fall again, but for the fact that Jimmy caught her.

“Missy, what’s goin’ on?” He held her fast and peered down at her face, then looked over at Robbie. “You get that horse. I’m taking her up to Solo.”

“I can make it—please. I need to tell him that… Just—”

“Not like this.” His voice was firm, but kind. There was none of the boyish teasing he’d always directed her way.

Jimmy led her to the porch and poured her a cup of water from the pitcher. She took it and gulped it down without protest and wiped at her face, which had grown grimy with tears and dust. He was right. She needed to calm herself, or Ben would think she’d been harmed or that she was going to bolt like a spooked horse.

“Take a breath.”

She did. She had to. She was shaking all over and could scarcely think for lack of air.

“I think… I think we’re gonna have some trouble. He’s been around.”

She didn’t need to explain who. She could see the understanding in Jimmy’s eyes. Then the anger. Rey blustered on.

“He’ll cause trouble. I got to talk to Ben, but he’s still nursing that knee of his, and I don’t—I don’t want to worry him when he can’t—”

It was such a bad time. If Plutt knew that Ben was injured, he’d strike now, do something terrible and cruel to her, to him, to the fellas.

Every thought stumbled and tumbled. As scatterwompus as the chickens running in circles when they were scared. Somehow, it was like the last few months hadn’t happened, and she was still running from him, back in Ben’s barn, limping and bleeding and desperate to find her way out.

“He ain’t going to let anything happen to you. Neither are Robbie and me. Do you believe that?”

A dip of her chin. She knew it. And hearing it steadied her some. But Plutt had never cared about what people wanted. He only liked a handful of things in life. Liquor. Money. Revenge. Those were probably the top three. And they were usually braided together in a little knot.

“Alright. I’m gonna go up. Thank you, Jimmy.” She felt, well, not better. But like her heart wasn’t going to beat through her ribs and onto the dirt from sheer panic. Her chest still ached with it. She flexed her fingers after setting down the water glass. Some of the trembling had stopped.

“Go on now. I’ll find Robbie. Then we’ll come up and see what’s to be done about this. We have your back, Miss Rey. Don’t you forget that.”

#

Rey didn’t so much as open the door to their bedroom as crash through it, startling Ben. Ben, who was out of bed, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked from his trousers, standing, gripping the bed post in one hand, and seeing how much weight he could bear on his faulty leg.

He startled and sat heavily on the mattress, wincing at whatever smarted. At least he had the good grace to look guilty at being caught.

But no mind. Whatever was on her face had him leaning forward and would have had him on his feet if not for his knee.

“Sweetheart—?”

He sat straighter, the mattress creaking underneath him. Rey paused, biting her lip and sorting her words carefully in her head. And she fought back a wave of regret. Embarrassment. Because this was her fault, really. She’d brought this to his door, and now—well. He was looking more concerned with every second she didn’t say anything.

“Found Plutt’s hat by the north fields. On the fence. He’s been here. He wants us to know that.”

It was out now, and she felt winded. Her stomach twisted up, just as tight as she twisted her hands.

Ben’s face clouded with something dark and fierce she hadn’t seen before in him. “You’re sure?”

“Sure as anything. I’d know that filthy hat anywhere. His farm is miles off—he didn’t pass by idly. He doesn’t take rambles in the country. He’s… it’s a message. He means to punish me. Or you. I told you. By his mind, I’ve cost him money he never got back. And I’m sure he’s still mad as a hornet I got away, as much as for the money he didn’t get to make by selling me to one of his friends.”

If there were anything Plutt hated in life more than an honest day’s work, it was losing. Which was something ironic, considering he was a loser every which way as far as Rey could tell. No wonder he was so hateful.

Ben’s fingers flexed as if he were imagining Plutt’s thick-jowled neck in his grasp. The low thunder of his voice made her skin prickle. “You’re my wife. He even thinks of putting a hand on you, he’ll wish himself dead. Someone in town must have told him. Could have been Pastor Mitaka, for all we know. I reckon it’s common enough news by now that I married you.”

He stood up heavily, grunting with the effort. Rey frowned, a guilty pulse thrumming in her heart. He needed to rest. Not this. Not Plutt’s meddling.

“Ben, your knee—”

He shook his head. His jaw had a stubborn set to it, and his wide mouth pressed flat like he needed to swallow some words. Probably thinking her ears were too dainty for them. The only person who’d ever thought she was too delicate for rough words.

Ben limped awkwardly toward his wardrobe, huffing in pain as he moved, and unlatched it.

“Plutt must be more of a fool than I ever imagined if he thinks I’m going to sit idle while he threatens my wife.” He fumbled in the back of the wardrobe. “I knew people would see us in town, but I thought marrying you would send a message that whatever he’d planned was no longer an option. That man ought to be in jail, for a lot of things, but for the way he treated you, hurt you—” his voice carved rough over the words, and he grasped the sturdy oak door of the wardrobe for balance.

“What are we gonna do?” Rey hurried to his side, not trusting that knee of his to keep him steady. “You need to be in bed. You’re not ready—I can go to the sheriff tomorrow. I’ll take Jimmy with me, and—”

She saw it then. Ben’s rifle. She hadn’t seen it since the night he’d had it trained on her in the barn. Just like his expression was something she hadn’t seen since that night. Fierce and determined. He pulled it out and handed it to her, then rummaged for his ammo box.

Shock rolled through her. He meant to—she shook her head. “You can’t—”

“I’ll do what I must to protect you. Sweetheart, when has the sheriff ever intervened with Plutt’s dealings? Hux told me of the bootlegging and the swindling. You told me the rest.”

He turned to her and leveled a serious glance. One that cut through her hesitation. The answer didn’t need saying. She’d never seen the law around Plutt’s place, and heaven above knew there was reason enough. It was likely the man simply didn’t care. Or maybe there was profit, somehow. But it was as she had known all along, anyway. There really had been no one to tell. Nowhere to run. It’s why she’d stayed until she couldn’t.

She supported Ben as he hobbled back toward the bed, and lord, he was heavy, especially with the ammo box under his arm. He set it on the side table and collapsed onto the mattress.

“I don’t know what he’ll do. Plutt burned the barn at the Kin farm. He steals livestock from time to time. He makes moonshine and trades it and is always cheating people. But he thought he could get fifty dollars for me from Pryde. He’s got to be hoppin’ mad he never got that money, even more than the lump I gave his head.”

A vibration of fear, the kind that used to rule her life, danced through her nerves. Ben saw the tremble and touched her arm in the same way he’d gentle a nervous mare.

Ben’s face had never been so stony.  “It’s a hard thing to admit, but I’ve wanted to kill that worthless lump ever since I found you in the barn. I was prepared to let fate deal with him as it would, but he’s forcing my hand.”

He pulled the rifle from her hands and set it against the nightstand. He took her hands and kissed them tenderly, so at odds with the anger brimming in his eyes.

His voice dropped, firm, as solid as the hands on hers now. “A clever, pretty, little miss like you should never have been in my barn. You were half-starved, bleeding out, with a twisted ankle, fighting like a bobcat for your life, you were so scared. As soon as I saw you, I knew you weren’t any kind of horse thief. It was soul deep, and I knew right then, I had to take care of you, make it right for you.”

That sounded more like her good, kind Ben. The gentle soul with the quiet humor and contemplative way of seeing the world. The man who’d been so patient as she slowly learned that life could be tender. She loved him so.

Rey stepped in between his legs and pressed her forehead to his. “You still can’t ride out and shoot him.”

Never mind the fact he couldn’t ride right now, at all. Never mind the fact that she did wish Plutt dead.

“S’pose you’re right. But I won’t rest easy until he’s gone from this world.” Ben caressed her cheek and cupped the back of her neck, his touch featherlight but warm. “I’d fight until my last breath for you. I vowed to protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

She knew. She stroked her fingers against his cheek, then teased through his hair to trace the shells of his ears. “And if anyone ever hurt you, I’d maul ‘em like a bobcat.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling. “No doubt in my mind.”

#

It was settled. Jimmy was to ride to town tomorrow to take a letter to Mr. Hux and to hire additional hands. Rey was to go no further than the barnyard—which had her in a sulk, but Ben’s hand had held fast to hers, and he’d silently extracted her promise from her with a firm glance. And when dawn came each day, Ben would take some help to get downstairs and set himself on the porch. He didn’t mention the rifle, but she imagined Ben would want it at hand.

It was a strange thought, knowing he’d do exactly as he’d said, if it came down to fighting Plutt. He’d put a bullet or two into Plutt. He always did as he promised.

Rey regretted that she’d brought a world of trouble to Ben’s door. He’d known peace before, and then she arrived with all her troubles.

They’d wait, he’d said. They’d have more farm hands about to help with the work and with keeping watch at night, and Ben would heal some more, and they’d wait for Plutt to make his move. Mr. Hux would send word of anything he learned.

She hated waiting. She’d rather fight Plutt herself. It was her battle. She had years’ worth of reasons to want to settle with him. But he’d told her, as much as he might be reminding himself, that a wise man was not rash in his actions. Let Plutt make the mistakes. They would not.

“I’m going to wash up.” She’d already cleared the supper plates, then hauled water up to their room. And with her boots off, she wanted nothing more than to feel cool water on her skin and wash away the day’s worries. If only it were that easy, when even the air itself was sticky on her skin.

Ben hummed slightly, lost in thought as he wrote. He was beautiful in the lamplight, the way his mouth pursed and his brow furrowed.

Rey stripped behind the screen, then poured water into the steel tub so she could sit and wash. The water was cold, but no matter. She could lose herself in the task, and she could force the thoughts of Plutt away. He had no place in this room she shared with her husband or anywhere else on this farm.

The soap smelled sweet, the faint lilac perfume of it filling the air as she scrubbed the day’s grime away. She ran the rag over leg and arm. And though she had gooseflesh from the chill of the water, it was still a relief to be clean.

Only the sound of the mattress creaking, then the labored groan of Ben getting out of bed pulled her from her methodical task.

“Ben? You shouldn’t be troubling that knee—” she called. Stubborn man. He’d muttered daily about not being up and about.

He didn’t reply, but now she heard a chair dragging across the room, slowly, accompanied by his uneven gait. And there he was, behind the screen with her, his brow shining from the effort, a wry little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Rey flushed and crossed her arms over herself. The water wasn’t that high, and he hadn’t seen her in the altogether since their wedding night.

“Did you want to wash? I was fixing to get out—and I could help you—”

The subtle shake of his head stopped her words. “Washed up earlier. Thought I might do something kind for my sweetheart. You’ve been caring for me and the farm and…”

She saw him bite back the rest of his words. He huffed and shoved the chair right behind the tub and hunkered into it awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” Her eyebrows lifted sky high as he leaned forward and plucked the soap and rag out of the tub where she’d dropped them.

“Have a mind to wash your back for you. Give you a little tending to. It’s only right.” With one hand, he urged her to turn her back to him, the pressure gentle on her shoulder as she moved. “I’ve called on you sooner than I reckoned to fulfill those marriage vows.”

There was humor and disappointment twisting and threading through his words, gently as they were spoken. “In sickness and in health... Never imagined sickness would come so soon. I s’pose that’s what I feared for you, marrying up with an old man, when you’re so young and bright. When you should be dancing under the stars without a care in the world. Instead, I’m a greedy man who couldn’t do without his lil miss.”

Ben chuckled, that soft, affectionate sound that made her heart flutter. The sound that buoyed her every time she heard it. It was love and safety and everything she’d ever craved.

He slid the rag across the breadth of her shoulders slowly, like he might be taking the time to memorize every bit of her. She leaned back slightly into the warmth and tenderness of his touch.

He knew full well that she was where she wanted to be. Her eyes closed, and she thought she might purr like a contented barn cat if he kept touching her like this.

“I’m just sorry I don’t know more about doctoring. I don’t mind seeing after you.” She propped her chin on her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I told you once. That I’d look after you. You don’t get to do all the lookin’ after around here. Maybe I want to do some, as well.”

“Mm.” She could tell that he was smiling. He set aside the soap and rinsed the rag before running it over her shoulders and down her spine. His thumb traced each notch of her bones. “Only fair, I guess. But right now, I think perhaps I owe a little sweetness to my wife.”

He wrung out the rag and lay it over the edge of the tub. A gentle touch prompted her to lean back, and he cupped his hands over her shoulders and began to knead.

Her breath caught as his thumbs dug into tight muscle, and she groaned. It hurt. But a good hurt. And at her sound, Ben continued rubbing the tight muscles. Gentle, but diligent.

She was somewhere half-lulled to sleep when she felt his hand smooth over her hair, and she heard him huff and grunt with the effort of fetching her towel.

“You shouldn’t—” she said, taking it from him with a blush. Rey wrapped it around herself as she stood. “You should go back to bed.”

His leg was stiff; she could tell from the way he held it and shifted gingerly. But he was devilishly stubborn as always, and he planted his hands on her waist and pulled her so sudden, that she had no choice but to step over the tub and onto the floor with a slosh of water. He tugged her close again and frisked his hands over the towel, making a show of drying her with the rough cloth as she laughed.

“Don’t want you to catch a chill.”

No chance of that on a summer night when the air was swollen with heat.

His hands caught around her ribs, near to spanning her in his grip. Heat rose from her belly, straight up into her face, and she was sure she was red as a tomato. That lick of want flared to life as her eyes held his, and she saw that answering need. His lips parted as if he’d say something, but she spoke first.

“Ben—” It wasn’t a good idea. With his knee, and his ribs, and goodness knew Ben was vigorous in his loving. She ached for it. To feel him part her knees and push into her and grunt sweet words against her neck. “You’re not recovered, and—”

He pulled her to stand between his knees and looked up at her. The yearning she saw in him shivered along with hers. “I can manage.” He paused, abashed for a moment. “If you’ll have me.”

She would. She nodded, and with a shaky exhale, she released her hold on the towel, letting it droop away from her body. It puddled on the floor. But Ben’s eyes never left hers. Not even as his hands slipped to her backside and pulled her tight against him. Not even as he hungrily mouthed at her breasts, kissing and suckling until her nipples peaked tight.

Rey’s fingers tangled in his thick, faintly silvered hair, and she panted at the sensation, the grip of his fingers, the urgency and heat of his tongue, and she felt herself shiver deep within.

“Ah—”

That pulled his attention, slow and foggy from where he’d been savoring her.

“Can you—can you tell me how to please you?” she asked, brushing the hair away from his face, tracing his scar from brow to collar. She knew so little. And something wild and burning in her heart told her she needed more.

He grinned, broad and boyish, and he pressed his forehead against her breast. “You please me so damn much, Rey. So damn much.”

#

He’d limped back to the bed, and Rey had followed, scurrying onto the mattress ahead of him. When Ben grumbled as he tried to pull his shirt over his head, Rey had taken the hem of his shirt from him and carefully eased it over his head before casting it aside. Feeling bold under his approving eyes, she carefully wrapped an arm around his waist.

He was warm. So warm, and solid, too, and Rey thrilled to be this close to him again, her skin pressed to his. She kissed the back of his neck, his shoulders, until he made a subtle groan.

Ben hastened to loosen his trousers, sliding them to the floor along with his drawers, and he eased carefully onto the bed until he was sitting against the headboard comfortably.

He was—oh. He was already hard for her, his cock flushed and ruddy against his lower belly and the thatch of dark, curling hair. Guess he was pleased, after all.

Rey flushed, shifting so she could lean in for a kiss. She pressed a hand against his chest for balance, and sighed when she felt his hand close around the back of her neck and draw her closer.

Ben’s lips were softer than anything she’d touched in life, she thought. They moved against hers slowly, thoroughly, and she felt his free hand at her waist. Like the rest of him, it was big and firm. Strong enough for the harshest farm work, but with her, ever so tender.

She knelt next to him, kissing and caressing him eagerly, her heartbeat hopping to a quicker step like when she brought Gertie from a walk to a trot in the yard.

His hands grew more urgent, stroking, teasing, gripping her as he hummed his pleasure into his mouth, until he broke away, glassy-eyed.

“C’mere.” His voice was husky, and he guided her over him to straddle his lap, bringing her nose to nose with him. His dark eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “I can manage like this.”

Rey glanced down between them, the wide expanse of his chest and torso, to where his cock rose between them. Her thighs cradled around him. But—how?

She looked at him, her brow frumpling. “Does it—can it be done like this?” She’d never seen it so in observations of animals, and perhaps Ben could see the contemplation on her face, because he chuckled and kissed her soundly until there wasn’t a thought in her head.

“Why don’t we find out?” he asked, teasing a finger along her collarbone.

He gripped her hips and shifted her until her core rubbed over his length. And again.  She felt an answering warmth ripple deep in her belly as she felt that friction, hot, and wet, and intimate. Rey tried the movement on her own, gasping as the place at the top of her cunt throbbed from rubbing against his cock.

“Ah—” she exhaled, gripping his shoulders. Rey’s eyes found his, and she knew she should be embarrassed or shy or act more… dignified and wifely… however that may be, but she could only smile in bewildered satisfaction. “Is this alright?—”

“Yes, sweetheart. So good. Just like this.” His words were thick, heavy, and he helped her rock against him rhythmically until she was panting, until she’d grown so very wet and was sliding against him messily. It was bliss. Good and true. He was hot and throbbing between her legs, and every time that place brushed against him, she thought she’d crisis the way she had on their wedding night. Every moment felt like something was building. Only now, she knew what it would be. And she wanted it.

Ben pulled her closer, kissing her slow and deep as his hands shifted her hips until she could feel the head of his cock begin to breach her.

Thick. Nearly impossibly so. And harder than iron. But—damnation—she wanted him inside her. She closed her eyes and pressed down hard, fast, and knocked the breath out of herself. And him. And they shivered together. Rey whimpered at the stretch and buried her face against his chest.

“Rey—” he moaned, his hips surging upward, and she knew he was helpless to control it. A groan of pleasure rattled through them both. She was so full of him. Stretched. And as she shifted, the friction made her cunt clench and tighten.

It was… it was remarkable. Rey did what felt right. What felt good. And she began to roll her hips and slide along the length of him, riding him something like she did with Gertie. Sweat rolled from her collar to between her breasts, and Ben licked at it thirstily, as if he could drink from her all his days.

“So lovely, so good—ah, lil miss, you’re the best thing in my life—” he rambled, praising her as she writhed on him. Her skin flamed. A coil of pleasure wound so tight in her belly that she thought she’d either scream or die. Only the press of his fingertips into her hips kept her bound to reality.

“Love you.” She said it on an exhale, opening her eyes to gaze upon him, his expression slack jawed with pleasure, his eyes devouring her.

She’d live on that forever, she decided, rising and falling on his cock, panting every time it split her open. She grunted at the effort it took to take him. But in her soul, there was only the chorus of need begging for him, more, now, and deep. Every part of her sang with the stars when she felt him bottom out inside her, until there was no more of him to possibly take.

She was there. She was so close, every inch of her waiting for something indefinable. And when Ben slipped a hand to rub between her legs at her special place, lightning cracked in her veins.

God yes please yes so good yes—her thoughts disintegrated and reformed.

Rey gasped, her scream of pleasure silent as she threw her head back. The shock rolled over her in a wave that left her shaking, vibrating.

As she panted her pleasure against Ben’s neck, each aftershock caused her thighs to tense. Her cunt, still so full of him, squeezed until Ben gasped and gripped her harder than hard.

He grunted, a raw, low sound from deep in his throat, as his hips bucked up roughly, and she felt the warmth of his seed spill into her. His hips jerked with each pulse, his need as great as her own. When he’d pumped his last, his hands shook as she sagged against him bonelessly.

The last thing Rey recalled before sleep took her was the way Ben held her close against his heart. Steady as ever. As solid and reliable as the earth itself. And she drifted to sleep under the tender brush of his soft lips on her forehead. Safe. Loved.

#

Chapter Text

#

Ben stood behind her, and he positioned her hands on the rifle after she lifted it and aimed at the row of tin cans on the distant fence line.

“There you go, sweetheart. Look down thataway beyond the sight.” Rey trained her eyes down the barrel of the rifle and beyond to the cans. Ben placed his hands on her hips. “Steady, now. And watch for the kick. Don’t let it bruise your shoulder.”

There’d been no sign of Plutt. But Jimmy had come back from town with new farm hands borrowed from Mr. Hux, and some parcels from Mrs. Kanata’s general store. Among which was a new rifle that Ben said would be hers. Given that while on his errand, Jimmy had seen Pryde, one of Plutt’s friends, having conversation with the nervous little Pastor Mitaka, it was clear as the blue sky above that help wasn’t coming from town.

“I think I—” Rey glared at the tin can and pulled the trigger. The rifle fired with a crack, and the tin can whizzed off the fence with a sharp-sounding pting less than a second later. “Got it!”

She lowered the rifle, unable to keep the grin from her face, and beamingly proud, Ben hugged her tight and pressed a kiss to her cheek that scraped and scratched with his two-day-old whiskers. “Clever lil miss.”

“Clever lil missus.” Rey’s eyes danced, and she turned in his arms. She lifted her face in invitation of another kiss. Even with the threat of Plutt, these days at Ben’s side had been, well, they’d been wonderful.

He’d gotten better at lumbering down the stairs with his bad knee, especially after she’d found an old wooden cane in the storage room, amongst the dusty furniture and books and other treasures from his family’s past. He’d guessed that it had been his grandfather’s. It bothered her that it didn’t seem to be improving overmuch. He still couldn’t walk well, nor stand well, and he was stubborn enough to insist on both. He’d insisted on going to the clearing beyond the barn, slow-going as it was, to teach her to shoot.

“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Solo.” He touched his lips to hers as gently as ever, and he let his fingers stroke alongside the curve of her neck. “You’re a regular sharpshooter, and makin’ me proud already, but I want you to practice. Get comfortable with the rifle. Practice loading it, too, fast as you can. Alright?”

She nodded. Ben considered it good sense that she be able to defend herself. And while she was quick and strong, a rifle had its uses. And these days, he didn’t want her out of his sight unless she had one with her.

Rey carried the ammo and the rifle and the shot-up tin cans back to the house, her steps slow as she watched Ben make way back to the farmhouse. He gritted his teeth and, stubborn as can be, walked unevenly. It was hard on him. She could see that, and it was easy to put thoughts of Plutt aside when her worry had been building every day.

“We need a doctor for your leg.” A quick glance up at him. He’d been saying there was no need, no need at all, just rest and care, and he’d be good as new, but it was two weeks now, and he still struggled mightily. It was only his thickheaded determination that had him upright.

He grunted as he stepped along, and she could see the sweat beading on his forehead from the effort. “We don’t need to be telling anyone in town about my leg.”

A fair point. Even so. His leg needed more care than she knew to give.

Rey set everything on the porch, then ran back to Ben’s side to help him up the stairs. She could take a little of his weight, at least.

“It’s going on too long, I think. Even my ankle was fine enough for me to walk along a bit after I twisted it so bad.” She guided him to the chair on the porch where he spent a fair amount of his day, and brought the low stool over for him to carefully, painfully, set up his leg. “And you’re just stompin’ around, trying to do too much, like always.”

She fretted about a bit, then poured him a cup of water from the pitcher they kept on the porch. A frown deepened on his face, brow furrowing with disagreement. Like always, these days.

Rey sighed, then pulled a small stool up close to him to sit.

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to care for you and see you safe.” He sipped the water and set it aside, shifting his leg uncomfortably. And now, in the shade of the porch, she could see the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of his worry. And that painful kernel of guilt grew in her belly. “All that rest didn’t help, so I might as well be up and about. The new hands need to see that I’m present. And frankly, I cannot abide being cooped up like a hen. I need to see the world—my part of it, anyway.”

“I know the fellas are glad to see you again. It’s easier for them to get your opinion.” Rey bit her lip and placed her hand on his leg to soothe him. “And I’m happier for your company. But it’s hard to see you struggle so. And knowing it’s because of me that you can’t summon a doctor makes me feel—” she frowned, trying to find the right words. “Makes me feel like I’m maybe more trouble than I’m worth.”

“And not being able to ride out and tell Plutt that if he sets foot near you again, that he’ll find himself in a shallow grave makes me feel like an old man who can’t protect his wife after he made her a promise to always do just that.” The words were harder than she expected, and Rey felt them as much as heard them.

Even with all the joy, there was this little bitterness. And she hated it knowing it had but one source. Plutt. And he didn’t have the right to ruin their joy.

“You’re protecting me just fine. The new hands seem real decent, and they haven’t said a word about checking the fields and fences so late.” Poachers, Ben had told them. People helping themselves to sections of his crops, or even daring to come closer to the house and trying to steal a horse or a cow. Rey’d said nothing to that, though she’d fallen into Ben’s arm that night, laughing. “You’ve taught me to ride and shoot, too. You’ve made me stronger, even when I’ve brought trouble to your door.”

Rey reached for his hands and laced her fingers through his.

“Told you, sweetheart. I never saw any trouble where you’re concerned. Just a girl.” His expression softened, his gaze tender on her face. “My girl.”

He wasn’t going to distract her with his affectionate words.

“You still need a doctor. I know you’ve got training and all, but I—”

“Rey.”

“Ben.” She glared something fierce at him until he was truly chagrined.

“I suppose I could write to my uncle,” he managed after a long pause, though it made him groan. “He disowned me twice over already, but he’s honor-bound to give advice or send me the name of someone who could assist.”

“Oh—would he come, do you think?” Funny to think of Ben’s family coming here. Sometimes this farm seemed like their own little island, not that she’d ever seen the ocean. They’d had no word from his mother, but then again, she still wondered if he’d written her of their marriage.

“He’s in Oberlin, still, and I’ve no wish to see him. He may know of someone in Chicago or Bloomington.” Ben smiled, a ghost of a thing, though his fond gaze felt like sunshine on her face.  “Will that suit you, lil miss, if I send a letter?”

It would. Pleased with her result, Rey rose and kissed his cheek. “I’ll start supper. Can you snap beans for me?”

“Love nothin’ more than that,” Ben chuckled with warmth, closing his eyes and leaning into her kiss.

#

It was quiet, and time held its breath as if the moment were too lovely to let pass, Rey though, as she lay on her side in bed, Ben breathing behind her, so even he must be asleep.

They’d washed up, and Ben had written his letter to his Uncle Luke, as promised, and blown out the candles. The room was still bathed in the white glow of moonlight that the lace curtains did little to block.

Supper had been cheerful. The beans had paired well with the beef roast and potatoes she’d made, and she must be getting closer to making a decent lemonade, because only Jimmy winked at her this time when sipping a glass. The new hands, Peter Aplek and Tom Vicrul, were polite and easy-mannered and laughed a great deal. She’d write to Mrs. Hux to pass along her thanks to Mr. Hux. She hoped their farm wouldn’t suffer the loss.

Ben’s knee was aching him, more than usual, or at least, she realized, more than he usually said, because he knew she worried. He’d taken a willow bark tea to help with inflammation, but she didn’t know how helpful it was.

“Can hear you thinking,” Ben mumbled, rolling over to slide a heavy arm over her waist. “What’s on your mind?”

She laughed a bit and snuggled into him. Even after these weeks, Ben was still solid as a wall, still as warm as a furnace.

“Just thinking about the day. Wondering what life will be like when we’re not waiting anymore.” She didn’t wish to say Plutt’s name when she was in Ben’s arms, in their marriage bed. Seemed wrong to invite that misery in between them.

“Wasn’t aware we were waiting to live, missy.” His smile pressed against the soft skin at the back of her neck, and he tugged her right up against him. “You’re right here, and I’m right here, and this is our life. Our farm. Our harvest soon enough, too.” He nuzzled into her neck sweetly. “Life’s never without its bumps or disappointments. Doesn’t mean it’s not worth living.”

“S’pose so.” She smiled in the moonlight, and she reached for his hand and pulled it over her heart. She liked the warmth of it there, liked to share the pulse of her love with him. “I know it was hard for you to write that letter.”

Ben laughed, each warm puff against the curve of her neck. “Yes. But I expect you were right that I should ask after some help. He’s well-respected. Gives quite well-attended lectures. Just because he’s stubborn—” he paused as Rey laughed. Because of course a stubborn man had stubborn family. And Ben kissed her neck with a growl. “Now you hush. He’s the stubborn one. More so than me, anyway. And if you like stubborn--my mother, now, she puts us all to shame. And sharp-tongued, too. Never an opinion went unexpressed that crossed her mind.”

“Supper time must have been real exciting. Your father also a stubborn mule?”

“Yes. Quiet about it, compared to my mother. Maybe that’s why his trips could take so long. Give everyone time to cool off from the last fight.”

She huffed and closed her eyes as Ben nipped at her earlobe. “You were born to it, then.”

“Guess that’s true.” His hand covered her breast as his lips traveled to a sensitive spot on her neck, high on her jaw. “And found me a stubborn little lady to marry.” He squeezed lightly and let his thumb stroke over her nipple through the thin cotton of her chemise. “Maybe we’ll have a house full of stubborn children, one day. I think I’d like that.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She’d thought of it, of course. “W-we could. They’d come by it honest, the stubbornness.” His low laugh rumbled against her back, and she laughed with him, even as her heart began to race when his hand traveled down her body to between her legs. Oh—he was going to—she thought with a thrill as he rucked up her chemise. He cupped his hand between her legs, covering her sex easily in his handspan. “Ah—” she breathed.

“Hmm. I think—” he started, his voice a rough whisper against her ear. Ben slid one arm under her head, cradling it on his firm bicep. The other began to rub, the heel of his hand grinding against that special place, sending shivers through her. “I think life is just beginning for us.”

Ben’s thick fingers slid between her folds, tracing intimately, drawing along the seam of her until she panted. Her core ached for want of him, and she was quickly warm and soft and wet from his touch. He teased her, dipping his finger into her, then trailing the wet of her arousal around the little nub at the crest of her.

“Ben—” she whispered. She rocked against his hand, the heat warming through her veins like molten sunshine.

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned in her ear. “Everything’s going to be alright. I promise.” He rubbed against the little nub that felt so good whenever he touched it, circling lazily as he whispered in her ear. “My leg’s gonna be fine. Harvest will be good. You’ll put enough sugar in the lemonade, one of these days—”

She gasped and elbowed him for that, even as she moaned when he slid one thick finger deep inside of her. Ben only laughed before mouthing at her neck.

“Like that—” she whispered, feeling her muscles clench around him at the intrusion. He stroked slowly, working her until she felt herself grow so wet, she must surely be making a mess on his hand. Not that Ben seemed to mind. He added a second finger, and she felt so full that she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

“Mmm. Sweetheart, you’re such a good girl. Taking such good care of me.” His lips were soft, warm, and intent, covering from behind her ear to her shoulder. “Can I take care of you? Will you let me?”

His fingers curved slightly, touching a spot deep within her that made her shudder as lightning poured through her. She could scarce hold a thought as her core fluttered around him, as her heart raced, as she gave a shout that broke the quiet of the moonlit bedroom. “Please—I—”

He pulled his hand from her, and Rey felt sorrow at the loss. But he pulled her leg up and back, hooking it over his hip, and he shifted forward almost roughly until his hard cock pressed against the small of her back. The heat of him, the length of him, was easy to feel, even through his drawers.

There was a bit of fumbling behind her, and then she felt him sliding his cock against her sex. It moved easily, she was so wet, and he slicked himself with her. His breaths puffed at the back of her neck, big hand holding fast to her hip as he moved.

“Feel that, lil miss?” he whispered, his voice rasping. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Rey felt his teeth graze her shoulder, and then the big, blunt head of his cock pressing deep inside of her, stretching her, filling her.  “I’m going to—ungh—” he grunted hard, then pushed again, gaining another inch within her tight core, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Already, she was full and aching from the size of him. “I’m going to put my fat cock inside you—gonna—hmmf” he stilled, and she should feel his body tremble behind hers, as if he needed time to master himself. “Going to give you a nice, fat baby.”

Rey moaned, and she clenched hard around his cock.

He wrapped his arm tight around her waist until she bent forward slightly. And with the new angle, Ben grunted and thrust deep inside her, until she felt him fully rooted.

She gasped as she threw her head back. He had her pulled so tight against him, she could hardly move, and right now, every bit of her flesh was fiery with need. Every time Ben loved on her, it was a challenge to fit him, to take in his thick cock and let him rut into her, but he knew now how to soften her, how to gentle her enough so she could have him.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered roughly, beginning to thrust into her urgently. “Gonna be such a pretty little mama.”

Rey shivered and arched her neck back. The delicious friction was making her loose-limbed and shivery and melted-buttery. She whined as he moved his hand between her legs, working at the sensitive little nub with a single-minded determination until she was fully writhing on his big cock, near to mindlessness. She was sure not a thing she said had a lick of sense to it.

“Ben, ah—just—”

“What is it, missy?” he asked, slowing his movements to long slow pumps as he looked down at her face. His eyes were heavy with desire, his face flushed and sweaty. “Tell me.”

“Feels—” she shuddered as he withdrew to the tip, then with achingly torturous tortoise-like pace, pressed into her. “Good.”

“Takin’ care of my sweet little wife,” he said, nipping at her neck. “Gonna put a baby in her.”

Rey made an inarticulate noise as she clenched again. Her nerves were hotter than the sun in July, and he never stopped touching her, never stopped working her little bud until she was suddenly shaking around him, trembling and gasping with her climax.

“You want that, sweetheart?”

She nodded, gasping as his hips snapped against hers. “Yes—” His cock dragged against that delicious spot deep within that made her feel like melted butter. “Please—”

“Please, what?” he teased, moving his hand, trailing it wetly up to her breasts, where he squeezed gently and toyed with her nipples, thumbing and pinching them lightly until her senses shivered like light reflected off the river. “What do you want?”

“T-take care of me.” Ben made a pleased noise, and he began to move again, faster than before, until the bed was groaning. His breathing came fast and hot against her neck as his hips pumped relentlessly. “G-give me your baby,” she gasped.

Ben gave a guttural moan at that, and his thrusts turned rough and ragged. His hand moved to her hip and squeezed hard as he bucked against her once, twice, and again and she felt her core flooded with his seed. He sagged over her back, dragging her close as his hips pumped lazily, as if he were loathe to pull from her. As if he’d found a home inside her.

“My god, Rey,” he breathed, kissing her jaw, and stroking his hand over the length of her body with a reverence that made her boneless and warm. “My god, what you do to me. My little sweetheart.”

His hand found hers and clasped around it, bringing it up to his lips.

“Whatever life brings,” she said softly, turning her head to meet his gaze. And her heart ached with the force of her love for him. “We’re living it now. Together.”

“Together.” He was solemn in his reply.

And just as quickly, Ben growled, and his lips were on hers in playful, loving attack.

#

Chapter Text

#

The sun barely peaked across the horizon, and their bedroom was gold and shadow as they curled close together, breathing in the hazy, morning quiet.

“Mmm.” Ben nuzzled at the back of her neck, and his hand found its home, splayed low across her belly.

Rey bit her lip and smiled into the pillow before glancing back over her shoulder at him. He’d loved on her so thoroughly the night before, she was sure she could still feel him, deep within her. Every last bit of him. She was so wrapped in his warmth, she was sure she could wear it like a cloak and it would protect her, no matter what happened beyond the safety of their bed.

“Mmm?” she teased.

“Had a real nice dream.” His lips were soft against the curve of her shoulder as he tugged the edge of her shift lower.

She laughed into the pillow a bit, her face warming at the memories of the night before. He’d been so… and she’d… she barely had words for it. Every time he loved on her, it was better than before. “I did, too.”

“Hmm. You better tell me about this dream.” His voice was low and husky in her ear, and he pulled her hips sharply against his hips. His hand gripped her hip, and she felt him firm against her rear. “Maybe I had the same one.”

Likely he had. Ben was the center of all her dreams now.

“I need to start breakfast.” She didn’t. But she made to pull from his arms, ever so slowly. Only for his hand to tighten on her and for him to huff stubbornly. “The fellas—"

“The fellas will manage.”

“I figured—” They’d been cooking more at the bunk house with Hux’s hands present. Mostly, they just took supper at the farmhouse these days. Privacy, Robbie had cited, tweaking her braid when no one was looking. She supposed he had a point, as Hux’s hands weren’t family the way Robbie and Jimmie were. And so her mornings with Ben had grown quiet. “But I have this hungry husband to feed, and lord knows I wouldn’t want him sore at me for being lazy…”

“Nothin’ lazy about my sweet wife.” His hand shifted to cup her breast, and she felt his warm breath as he smiled against her neck.

Oh.

Even after last night? When he’d had her twice?

She hadn’t known marriage would be so… she didn’t have words for it.

She wriggled slightly and laughed, a soft breathy thing she scarcely recognized. “I don’t know—layin’ here in bed instead of fetching eggs and milking cows, and I need to soak some beans for supper, and that wagon axle is squeaking again, so I gotta see to it, and—”

“—and maybe,” Ben started, his whiskers brushing against her jaw as he rolled his hips against hers suggestively. “Maybe you’ve got a husband to tend to. Could use somethin’ sweet to get my day started.”

The devil had got hold of her Mr. Solo, that was certain. And she couldn’t find it herself to mind one bit.

“Well, if you’d just let me, I’d get up right now and make some griddle cakes for you. Jimmy showed me how. And there’s all that good syrup, too, and…”

Her words drifted as Ben growled playfully, the sound muffled between her shoulder blades. “Got all the sweetness I need right here, lil miss.”

“You sure? I’ll fix you breakfast right now—”

Ben shifted suddenly, the old bed creaking, and he pressed her onto her back with a movement that reminded her just how powerful he was. A reminder that every bit of gentleness was for her, and it was a gift, because even with his knee still paining him, her husband was every bit fit and strong as a young man. He rested on elbow, leaning over her with his broad, broad body.

And he certainly looked hungry. Like he’d eat her whole. And she felt herself take in a steadying breath. This man. Even now, rumpled from sleep, with his salt and pepper hair curling wildly about his face, his ears, he was starkly handsome.

She still wasn’t sure how it was she’d stumbled into this life, but she was infinitely glad she had.

“I think I’ll have my breakfast in bed this morning.”

Her color rose on her face as his eyes traveled from hers, down her neck, to where her shift and the bedding covered her. He really had meant what he said about living now, and not worrying about what was to come. But Ben always meant what he said.

He brushed his fingers against her cheek and kissed her, sweetly, on the mouth. Then her chin. And her neck.

“All the food is downstairs—” she whispered, combing her fingers through his thick hair as he mouthed almost lazily at her collar bones.

“Mmm.” He nipped gently. “Guess I’ll just have to eat you up instead.”

She shivered, scratching at his scalp until he groaned happily, reminding her of the big barn cat who’d sometimes let her pet him over at Plutt’s.

“Hmm. Sure there’s enough meat on these bones for a big man like you?” Lord, she didn’t know where these words came from sometimes. Even last night, when he’d had her beggin’ him for a baby, by light of day, the thought just made her blush and blush.

Ben chuckled and undid the tiny buttons on her shift, baring her breasts to him. “I’m gonna make a feast of you this morning, missy.”

And judging from the fiercely tender gaze in his eyes, she knew he’d have it no other way.

He suckled at one breast, then the other, teasing her nipples until they were pebbled and taut. And when her skin was shining with his saliva, and she was rosy from the way he’d mark her with his teeth, he slid further down the bed, peeling her out of her shift as he went. She lifted her hips for him to pull the garment from her fully.

His hands caressed every inch of her, rough callouses over her smooth skin, but tender, reverent, even when he grazed his teeth on the flat of her belly. And even when he sucked a small, purple bruise above her hip bones.

It was slow work, awkward because of the knee he was favoring, but the moment she started to tell him to be careful, that he could just tell her how he wanted her, she could ride him again, really--she heard his low, determined voice.

“Hush, now. Not polite to interrupt a man’s breakfast.”

He tossed her shift over the side of the bed, leaving her sprawled bare before him. Ben’s eyes glinted as he looked her over from her flushed face to her little pink nipples to the dark triangle of hair that curled above her sex.

She wasn’t sure, entirely, what he meant to do, as he palmed her thighs apart until she was exposed to him. Utterly. It felt—it felt so naked, so much more with him looking intently at that part of her. Rey tried to press her knees together, but Ben held fast, holding her open to his eyes. She’d never seen his eyes so dark and glittering.

Her heart thumped faster, and she let her legs fall wider open. She’d let him. She could see the want in his eyes, and heaven above, she liked the way he admired her.

“Ben—what are you doing?” she asked, her hands curling into the blankets he’d pushed aside in his journey.

He settled onto his belly, and pressed a slow, wet kiss against her thigh. “I’m going to eat this sweet quim of yours, Mrs. Solo.”

She blinked. She—she’d never heard such. “I don’t—Is a man supposed to—?”

Her husband huffed a low laugh and shifted to press a kiss just below her hip bone. “I’ve had a yearning to taste my wife where she’s sweetest. Maybe give her a bit of pleasure, too. Can’t think of anything more important a man should do for his pretty wife.” He nipped at her skin, and he gazed up the length of her body at her, his eyes full of heat. “Will you let me, sweetheart?”

Saying no wasn’t a possibility. Not when she was the way his muscles shifted under his skin as he stroked a hand along her thigh. Not when she felt how very tender his lips were as they traveled, featherlight, closer and closer to the core of her. Not when she admitted to herself a terribly wild curiosity.

“A-alright.” Her breath caught, and she shifted until Ben’s hands stilled her, gentling her nervousness.

“You’re so pretty here.” His breath was warm on her sex, and she exhaled sharply when she felt his lips press against her core in a slow kiss. Warm. Soft. And slow.

Rey closed her eyes. It was… it was so different.

“So pink and warm. Like a rose in a garden.” Ben’s lips moved against the folds of her sex carefully, in one deep nuzzle after another, like he was learning every bit of her, as if he didn’t know it already. “Lovely little petals…”

He’d always touched her so carefully, so tenderly, with his thick, gentle fingers, but now his tongue—

Rey panted.

His tongue.

Oh.

It traced the seam of her with a slow delicacy that made her fists bunch into the bedding. The shiver rippled deep within her, building a slow heat that warmed her to the bone. And as he dipped his tongue deeper, pushing into her, she clenched, unbidden, with a strangled noise.

“Ben,” she breathed, closing her eyes.

He hummed a satisfied noise that vibrated against her core. “So good, Rey.”

And as his hands tightened on her thighs, holding her steady, he began to lap at her in earnest. He suckled at her folds, eager, relishing every bit of her.

The pleasure built, slow and joyful, and Rey’s fingers moved to stroke through his hair as she let the wave of warmth wash over her. What Ben was doing—it was soft, and slow, and wet, and messy, and every part of her throbbed.

But the throb turned to a bolt of electricity as Ben’s lips closed around the little nub at the crest of her sex. Funny how something as soft as her husband’s lips could press so firm, wringing a gasp out of her as her hips bucked.

Her husband only laughed, the devil, pressing his forearm across her hips. “Not quite done here, lil miss.”

And God, what he did next. His tongue circled her bud, covering it in her own wet, his saliva. And relentless as anything, he began to flick and press and trace around it until she was sure there was fire in her veins.

The world went molten as he mouthed and lapped and licked and suckled at her, the wet noises mingling with her labored pants until at last, the world went white.

She screamed, she was sure, as her body jerked with the force of her pleasure, but Ben continued, savoring her until she sagged against the mattress. Not one bone was solid in her. And not one thought was left.

Rey hardly knew when he shifted, until she felt him cover her with his body, and she blinked blearily up at him. She felt hot all over, and there was sweat on her brow, and she’d never felt this liquid relaxation. Not even the time she’d pinched some of Plutt’s cheap whiskey out of curiosity when she was a girl. This was a far better bliss than some poison-tasting drink.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, wiping his hand across his mouth. His crooked smile held pride, a feral look of accomplishment as he hovered over her. She could feel him rock-hard against her belly, and her legs fell open in easy welcome as he slotted his hips between her thighs. “Did you like that?”

Rey laced her fingers behind his neck and pulled him down to her for a long kiss. The tang of her was on his lips, and she moaned into his mouth. As good an answer as any, she thought.

And in reply, Ben hitched a hand behind her knee, spreading her wide. “I’m gonna have the rest of you now, if you don’t mind.” These words were murmured against her neck, hot and urgent.

He rocked against her, slicking himself with her wetness, and poised himself at her core. Ben caressed her cheek, then with a groan, he pressed into her.

A stretch, as always, as his thick cock filled her slowly. Ben swallowed her little gasp with a kiss.

Rey shifted, arching against him, trying to find the angle she needed for him to root in her deep, the way she liked, and at last, when he slid a hand under her backside and pulled her up close, he was there. Impossibly hard and solid within her, impossibly close as his eyes met hers.

“Well, hello, Mrs. Solo,” he whispered, peppering her face with kisses. “You feel sweet as ever on my cock.”

“Mr. Solo—” she breathed, blushing at his words. But there was little time to reply, and she could only gasp as he began to thrust.

The bed creaked so, lord, it did, and Rey laughed breathlessly against his shoulder, and Ben with her.

“Quite a racket,” he murmured, grinning even as he closed his eyes, his expression awash in pleasure as he continued apace, his hands tight on her thighs as he worked in and out of her.  “Gonna have to fix that.”

Or not, she thought, enjoying the noisy, awkward sounds the bed made along with their labored panting. It was good like this, she thought. There were no secrets, not even from the furniture.

But soon enough, he grunted as he shifted his leg, and with a subtle, muffled curse, he leaned heavily onto her. It must be paining him, she realized, placing her hands on his firm rump, enjoying the way its muscles flexed as he loved into her.

“You alright?” she asked, gasping as he pumped harder into her, their skin pressed together.

“Never better, missy.” His lips captured hers, removing any chance of argument, and he forced a hand between them to find her little nub. His thick, blunt fingers fumbled until he found just the spot, and he began to rub vigorously, even as his movements on top of her, inside of her, staggered, and his breathing grew uneven.

“Come for me, sweetheart. I want to see you fall apart all over again,” he urged.

She knew he was close. Could feel it in the way he moved, the way he breathed, the way his eyes were unfocused.

“Keep… like that—” she replied, letting herself sink into the sensations building within her.

And when the vibrations, the jumble of warm pleasure burst, popping sweetly, making her clench and shiver around him, Ben grunted and thrust into her just short of roughly, once, twice, and with a gasp, a final time before he spent into her, white-hot.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, sucking on the skin of her neck. “Rey. Sweetheart.”

Ben sagged into her arms, his hips jerking against hers with each spurt of his seed. He was heavy on her, and inside her, and she could feel the stickiness of his seed trickling out of her and down her thighs.

It was a long moment before Ben could shift again, slowly pulling his softening cock from her body, and flopping onto his back next to her. His thick cock slapped wetly against his thigh.

They stared at the ceiling with its faint cracks in the plaster that needed repair.

And Ben finally sighed, a warm little chuff of laughter being swallowed before he spoke. “I’m glad we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us.” His hand found hers, and he brought it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “Because I’m never going to have enough of you.”

She turned her head, studying the sweaty, flushed face of her husband fondly. He was so truly handsome. And she didn’t know what to do with this need for him, body and soul, that gripped her more every time they got to loving.

“So you’ll always be wanting breakfast in bed, I expect?”

Ben barked a laugh, and his toothy grin could stretch all the way to the county line.

“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I’m afraid.”

Rey blushed. But she grinned at him, a sly thought crossing her mind. “That doesn’t leave much time for farmin’.”

And her Mr. Solo, he scrubbing his hand over his face and laughed until he said his ribs ached. “S’pose it doesn’t. Do you mind, Mrs. Solo?”

Well, perhaps come winter when there was no harvest. Then perhaps there’d be regrets.

But for now?

“Not hardly.”

#

Chapter Text

#

Nothing. For another week, there was nothing.

Just the contented whisper of swaying crops, tall and proud in the late summer breeze.

Ben had hummed at her worry, kneading the tightness at her shoulders and kissing the nape of her neck with the same gentle reverence he always did. He’d taken to plaiting her hair in the morning and tying the braid with the green ribbon she’d been wearing since she’d stumbled into this life. The first bit of Ben’s sweet doting, and she’d barely realized it at the time.

“He didn’t get a reaction from us. Maybe that’s answer enough,” he’d said, finally, firmly. “Plutt’s a bully, and all bullies are cowards at heart. And if he has any sense at all, he knows he’ll get a backside full of buckshot at the least if he shows himself. Ah, sweet thing.” Ben had wrapped his arms around her middle and hugged her from behind, cozy and solid as always. “I imagine he’s probably decided it’s too risky to come here.”

Could be. But. She had her doubts. Plutt was the sort of man to keep poking until he got what he wanted. He was being more sly about it this time, was all. Like he knew there was more to be gotten if only he practiced a little more patience.

But maybe Ben had a point. Plutt’s laziness was bone deep. He’d seen if there were easy reactions to be had, and she and Ben had answered in silence.

Even so, Rey had asked Jimmy to run to town to casually listen to the gossip at Ole Mrs. Kanata’s general store, and maybe idle about the postmaster’s office, as well. It’s not like anyone Plutt spoke with had the capacity not to run their fool mouth to all and sundry. But when Jimmy returned, wagon laden with goods, he had nothing more than cornmeal and flour and chicken feed.

No word at all.

Jimmy had tugged her braid and given her a wry report. “Sorry, Miss Rey. Ain’t no news.”

At least Ben’s knee was a fair bit better. He walked steady now, not wincing and frowning so much as he ambled around with his grandfather’s knotty pine cane. The rest had done his knee good, and while there was still some healing left, he could manage the stairs with more ease, and he’d started strolling unevenly around the farmyard, determined to do what he could.

Stubborn devil.

Not that she’d know anything about that.

“Mr. Solo,” she scolded, catching him up at the barn. Rey stood in front of him, glaring something fierce at him as she put her hands on her hips. Not that he was in the least worried or intimidated. Which only made her bristle further. That kind of bending and crouching was no good for him yet. “You’re not supposed to be this far from the house. I’ll fetch the eggs and milk the cows.”

“Neither are you.” He tugged the brim of her straw hat over her eyes with a chuckle. “I remember somethin’ about you needing to be safely home where I can defend you. You’re not to be scampering about.”

It was hardly the same at all. She tugged her hat back until she could see his face again. And damn if he wasn’t smiling down at her, far too amused. But it felt good to be grumbling at him about chores again. Especially when she knew that at night, he’d pull her into his arms in bed and grumble right back at her for being a stubborn wife.

“I’d hardly call a few chores no more than fifty feet away from the house ‘scamperin’ about.’” She tilted her chin up at him pertly.

And Ben gave her a toothy grin, one that carved deep dimples in his cheeks, and she felt—well, she felt that old flutter in her chest, the same as always as it ever was when he looked at her so. And she didn’t miss the devil in his eyes, either.

“Oooh, I don’t know. Watchin’ you chase the chickens and then crawl around to see if that wagon axle is squeaking as bad as Jimmy says, in those trousers of yours… looks like scamperin’ to me.”

Trousers—oh. She’d been wearing them a bit more lately, and he certainly hadn’t complained. And now that’s right where he was looking, and not one little bit sorry to be looking at all, she could tell. He just seemed happily wicked and pleased. She flushed and turned to stalk away from him. He could look some more, she supposed. While she scampered.

Ben just laughed. “See? There you go. Scamperin’. Stubborn missy.”

#

Morning was bright as ever, sunny and blue. The heat still rose, steaming off the earth, but even so, it was nice to be sitting on the porch steps, a bowl of beans cradled on her lap, listening to the chickens scrabble and cluck across the yard.

Ben had given the fellas the morning to themselves. They’d been working hard, making sure all was ready for the coming harvest. And Ben had been considering sending Peter and Tom back to Hux’s farm at the week’s end. Hux would need their help, too, and with no sign of trouble here, it didn’t seem reasonable to keep them on.

“This fine weather won’t last much longer,” Ben said with some consideration, rapping his knuckles on the wooden porch railing. Every knock was decisive. “Why don’t we make the best of it?”

Rey glanced up from the beans she’d been industriously shelling for supper. “What do you mean?”

“Seems to me, some time ago, I offered you a picnic by the river. Why don’t we do that? Another month or so, the harvest workers will be here, and we’ll be so busy, we won’t have time to hardly think.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, something rueful in his expression. “And, I was thinking that my knee isn’t as bad as it was. And we’ve had no sign of Plutt for weeks now. And I imagine we’re both about done being cooped up here.”

She loved the house. And the barnyard. But right now, a trip to the river seemed fantastical. The stuff of dreams.

“But can you make it that far?” she asked, trying to slow her eagerness.

She wanted to peel off her socks and put her feet into the cool, clear water. She wanted to enjoy the dappled sun and shadows cast by the overhang of the oak trees’ branches. She missed so much visiting with Ben in the fields, strolling through the orchards, feeling the warmth on their backs as they talked and kissed.

His brow furrowed. “I can sit a horse. I’ll just wrap the knee to give it some support, and I might need a little help from you, but—"

She was already on her feet, bowl of beans nearly toppling upside, and she wrapped her arms tight around his middle. “Could we? I’ll pack us a lunch and, oh, it’ll be such a fine thing to spend the day with you.”

Ben’s hands stroked over her back, warm through her shirt. “Could tell you’ve been needin’ a bit of an escape.” She could hear the smile in his voice. After a moment, his lips brushed against her temple. “Fetch that lunch together, and I’ll have Robbie help me saddle up the horses. Let’s have ourselves a fine day out, sweetheart.”

#

The breeze rustled the leaves on the oak trees, and the river gurgled where water rushed over stones worn smooth by time.

She was sure she’d never seen a prettier sight.

Even Gertie seemed to be pleased to have Rey’s company again. She was starting to think Gertie might like her after all, especially after the carrots she fed her upon reaching the swimming hole. She supposed a bit of bribery wasn’t a bad thing, and she patted Gertie’s nose before leaving her to graze alongside Ben’s horse.

Ben had already dismounted with her assistance, and he walked with a slow gait toward a patch of grass along the riverbank that was shaded to set down the blanket.

“Sweetheart, can you bring that blanket roll?” he called, spreading the thick, woolen blanket.

She managed it easily enough, switching the lunch pail to her other hand and—oh. The blanket was rolled above one of her husband’s rifles. Ben took it from her as she approached, pausing long enough to cup her cheek in his hand and drop an easy kiss upon her lips.

“You are still worried, then,” she said softly, setting down the blanket, then crashing down next to him to pull off her boots.

Ben did the same, then rolled his pants to the calf on each leg. “Not particularly. But I don’t see any reason to be foolish, either. Never mind that there are all kinds of wild hogs in these woods. You don’t want to get caught on the wrong side of one.”

Rey hummed at that, and she was glad when he set the blanket roll with the rifle aside. She was a fair enough shot now, thanks to his training, but she wasn’t wanting to think about anything except enjoying herself today. “We should go swimming and cool off. Even the trees are sweatin’ today under all this sun.”

She was, too. Her shirt was sticking to her skin already, and she plucked at it. Well. There was really no one about to see, and she had seen Jimmy and Robbie’s winks as she and Ben had left, so she knew they wouldn’t be coming this way for hours yet. Rey tugged the shirt over her head, then stood and slid out of her work trousers and even her drawers, not pausing to see what Ben would say.

It was strange being suddenly so very naked out of doors. She wasn’t sure what was more scandalous. The fact that she’d done it, or the fact that she found she wasn’t altogether guilt-stricken.

“Goodness, Miss Rey,” Ben said, eyes widening appreciatively as he took her in. He ruffled his hair, fighting a grin. “Aren’t you a sight for your old husband’s eyes.”

“Come on, then,” she teased, before running down to the edge of the river and plunging in with a squeal. The water was cool under the canopy of trees, and as she waded in to her waist, she shivered.

Ben was slower to enter the water. Undressing was slow, but she had a mind that he wanted her to see him in all his glory, and… she thought to herself that Ben Solo was a man to be admired with his broad, solid chest, long legs, and all the other parts of him. His manhood included.

He had to favor his knee, but he made it down the bank carefully, and then he splashed into the river after her. His grin was a mile wide as he waded to her and grabbed hold.

“You’re a wild little thing,” he teased, cupping her buttocks as he pulled her close and kissed her neck with a playful growl. “Should have known. You took so well to lovin’, after all.”

He grasped her more firmly, and he began to lift her. Rey grinned. Well. This wasn’t precisely her plan, but… She didn’t mind, either. She liked his loving.

Ben kissed her sweetly, but then, with a laugh, and a movement so quick she was caught off guard, he tossed her into the deeper water.

“Ben!” she squawked, flailing as she splashed into the water. But he had that boyish look on his face that was so at odds with his salt and pepper hair, and she couldn’t be vexed. She swam back his way and gave the water a good kick to send a wave his way in retaliation.

He only chuckled, and he dodged the splashing before coming after her with a false sneer. “Gonna get you, little horse thief!”

He lunged and she dodged, giggling. “I didn’t steal any horse.”

“Mmmhmm. You just keep borrowing my horses. I see how it is, lil miss.” He grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back through the water, until he had her close.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, and her arms about his neck. “I didn’t steal anything of yours.” Rey nipped at his lower lip.

“Seems to me you stole my heart.” He beamed at her, and she realized then how much everything had been weighing on him these last weeks. His recover. The threat. He’d been so calm and patient through it. So tender and so protective. But this lightness—it had been gone for some time. If only she could hold this moment forever. Maybe she’d try to draw it later, or something of it, using her pretty colored pencils.

“Oh, that ol’ thing?” she said with a laugh. “Yes, I did.”

He kissed her, the first of many.

They splashed and played and waded, naked as jaybirds, picking up interesting pebbles, then skipping the flat ones across the water’s surface. Ben’s hands kept finding their way to her hips, her backside, her breasts as they kissed. He thumbed over her nipples, and reached a hand between her legs, stroking at the delicate petals of her sex until she panted against his mouth.

It never stopped, this wanting.

“Blanket,” he whispered, half-groaning against her mouth, then squeezed her thigh in encouragement. They hurried, as fast as Ben’s knee would let them, then lowered onto the blanket.

He dragged her on top of him, kissing her slow and deep as he hitched her thighs around his hips. He was hard already, the tip of his thick cock prodding at her entrance, and her moan of encouragement was all he needed.

Ben thrust hot and deep into her, and Rey’s answering gasp near shook the leaves of the trees above. It was heaven. The stretch of him, the fit, the way her skin felt like fire as he gripped her hips and pumped into her, bringing her rapidly toward her crisis. Her heart could scarce keep up as she panted into his neck, begging needily.

“Just like that, Ben,” she whimpered. “Please—"

And when the coil of pleasure was too much and burst forth, Rey’s world burned bright as she shuddered around his cock.

She didn’t care if her cries of pleasure made the birds scatter or frightened the fish. Because looking down at Ben and seeing his head thrown back, his face awash with pleasure, she knew this was real, and this was good, and no one could take it from her. He grunted throatily as he pumped roughly through his own crisis, finally exhaling a labored gasp.  

Rey peppered his face with kisses until she found his lips, and they kissed and kissed, until she shifted slightly to pull off his softening cock.

“Hmm, c’mere.” His voice was soft, but his breathing was ragged still.

Rey shifted to curl next to him, ignoring the wet trickle of him and her mingled on her thighs. She rested her head on his shoulder and curled her leg over his. “You’re right. This is a fine day.”

His fingers trailed idly over her shoulder and down her arm and back up again. His eyes drooped low and drowsy, and he took a long, relaxed breath. Ben’s smile was tender as he turned to look upon her face. “The finest. I meant… I meant to be honeymoonin’ with you. Oh, maybe not to some grand city, but sweetheart, I was gonna make you feel like a queen. I had all these ideas and… and maybe I’m a bit of a devil and had thought of a hundred ways and places to love on you, but this damn knee of mine had to go interfering.” His warm, brown eyes crinkled at the corners.

“There’s a hundred ways of lovin’?” How did one keep track? Her brow furrowed.

Ben laughed loud at the sight of her trying to count back, and he squeezed her tight. “Ah, lil miss. We’ll see. Lord above, I do love you. Body and soul.”

“Suppose we could try counting and see if we get to a hundred ways.” But the moment the words were out of Rey’s mouth, she blushed and buried her face against his solid chest. That was wanton, even for her. But there was something about him that made her crave every loving touch.

And that handsome devil of a husband of hers just laughed and laughed.

They dressed and ate their picnic lunch. Slices of peach pie wrapped in paper, slices of cured ham tucked between fluffy buttermilk biscuits, cheese, and even some sweet, toasted pecans that Jimmy had made. She wasn’t sure what she’d do without him. He was the best cook of them all, really.

“Are you looking forward to the harvest?” she asked, licking her thumb. “It’s coming up soon.”

Ben hummed. “It’ll be a good one, I think. The wheat and corn did well this year. But truly, I’m looking forward to winter.”

Winter, when the air was so cold it scalded the skin on her face and her nose was cherry red for months. It had always been her least favorite season. She’d take a sweaty summer any day. Her nose wrinkled. “Why?”

“Oh, I just like the idea of sitting idle with my bride, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Playing music. Reading. Maybe I’ll let you draw my portrait. After all, we won’t have too much to do when it snows. Just keep the animals happy and ourselves cozy. Then comes spring, and we’ll be busy again.”

“Sounds better than what I’m used to.” Rey rolled her eyes, then huffed a laugh. A winter with Plutt was never any fun. “You’ll be better company.”

Ben’s exhaled noise was rueful. “That's not an accomplishment on my part. At least by winter my knee should be good as new. This was a long one to recover from. But don’t you worry, missy. I’m going to be careful from here on out.”

“You best be. It took me long enough to find you.” She reached to take his hand, curling her fingers through his, and she smiled at him. “I mean to keep you.”

“Do you now, Mrs. Solo?”

“I expect so, Mr. Solo.”

Goodness, she could grin at him like a fool all day. Ben ducked his head to press a soft kiss to her lips. His lips parted, and she felt them brush over hers, deepening by the second.

But something cracked.

It was a snapping noise, a branch, she reckoned, as she and Ben turned quick to look.

And across the river, was Unkar Plutt and two of his cronies on horseback. She recognized them by the snaggle of their yellowed teeth and milky eyes. They ran moonshine with Plutt and were just as mean-spirited.

Rey’s breath froze in her chest. They already had rifles leveled at them from their position on the other bank, and Plutt grinned cruelly, and she could swear he’d lost even more teeth since last she saw him. The last time she'd seen him, his bulging eyes had been trained over the same rifle barrel shortly before shooting her.

“You’re trespassing, Plutt,” Ben said fiercely, his hand slowly reaching for the blanket roll behind him. “If you don’t get off my land, I’m going to be forced to make a complaint to the sheriff.”

“You think the sheriff gives a rat’s ass what happens here? Everyone in town knows you take in scum like those farmhands of yours. ‘Cept you got taken in by this lil bitch right here. What’d she do to win you over, Solo? Suck your cock until you saw stars? Promise you her little cunt in exchange for a ring? She’s a greedy one. Bet she didn’t even let you have a taste until she got that ring on her finger. Well, she don’t do anything for just nothing. I tried to raise her right, but nothin’ was ever enough for her.” Plutt shifted his rifle to point at Rey, and he urged his horse forward to cross the river, his two friends following.

She was frozen in place. They were outnumbered, and Ben couldn’t fight.

Ben’s fingers found the edge of the blanket roll and pulled it closer, closer, until he could grasp it. “You’ll regret saying ugly things about my wife.”

“You’ll regret marrying her. Anyway, I’m here to get what’s owed me. I had the raising of her, and it wasn’t cheap.”

Rey tried not to scoff openly at that.

“And what exactly is it you think my wife owes you?” Ben’s words were gritted with rage, and she could see the cords of his neck tensing. The color was rising in his face by the second.

“One hundred dollars.”

Rey gasped. That was a fortune. More money than some people made in a year. And somehow, she doubted Plutt had ever spent that much money on her.

“How do I owe you that? You didn’t feed me. I wore cast off scraps. Everything I had, I worked for.” She’d lived nineteen years of her life hungry and cold and miserable because of this man. She had the scars to prove it.

“You’re forgetting that I had offers for you. Real nice ones, to see you married. I’m out a hundred dollars, girl, because you were selfish and ran off. So since you’re the taker, Solo, I’ll have my money now. I’ve been real generous letting you have her without demanding what’s due me. If you don’t pay, I’m going to be forced to take the girl back. I’m sure someone still would take her, even used.”

“The hell you are.” Ben pulled the rifle from the blanket roll, cocked it, and had it pointed at Plutt in less time than it took Rey to blink.

Plutt laughed nastily. “Then give me my money, and we don’t need to have this conversation again.”

Rey glowered, the heat of hate making her vision train on Plutt like one of the tin cans she’d shoot off the fence. “I’m not for sale. You never owned me, and I don’t owe you a penny.”

Ben cast his eyes sidelong at Rey, and he lowered his voice, just for her. “I want you to run back to the house right now. Get the fellas. Send for Hux.”

Leave him? Here? With Plutt?

Ben saw the protest in her eyes. But he was firm as ever. “Go. When I start counting.”

Rey tensed and nodded. Her heart was in her throat. She’d ride like the wind back to the farm and get her rifle and come back. She'd kill Plutt herself if she had to. And she'd do it right this time.

“I’m gonna give you to the count of three to get yourselves back across the river,” Ben shouted. He looked down the sight and glared at each man in turn.

“One!”

“Two!”

Plutt remained, and he slung his rifle over his shoulder, as if amused.

“Three!”

A gunshot cracked like thunder, and Rey ran.

#

Chapter Text

#

Ben was gone.

His horse, too.

Rey’s heart stuttered painfully, and she gripped the reins until the leather cut into her palms. Only the smart of the leather kept her tethered to the moment, and she swallowed back the gulping tears that threatened. Stupidly, somehow, she’d hoped to still find him here.

It couldn’t be.

From the moment Ben had told her to run for help, Rey scarcely remembered mounting Gertie to gallop back to the farmhouse, the horse’s hooves kicking up clouds of red dirt. The only thoughts she had in her head were Ben’s words to her—to get the fellas, and to send for Mr. Hux.

She’d screamed for help the moment her feet had hit the ground, after nearly throwing herself off Gertie’s back in her urgency.

“Jimmy! Robbie!”

She’d scrambled for the barn on jelly-like legs, only to collide with Jimmy, who’d been rushing to see what had got her in such a fluster. In the end, she hadn’t had to say a word of explanation to him. He’d looked over her distraught face and hugged her tight, and together, they’d raced to round up Robbie from his work in the orchard and then Tom and Pete, the hands Ben had hired from Mr. Hux.

Tom had ridden out, fast as anything, set for Mr. Hux’s farm. She hoped her husband’s friend could come straightaway, and that he could bring a lawman, too, to sort the matter for once and for all. Ben may not have had much faith, and frankly, neither did she, but she needed justice now, today, to keep Plutt from doing further harm.

Either the law could bring Plutt to justice. Or she would.

Rey and the fellas, Robbie and Jimmy and Pete, had returned to the river, fast as they could, each on horseback, carrying a rifle, though Pete had a pistol, too. The fellas hadn’t dared to ask Rey to stay at the farmhouse, to wait for them to bring Ben home to her. Robbie and Jimmy knew her too well, and Pete’s mouth shuttered the moment he saw the fierceness in Rey’s eyes.

Their horses’ hooves slowed the closer they got to the riverbank, until Rey motioned them to stop altogether.

Plutt and his companions weren’t there. But neither was Ben. There was just the picnic blanket left, and the vestiges of their picnic.

She swallowed her panic down into a hard little knot in her belly. Ben needed her to be brave. She could do this for him. She could do anything. Just like he’d do for her.

“Plutt and two men rode up on us here. Came from across the river,” Rey told the hands as Gertie snorted and stomped, sensing Rey’s impatience. “Ben had a rifle and fired, but I—”

Her words drifted into silence. Because it was then she saw the blood on the picnic blanket. And her hard little knot of panic just about dropped ten feet.

Ben must have been shot.

And now he was gone.

“—I ran for help, like he said. I never looked back. Would have slowed me down,” she stated, shaking her head. “I can’t think he’s dead. They would’ve left him if he were dead. We have to get to him before anything else happens.”

Ben’s knee—Plutt wouldn’t have been gentle, nor any dissolute creature who kept him company. These men were bullies and inflicting hurt was a joy to them. She would know. She’d received enough blows from Plutt as a child. Whatever injury Ben had to make him bleed like that wouldn’t be cared for, either.

No, she had to get to Ben’s side, as quick as lightning.

“You’re right. Plutt has him. Should we wait for Mr. Hux? I imagine he’ll get a constable, if not the sheriff…” Pete asked, looking between Robbie and Jimmy. “We don’t know how many men Plutt will have with him, and there’s just three of us men to fight now—”

Robbie and Jimmy snorted, even amidst the tension, drawing Pete’s curious eyes.

“She’ll fight,” Robbie said. He looked Rey’s way and gave her a wry smile that did wonders in making her exhale at least part of the fretsomeness she had in her soul. Knowing Ben was out there, hurt, was like having her heart knocked against rocks. “So that makes four of us to face Plutt.”

“What do you think? Plutt took him back to his place, I expect.” Jimmy’s eyes narrowed as he looked across the river and squinted, as if he could see through all the trees and right to Plutt’s ramshackle house, miles away.

“He’s got nowhere else to go between here and there.” Rey knew that well enough. All those months ago, when she’d fled from Plutt’s farm, there’d been little but woods and fields full of the season’s crops. Most people lived closer to town than did Ben or Plutt. Plutt had a full hour head start on them—he’d likely have made good speed in the time it took her to return to the farm and gather Jimmy and Robbie and the borrowed farm hands.

And he’d have to know they’d be coming. Plutt wasn’t that kind of fool to think she’d sit idle. Rey wished then that she’d hit him hard enough to kill him when she’d had her chance.

“We best get going, then,” Robbie said, and he clicked his tongue. His horse responded, heading to the riverbank. “Sooner we get Mr. Solo, the sooner we can get home and have some supper.” He said it as easy as anything, as if this would be as simple as finishing up chores or picking peaches, and she wanted to hug him for that. Robbie winked at her, and Rey couldn’t help but give him a smile.

“Let’s go.” She patted Gertie’s neck and urged the horse forward. “Plutt’s not a merciful man, and the longer Ben’s there, the worse off he’ll be.”

#

Plutt’s farmhouse was the last place Rey had ever wanted to see again. She’d left it, limping and scrambling and bleeding and desperate, and she supposed that was as easy an exit as she could have made from a miserable monster like Plutt.

Even at a distance, hidden in the tree line, seeing the dilapidated house and barn in the golden glow of sunset did little to stir any fond memories. She only felt the familiar tension in her neck and shoulders knot up again, just like it always had after one of Plutt’s daily tirades. And after the joy of living on the Solo farm, somehow, Plutt’s house seemed even shabbier. The paint had faded decades ago, if it had ever been applied. And the stairs up the porch were so bowed that a misstep would drag the whole thing down.

Jimmy whistled low, under his breath. “So that’s it, huh?” And he gave her a long look of consideration, then shook his head. Like any puzzles he’d had about her were suddenly solved. There wasn’t much need to answer the question.

“They’re likely in the house.” Rey chewed on her lip briefly. “And Ben with them. We need to lure them out so we can get to Ben.” She glared at the old farmhouse, and she knew in a moment what she’d have to do. The fellas weren’t going to like it. Not one bit. “I can draw Plutt out. I can keep him out there, convince him that I’ll—”

“Solo’ll skin us alive if we put you in Plutt’s crosshairs,” Robbie said, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Even Pete was nodding, and he’d only been around a month. They all knew how much care Ben had for her. How protective he’d always been and fearsomely so since the whole business with Plutt had started. And she knew from the stark concern in their eyes that they didn’t want her harmed, either. For her own sake, and not just her husband’s. “No way, missy. I’ll distract him, then—”

“But who’s going to lift Ben if he’s in bad shape?” she asked, unable to keep the words from pouring out of her. Ben was hurt, they knew that already, and his knee was still terribly weak, and she had to wrestle the fear of how much more he could possibly be suffering into a corner of her mind so she wouldn’t panic and do something foolhardy to save him. “I’m strong, but I’m not that strong. Listen now--I can handle Plutt. I handled him my whole life, and I know him better than he knows himself. I can keep him busy long enough for you to go in and take Ben back.”

She was stronger now than she’d been the last time she’d been the subject of Plutt’s anger. Far stronger. Now she was better rested, better fed, and above all, loved. That scared, scrawny girl didn’t exist anymore, and Plutt didn’t stand a chance, as far as she was concerned. She had more to fight for now, anyway.

Jimmy and Robbie and Pete looked between each other, then nodded. Not altogether happily, but there was sense in what she said. Ben was massive, and it’d take at least two of them to lift him if it came to that.

“Alright, then,” Pete said. He pulled the wide-brimmed hat from his head and raked his hand through his hair nervously before planting it back on his head. Part of his decision-making process, she guessed. But he grinned suddenly, and he lifted his eyebrows. “I reckon this is a little more excitement than I’d anticipated for today.”

A fair statement.

“Here’s what I’m thinking…” she started, motioning for the fellas to pull in closer.

#

The sun kissed the horizon, slowly sinking the world into darkness as Rey marched up the dusty, rocky lane to the farmyard. The same yard where she’d worked and scrapped and did all she could to survive with too little to eat and little shelter. She’d spent more nights in the barn than she ever did under Plutt’s roof. Though honestly, sleeping near the horses and pigs had been preferable.

Rey picked up a smooth stone and approached the sagging steps of the decrepit farmhouse. She took a breath. Ben was in there. It didn’t make a lick of sense, but every one of her senses sang with the surety that he was nearby. Her thumb stroked over the stone, and she glared at the chipped paint on the front door.

There was too much here. Every unkind word he’d ever said to her. All the strain and burden of working like a mule, day in and day out for years. The constant gnawing of hunger from never having enough to eat. And this final insult. Interfering with her new life with Ben. Hurting her husband. She’d have left Plutt to his own damned fate forever.

She wound her arm back, then threw the rock at the front window as hard as she could. And satisfyingly, her aim was true, and the window shattered. The sound was sharp in the early evening air. In only mere seconds, the door flung open.

One of Plutt’s henchmen stepped through the doorway, a rifle drawn, and Plutt after him, red-faced and sweating. He’d been drinking. She could tell from the sway of his form as he moved. Her stomach knotted. That’d mean he’d only be meaner than usual. Plutt scowled and stormed to the edge of his porch.

“Now you owe me for that window, too, girl—” he snarled.

His associate, a rangy, tall fellow with mean eyes sneered and kept his rifle trained on her. It was a different man—not one of the men who’d been with Plutt at the riverbank, and she tried to place him, tried to figure on how many could be inside. Not good. Robbie, Jimmy, and Pete had trailed her as close as they dared on horseback, before dismounting and secreting themselves from sight of Plutt’s house.  They were liable to be outnumbered, at least until Mr. Hux came with Tom. And hopefully, someone from the law.

The sun couldn’t set fast enough today, as far as she was concerned.

“I don’t owe you a thing, and neither does my husband,” she shouted. Rey lifted her hands, as if the motion could placate him—and better yet, to show Plutt she was empty-handed. “And I’ve sent for the sheriff, so I expect he’ll be along shortly for trespassing, attempted murder, kidnapping, and horse theft.” Maybe that last one would see some consequences, at least, she thought wryly.

“You little bitch, he don’t got the time of day for complaints from a little whore like you.” Plutt almost grinned at that, and he headed down the steps, moving fast for someone who was so often idle while others worked around him. “You best be ready to pay your debts to me, or there’s gonna be a whole lot of sufferin.’” Plutt was stalking toward her, fast as his legs could carry him, and Rey knew in a moment, he’d be at her side, close enough to touch her.

“You best let Ben go, Plutt,” Rey gritted out. She reached a hand behind her back slowly, shying away from Plutt, knowing he’d grab at her the first chance he got. Her hand fumbled through her shirt until she felt the curved handle of Pete’s pistol she’d tucked out of sight. Still there. Hopefully she wouldn’t need it. “You’re making real big mistakes here. I can promise you that.”

She tried to ignore the rifle still pointed at her from the porch, and she grasped the handle of the pistol. She backed away carefully, as Plutt stalked in front of her, hulking and furious and reeking of his cheap whiskey.

“I don’t see as how I have to listen to a thing you say.” Plutt lunged for her, grabbing her left arm with a bruising grip that crushed her to the bone. She swallowed back a yelp, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. “You’re here alone. And I don’t think that sheriff is comin’ at all. I told you back at the river, you got two choices; give me that money, or I’m taking you back and giving you to the highest bidder. And don’t act like you’re too good for it. I raised you mean and simple, and you got no business giving yourself airs and graces.”

He shoved his face inches from hers and gave her a violent shake that made her teeth clack together. Rey reminded herself to hold steady.

Twilight shadows were deepening across the barnyard, she observed, trying not to gag from the stench of his sour breath. Soon. Not soon enough, by her count.

“Nothin’ to do with airs and graces, Plutt,” she hissed, trying to wrench herself away from him and failing to do so. She’d kick him now, but she needed to stall for time, as long as she could. “I just got married, is all.”

“You took one look at that old cripple and spread your legs so fast to get a hot meal, didn’tcha? Ended up getting the whole goddamn farm,” Plutt laughed cruelly, and she swore she’d make him sorry to say such things about Ben and her. “Easy picking even for a skinny little bitch like you, wasn’t he? Well, time to pay up, girl. I want my cut for raisin’ ya.”

Rey brought the heel of her boot down on Plutt’s foot, hard as she could. He roared in outrage and pain, and she truly hoped she broke every toe. Shattered them, even. But it was a thought not long held. Plutt’s fist smashed into her face with a brutal hit, and stunned, Rey collapsed to the ground.

It had been years since he’d hit her like that. She’d learned right quick enough how to avoid him when he was in a mood. Rey sucked in a shaky breath, but as she tried to scramble to her feet, a kick to the ribs came, knocking the air from her lungs as something cracked.

“You understand me, girl?” Plutt kicked again, this time catching her in the stomach. Rey doubled forward, clutching her belly, her vision whiting out slightly. “Remember what happened the last time you didn’t do what I wanted?”

She’d never forget it. He’d shot her. He’d rather she died than let her be free of him. And clearly, he was still furious that she’d defied his wishes. Smashed his head with that heavy ceramic pitcher. She wished she’d smashed harder.

“Yes,” she wheezed.

“Yes, what?” he chuckled, planting his boot over her throat. He pressed, slowly, until she thought he might snap her neck after all, but he stopped, released the pressure, and she could cry for relief.

“I remember.” She closed her eyes until she could feel the sting of tears. Every bit of her soul revolted at the words. She knew what she would have to say. She needed to buy every moment of time that she could.

He took his boot off her throat. “Then what’s it going to be?”

“Me for him. Please, just let Ben go,” she croaked, rubbing at her throat and struggling to sit up against the roaring pain in her side. Her ribs were good as broke. But no mind. She soldiered on, heart thudding away erratically. “I’ll do whatever you want. He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“He shot one of my men,” Plutt said sourly. “Real inconvenience there. But if you’re done with that foolishness, I’ll give you my word.” His beady eyes gleamed dangerously.

She didn’t trust it. Only a fool would, and she’d never been that.

Rey tried to climb to her feet, but Plutt squinted at her and took a menacing step forward that kept her on the ground. “Stay on your knees, girl.” He swiveled his head to look over his shoulder and shout to the man on the porch. “Drag Solo out here. Looks like we’re doing a swap.”

The man on the porch shouted through the open door, never taking his rifle off Rey.

It was interminable, waiting to see Ben again. Her mind reeled with the possibilities. He’d been shot, that she figured. And she waited, sick with dread, knowing Plutt and his friends were not gentle men, and not likely to have been kindly toward Ben’s fragile knee.

At last, there was Ben. But she sucked in a sharp breath. Two men were supporting him, and he was limping something awful, unable to support weight on his weak leg. Blood soaked his shirt, and she could see that some bandaging had been wrapped around his bicep. Exhaustion hung from every limb, and when he looked up blearily, she could see his lip was split, and a deep gash through his eyebrow.

He was in pain. She could see that, and she choked back the beginnings of her tears seeing him so.

“Ben!” she called out to him, only for Plutt to cuff the back of her head with a blow that rattled her thoughts loose.

Her husband’s mouth opened in shock, and the hazy exhaustion disappeared from his expression entirely. Suddenly, Ben’s eyes were sharp, alert, and he jerked away from the men half-dragging him onto the porch. She could feel his anger crackling through the air like a bonfire.

“Rey!” Ben croaked, falling onto the porch with a heaviness that shook the house without the support of Plutt’s associates.  “You touch her again, and I’ll see you dead, Plutt.” He shoved himself upward, forcing himself to stand as best he could and grasping the porch railing.

“She’s no longer your concern, Solo. Your wife has agreed to a trade.”

Any remaining color drained from Ben’s face, and he looked at Rey, as despairing as she’d ever seen him. “Sweetheart, no—”

“I… I mean to do it, Ben. It’s the only way forward,” she stammered, hoping he understood. That he could see the truth in her eyes, because the only truth was that she wasn’t going anywhere without him. But she needed him to go, if he could. To put himself out of harm’s way, though she knew he never would. “My debt’s too great, and it’d be wrong for you to pay it.”

His jaw rolled, and he hobbled a step down. Plutt’s men snickered at his awkward gait, even as Rey’s heart filled to bursting the way she ached for him. At least the sun had fully dipped beneath the horizon now, and the sky was turned to a star-scattered ink.

“I won’t be leaving without my wife.” Ben’s words were gritted with fury, firm as the earth beneath her knees. “You haven’t got the right to separate us.”

“Took them marriage vows real serious, huh?” the man behind Ben said with a dark laugh, shoving a foot against the back of Ben’s good leg to make him stumble roughly, painfully. Ben caught himself and hung onto the porch railing, sweaty and determined. “Til death do ya part, and all that shit?”

“Who inherits if a husband dies, do ya think?” Plutt asked her casually. “Ain’t it the wife?”

No.

No. No. No.

Rey’s blood might as well have turned to ice water. The cicadas hummed in a loud swell that rattled through her, and she felt sweat trickle down her back, between her breasts, under her arms. While Plutt watched the scene on the porch with raptor-like interest, Rey slowly slid her hand behind her back, and she fumbled under the hem of her shirt. The handle of the pistol was smooth under her grasp.

“Seems we got ourselves another opportunity here,” Plutt crowed after a moment’s consideration. Greed twisted his face into a ghoulish smile. “Mr. Solo, maybe it’s time for you to say goodbye to your wife.”

Rey felt her hand tremble, but she held tight to the pistol handle.

The man with the rifle smirked and turned his aim to Ben, pointing the barrel right at his chest. Ben stilled, and for the first time, Rey saw blank panic in his face. There wasn’t anywhere he could go, even if his knee wasn’t in such poor condition. There were three men on the porch and Plutt in the yard, standing over her. There was no running.

His eyes met hers, and she saw nothing but the deepest love, and she hoped he could see the same in hers. I love you, she mouthed to him. And she saw the tiniest dip of his chin. If her life were one minute longer or one hundred years longer, she’d know the truth of their love.

But all the same, it was impossible to ignore that they’d run out of choices.

It was time to proceed with the plan. The fellas would have to go ahead without Mr. Hux and any help. She hoped they were ready.

Rey ignored the way her ribs screamed, and she scrambled away from Plutt. She yanked the pistol from the waistband of her trousers as fast as she could. And even though she stumbled, and her ankle twinged, it was of no mind to her. All that mattered was that she regained her footing and put distance between herself and that foul man.

She cocked the pistol and pointed it at Plutt. She tried to remember everything Ben had taught her. Strong arms, but not locked at the elbow. Aiming with precision. Breathe. Just breathe.

Plutt gawped at her in disbelief.

“Ben walks free, Plutt,” she shouted. Rey narrowed her eyes. “Tell them to let him go.”

“You ain’t gonna shoot me, girl, are ya? After I raised ya?” Plutt asked, putting on his fatherly voice far too many years too late. Years of rage bubbled in Rey’s soul. The cruel words. The beatings. The hard labor. The hunger. The cold. And now he thought to prey upon her sympathy—sympathy he scarcely deserved.

Rey fired the pistol, and all hell broke loose.

#

Chapter Text

#

Rey never thought time could spin so fast and wild, like a child’s toy skittering off a table and onto the floor.

In one moment, Plutt fell to the ground with a heavy grunt, and she reeled backward from the recoil of the pistol, tripping over the toes of her boots but somehow staying upright.

In another, a gunshot cracked and warmth bloomed in her arm. She scarcely felt it beyond the heat of flesh torn open.

And there was a panicked shout. Ben’s shout.

One after the other. Or all at once. She had no rightly idea.

She turned away from the fallen man before her. The shock of what she’d done stopped her heart, just about. If Plutt was dead or merely knocked senseless from the bullet he’d just taken to his chest, she didn’t know. He’d hit the ground hard then remained motionless. Beyond that, she couldn’t think. Her hands shook, but she didn’t drop the pistol, at least. She didn’t want to look. She couldn’t.

She desperately hoped the fellas had heard the gunfire.

Only one thing mattered now.

Ben.

Ben was fortunately still standing, if only just barely, flanked by Plutt’s men, somehow unharmed, but breathing hard, like he’d been running. Like he’d seen a future he couldn’t live with as his eyes held hers.

Just as her eyes landed on the sagging porch, she saw the man with the rifle glaring at her. He now leveled the barrel of the rifle at Ben. And stepped closer. And closer still, until stone-faced, he nudged the rifle’s barrel between Ben’s shoulders. Ben staggered slightly, and she saw her husband’s body tense, and he clenched his jaw in silent rage.

He was thinking something. Nothing good for the men around him, that was certain. She looked away and up to the man with the rifle.

His hands were steady, she could see. As steady as hers weren’t.

“Now let’s come to terms, here,” he said roughly. “You put that pistol down now, and I’ll make it a quick end for Solo here. Least you can do. Then we can negotiate.”

Negotiate? The urge to laugh bubbled up in her, but she swallowed it. There’d be no negotiations.

She pointed the pistol at the man’s sneering face, and she could see the cold calculation in his eyes. He held no worry or remorse or sorrow for Plutt. Only the greed that drove them all, and one less person to share the prize with, was only to his benefit. Vile men kept vile company, she supposed.

“Let my husband go, or I’ll put a bullet in you!” she shouted, taking a step forward. She didn’t care if she was all that stood between this man and Ben. She’d make the choice every time. “That’s all you’ll get from me.”

“Your wife ain’t too sweet, is she?” he asked Ben. The man spit, then set for the porch stairs. One slow, measured step at a time. All the while sizing her up like she’d be some kind of prize broodmare, if he could just get her to yield. “Guess she’ll have to learn.”

Rey cocked the pistol and took a step forward, heart slamming against her aching ribs. She wasn’t much interested in learning to be sweet for anybody but Ben. “Stop there.”

She hoped wildly that he’d hesitate. That he’d reconsider, even though she knew he wouldn’t. She watched as the man’s finger curled around the rifle trigger. She could see the mean curl of his lip. The narrowing of beady eyes. The shifting stance of muddy boots.

And the barrel of a rifle, pointed at her heart. Better her than Ben, anyway. She was fast enough with her borrowed pistol.

She’d stopped breathing somewhere along the way as each minute action occurred. Her lungs ached for air. This was it, then. She hoped luck was on her side.

Ben’s eyes met hers, and she saw the steel in him. His steel was as good as luck. Better than.

She’d swear she saw Ben’s chin tilt slightly in silent warning. He seemed to sag tiredly, as if his knee were truly done, catching the men’s gaze. And just as quick, when the rifle lowered a fraction of an inch, Ben lunged forward for the rifleman’s legs.

The rifle fired, and the bullet ripped through the air with a crack, and it whistled wide.

She breathed. And Rey realized her feet were moving, all on their own. She lurched forward with only one thing in mind. Ben. She had to get to Ben. Because now all the ire was on him.

Ben slammed the rifleman onto the stairs with a grim crack, ignoring the other two men who immediately began trying to pull him off. Ben held fast, ignoring the blows they rained on him as he grabbed for the rifle. The men shouted and tussled in a tumble of bodies, Ben in the center of it all.

Rey’s ribs were afire as she ran toward the house, barely able to suck in a breath, her vision blurry from the way her eye was already beginning to swell. No matter. As soon as she was ten feet, no more, no less, away, Rey lifted her pistol again and took aim at one of the men attacking Ben.

She fired.

The man screamed in pain and outrage and rolled away from Ben, holding onto the meat of his thigh as blood bloomed on his trousers.

“You lil’ bitch!”

“I’ve got more bullets,” she warned, her voice rasping and ragged from her frustration. No, her darned fury. She’d shot Plutt. She’d do this man harm, too. Anything to save Ben. “I’ll use them all—”

And finally. At last.

Hooves. She could hear horses thundering up the lane and the shouting of familiar voices. Her shoulders relaxed. It was over.

Just the same, she didn’t look behind her, she couldn’t, because the men on the stairs had frozen under the aim of her pistol. Concerned, finally. And fully aware that she meant what she said. And she meant to keep them wary of her. Forever, if she had to.

Ben wrenched the rifle out of the other man’s hands and rolled away from him. His face was battered, she could see, bruised black in places, his lip and eyebrow split. Be he was alive. Pained, but full of anger and determination as he pointed the rifle at his assailants. As fierce as she’d ever seen him.

Behind her, she heard Jimmie, Robbie, and Pete’s voices as they whooped, then the stern words of Mr. Hux.

The faces of Plutt’s men darkened with the knowledge that they were outnumbered and outgunned.

“I’d say it’s time to settle down, now,” he said drily. “You three on the porch? Solo excepted, of course, put your hands in the air. The sheriff’s on his way. I imagine he was happy enough to look aside while y’all were running moonshine with Plutt, but kidnapping and attempted murder?” Hux whistled as he pulled the reins on his horse until it stopped and whuffed. “Should’ve considered the consequences.”

Rey heard Hux and the fellas dismount, their boots heavy on the path. Robbie raced to her side, his own rifle at the ready to ensure no further nonsense came from the men. She remained frozen, unwilling to take her pistol off the men. Not until she was sure. Not one moment before.

“Rey—” Robbie said, putting a hand on her arm to lower her aim then gently peel the pistol out of her grip. “You can relax. And I’m sorry it took so long. Mr. Hux arrived at just precisely the moment we heard that first shot.” His words tumbled fast, and when she glanced at him, she could see the redness in his face, the sweat on his forehead. He’d been riding hard, they all had. She dipped her chin and looked back at Ben, who had rolled away from the men as best he could.

“You’re here now.” She swallowed. “Thank you.”

Robbie’s eyes dropped from her battered face to her shirt sleeve. “You’re bleeding! We gotta get you bandaged up.”

“What?” That didn’t make sense. She couldn’t even hardly feel that arm. She looked down, though, and it was true enough. Blood soaked through her shirt. She’d forgotten already, in all the mess, that a bullet had winged her upper arm. But even as Robbie tried to check her over, she shook him off. “I’ll look at it later. I have to see to Ben.”

Robbie’s eyes were kind and gently amused, even under his alarm. “’course you do.”

Hux and Jimmy had already marched forward, purposeful, to hogtie the men on the porch, who cursed and kicked and spit all the while. Meanwhile, Pete was helping Ben from the stairs to sit on the edge of the sagging porch.

Her husband had been in better shape, she could see, plain as day. But no mind. She’d take him as he was and patch him up.

Rey stumbled toward Ben, desperation to touch him making her clumsy. There was no place she could be but with him now. It already felt like it had been years since she’d last felt his arms and his gentle whiskery kisses against her cheek. To think, that had only been hours ago.

There’d never been a finer sight than her husband sitting there before her, leaning heavily to one side. The knee was troubling him, that she could tell, from the way he had it stretched gingerly before him. And he was covered in sweat and grime and streaks of blood. And his arm was bandaged, too. She supposed maybe that rifleman wasn’t the best of shots, if that’s all he could manage towards Ben or her. Still, this tired man was her Ben, with his waves of salt and pepper hair, and eyes so raw with need for her, that she felt answering tears in hers.

“Ben!” she exhaled his name like a prayer. Like the talisman it had become to her.

As Pete stepped aside with an understanding smile, Rey threw her arms around her husband’s neck. He lurched from the impact, unsteady, and she heard the pained breath. But he was real. And solid. And strong. As he always was.

The only thing that mattered was that he was there, holding her. From the moment she’d touched him, he’d pulled her sharply into himself, hard enough to make her gasp against the pain in her ribs, and she felt a tremor course through his body. The same tremor that traveled the length of her, a shockwave of relief almost devastating in its intensity.

“Careful. I think my ribs are cracked,” she huffed, burying her face in the curve of his neck briefly. She inhaled the smell of his sweat and the grime, and she was truly glad for this proof of his nearness.

They’d come so close—so close to losing each other—no, she wouldn’t think of it. Because they were here now, and that was all that mattered.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, stroking his hands over her shoulders, her back, careless of the audience they had. “My brave wife.” He brushed the hair back from her face, and his jaw rolled as he observed the swelling and bruising, and again when he saw the blood staining her shirtsleeve. He cupped her cheek tenderly, and she saw his dark brown eyes grow watery with emotion. “I was so afraid I’d never see your lovely face again when they took me. Not pain. Not death. It was the prospect of not seeing you again in this life that frightened me most.”

“I’m fine. I’m here.” She covered her hand with his. “Couple scratches, but there was no way I wasn’t coming to get you.” Rey turned her head so that her lips pressed against his palm. She took his hands into hers and kissed the bruised, skinned knuckles, then peered up at him with all the earnestness she ever had. “I’d take on the devil himself for you,” she whispered, then took a shaky breath as a small sob rose in her chest. “I would.”

She snuffled terribly, and as hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the tears from building in her eyes.

“Shh, now, it’s alright, you fierce little thing,” he said gently, brushing at her cheek, featherlight and with such care that her soul ached. He wiped away a tear that had slipped down her cheek. “If I have it my way, you’ll never have to fight again. I’ll keep you safe. And—”

Hux whistled from where he’d marched over the Plutt’s fallen form, then gave the man a test kick. To Rey’s horror, to Ben’s anger, Plutt rolled and groaned. The fellas all put their hands on their hips and glared down at the man.

“He’s—” she whispered, gripping Ben’s sleeve in shock.

“Not dead, it seems,” Ben said. Low and dangerous. And she knew if not for his knee, he’d be up and striding for Plutt. Even now, his body twitched forward with the urge. His hands balled into fists. “Damn that man—”

He struggled to stand, hauling himself up awkwardly, and he stood precariously on his good leg, wavering with a clumsiness that wasn’t natural for him. “I think I want a word with Plutt.” He grabbed the rifle he’d wrested during the scuffle, and Rey’s eyes widened. “Maybe two. Or three.”

And somewhere, buried deep in her, in that loathing for Plutt, in the fear and meanness he’d raised her in, she found—not grace for Plutt, but a desire to be done with the man. To cast aside everything that he was that she would never be.

Hateful. Cruel. Violent.

She’d never been that way. She wouldn’t be now.

“Ben!” she cried, as her husband staggered a painful step, swearing under his breath, eyes hard.

“I… don’t do it.” She’d suffered at Plutt’s hands nearly all her life. But try as he might, he hadn’t broken her spirit. He hadn’t twisted her soul. He hadn’t made her a murderer. “Please.”

And that’s what this would be, plain and simple. Murder.

His rule over her was gone.

“Rey—” Ben spoke roughly, like a wagon wheel rolling over gravel, and he turned his attention to her, even as Hux and the fellas were rolling Plutt onto his belly. He watched as they tied his arms behind his back for good measure. “Are you sure? After all he’s done?”

The years of starvation and overwork. The bullying and the abuse. Thinking about it was a jagged thing in her stomach. But she ignored it. She was sure.

“We won,” she said, and she dragged her hat from her head. It was wet with sweat, brown turned to black as she turned it over in her hands. “It’s over. I don’t want anymore pain and violence today. That’s something he would do. When my time comes one day, I don’t want to have to account for murder. And I mean for both you and me to get to heaven.”

Maybe it wasn’t the most learned theology. She’d never been to church much in her life, beyond listening to a few services at the door on the rare occasions she’d been in town on a Sunday. She wasn’t even sure if there was a heaven beyond the one she knew with Ben on their farm. And if that’s all there was, she didn’t want Plutt there. Even the ghost of him.

Ben’s face changed, the determined anger bleeding from it. And she saw remorse, relief, and tenderness all at once in his eyes. “Can you forgive me for wanting his worthless hide gone from this life? For wanting vengeance against all the wrongs he did you?”

He set the rifle down and limped the step back to the porch and sat heavily. His shoulders bowed with the gravity of his thoughts.

She could forgive Ben anything.

“I can forgive you on one condition,” she said quietly, putting her hat back on. She lifted her chin.

“What’s that?” he asked, reaching a hand to her. “I’ll do anything for you, sweetheart. You just name it.”

She looked at the fellas and Mr. Hux, and she felt such gratefulness to them, she was sure she’d burst. They’d saved Ben and her, and she didn’t have much experience of family, but she knew in her heart that she’d always consider them as such.

Her gaze returned to her husband’s face, where he watched her so solemnly, so earnestly. Sometimes, she thought, love wasn’t a big enough word for what she felt.

It felt like she was glowing when she smiled at him, and she took his hand. She’d hold this hand the rest of her life, given the opportunity.

“Take me home, Mr. Solo.”

#

Chapter Text

#

In all the scenarios she had fancied as they rode home, her and Ben, safe together, and free, finally, of Plutt’s shadow, Rey never expected the tears.

It had been less than a day, just hours, really, but upon the first glimpse of the rambling, white farmhouse as they crested a hill, Rey felt something slip in her soul, and her eyes prickled. Her home. The only true home she’d had. Ben had smiled at her sidelong when he’d heard her sniffle, but she’d wiped at her face and smiled back at him. She was fine, after all. It had all turned out just as it should.

Funny how everything looked the same, when so much of her soul felt raw. The evening air even felt the same on her skin, warm and humid. The hum of the cicadas was the only noise she could hear, and it was practically music.

The ride from Plutt’s had been quiet. The fellas rode behind them, somber themselves, and Mr. Hux had gone off with the sheriff after he’d arrived with his deputies.

Word had traveled fast, apparently, and enough people had complaint of Plutt’s misdeeds for it to be a sure thing to have the man and his associates hauled to the county jail. The final straw being, of course, his assault on Ben.

“We’ll mind the horses and the animals,” Robbie told her with a kind smile when they reached the house, at last, at last. She’d never been so pleased to see the chickens scrabbling or to hear the hogs snorting and grunting in their pen. Maybe the only sweeter sound could be Ben’s violin music, but she expected that would be another night or two before he felt well enough to play. “And Jimmy will see ya upstairs and fetch you some water.”

They’d been kind, helping her from her horse, aiding Ben, and as teasing and rambunctious as they could be, they were measured now. Like they’d all made some kind of oath to still their tongues for once. And she wondered if it was because they’d just seen how cruelly she’d been raised and felt sorry or strange, or if it was simply to give her and Ben the quiet of mind that had been missing these last hours.

Either way, it was a strange thing not to hear their jokes.

Rey hurried to Ben’s side and began to tuck herself under his arm to help him walk, even as Jimmy took his other side.

“Sweetheart, you’re in no condition,” Ben murmured, grimacing as he adjusted on one leg. “Let Pete. I promise, I’ll let you fuss as much as you like upstairs, but you’re barely standing upright yourself.” His jaw rolled, like he had more to say, but he swallowed it down.

It was true enough that every inch of her ached from her swollen, bruised face to her ribs. But she shook her head. She had to do this. She’d come this far. She’d fought harder for him than she ever had for anything in her whole life. Didn’t matter a lick to her that her legs were shaking.

“Not as bad as all that,” she lied. Darn the frog in her throat. She gave Ben a strained smile. “I swear.”

“Pete,” Ben sighed, affection shining in tired eyes, and he stroked Rey’s shoulder. Each touch of his hand was enough to make her want to curl into him. She figured that was the only thing that would soothe the ache in her chest. They’d come so close. So very close. “Can you take over for my stubborn wife?”

She frowned, but she let Pete take her place.

They made slow enough progress upstairs, each stair creaking under the weight of the three men, Ben cursing a blue word or two that made her ears redden, and finally, finally, she and Ben were in their room again. And Jimmy had been blessedly quick with the water after that.

“I’m so tired I don’t think I’ll ever have it in me to leave,” Ben said with a groan. He’d settled in the green, upholstered chair near to the bed, his damaged leg outstretched. Rey had taken off his boots as carefully as she could, and idled, aimless suddenly. “I’m not even sure how I’m ever gonna get out of this chair.”

His nose scrunched as he gave her a tired smile.

“I should wash up,” Rey said, finally.

She was filthy enough, her shirt torn and bloodied and muddied, her trousers ripped and streaked with grim. And so was Ben, his clothes in no better repair, but the thought of the effort of climbing in the tub was enough to make her give pause, then laugh. She might be with Ben in never leaving this room ever again. Certainly never the farm. She thought, maybe, she could sleep for a hundred years. Lord, even her arms felt heavy, just as numb as her fingers felt.

Ben shook his head, his sweaty hair falling across his forehead.

“You come here with the basin. And if you’d be so kind to get my kit, I need to patch you up, Mrs. Solo,” he said softly. She hesitated, because as far as she was concerned, he was the one who needed fixing. That split eyebrow was something, and she wanted to clean up his arm where the bullet had sliced through. But her husband took some umbrage at the thoughts he could see on her face, and he huffed, sitting up and giving her a stern eye. “Lil miss, I believe I asked you something.”

Ben’s voice was gentle, but she knew he was too tired for her to argue. And she found she didn’t have much fight in her after all.

She brought the white porcelain pitcher and basin to him, setting both on a side table, then, oddly clumsy, brought a stool so she could sit before him. It felt so good, just to be near. All the shouting and gunfire still vibrated through her, still made her fingers jump, even as Ben’s hands, featherlight, caressed her face.

“You’re bone exhausted, sweetheart,” Ben murmured, his long face drawing serious with concern. His mouth twisted as he considered her condition. “You’re drooping like a seedling in a drought.”

That might be the case. She could hardly resist when Ben gently tugged her shirt over her head, whispering apologies when it was hard for her to lift her arms. He took the cloth and wetted in the basin, carefully wiping her face and neck clean, eyes darkening as he took care not to press against her bruise.

Rey closed her eyes as Ben swiped the rag over her neck, her arms, cleaning the dried blood away from where the bullet had grazed her.  

“Guess we’re gonna have ourselves some matching scars on our arms,” he said wryly.

“I don’t know why I’m so tired now,” she murmured, finding it hard to pitch her voice any louder. Even behind her eyelids, the darkness seemed to swim. She could hardly feel it when Ben applied the antiseptic and bound the wound with gauze. All she knew was the warmth of his hands and his steady presence.

She swayed slightly and felt Ben’s hands on her shoulders to keep her from wavering in her seat.

“You’ve had a long day,” he said, as if he hadn’t, himself. Ben was never thinking of himself at all. “Just let me wrap those ribs of yours, lil missy. Then we’ll get you to bed and you can sleep. I can patch myself up.”

“Mr. Solo,” she said, opening her eyes to find him so close, so clearly worried, that it was hard to focus her eyes. “I’ve got to—I can--” Her tongue simply felt so heavy in her mouth. As if every last bit of spirit in her had drained.

Ben leaned forward with a grunt of discomfort, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “It’s alright. You saved my life today. Least I can do is take care of my lil miss, hmm?” His fingers combed through her bedraggled hair. “Don’t you worry. This knee of mine… it’s gonna heal up. Slow, probably, like before, and maybe I’ll need to use a cane for a while.” He looked rueful at that thought. “Maybe I’ll have another couple scars on me, but… you never minded so much about my scars, I don’t think.”

“No, I don’t mind,” she whispered.

She never had. They were part of him, his story. But she hated knowing that it was because of her that he had new ones.  That thought hit deep in her belly, sore as her broken ribs, sharp as the torn flesh on her arm. She’d brought trouble to his door. And him the best of men, so solidly kind and caring.

She winced as Ben pulled her chemise over her head, and she gritted her teeth when he had her hold her arms up so he could bind some gauze around her ribcage. As gentle as he was, there was no helping the ache.

“Ben—” she started, exhaling a pained breath as he helped her into her night shift. “I’m… I’m so sorry for today. I never meant--” A ragged breath as she surfaced, and she met his stricken gaze. “I always thought Plutt would take me, somehow. I never thought it’d be you he hurt. And today, we…” There was that ache again in her chest, that pressure in her lungs as she took a fragile breath. “I nearly lost you. I don’t know what I would have done. I—"

They came then. The tears. When she should have been so relieved and thoroughly joyful.

Everything she loved was safe. But the fear, the worry, it all tumbled like an avalanche. Rey trembled, and she gulped mouthfuls of air, as if that would help.

“Shh now, sweetheart,” Ben started, and he fumbled for her, clumsy with his own exhaustion, until he managed to pull her onto his good leg. “Plutt wasn’t ever gonna kill me. A man like that, he just hasn’t got the talent, you hear me?”

Rey sniffled wetly and pressed her head against his shoulder. That a was a load of bull if she ever heard it. But Ben was confident and solid underneath her.

“I know I should be happy—” she managed, snuffling. “We’re safe now, and I’ve got no more reason to cry. It’s just… we came so close. And the things I did—I would have killed for you today. I very nearly did, and—it was awful, seeing Plutt again. His words hit real mean, meaner than they ever did before I knew there were good people in the world. Before I knew you.” Rey shuddered and closed her eyes, breathing as deep as her bound ribs would let her.

She felt Ben’s hand on the nape of her neck then, curling gently. The tenderness of his touch made her exhale a shivery breath. But the tears ran hot, and Ben cradled her against his chest, best as he could, stroking her back.

“It’s like this sometimes, lil miss, after a rough day,” he whispered low, his deep voice rugged suddenly. “You’re alright. It’s gonna be alright. You had a scare today, and you fought like a little wildcat, and you’re tired now, is all. You were brave, braver than ten men put together, and now that it’s all over, you’re just a little shaken up. But you did good, sweetheart. You saved me. You saved you. And Plutt’s going to jail for a long time, I expect.”

She nodded. She heard the words, but… it all hurt so unexpectedly, how tired she was, how relieved she was. It had been months now, of worrying about what Plutt would do. And that after a lifetime of surviving on his farm.

“I just thought—”

“That after everything, your feelings wouldn’t have any catching up to do?” he teased gently, kissing the top of her head. “I could cry for relief of getting to be here now with you.” He rocked her slightly, and he whispered, words muffled against her hair. “I’d like to tell you a story.”

It was such a familiar thing for him to say. When he’d been courting her, he’d told her so many stories about his youth, his family, and the places he’d been. She’d lean against him under the graceful branches of the ancient oak trees, and she’d listen contentedly to the sound of his deep voice. There was no one’s voice she liked to hear more than her Mr. Solo’s.

“Alright,” she agreed, snuggling closer into him.

There was a pleased rumble in his chest. And she felt him take a deep, contented breath.

“I told you how I got the scar on my face. But that’s also the day I killed a man. He was over me with his knife, and I knew he was going to end my life, right then and there. His partner had already shot my father. But I had my pistol. And, well, I had a mind to live, sweetheart. So, I pulled the trigger, and there he fell, right next to me. Dead.”

Ben traced intricate patterns on her back. “I don’t know how long I was down,” he said solemnly. “But I lay there thinking I’d taken a life. I didn’t know what kind of person I was going to be after that. Or if I was just in defending myself to that extent. That man would have killed me that day; I know that with certainty. But it shook me, even so.”

“What happened?” Rey asked.

“I got on my horse, and somehow, managed to get to the next town over. Got patched up. It hurt worse than anything I’d ever felt, being sewn up from my chest to my brow. I gulped enough whiskey to pass out, and when I woke the next morning, I had the damnedest headache that ever was.”

He nosed at her head playfully at that, and Rey smiled a little. “Was it worse than the stitches?”

“A hundred times worse. Would have gladly removed my head from my body. But it occurred to me, that as glad as I was to be alive, I’d done something unforgiveable. At least, from a certain point of view. I started to think of my scar as a punishment. The price for being alive when I’d taken a life. Certainly, the price for not saving my father. But eventually, after a lot of thinking and worrying, and with Annie’s help, I realized… my scar was just a scar. I’d lived. That was all. And we all do the best we can. You did what you had to do today, Rey. You didn’t do one thing out of cruelty or lack of humanity. You didn’t seek to harm anyone.”

Rey wiped at her face and let the truth of what Ben said wash over her. “I was just so afraid. I was so afraid that I don’t even think I knew how much until it was all over.”

“I was, too. Terrified,” he said gruffly. “But you saved my life. And then you turned around and saved Plutt’s useless hide. You’re a rare one, lil miss. If you need to cry, then you go ahead. I’ll hold you all night, if you need. It’d be my honor to hold such a brave lady.”

“Promise?” she asked, turning to look up at him. And then she saw it, how Ben’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears in the lantern light.

“Might get a crick in both our necks, but sure.”

Ben chuckled, and the sound was so gentle, so tender, that it felt like a balm to her soul.

She’d never loved him more. 

#

Chapter Text

#

The voices pitched loud in the quiet of the sunny mid-morning.

“Stop your fussing!”

Rey loved her husband to the devil and back, but darn if he wasn’t full of complaints. Some valid, she supposed wryly. If she wanted to be fully honest with herself, which, on this occasion, she did not.

“Now listen here, lil miss,” Ben grumbled, handsome face looking close to thunderous, “I mean for you to take it easy while you’re recovering. Just when a man thinks he can close his eyes, take a little rest, there goes his wife, hauling a bucket of water up the stairs, no matter that she’s been told twice this very day not to be liftin’ anything heavy.”

Told twice today, yesterday, and likely tomorrow, as well.

“You want to wash, don’t you?” Rey put her hands on her hips and glared fierce as she could at the man, hard as it was to be vexed by him. Particularly as he sat up in their bed, shirtless and mussed, his knee propped on a pillow. For someone recovering from an injury, he looked rather handsome. And he was, but he was also a deeply stubborn man. He’d wrap her in gauze and cotton just to keep her from bumping a toe, if he could.

“Where are Jimmy and Robbie? I told them to watch you—And by now, they know as well as I do that you’re a right mule, and—” he muttered with exasperation she could feel standing just feet away from him. Exasperation and affection, at least. And dismay that he couldn’t do for himself.

Could be that Ben was a bit short after being cooped up for a few days. Even so.

“Jimmy went to town, like you asked him to. Robbie’s busy, too. And anyway, they can’t watch me all day!” And thank goodness they couldn’t. Bad as Ben was, the fellas were worse. But fortunately, they had enough to do. Too much. Mr. Hux’s hands had returned to his farm a day or two after the dealings with Plutt, and now, it was back to the four of them. Or rather, two of them, and Ben and Rey, in varying states of bodily disrepair. Her ribs complained with every movement, but nothing so bad as Ben’s knee, far as she could tell. He hadn’t much ventured from bed, let alone their bedroom.

And with harvest coming, she wasn’t sure what they were going to do.

“Sweetheart, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Ben said plaintively, running his fingers through his hair in a movement she knew well. Always when he was trying to figure out how to plead his case with her, he’d be fussing with her. “I’m stuck up in this room until my knee can manage a little better, and it’d give me some peace of mind if I knew you weren’t scampering about and pushing your luck with those ribs of yours. You’re littler than you realize.”

“I’m tough as a billy goat,” she muttered. “I’ll be fine.”

“Stubborn as one, too.”

“Is that so?” she asked. She stalked to the bedside, and she put her hands on her hip as she offered him her mightiest glare. Ben met her gaze steadily.

He made a noise that could scarcely be counted as denial. Then snorted back a laugh. This man. She had no choice at all but to laugh, herself.

“What am I going to do with you?” Ben reached for her hand and brought it to his lips for a tender kiss. And his eyes were like warm cinnamon in their regard for her. Darn if she could resist. Rey felt herself melt a little. “Can you tell me that?”

“I don’t expect you can do anything at all with me, Mr. Solo,” she said. Rey leaned over him, and she kissed him, sweetly as could be. “Lost cause, right here. And besides, you like me because I’m stubborn. I warned you, and you insisted on marrying me, regardless. In fact, you didn’t seem to care just how much trouble I’d be bringing your way.”

“Perhaps the word is ‘despite.’ I like you despite your stubbornness.” Ben cupped the back of her head and pulled her in for another kiss, and another. The last so full of longing, that Rey wasn’t even sure what they’d been arguing about. A water pail? Didn’t signify. Not when he was here, and his hands were big and gentle, and his lips were ever so soft.

“Mmf, now, I think… I think you like me a little thorny.”

“I’ve been trying—” He traced the flat of his thumb over her lips, then stroked her cheek, “to teach you, from the moment you arrived in my life, that it’s alright to let others have a care for you. And to show yourself some kindness, too.”

Her eyes closed, and she hummed slightly. Nothing better than Ben’s touch. “I do let you care for me. You only get sore when I try to tend to you the way you tend to me. Like I have now, by bringing you water since you were complaining about needin’ to wash up some.” He grumbled, knowing full well he was caught out, and Rey laughed. “I promise I won’t do any more heavy hauling again, alright?”

Ben huffed. “S’pose I don’t have any choice but to accept your word. I didn’t think you’d return to your old ways so soon.” He didn’t look mad about it. Not even slightly. No, her husband’s eyes twinkled. “I didn’t have a lick of this silver hair until that night I caught you trying to steal a horse. You know that, right?”

She doubted that. Well and truly. And if there were any credence to it, then she felt no guilt, because he was handsome enough with it for her heart to flip whenever she saw him. She loved the way his hair sparkled in sunlight.

She supposed she could compromise. At least a little.

When they’d come home after leaving Plutt’s, she’d been exhausted to her bones, hollowed out by fear and worry, and she felt as ancient as Ben’s pecan grove that had stood for a hundred or more years and would stand for a hundred more. And she’d slept and slept and slept. At first, curled in Ben’s arms, then more comfortably, next to him in bed. Only wakeful long enough to get Ben washed and patched together, then back into bed so she could lay close and breathe in the scent of his skin and touch him in the night if she should wake with a start.

And as weary as Ben was, not that this stubborn man would admit it, he’d whisper reassurances to her in the night whenever she’d jolt awake in the darkness. She’d tuck against him and breathe, and listen to the steady rhythm of his heart and each breath of his, until the breaths taken were neither his nor hers, but theirs.

“Maybe my goal is to see it all silver. Ever think of that?” She gently combed her fingers through his long, salt and pepper locks.

“Oh, you’ll see it so one of these days, sweetheart,” he chuckled, and he reached a hand to tweak her long braid. “Long before you have any of your own.”

“I think you’ll look handsome. Real distinguished,” she said. “But I won’t love you more.” That in itself would be impossible, and he knew it. And after everything, she just wanted this sweetness with her Mr. Solo. “And never less.”

“Then don’t,” he teased, and he tugged at her braid again.

It was heavenly to see him smiling again. Without the looming worry of Plutt, her heart felt, as if it hadn’t known what life was without the weight of dread, even sweet as it had been with Ben. And even if his knee was still troublesome to keep him in bed.

Rey sat herself next to him, making Ben laugh and huff slightly to accommodate her on the narrow edge of the mattress. They’d been healing together as best they could. The bruise on her face was now mottled yellow, and the wound on her arm healing nicely, just as Ben’s was.

But with the harvest coming, and Ben still laid up, she worried. She knew he worried, too, though he tried to keep the worst of it from her.

“I really wish I could be riding out and working with the fellas the way I was before.” She bit her lip watching as Ben idly pulled at the end of the green ribbon that tied her braid until the bow loosened. “Jimmy said the temporary hands are going to be here in little more than a week. And Pete and Tom have gone back to Mr. Hux’s farm—I’m not sure what we’ll do. You’ve told me how busy a harvest is here.” The ribbon was tugged clear of her braid, and the strands loosened as Ben curled the slippery bit of satin around his fingers. His mouth pressed into a contemplative line as he studied the ribbon.

At last, he spoke. But there was something heated in his eyes. Heated and hungry and tender, all at once.

“We’ll manage. We’ll have all the hands we need. And—I did have Jimmy send a telegram to my mother, asking her to hurry along some help for my knee. If I can’t convince my uncle, she certainly has the capability. And knowing her, he’ll regret it.” Ben leaned past her to drape the ribbon on the side table. He took his time in tangling his fingers in her braided hair, loosening it until it tumbled over her shoulders. Perhaps idling with her husband wasn’t a terrible burden, even if she couldn’t work. “But… I’m gonna hire more permanent help after this season. Not as young as I used to be, and you see, sweetheart, I’m a man who fancies spending time with his wife.”

His lips were warm then, pressing against the apple of her cheek, and she felt, as her eyes closed, his fingers fiddling about with the buttons of her shirt. Then the heat of his hand slipping inside her chemise as he cupped her breast.

Ah. Her heart beat faster at his gentle touch.

“Mr. Solo—” she murmured, turning toward him. “That’s—that’s awful nice. Do you suppose, if we were careful…”

It had been a week, after all.

“Mmm. I’m willing to be gentle with you. I think I have a duty here, in fact, to give you a little husbandly comfort,” he replied. Oh. She flushed. That was a grand idea for the afternoon. Rey eagerly offered her lips for capture, and she reached instinctively to run her fingers through his soft, silvering waves.  Ben made an appreciative sound, low in his throat. The ache in her ribs was only a dull throb now, but she figured—she figured if she could just position herself carefully, maybe--Rey shifted gingerly, and she made to straddle his hips. His voice carried a promise as he looked up at her, hands finding a home on her waist. “Think you can be careful?”

She nodded. Oh, how she nodded. Rey kissed him with all the sweetness she felt for him, and danced her fingertips, soft as flower petals, over the smooth, solid flesh of his shoulders.

“I can love on you, gentle as a lamb,” she whispered against his lips. His exhaled laughter warmed her through.

“That I can believe, lil miss. You are a sweet little thing, after all.” His cheeks quirked with a barely restrained smile as his clever hands unbuttoned her chemise, baring her. The room was warm, but still she shivered. “Sweet and clever.” His mouth followed his hands, and Ben kissed over the soft swells of her breasts. “Better than summer peaches,” he added with a playful growl before sucking as much of one into his mouth as he could, then pulling off with a wet pop that made her blush.

“Mr. Solo!” she gasped, scandalized. Well, not so scandalized. Her laughter was breathy as he did the same to the other, lavishing it with attention.

“Hmm? Is that a complaint I hear, Mrs. Solo?”

“Hardly. I’d never complain.” She dipped her head to capture his lips with hers, the sweet heat of his touch and nearness warming her blood. “But nothin’s better than summer peaches. Especially the ones on this farm.”

“You sure about that?” he asked, smoothing his hands over her thighs through the thick fabric of her skirt. Together, they rucked it up a big until his large, warm palms rested firm against her skin. Slowly, slowly enough to drive her to madness, his hands slid upward, upward, over the legs of her drawers. “Seems to me that nothing’s sweeter than you, lil miss.”

Ben’s eyes held hers, and she saw the need there, as much need as love. And he must have seen the same in her. His fingers found the open gusset of her drawers, and with an unhurried touch, he stroked along the seam of her, fingers grazing and dancing until he found the place that sent frissons of pleasure through her until she panted and bucked against his hand.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she chased the sensation, grinding against his fingers while he chuckled.

“Feels real sweet, right there—” she managed. If he kept touching her like that, she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be coherent.

“Sure looks like it, missy,” he whispered, and she didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was watching her every move. She could feel his gaze as she pressed against him. Rocking harder until her breathing grew heavy, until she felt herself grow so wet his fingers slid easily between the petals of her sex. Lord, it felt… it was different now. His voice was teasing, husky, and he pressed two fingers into her. “Careful now, thought you were going to be gentle.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it.

Even as the stretch of him inside her—it was---Rey shuddered, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. And it wasn’t much longer, a few lazy pumps of his fingers, an odd crooking until he found just the right angle. Stars burst behind her eyes, and her body tensed briefly like a spring drawn too straight. And with a crack, the spring cracked, and Rey shattered, gasping at the ceiling.

She was sure she said his name. She was sure of it. But certainly, she could be sure of no language at the moment.

“Lord, Ben—” she finally managed, pressing her forehead to his. He was slow to pull his fingers from her, but with a devilish grin, so crookedly handsome on his long face, he tasted the glossy arousal.

“Best thing I ever tasted, sweetheart.” He kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. “Think a nice little lady like you could help me with my drawers?” His hips lifted, and he ground into her slightly. There was no mistaking what he meant. It was as plainly understood as the hard ridge of him lifting his drawers.

Still hazy from her climax, Rey rocked against the erection. Through the thin cotton, she could feel the steel of him, and the rigid heat.

“I… I suppose I can.” She fumbled at the buttons on the thin, white fabric with clumsy, eager fingers. His chin dipped down as he watched, and she could see how flushed his face was, how hungrily intent.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured.

“Thought I wasn’t supposed to lift anything heavy, Mr. Solo,” she said softly as she opened the front of his drawers. His cock already stood long and ruddy and thick against the curly thatch of the hair at his groin. Certainly, it looked heavy, it was so hard already. “Am I going to get in trouble for liftin’ this big ol’ manhood of yours?” She couldn’t help the innocent question, and she laughed as it made him groan as if entirely pained. Particularly when her inquisitive fingers stroked the length of him.

“Hngh—sweetheart, I think you’ll manage fine. Now you just take it slow, alright? Don’t go jostling yourself—” Ben’s hands gripped her hips hard as she lifted to angle herself over his cock. He guided her forward until she felt the thick head of him nudge between her legs. “Just slide onto my cock, nice and easy—” he exhaled, and Rey felt Ben tug her downward until the thick head of his cock nudged against her entrance. “Ah—just… that’s perfect.”

Rey bit her lip. She pressed down, until the tip pushed just into her, and she would swear on her honor that nothing felt quite so nice. But oh, there was nothing but to push onto him a little harder, all while her thighs were shaking with the effort of holding herself to this achingly slow pace.

“Just… just a little…” she panted.

“Right—” Ben said, his deep voice suddenly grown ragged. “Just a little. Love feeling how sweet you are, Miss Rey. Maybe… maybe go just a little faster…”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes grew wide, and she relished the way his eyebrows lifted in alarm. “I promised you I’d be gentle.” She squirmed slightly, and the tip of Ben’s cock very nearly slipped from her. His teeth gritted, and she felt his hands tighten against her hips.

“Please, sweetheart. If you go faster, I’m thinking this might be my dying wish…” his complaint was so plaintive, Rey struggled not to laugh as she pushed herself a little further, exhaling as his cock felt thick enough to split her in two. “Goddamn—” he swore, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. “Sorry. It’s just--you are so darned tight, missy. Let me just… I just… I need to feel you on me.”

Rey shifted her hips slightly, and she felt sweat prickle on her forehead. He was a lot to take. Always. But slowly, she worked herself up and down, riding his big cock slowly, achingly, desperately slowly, until she felt warmth and pleasure coil in her, until her blood felt like fire, and she was suddenly fully seated on his cock, the air half knocked out of her.

There wasn’t a word in the world to express how that felt. Certainly, when she opened her eyes, she could see the world of love in Ben’s. His lips, so full and pink, were parted as he gasped for breath. His eyes turned glassy and unfocused and oh—he was close. Rey rolled her hips again. And again.

“Damn—I—” and he groaned as his hips bucked upward. The flood of pleasure washed across his face, and Rey felt his hands press into the meat of her backside, holding her to him as he jerked underneath her. “Aw, lil miss,” he panted, his words slurring. “I couldn’t… I just can’t control myself with you sometimes.”

“Then don’t,” Rey teased, leaning down to kiss him. She cupped his cheek and tenderly traced the line of his scar with her thumb. “I’ll take you however I can. Even a little wild.”

“Oh, Miss Rey,” he chuckled, eyes shining. “You be careful what you say now.”

Rey’s nose scrunched as she considered this. “I’ve been careful enough.”

The warm, rumbling laughter that rose from Ben’s chest made Rey grin.

#

Rey was sitting at the time-worn kitchen table, enjoying the early evening breeze through the screen door as she snapped beans for supper. This was light enough work to appease her grumblesome husband, she thought with a smile. She’d left him napping, the window cracked for air so he could smell the rich farmland that was ready and ripe for harvest.

It wasn’t long before Jimmy came stomping up the back porch to shake the dirt off his boots. She’d seen him ride in on his horse after the trip to town.

“Hope you’re hungry,” she said brightly, motioning to the veggies she was working through. “How’s town?”

“Oh, same as ever. People are buzzing loud over the scuffle last week at Plutt’s. Seems you might be a little bit of a heroine.” His eyes danced as he told her that, then set his canvas knapsack on the chair next to her. “The good pastor would be happy to have you at service sometime. And Mrs. Kanata over at the general store? She’s organizing the town’s harvest dance. I think she might come fetch you and Solo herself.”

“Dancing?” That was a truly alarming thought. She wouldn’t know which foot to put where or when.

“Dancing and music. Wouldn’t be so terrible, would it?” Jimmy winked and emptied his bag of a few parcels and a packet of letters. “Mrs. Hux asked me to bring you this here ladies’ magazine. Said she’d like to invite you for luncheon in town when you’re recovered and all.”

Rey flushed happily. She’d hoped that when all the business with Plutt was over, that she might spend more time with Rose. Her husband was such a dear friend of Ben’s, after all, and she’d been so kind and friendly on her wedding day.

“Soon as Mr. Solo won’t have a fit about me riding, I’ll go to town myself.” She had no reason to hide anymore, after all, thank goodness, with Plutt sitting in jail, awaiting trial. And it seemed, a good deal of the town had grievances with the man. “What’s all here?”

Jimmy shrugged. But there was something sly in that movement that sparked her interest. “Just a few things that husband of yours requested I bring back for you. And the mail, of course. There’s a telegram in here, too.” He tapped the stack of letters. “Just came today, in fact.”

Hopefully good news. Hopefully word from his family. “I’ll take these upstairs, then. When you’re settled, be sure to bring Robbie for supper.” Rey rose from her seat and patted Jimmy’s arm. “I made a pie.”

“When did you learn to make a pie?” he asked, eyes widening in faux horror.

“When you taught me. It’s not as pretty as yours, but hopefully it tastes fine.”

Jimmy snorted and shoved his hat back on his head. “Hopefully.”

#

Rey was still huffing with laughter and shaking her head as she entered the bedroom.

“Jimmy’s back. Brought a whole bunch of parcels and some mail. Now what have you gone and done, Mr. Solo?” she asked brightly. There were a few small parcels wrapped in brown paper. Nothing overlarge or heavy. But she wondered.

Ben glanced up from the book he had open, and he tried to feign surprise, lips parting, and eyebrows shooting upward. “Pardon? I haven’t shifted from this bed, and somehow, I’ve found trouble, I take it.”

She set the parcels on the table near the bed, then offered him the stack of mail. “You have.”

Keeping the smile off his face was no option. Ben grinned wide and toothy, and he settled his mail on his lap before picking through it. “Open your presents, and then tell me how much trouble I’m in.”

“There’s a telegram for you.” Rey sat in the upholstered green chair nearest to the bedside table with her parcels. Even in the plain brown paper, she thought the little packages were so neat and pretty.

“Must be my mother,” he commented, and she could hear him rifle through the stack of envelopes.

The twine unknotted easily, and Rey peeled away the brown paper. Eagerness, once so strange to her heart, bloomed in her chest. She hadn’t known many gifts in her life. But it seemed the last few months of her life had brought so many her way. Ben and the fellas. The kindnesses from Mrs. Kanata and Rose and Mr. Hux.

And now a lovely new tin of drawing pencils and sketch paper. She’d mentioned needing more colors to work with, more paper, too. And along with it, there was a small packet of colorful white- and red- and yellow-striped ribbon candy, like she’d once so dearly dreamed of buying for herself one day. When she had the money. Tasting the sweetness and knowing it was hers. That she’d earned the right to have something just because she wanted it.

“It’s too pretty to eat,” she said, stroked her fingers over the wax paper reverently. “Do you know how much I wished, when I was a girl, just to have one piece?” Rey bit her lip and looked up at Ben.

Ben, who was frozen. His mouth hung open for a moment, like he’d been surprised beyond comprehension.

“Ben?”

He blinked, then shook his head, his hair swirling about his face.

“My mother.” His voice was stunned, like whatever he’d just read hardly made sense in the way he understood the world.

Oh. It was bad news, then. “Did she--?”

“What? Oh! No. No, sweetheart. She’s healthy as a horse. It’s just—” He laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “She's coming here. With a Dr. Dameron and a Mr. Storm to see about fitting my leg for some kind of brace.”

“I thought she swore she’d never come back?” Rey asked, her heart stopping for perhaps a second or two.

Ben gave her a wry smile. “Well. I expect between my knee and the fact I have a wife she hasn’t met… she was willing to put aside her scruples.”

She was going to meet Ben’s mother, after all. The prospect of meeting such a fine lady made her want to dive under the covers with Ben, even as much as she wanted to exhale boneless relief that finally, a proper doctor would see to Ben’s knee, and not that quack in town who gave people laudanum for the headache.

Rey shoved a piece of ribbon candy into her mouth to quiet her thoughts.

“Ah, the risks of family,” Ben mused, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her. “I told you, my mother would have something done.”

“Do you think—” Rey started, inelegantly around the candy, trying not to worry the wax wrapper in her fingers. “Do you think she’ll like me?”

The dimples on Ben’s face carved deep as he smiled. And she could see the understanding in his eyes, and the tender regard he always showed her. His voice gentled.

“Oh, sweetheart. She’ll love you.” He motioned for Rey to come to him, and she did, sitting on the edge of the bed. Ben slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close into his warmth. “So will my father. I told you, she was so pleased to hear of our marriage. She was worried I’d get lonesome one of these days. She’ll take one look at you and see how special you are.”

Ben kissed her temple with a great deal of affection. Funny how her stomach still swooped like a butterfly every time he kissed her. She figured it always would, she loved him so.

“Always something around here, isn’t it?” she said lightly, sighing as she leaned against him. She wasn’t quite sure how to please a mother-in-law or even a father-in-law. But she’d try. They were Ben’s people, and she’d love them with a dogged determination, no matter what.

“Suppose that’s life. It’s never going to stop happening. We’re just lucky to live it together, don’t you think?” His smile was warm as sunshine as his eyes met hers. “We get to enjoy it as it comes.”

“That’s true,” she said, considering his words. And it was true. Whether it was bad news or good news or unexpected visitors, or even the cycle of the seasons or the rhythm of farm life, there was always something bound to happen. “Maybe peace is in the small moments, and happiness is in the company we keep.”

Ben had taught her what happiness was. And love. And now she had so much of it, and more than she ever thought possible. So much had changed for the better since the day she stumbled into his barn to steal, well, borrow, a horse.

Let life happen, then. Ben was right.

“Then I consider myself the happiest man alive.” His nose crinkled and he chuckled with the warm goodness of his soul. She felt it as her own, these days. “How about you, lil miss?”

“Can’t complain.”

And then she laughed, and Ben, too.

And all that joy and love filled their whole world.

#

Chapter Text

#

Five years later...

There was no waiting that Ben Solo had ever done that was half as painful that very moment. Ben sat outside his own bedroom, head in his hands, listening to the sounds from within.

The muffled tones of Mrs. Hux. And his own mother. And the doctor he’d convinced to come from Chicago, wanting only the best for his wife. And Rey. His lovely wife, crying out as she brought their child into this world. Every sound made his heart jump, until he was so frazzled, he thought it would crash right through his rib cage. Not even his quietly whispered prayers could soothe his soul.

It was a dangerous thing that she was doing. He’d been alive long enough to know that, heard the stories, and seen the grief. And though it was their dearest dream to have this child, still he wondered if he could bear losing his wife. He wouldn’t, though. His mother had told him to calm himself, not to fret, that his Rey was healthy and stubborn about living.

And only heaven knew how deeply wanted this child was. How they’d talked into the night about a little one and the things they’d teach him or her. How to collect the eggs. How to play violin. How to draw. How to race and jump. How to ride a horse. How to fish and swim. And above all, they’d teach their child about kindness and love.

But it had been a long time coming, this day.

After the first few years of hoping, they’d accepted it might not be in their future to have little ones. That had been well enough, if bittersweet. They’d talked of adopting a child, and lord, he wasn’t getting any younger, and they maybe still would.

But one day, a day he’d never forget if he lived a thousand happy years, he’d been checking the fields after the spring planting. And Rey had come skipping along, light in her step like she was floating on air. Her smile had been so wide, his own cheeks ached to see it. He’d been quick enough to put aside his work.

She’d gone to town that day to fetch a few things from the general store where Mrs. Kanata held domain, though never supplying what exactly it was she intended to purchase.  Probably more of her drawing pencils. She’d filled every scrap of paper in the house with her bright, intricate drawings. Birds and other creatures, some of them wonderfully fantastical, just right out of that head of hers. Just scribbles, she claimed, but he saw the beauty in them all, just as he did in the hands that created them.

“News from town?” he asked, wiping his brow with his handkerchief before tucking it in his pockets.

“Oh, the same nonsense going on as always. Rose and Armitage’s boy was caught kissing the Connix girl behind the church on Sunday. Whole town’s buzzing with gossip.” She laughed and walked up to him, and he was mighty pleased to observe the freckles on her nose and the brightness in her pretty, hazel eyes. Ben Solo, after all these years of marriage, was as smitten as the day they’d wed.

“Young love,” Ben said simply, and he tucked a finger under her chin to tilt it up so he could kiss her. A man should kiss his wife often, he figured. “People forget what it’s like. S’pose we’re lucky we remember.”

Her lips were soft, so he kissed her again, and he chuckled.

“Mmm. S’pose so.” Rey slipped her arms about his waist and looked up at him, eyes twinkling. “Had a thought, earlier, as I was riding home. I think we should ask your mother to come stay for a while this fall. What do you say about that?”

His mother and had been a regular visitor these last few years. And even one winter, Rey and Ben had traveled to see her, to Rey’s great delight. She’d been so thoroughly excited to ride the great steam train for the first time in her life. After that trip, he’d told her he’d take her more places. Maybe even up to Chicago for a visit, to see Dr. Dameron and Mr. Storm.

After leaving the farm after working with him so kindly, years ago now, the men had had settled in the bustling city and gone into practice together, making leg and knee braces. Real miracle workers, he thought, and he wore the brace still, especially when he knew he’d be on his feet a good portion of the day. And to this day, they exchanged letters.

“Whatever you like, sweetheart. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to spend a season here. Helping you vex me daily at every meal, and every moment besides.” He tweaked her braid.

His Rey, his sweetheart, had been nervous to the point of shaking the day she’d met his mother. He’d had to braid her hair for her, a trick he’d leaned when caring for Annie, and he’d held Rey’s hand as they waited in the wagon at the train depot. But she shouldn’t have worried. His mother had hugged her and kissed her cheek and called her a daughter. And Rey, well, she never did have any defenses for that sort of thing and gave them her whole heart right then, without hesitation.

Ever after, Rey would sit with his mother and share her drawings and talk about the books she’d read, and his mother would fill her ears with stories of her life and his life and the two would giggle and plan like thieves.  His mother thought Rey was something special. Well. So did he.

“You like to be vexed. Anyway, I just thought it’d be helpful to have her about.” Rey tugged the front of his shirt a bit and bit her lip. She was holding onto some joke, Ben could see. Her dimples were dancing, practically. “Don’t you think?”

“Well, sure. I mean, she’s a bit deep into her years, but—” Ben blinked, feeling a few paces behind his wife’s quicksilver mind. “Why do we need help?”

Rey laughed, then hugged him tighter. “With the baby. When it comes. Rose went with me to see the doctor, and—my best guess is the baby will come right during harvest. Not altogether convenient, I know, but that’s the baby’s--”

“The ba—” His mind blanked. “The baby?” It couldn’t be. All those years of trying. And now? Just like that? “We’re going to have a baby?”

Her nose scrunched, and she looked as pleased as he’d ever seen her. Bright and pretty as a springtime daisy. “S’pose we are, Mr. Solo. You and me.”

Ben Solo whooped with joy and planted his hat on her head as she laughed. “Sweetheart, I don’t have words to tell you how glad I am.” He picked her up and twirled her around, his grin so wide he thought his face might split in two. Life was kinder than he’d ever hoped.

And now here he was. Sitting outside the room where his wife was laboring. It’d been hours, and the sun had disappeared, and he was sore afraid the longer it went on. He couldn’t bear to lose his wife. Not again. And not his sweet, stubborn Rey.

His mother and Rose had warned him a first baby could be difficult, and that he needed to be patient. If he were more of a praying man, he might have done that. But for now, all he could do was wring his hands. Rose had brought along a bottle of Hux’s whiskey, “in case he needed it,” but drink was never something he craved. Not even now. Rey needed him with his head solidly on his shoulders.

He was fully considering pulling the hair from his head when he finally heard the tiny, reedy sound of an infant’s wail. Surely, his heart would stop. He hauled himself to his feet slowly and shuffled closer to the door. The voices kept murmuring, and thankfully, Rey’s among them. And laughter. Tired laughter, but happy enough. He could exhale again. And maybe one of these days, his heartbeat would live somewhere besides in his throat.

He waited as long as he could outside the door. He knew they’d call for him when all was ready. Dr. Kalonia had said that much.

He couldn’t bear it. He knocked, gulping nervously.

“H-hullo?” he called through the door.

And the door opened so fast, he thought he’d fall through it.

“Just a minute, Ben,” Rose said with a warm smile, and put her hand on his forearm as if to still him from charging into the room. She was always so good-humored, was Rose. And she was looking him over now while she held back laughter. He supposed he made for a nervous picture. “We’re getting Rey comfortable as she can be right now. She did well, and you should be proud of her. And the baby’s very healthy. Good lungs.”

He wasn’t listening, however. He was straining to see past Rose to where his mother was wrapping a knit shawl around Rey’s shoulders. Rey was pale but smiling. Alright, then. There she was. As long as he had Rey, everything would be alright.

Dr. Kalonia looked up from where she was inspecting a wriggling little bundle and saw him in the doorway. She smiled warmly, then carefully placed the baby in Rey’s outstretched arms. Even from the door, he could see how hungry his lil missy’s eyes were to hold the infant. And how pretty she was doing so.

“You can come in, Mr. Solo. Everyone is happy and healthy,” the good doctor said, adjusting the spectacles on the tip of her long nose. She was a tall, slim woman, and she’d humored him greatly all these months as he asked her every question he could think of on caring for an expecting wife and then an infant.

“Ben!” Rey’s voice was soft, but it carried over the others. “Let him in, Rose, please. He’s seen me worse than this, I suppose.” She’d been beautiful every day that he’d known her, frankly, as far as he was concerned.

“Benjamin,” his mother said softly, the tenderness choking her words, “come take this chair next to Rey. Mrs. Hux and I will go make some tea in the kitchen, and a good, strong broth for Rey. She did a fair bit of work today, after all.” His mother pressed a loving kiss to the top of Rey’s head and smiled at the baby, blinking back tears. “My first grandchild. Simply splendid, my dear.”

“I’ll join you,” Dr. Kalonia offered quickly. “Let’s let the little family have their moment.”

Ben kissed his mother’s cheek in passing as she left the room, and he knew she’d forgive him not saying more as he sat near to his wife. This close, he could see Rey’s eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. She’d been through a lot this day; a great deal of effort went into the business of bringing a child into the world.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her cheek, then peering down at the impossibly tiny, red-faced bundle in her arms. His heart ached for joy at the sight. Their child. The one they’d yearned for, for so long. Here in his wife’s arms. Seemed impossible that this morning, there’d been no child, and here they were, parents by nightfall. “You alright? I was scared to death for you. I’d… I’d never felt so helpless. I would have pulled the moon out of the sky if you’d needed. Oh--”

His words drifted into silence as the baby made a smacking noise.

“Your daughter, Mr. Solo.” Rey’s voice was whisper soft, and she tenderly traced her index finger over the baby’s cheek. And he knew he was watching his wife very much fall in love with this little creature, and he didn’t mind one bit. He was feeling half gone himself. “Hope you don’t mind she’s not a boy—I surely don’t. I think she’s gonna be smart and quick and beautiful and as stubborn as her daddy. She felt stubborn.” Rey huffed a laugh and shook her head. “Kicked me like a mule for all those months.”

The child had, too. Rey, rounded in the belly, had grumbled often, if affectionately, at the little one making such havoc. Rey had bloomed so prettily these last months, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. He’d loved to caress Rey’s belly at night in bed, and he’d whispered all sorts of stories to the little occupant. About him, about Rey, about his parents, and adventures, and even a fairy tale or two. It was a strange thing, having been so compelled to tell stories to a baby he couldn’t even see yet.

“I don’t mind one bit,” he said fiercely. “I’ll take ten daughters. Or one. I don’t question these things. A daughter is a fine thing to have.”

“I figured.” Rey turned her head and gave him a sunny smile, and Ben kissed her with all the love he had in him. His wife, and his child. Right there. Safe. In his house. He’d given up so long ago on love and family, only to have this lil miss come storming into his life. She’d brought back the warmth and joy he’d been missing.

There were the pains of life. He’d known enough of them. The disappointments. But life with Rey was nothing but a gift. And only a fool would waste it.

“The fellas are gonna be delighted. I’ll have a hand send a letter over to their farm,” Ben mused, reaching a careful hand towards the little bundle that was his daughter. His daughter. He could scarcely believe it. “They’re gonna make a big fuss. Might have a spoiled little girl on our hands.”

What Ben meant was that he was delighted. He’d make a big fuss. Every possibility for his daughter tumbled through his head. The finest tutors. A good school. Any future she wanted, on or off this farm. Nothing would be too good for her.

Her. Little Miss Solo.

“What do you want to call her?” Rey asked, lifting the baby so she could smell her, kiss her little forehead, and snuggle her closer. “All those other names we talked about, I don’t know that any of them are right. She’s not a Helen.”

No, this child was not a Helen.

Ben stroked his thumb over the baby’s cheek. “Could I…?”

Rey smiled and shifted so he could carefully take the baby from her.

Oh.

He hadn’t been expecting how very small she’d feel in his arms. How fragile. Or how sweet. Heaven above, Ben Solo thought, staring down into the pink, round face of his daughter, she was like a piece of his soul melded with Rey’s and put right in his arms.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “We could give her a family name. My grandmother was a very smart, kind woman. Padme. People liked her.”

Rey’s face screwed up in thought. He knew the signs, from her knitted brows to the twist in her mouth. And then he saw her expression soften. And there was all the tenderness he knew existed in his wife’s soul, and all the compassion. She was more tender-hearted than she realized. He saw it in the way she talked to people in town, and even in how she treated the animals on their farm. Always fixing. Always listening. Sharing whatever she had. It was a miracle the harshness of her early life hadn’t knocked that tenderness out of her.

“I want to call her Annie.”

It took the wind right out of him. “Rey—”

She shook her head, and he saw the determination light in her lovely eyes. “I want to honor her. Unless you think she wouldn’t like it. This.”

Ben’s eyes welled with tears. Tears unshed all these years. He’d always been private about his grief, though his heart had healed well enough. Now Annie was a cherished memory, though there was that ache where love had been. Annie had wanted children. She’d also begged him not to be lonely on her account. To find love. Love is not finite, Ben. You can find it again.

And against the odds, he had. Love, with an accompanying passion that burned bright even in the sunshine and always hotter than an Indiana summer. And still did, after all these years. No one vexed him and teased him and made his heart fuller than his sweet Rey.

“She would,” he croaked. “She wished for children. We couldn’t have them. But Rey, I’d never ask it of you. Annie would understand that, too, you know.”

But Rey had surprised him. When his parents had first visited, they had asked to visit Annie’s grave. They’d loved her so very much, had watched her grow from baby, to a child, to a young lady, then waved goodbye as she had joined Ben for Indiana, and they wanted to finally, at last, pay their respects. But Rey had gone with them. And in the years since, she’d planted lovely flowers at her grave, as well. Letting her know we still care, Rey had said.

Rey’s heart was big enough to hold them all.

“She was special to you.” As if that solved everything. But Rey lifted that stubborn chin of hers. “And I don’t begrudge her for having had your love. You haven’t loved me any less.”

No, he never had. His love for Rey was body and soul. She gave him joy. She was his delight and his comfort and his friend and his lover. She was the breath in the lungs and the reason for his heartbeat.

“Not possible, sweetheart. I love you more than anything. Well.” He exhaled a laugh and looked down at the tiny baby girl. And his breath seemed to freeze in his chest, he was so dazzled by her beauty. She was the loveliest baby he’d ever seen. Perfect and tiny and with a scattering of dark hair, much the color his had been as a boy. “I seem to love her an awful lot, too. And I’ve only known her a few minutes.”

Rey laughed and reached to cover his where it rested over their baby girl’s heart. “Let her have the name of someone we both honor.”

Ben sniffed and nodded. It hurt. But it felt… right. It was the last thing he could do for Annie. He’d fulfilled every promise to her. And now at least one more generation might think of her.

“Only if you’re sure,” he said.

Rey made a watery sound, and he realized she was shedding tears, too. “I’m sure. Ben, meet your daughter. Annie Solo.”

Annie. His Annie girl.

Goodbye, and now hello.

“You did good, little horse thief,” he choked out in a laugh as tears broke free, making Rey laugh in a soft, watery way. He’d tease her until their last days about that business. He kissed little Annie’s face, then passed her back to Rey, holding his breath until the sweet girl was secure again. He supposed he’d hold his breath all his life to see this little one safe. “So good. I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“I’m better at this than I am at stealing horses, I guess.”

Ben Solo watched his wife cradle their daughter in their arms. Even as she was, hair mussed, and bone tired, it was the loveliest sight he’d ever seen.

“Lucky for me, then, I guess,” he said. Ben’s face split in a wide grin. “Real lucky for me.”

He couldn’t help himself. He kissed his wife.

#

More than five years earlier...

The moon hung low and yellow, big as a dinner plate.

Ben half-dozed in a chair on his porch the lantern on the railing flickering. Supper had long been over, and Jimmy and Robbie had gone back to the bunkhouse, leaving him to his thoughts.

Another long day of work. But at least the crops were doing mighty fine. The spring planting had been a good one, it seemed. And provided no unforeseen circumstances, the harvest would do well, too.

The rhythm of life here was comfortable, and sometimes, he thought it was the only thing keeping him sane. He did what he could for the fellas, young as they were, and as in need of safe harbor as they were from the misunderstandings of the world. They’d been young and scared and hungry when they’d first come to his farm, desperate for work. And now they were men, confident and happy. He knew they wouldn’t stay forever. They’d need to find their own path someday.

But he wouldn’t worry on that, just yet.

No, not yet.

Ben closed his eyes and listened to the swell of the cicadas and breathed deep of the humid, heavy air. It smelled like earth and green and the promise of rain. No place on this earth was more peaceful than this farm. He’d stay here his whole life. He knew that without a doubt.

But there was a strange stillness in the air, too. Even from the porch of his farmhouse, he sensed that something wasn’t right. He opened his eyes and sat up, and that was when he heard the faint sound of the horses whickering in the barn. There was something unsettled in it.

He sat up. The horses were usually quiet as church mice at this hour, but he could, quite definitely, hear them in the barn. One whinnied loudly, and he knew then. Intruder. A thief.

Jimmy had said the town gossip was buzzing about some thefts at local farms. Usually, a cow or two. Sometimes a piece of equipment. And around here, people didn’t have a whole lot to give. Times were hard.

Well. He wasn’t about to let hooligans make off with one of his horses. They’d find out a thing or two.

Ben grumbled as he pushed out of his chair and went to fetch his rifle.

And as he approached the barn, a scan minute later, he heard the panicked whispering and the way the horses snorted and stomped.

Oh, there was someone in there alright.

Damnation.

He shoved open the barn door with a heavy kick, hoping the suddenness of it would startle the thief. Seemed to work—he heard a gasp of pain and a thump as the thief stumbled and fell. It was hard to see in the dark of the barn, so he stood in the doorway. It could be one man or two, and he’d rather not take his chances.

“What the hell’s goin’ on in here? I don’t hold truck with thieves. Show yourself,” he growled angrily.

He stepped further into the barn, glancing tentatively to the corners. Still couldn’t see a darn thing, just smelled the sweetness of the hay and the horses. Best he could make out was a shadowy figure struggling by the far stall, trying desperately to stand. Alone. Only one, it seemed.

Good. And even better, he had the bastard cornered.

“Who the hell are you?” he shouted, lifting his rifle to his shoulder and stalking forward. Just needed one look at the thief, and he’d decide then what to do. Haul him to town for the sheriff to deal with, most like. As long as he didn’t do anything foolish.

The figure sucked in a pained gasp and lurched forward like a shot. But as the thief fell against the stall doors, making the horse rear up in fear, a slice of moonlight fell across the barn. And Ben saw the face of the thief.

A girl.

A terrified, wide-eyed girl.

Sweaty, bedraggled, and damn it, covered in blood.

Not a horse thief.

He knew it as sure as he’d ever known anything. And she was scrabbling like an injured bobcat, and like to scratch and bite, too. She needed help. And right now, she was panicking. He could smell it on her like sickness. He’d have to catch her fast before she bolted out into the night and did herself more harm.

“Son of a bitch,” Ben swore more to himself than at her, then threw aside his rifle to grab at her elbow.

The girl grunted and kicked him right in the shin with enough force to make him curse, then scrambled past him. She wasn’t moving half as fast as she thought she was. He watched as she flung off her pack and picked up her skirts and tore toward the open barn door, staggering like she was drunk off moonshine.

“Hold it there—” he grumbled, hobbling a little himself after the kick she’d delivered to his shin. Strong for all that she was hurt.

The girl wobbled unsteadily, and he could see the moment the fight went out of her. She stumbled forward over her oversized boots, feet catching on each other, and down she went. Hard.

Damnation.

By the time he knelt by her crumpled body and turned her over, she was unconscious, and blood bloomed from her shoulder, saturating her tattered shirt until it clung to her like a second skin, ruby and wet. He’d have to do something and fast before she lost more blood.

Unfathomably, someone had shot her. Her. This scrawny bag of bones of a girl. Like she could have done anyone an ounce of harm.

He wasn’t by inclination a violent man, but he’d do damage to whomever had so mistreated her.

He pressed his fingers against her throat to feel the thready, thin pulse. Alive, at least. But not well. Not well at all. And oh, she was just a little thing, fine-boned and so thin, her cheeks hollowed, and her eyes shadowed and bruised from exhaustion. She had the look of someone hunted, that was certain.

“Come now, miss,” he muttered, worry bubbling in his chest. He felt her forehead with the back of his hand. Feverish and clammy. “This is no place for you to sleep. Wouldn’t you rather like a bed?”

As if she could answer. But no matter. Ben carefully gathered her into his arms and rose. She was light as a new lamb in his arms, for all she was limp and boneless. He could guess she hadn’t had a good meal in an age. Wherever she’d come from, they hadn’t had a care for her. Her clothes were patched and ragged beyond respectability, and the boots were a shame to behold. And it was clear enough to see that wherever she’d come from, she wasn’t going back.

Just looking at her made his heart ache.

Ben carried her out of the barn, her head lolling against his shoulder, only to be met by Jimmy and Robbie, who were ready with rifles of their own.

“We heard a scuffle—” Robbie started, round-eyed. “So we thought—”

Good lads. They really were. Ben smiled wryly at them, then glanced at the girl’s dirt and blood smudged face. “We have a visitor, fellas. I believe this young lady needs some help.”

“That’s Plutt’s girl,” Jimmy blurted, his brow rumpled at the realization. Ben’s breath caught. The abuse he could see was enough for him to call Plutt out. That, too? Jimmy held up his free hand, seeing where Ben’s mind had gone. “Not like that. Just—she works as a hand on his farm. I think her name’s Rey. That’s what Mrs. Kanata told me, anyway, when I saw her lurking about by the general store, looking in the window. Surprised it took her this long to run. Lord knows he doesn’t pay anybody. And he’s got that real nasty temper.”

Everyone knew Plutt. Ben had avoided him for years. More than a decade, and closer to two now. It hadn’t taken long after he’d taken over this rambling, overgrown farm to realize that no one with a lick of sense had dealings with Unkar Plutt. And he’d kept it that way.

Ben knew what he had to do now. It was the only thing he could do.

“Well, she ran tonight,” Ben said firmly. “And we’ll keep her safe until she’s well enough to decide what she wants to do.”

He’d sworn to make this farm a kind place, and this girl needed some kindness. It was clear as the moonlight to him.

The fellas nodded their agreement, and Ben led the way toward the house. He knew some doctoring from his uncle, and it’d be easy enough to make up one of the empty rooms for her. She’d be safe here.

And in that moment, a part of his soul that he’d thought long buried began to sprout into tender life.

#

The End

Art by the talented Mari