Spurs & Satin

Hyacinth Lenox was the most frustrating woman I'd ever met. She was also the most beautiful. The first time I saw her was the morning after my arrival at the ranch. My father and I had been invited to the big house for breakfast. I'd known there were nine women in the large house—one had just married and moved to the neighboring ranch—and expected it to be chaotic. What I'd discovered was that women were absolutely nothing like a group of men. I'd spent twelve years of my life in the army and mealtime could be hectic in any mess hall or even out over a campfire when we were hungry enough.
But when we'd gone through the back door of the Lenox house, it was like watching a tornado indoors. Two people had been plating food being cooked at the stove. Two others had set the table while two more fought over a torn dress hem. Another two were doing each other's hair. And the din! The noise had been like nothing I'd heard before. Everyone had talked at once over the sounds of dishes clattering and utensils thumping down onto the table. And in the mix of all that craziness had sat Hyacinth. She'd been quietly and calmly sewing the hem of a skirt that was being argued over, a placid smile on her face. For a moment, I'd wondered if she were deaf, for the noise did not seem to bother her in the least.
The sun came through the window and lit her up. Her hair was a mahogany color, and pulled back into a simple bun at her nape. Her skin was strikingly pale in contrast, and as she was looking down, I could not see her eyes. It did not matter, for I'd known then and there that she would be mine. I hadn't needed for her look at me to know it. I'd felt it deep down in my bones. It had definitely been love at first sight, just as my father had said was the way with him and my mother. When Hyacinth had lifted her head, my feelings had been confirmed. The fact that her eyes and fringed with stunningly long lashes was irrelevant. They had widened in surprise at the sight of me, and I'd been pleased, but when she'd turned her head back to her sewing, I'd known I had my work cut out for me.
That had been two months ago. Two months of the one woman I hoped would look at me avoiding my gaze. Hell, she avoided everything about me. When I came into a room, she left. If I was in the stable and she wanted a horse, she chose to walk instead. If she brought food to the bunkhouse, she asked for my father or the other men, not me. She even took to hiding behind trees and ducking around doorways. This wasn't typical disinterest. This was outright avoidance. And I'd had enough.