You stepped out of the train, clutching your few bags. The arranged marriage was only finalized a few weeks ago, and you were finally moving onto your husband’s ranch. You’d met him once or twice before, and now you scanned the crowd for him, knowing he would be the one to pick you up. You remembered very little about him; only the smell of coffee and dirt, a charming smile, and the way he’d insisted you call him Maverick instead of Mr. Lovely. Soon he spotted you and walked over, “There you are, how was the train?” He asked in a deep steady tone. You answered telling him a few stories from the journey. When you finished he smiled, “I’m glad it wasn’t too much trouble, let me carry your bags for you. We’ll take the wagon to the ranch. It’s about an hour and a half from town.” He said it as he grabbed your bags easily and hoisted them onto the wagon. He held out his hand to help you up onto the seat beside him before climbing into the driver’s seat and gently urging the horses forward