But he did not fight.
Sarah remained her mother.
Montana became another home.
Not replacement.
Addition.
Over the following year, Anna spent school holidays at the ranch.
Cole traveled to Wyoming every month.
The cattlemen of Montana found it extraordinary.
The ruthless Cole Hayes left meetings early.
Canceled auctions.
Delegated negotiations.
Once he abandoned a land deal halfway through because Anna had a school recital.
His attorney stared.
“You cannot leave.”
Cole put on his coat.
“My daughter sings at seven.”
“You may lose twenty thousand dollars.”
Cole looked at him.
“I lost ten years.”
Then left.
Abigail remained too.
Not permanently at first.
She returned to the charity office.
Cole found reasons to visit.
Official reasons.
Donations.
Reports.
Signatures he previously ignored.
The office director eventually told Abigail:
“If Mr. Hayes donates another building just to ask whether you’re free for supper, I’m going to make you marry him for budgetary reasons.”
Abigail laughed.
Cole proposed three months later.
Not because of the director.
Probably.
He chose the ranch house.
Rain again.
Almost exactly one year after Abigail first arrived.
She stood near the same tall windows.
Cole walked toward her.
No ranch hands this time.
No housekeeper.
Just them.
Abigail wore dark blue.
Modest.
Elegant.
Her size required careful tailoring, but the dress fit beautifully.
Cole looked at her.
“You remember what you asked me here?”
She smiled.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
“You cried.”
“I remember.”
“You were very dramatic.”
Cole stared.
“I had not cried in ten years.”
“Exactly. Dramatic.”
He almost laughed.
Then reached into his vest.
Abigail’s smile disappeared.
“Cole.”
“I practiced.”
“Oh no.”
He frowned.
“You could pretend confidence.”
“No.”
He took her hand.
“I spent ten years believing the worst thing that could happen to a man was losing the people he loved.”
Abigail’s expression softened.
“I was wrong.”
She waited.
“The worst thing is surviving it and deciding never to love anyone enough to risk losing them again.”
Her eyes filled.
Cole continued.
“You walked into this house and saw through ten years of work in ten minutes.”
“Less.”
He almost smiled.
“You touched my face when everyone else had learned not to mention my heart.”
Abigail whispered:
“You looked sad.”
“I was.”
Cole lowered himself onto one knee.
Abigail’s hands covered her mouth.
“I love the way you speak when everyone wants you quiet.”
Tears formed in her eyes.
“I love the way you laugh in rooms that forgot laughter.”
He looked up at her enormous, soft figure.
“And I love every part of the woman standing in front of me.”
Abigail cried.
Cole continued:
“I don’t want to fix you.”
“You don’t need fixing.”
“I don’t want to rescue you.”
“You never needed rescuing.”
His voice softened.
“I want to build a life big enough for you, me, Anna, Sarah when she visits, your mother, every orphan you decide to bring home…”
Abigail laughed through tears.
“Cole.”
“I know you.”
“You might.”
He smiled.
“And I want noise.”
That broke her.
He looked around the once-silent ranch house.
“Lots of it.”
Abigail whispered:
“You’re sure?”
Cole stood.
“Yes.”
He held out a simple gold ring.
“Marry me.”
She stared.
Then:
“One condition.”
Cole groaned.
“Of course.”
“Anna chooses whether she calls me anything.”
Cole’s expression changed.
Abigail continued:
“I will not replace her mother.”