He immediately corrected himself.
"Always."
Spring brought another problem.
The cattle deal.
Technically, the cowboy now owned half interest in fifteen animals.
The widow stood in the pasture.
"So you're taking them."
He looked at the herd.
"No."
She frowned.
"We had a deal."
"We did."
"You paid."
"I did."
"Then they're yours."
He looked at her.
"Sell me your half back."
The widow stared.
"What?"
"At the same price."
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"I have enough cattle."
"You had enough before."
"True."
"You came because of them."
The cowboy was silent.
She narrowed her eyes.
"You did not."
He smiled.
"I needed a reason."
"You knew about me?"
"Merchant mentioned the widow south of the ridge who refused three buyers."
Her mouth fell open.
"You rode eighteen miles because somebody said a woman wouldn't sell?"
"Sounded interesting."
She hit his arm.
Hard.
He laughed.
"You used cattle as an excuse to meet me?"
"I did buy them."
"For three months."
"Strong investment."
She hit him again.
He caught her wrist gently.
The laughter faded.
He looked at her.
"I was lonely."
The widow's expression softened.
"So was I."
"I didn't know that."
"No."
She stepped closer.
"But you know now."
He kissed her forehead.
"Yes."
Summer arrived.
The widow's ranch changed.
Not because the cowboy took over.
Because two people worked it.
She rebuilt the south fence.
He repaired the barn roof.
She negotiated hay prices.
He dug a second drainage ditch.
They argued about where to put a new shed.
She won.
He claimed compromise.
She called him delusional.
At night, they sat on the porch.
Sometimes talked.
Sometimes did not.
The widow gradually learned that companionship did not require surrendering silence.
The cowboy learned that helping without asking could still irritate her.
Once he bought her a new saddle.
Expensive.
Custom-made.
She refused it.
He was offended.
She explained.
"I want to choose my own saddle."
He stared.
"That's it?"
"Yes."
"You don't hate the gift."
"No."
"You hate that I chose it."
"Correct."
The next week they rode into town together.
She chose one.
He paid half.
She paid half.
Both considered it victory.
By late summer, people had begun talking.
A widow.
An unmarried cowboy.
Overnight visits.
Shared rides.
Nobody said much to the cowboy.
They said things to her.
Of course.
One woman in the mercantile smiled too sweetly.
"Some widows mourn longer than others."
The widow looked at her.
"Some people mind their own business longer than others."
The merchant choked on laughter.
The woman left.
The cowboy heard later.
"Want me to say something?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
He smiled.
"Good."
"Why good?"
"Because what you said was better."
Autumn painted the cottonwoods gold.
One evening the cowboy arrived unusually quiet.
The widow noticed immediately.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"You say that badly."
He removed his hat.