She crossed her arms.
"Tell me."
He looked toward the creek.
"I went to her grave."
The widow understood.
His wife.
She sat beside him on the porch.
"Anniversary?"
He nodded.
They stayed silent.
Eventually he said:
"I told her about you."
The widow's throat tightened.
"What did you say?"
"That you're difficult."
She laughed softly.
"Good start."
"That you argue about saddles."
"Important."
"That you steal blankets."
"I do not."
He looked at her.
She ignored him.
The cowboy continued.
"That I love you."
The world seemed to stop.
The widow stared.
He did not look at her immediately.
Perhaps he had not meant to say it this way.
Perhaps he had.
She whispered:
"You love me?"
He looked at her.
"Yes."
The widow's eyes filled.
She hated crying.
She had done too much of it.
"You never said."
"I know."
"Why?"
He thought.
"Because I didn't want it to sound like a request."
She frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"I didn't want you thinking you had to answer."
Her tears came anyway.
The cowboy looked alarmed.
"What?"
She laughed through them.
"You're an idiot."
"Probably."
She moved closer.
"I love you too."
His eyes closed.
The relief on his face nearly broke her heart.
She touched his cheek.
"You should've told me."
"I just did."
"Months ago."
"I was busy being careful."
"Enough careful."
He smiled.
"That sounds dangerous."
"It is."
She kissed him.
Long.
Warm.
Adult.
Familiar.
The kind of kiss built from knowing exactly how someone breathed when nervous.
Exactly where their scars were.
Exactly which silences meant pain and which meant peace.
When they separated, he rested his forehead against hers.
"Come live with me."
The widow stiffened.
He immediately cursed under his breath.
"What?"
"Wrong."
She pulled away.
"What do you mean wrong?"
"I said it wrong."
"You think?"
He turned toward her.
"I don't want you leaving this place."
She studied him.
"I want..."
He stopped.
Then started again.
"I want a life where neither of us has to wonder which cabin the other person will wake up in."
Her anger softened.
"That sounded better."
"Thank you."
"But I'm not giving up this land."
"I know."
"And I'm not selling."
"I know."
"And I'm not becoming some rancher's wife who sits inside while men discuss business."
He smiled.
"I would never survive attempting that."
She tried not to smile.
Failed.
He took her hand.
"Then we build something between."
"Between?"
"Your land touches mine at the north ridge."
She stared.
He had been thinking.
Of course he had.
"We connect operations."
She looked suspicious.
"Business proposal?"
"Partly."
"And the other part?"
The cowboy looked nervous.
That almost never happened anymore.
He reached into his coat.
The widow's eyes widened.
"No."
He stopped.
"No?"
She laughed.
"Not no."