Instead, he told his lawyer:
“If her deed is valid, say so.”
The lawyer looked suspicious.
“That may cost you access.”
“I know.”
“Potentially thousands.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
The cowboy’s answer was simple.
“Because if I steal from her legally, it’s still stealing.”
The attorney stopped arguing.
The woman’s lawyer was younger.
Cheaper.
Ambitious.
He reviewed everything.
Weeks passed.
Winter approached.
The baby grew.
The cowboy visited often.
Sometimes because of documents.
Sometimes because he convinced himself there were documents.
The woman noticed.
One afternoon, she was repairing a window shutter when he arrived.
“You’re supposed to avoid climbing.”
“I’m on one step.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You keep coming back.”
“That seems to be my mistake.”
She smiled.
The cowboy dismounted.
He looked toward her belly.
“Everything well?”
“Yes.”
“Doctor?”
“Last week.”
“And?”
“Baby is healthy.”
He exhaled subtly.
The woman caught it.
“You worry.”
“No.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
The cowboy leaned against the porch post.
She returned to the shutter.
His gaze followed.
She noticed.
“If you keep staring, I’ll charge admission.”
“I’m considering it.”
“Considering what?”
“How much.”
She smiled.
“Rich men are strange.”
“You have no idea.”
The conversation softened.
Then became personal.
The woman asked about his father.
He answered carefully.
A hard man.
Generous in some ways.
Secretive in others.
Loved the ranch more easily than people.
The woman understood.
“Your mother?”
“Died when I was fourteen.”
“After?”
“He got worse.”
“How?”
“More controlling.”
The woman’s hands stopped.
The cowboy noticed.
“Your husband?”
She looked toward him.
“He was controlling before anyone died.”
The cowboy did not ask for details.
She found herself telling him anyway.
The corrections.
The money.
The way he made her doubt.
The pregnancy.
The word inconvenient.
The cowboy’s jaw tightened.
“He know where you are?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
That bothered him.
She saw.
“I don’t need protection.”
The cowboy sighed.
“I know.”
“You keep saying that like it hurts.”
“It does.”
She laughed.
“Why?”
“Because I’m beginning to want to protect you anyway.”
The words changed the air.
The woman looked at him.
He seemed surprised by his own honesty.
“From what?”
“Anything.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It probably is.”
She stepped closer.
“Then perhaps stop.”
The cowboy’s expression softened.
“I don’t know how.”
The woman’s heartbeat changed.
He did not move toward her.
That mattered.
She closed the distance herself.
Only one step.
Enough.
The cowboy’s breath slowed.
Her belly nearly touched his belt.
“You keep finding reasons to come here.”