“How long?”
“Until the work’s done.”
“And then?”
“I leave.”
The Older Sister spoke before thinking.
“Of course.”
The Cowboy looked toward her.
She immediately regretted the tone.
He did not challenge it.
Instead:
“Usually.”
That one word bothered her more.
Usually.
It left room.
After supper, the Older Sister stood.
“Barn loft’s clean.”
The Cowboy nodded.
“Appreciate it.”
“There are blankets.”
“Water barrel beside the stall.”
He picked up his hat.
At the door, he turned.
“Fence is solid.”
“I know.”
“South trough isn’t.”
The Older Sister froze.
“What?”
“Water level’s low.”
The Cowboy opened the door.
“You’re losing supply.”
Then he walked out.
The Younger Sister stared after him.
The Older Sister remained motionless.
Her sister whispered:
“He noticed.”
The Older Sister turned.
“Noticed what?”
“The well.”
She stacked plates too hard.
“He notices things.”
“That’s dangerous?”
“Yes.”
The Younger Sister looked toward the barn.
The loft lantern appeared through the upper window.
The Older Sister followed her gaze.
The Younger Sister said quietly:
“You like him.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“I do not.”
“You watched him all afternoon.”
“I watched a stranger work on our property.”
“You stabbed yourself with a needle.”
The Older Sister glared.
Her sister smiled.
Then, more softly:
“He looked at you too.”
The Older Sister picked up another plate.
“Go to bed.”
“You’re scared.”
That stopped her.
The Younger Sister stepped closer.
“You are.”
“Of him?”
“Of wanting him to stay.”
The Older Sister turned slowly.
“Men don’t stay.”
The Younger Sister’s expression changed.
“Our father did.”
“Until he died.”
“That isn’t leaving.”
“Feels the same when the house goes quiet.”
Silence settled.
The Younger Sister looked toward the lantern again.
“If he asked me to leave with him, I might.”
The Older Sister’s chest tightened.
She turned.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I might.”
“You’d leave the ranch?”
“Maybe.”
“Our family’s graves?”
“Maybe.”
“Everything?”
The Younger Sister’s eyes flashed.
“This place is not everything.”
“It’s home.”
“It’s work.”
“It’s debt.”
“It’s drought.”
“It’s waking up every morning afraid something else broke.”
Her voice trembled.
“I am twenty-six years old and sometimes I feel seventy.”
The Older Sister softened.