“For which part?”
He laughed.
“Most of the first week.”
“Specificity helps.”
“I thought you could not do this.”
“Because I am a woman?”
He shifted.
“Partly.”
“Because I’m fat?”
His face reddened.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You thought it loudly.”
He looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
He stared.
“That’s it?”
“You learned.”
“What else do you want?”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“There is something else.”
The woman stopped working.
“What?”
“I saw somebody near the smokehouse last night.”
“Who?”
“Couldn’t tell.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought maybe it was the owner.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You sure?”
“He was in the main house with me going over cattle accounts.”
The young man glanced toward the door.
“Whoever it was came from the road.”
That changed everything.
The woman informed the ranch owner immediately.
He wanted to post men outside.
She said no.
“Why?”
“Because then whoever it is disappears.”
“That sounds desirable.”
“No.”
“I want to know what they are doing.”
The ranch owner stared.
“You are enjoying this.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You are.”
She almost smiled.
“Fine.”
“A little.”
They began watching quietly.
Not traps.
Not confrontation.
Observation.
Two nights passed.
Nothing.
The third night, the woman found footprints behind the smokehouse after fresh snow.
Boots.
Large.
Leading toward the creek.
Then disappearing where wind had exposed frozen ground.
She followed them until the ranch owner caught up.
“You are not tracking somebody alone.”
“I am following footprints.”
“At night.”
“In snow.”
“Yes.”
“You see how those words become worse together?”
She looked toward him.
“You worried about me?”
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly.
Both stopped.
Snow fell softly between them.
The ranch owner exhaled.
“I mean…”
“I heard what you meant.”
The woman’s cheeks warmed despite the cold.
He looked toward her mouth.
Then away.
“We should go back.”
“Yes.”
Neither moved.
The woman asked:
“Why do you keep doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me, then pretending you weren’t.”
He became still.
She waited.
The ranch owner looked around as though trees might rescue him.
They did not.
Finally:
“Because I’m trying to behave.”
The woman smiled slowly.
“Is that difficult?”
“Yes.”
The honesty hit harder than flirting.
She stepped closer.
“Why?”
His voice dropped.
“You know why.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
He looked at her.
Snow collected on his dark hair.
“You are beautiful.”
She did not answer.
He continued.
“And intelligent.”
“And irritating.”
“Good recovery.”
“And every time you walk into a room, people begin doing things properly because they are afraid you’ll notice if they don’t.”
She laughed.
“That is romance?”