The cowboy carried his gun more often.
The ranch woman hated it.
Not the weapon.
The distance it created in him.
One night she found him outside the barn.
Moonlight silvered the fence.
“You think he’ll come back.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Men like him don’t accept losing.”
She stood beside him.
“Neither do you.”
He looked at her.
“I know when I’m wrong.”
“Sometimes.”
His eyebrow rose.
“Careful.”
She smiled.
Then became serious.
“If he comes back, don’t become the man you fear you are.”
He stared toward the hills.
“I don’t know what happens if he threatens you.”
“Yes, you do.”
His jaw tightened.
“You stop him.”
She touched his hand.
“But you don’t become him.”
The cowboy looked down at their fingers.
“I don’t know why you trust me.”
The ranch woman smiled.
“Seven.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Your trust score.”
He stared.
She continued.
“I’m at seven now.”
His expression softened.
“Eight.”
Her eyes widened.
“When did I earn the other two?”
“Forgery.”
“One point.”
“And kissing.”
She laughed.
“Kissing earns equal weight to fraud detection?”
“Yes.”
“Your system remains broken.”
“It works for me.”
A month passed.
The stranger never returned.
Autumn approached.
The ranch prepared for colder weather.
The cowboy and ranch woman no longer pretended there was nothing between them.
They also did not rush.
There were kisses.
Many.
A hand at her waist when they passed in the hallway.
Her head on his shoulder after long days.
Quiet evenings with her reading beside him.
One afternoon, she deliberately brought the same book into the barn.
The cowboy noticed immediately.
“No.”
She smiled.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“That book causes trouble.”
“It’s literature.”
“It’s dangerous.”
She sat on the hay.
The cowboy kept working.
She opened the book.
“You’re afraid.”
“Yes.”
She looked up.
That surprised her.
He smiled faintly.
“Learned honesty.”
“Good.”
She patted the hay beside her.
He shook his head.
“Absolutely not.”
She patted again.
“No.”
“Coward.”
The cowboy set down the saddle.
Walked over.
Then lifted her completely off the hay.
The ranch woman gasped.
He sat.
Placed her across his lap.
She stared.
He took the book from her hand.
Opened it.
“Where were you?”
The ranch woman laughed.
“You planned that.”
“I’m learning.”
“Dangerous.”
“So you keep telling me.”
He began reading aloud.
His voice was terrible for romance novels.
Too deep.
Too serious.
Every dramatic sentence sounded like a cattle contract.
The ranch woman laughed against his shoulder.