“I know.”
“With money.”
Her brow furrowed.
“What?”
“You’ll leave with enough to go where you planned.”
“That wasn’t the wager.”
“I don’t care.”
She stared.
“You don’t owe me money for marrying me.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
The Rancher looked irritated.
“Because I said so.”
The Bride’s expression changed.
“That is not going to work.”
“What?”
“You deciding things because you said so.”
The Lone Rancher almost laughed.
“Woman, we’ve been married six hours.”
“And already I’m correcting you.”
He stared.
She stared back.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
Small.
Real.
It changed his entire face.
The Bride noticed.
The Rancher noticed her noticing.
The smile disappeared.
“Get some sleep.”
She stood.
“Good night.”
She took two steps.
The Rancher spoke.
“Bride.”
She turned.
He looked uncomfortable.
“That confession.”
Her cheeks warmed.
“What about it?”
“You said it in a way that almost killed me.”
She covered her mouth.
For one second she genuinely laughed.
The Rancher watched.
He had never heard that sound from her inside the store.
“You understood eventually.”
“Barely.”
She moved toward the hallway.
Then stopped.
“Good night, husband.”
The Lone Rancher closed his eyes.
The Bride disappeared into the room.
He stood alone beside the lamp.
Then muttered, “This year is going to kill me.”
From behind the bedroom door came her voice.
“I heard that.”
He looked toward it.
“Go to sleep.”
A muffled laugh answered.
The Lone Rancher smiled despite himself.
Then immediately became annoyed for doing so.
He barely slept.
The house had never seemed noisy before.
Now every small sound carried meaning.
A basin filling.
A drawer sliding open.
Footsteps.
The soft brush of fabric against the hallway wall.
Another person.
Not temporary company.
Not a traveler passing through.
His wife.
He rolled onto his side.
The word still felt ridiculous.
By dawn, he was outside.
The property extended forty acres around the weathered house.
Not much by ranch standards.
Enough for horses.
Small cattle numbers.
A patch of irrigated soil.
Cottonwoods along the creek.
A barn built by someone more optimistic about lumber than weather.
The Lone Rancher had bought it two years earlier because he was tired of paying boarding fees in town.
That was what he told people.
The truth was less comfortable.
He was tired of having nowhere to return.
He simply had not known what to do after buying somewhere.
So the house remained half empty.
The barn received more attention than the kitchen.
The land was maintained.
Nothing was made beautiful.
Now smoke rose from the chimney behind him.
Someone had lit the stove.
The Rancher looked back.
A strange sensation moved through his chest.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
He returned inside.
Coffee waited on the table.
The Bride stood near the stove with her sleeves rolled up.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
The Lone Rancher poured coffee.
Tasted it.
Stopped.
The Bride looked over.