The Gambling Boss leaned back.
“Marriage treating you well?”
“How much?”
“Why?”
“Answer.”
The Boss smiled.
“Enough that he needed help.”
“You cleared debt in exchange for putting her into the wager.”
“She agreed.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
The other men grew quiet.
The Gambling Boss set down his cards.
“Her father owed me six hundred.”
The Rancher’s eyes hardened.
“That much?”
“Bad run.”
“How much did the wager clear?”
“Three.”
“And the rest?”
“Still owed.”
The Lone Rancher stared.
The Boss shrugged.
“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t make him play.”
“You made his daughter part of it.”
“She made herself part of it.”
The Rancher’s hand tightened.
The Boss saw it.
“You planning to hit me?”
“No.”
“That’s growth.”
The Rancher leaned down.
“If I hear one man in this room talking about my wife as though she was something won at cards, we’ll discover exactly how much growth I’ve had.”
The smile disappeared from the Boss’s face.
Someone near the bar laughed nervously.
The Rancher looked toward him.
The laughter stopped.
The Boss said, “You didn’t want her yesterday.”
The Rancher straightened.
“I didn’t say I did today.”
“But?”
“There is no but.”
The Boss smiled again.
“You rode into town because somebody spoke about her.”
The Rancher turned.
The Boss called after him.
“You’re in trouble.”
The Lone Rancher stopped at the door.
He looked back.
“I know.”
Then walked out.
That answer troubled him all the way home.
The Bride returned before him.
When the Rancher entered, she stood near the stove.
“Smells good.”
“It’s beans.”
“Good beans.”
“You haven’t tasted them.”
“Optimism.”
She gave him a suspicious look.
“You went to the saloon.”
“Yes.”
“Did you threaten anybody?”
The Rancher removed his hat.
“Define threaten.”
The Bride closed her eyes.
“You did.”
“Barely.”
“What happened?”
“He spoke about you.”
“And?”
“And I disliked it.”
She placed the spoon down.
“You don’t need to defend me because I’m your wife.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She studied him.
The Rancher met her gaze.
“I didn’t defend ownership.”
“What did you defend?”
“Your dignity.”
The Bride stopped.
The Rancher immediately became uncomfortable with his own sentence.
He sat.
The Bride turned back toward the stove.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Silence settled.
Less sharp now.
Supper became the beginning of a routine.
Every morning, coffee.
Every evening, a table shared by two.
The Bride continued working in town.
The Rancher worked land, horses, and occasional cattle jobs.
Slowly, their conversations lengthened.
She learned he hated sweet preserves.
Loved cinnamon.
Read newspapers from the final page backward.
Could calculate card odds instantly but frequently forgot birthdays.
He learned she read novels at night.
Preferred blue.
Hated licorice.
Could sew almost anything except socks, which she somehow ruined every time.
He discovered that she hummed while baking.
She discovered he talked to horses as though they were difficult employees.
The house changed too.