Accidentally.
Then stayed.
The Rancher looked down.
Her fingers were pale against his rough skin.
He turned his hand.
Palm upward.
The Bride intertwined theirs.
No kiss.
No declaration.
They simply sat while the storm tried tearing the house apart.
For the first time in years, the Lone Rancher was not thinking about leaving.
Morning exposed the damage.
Roof torn.
Furniture soaked.
Mud across the front floor.
A chair broken.
Two windows cracked.
The Bride stood barefoot in the doorway.
“Well.”
The Rancher came behind her.
“It’s bad.”
“That’s the depth of your analysis?”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
They started cleaning.
Neighbors arrived.
Men brought boards.
Women brought food and cloth.
The Bride’s father came last.
The Rancher stiffened.
The Bride touched his arm.
“No.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re thinking loud again.”
Her father stepped from the wagon.
Looked at his daughter.
“You hurt?”
“No.”
Then he looked at the Rancher.
“You stayed.”
The Rancher frowned.
“It’s my house.”
The father gave him a long look.
“No.”
His eyes moved toward the Bride.
“The old you would have waited out the storm in town.”
The Rancher’s jaw tightened.
The father picked up lumber.
Then walked away.
The Bride looked at her husband.
“Old you?”
“Long story.”
“I own books now.”
“Tonight.”
The Rancher told her after supper.
His father died when he was seventeen.
His mother followed later.
The family ranch was sold.
He drifted.
Worked cattle.
Played cards.
Learned to win often enough to survive.
Then discovered leaving before attachment formed made life simpler.
The Bride listened.
“Why buy this property?”
He looked around.
“Tired.”
“Of traveling?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did the house look like nobody lived here?”
He considered.
“I bought a place to stop.”
“And forgot to stop.”
The Rancher looked at her.
“That sounds irritatingly accurate.”
“Thank you.”
Repairing the house took three weeks.
The three weeks changed more than the storm.
The Bride reduced hours at the store.
She helped repair.
Paint.
Inventory supplies.
Cook for workers.
One afternoon she stood on a chair reaching toward a beam.
The chair shifted.
The Rancher caught her around the waist.
The Bride gasped.
His arms tightened automatically.
Her palms landed against his shoulders.
Their faces stopped inches apart.
The Rancher’s eyes moved to her mouth.
The Bride noticed.
He slowly lowered her to the floor.
His hands stayed at her waist.
Neither spoke.
The Bride whispered, “You can let go.”
“Yes.”
He did not.
Her breathing changed.
The Rancher immediately released her and stepped away.
The Bride frowned.
“You’re afraid to touch me.”
“No.”
“You look terrified every time.”
“I’m careful.”
“With what?”