His expression changed.
“Calloway?”
Margaret looked back.
Daniel stared for a moment.
“Thomas Calloway.”
“Yes.”
“He’s fifty-five.”
“I know.”
Daniel rubbed one hand over his mouth.
“Of course you know.”
Margaret smiled despite herself.
Daniel leaned forward.
“Does he know?”
“Not properly.”
“Margaret.”
“What?”
“If you look at him the way you just looked toward that window, the man is either blind or terrified.”
Margaret laughed.
“The second.”
Daniel nodded.
“That I understand.”
She looked surprised.
“Really?”
“My mother was twelve years younger than my father.”
Margaret blinked.
“I didn’t know.”
“They spent most of their marriage defending arithmetic to people who weren’t living inside it.”
Daniel looked toward his coffee.
“When my father died, she said she would choose the same twenty-two years again.”
Margaret softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“It was long ago.”
He smiled.
“Go make him miserable.”
Margaret laughed.
“That is not romantic advice.”
“It is the most honest advice you’re getting in Durango.”
Daniel stood.
At the door he stopped.
“I’m still going to the Harvest Social.”
“I assumed.”
“If Calloway doesn’t get himself together by then, I reserve the right to dance with you.”
Margaret smiled.
“Fair.”
Daniel tipped his hat.
Then left.
Across the field, Thomas saw the wagon.
He told himself he was not watching.
His horse disagreed.
Gerald, an old bay gelding with a white blaze and the weary expression of an animal forced to observe human foolishness, stood beside him at the fence.
Thomas leaned on the rail.
“Flowers.”
Gerald chewed.
“Denver flowers.”
Gerald flicked one ear.
“Man orders flowers from Denver, he’s serious.”
The horse continued eating.
Thomas sighed.
“You’re no help.”
Gerald looked at him.
Thomas pointed toward Margaret’s house.
“You think I should walk over there?”
Gerald lowered his head to grass.
“Coward.”
The horse seemed comfortable with the accusation.
Two weeks passed.
Then Thomas rode into Durango.
At the feed store, he heard Daniel had invited Margaret to the Harvest Social.
He also heard Margaret had said she would think about it.
The storekeeper described that answer as “practically an engagement.”
Thomas bought salt blocks and left.
He rode home.
Unsaddled Gerald.
Fed the chickens.
Repaired a hinge that did not particularly need repairing.
Then sat on the porch.
The empty pie tin rested inside the kitchen.
Thomas had washed it three days earlier.
Still had not returned it.
He looked across the field.
Finally he stood.
“Damn it.”
Gerald looked up from the paddock.
Thomas pointed at him.
“Not a word.”
He put on his hat and walked south.
Margaret was mending fence wire when she saw him.
She continued working.
Thomas reached the fence dividing their properties.
He placed both hands on the top rail.
“Margaret.”