His gaze lingered long enough that Margaret smiled.
“You are staring.”
“I’m fifty-five.”
“That excuse again?”
“I’m old, not dead.”
She laughed.
Thomas reached for her hand.
Margaret stepped closer.
“How was Daniel?”
“Handsome.”
Thomas frowned.
“Prosperous.”
His frown deepened.
“Excellent dancer.”
“Margaret.”
She smiled.
“And entirely wrong.”
Thomas relaxed slightly.
“You enjoy torment.”
“Only you.”
His hands settled at her waist.
Margaret looked up.
“Thomas.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want you to feel guilty every time you want me.”
His expression changed.
She continued.
“I know Eleanor existed.”
“I loved her too.”
“I am not trying to replace her.”
Thomas looked toward the cottonwood.
Margaret touched his face.
“You can love someone who died and still love someone who is here.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
Her thumb moved along his cheek.
When he looked at her again, some old defense had disappeared.
He kissed her.
Longer this time.
Margaret’s arms moved around his neck.
Thomas drew her against him.
The porch post pressed lightly against her back.
His mouth moved from hers to her cheek.
Then stopped near her ear.
Margaret’s breath caught.
Thomas immediately pulled back slightly.
“Too much?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Margaret.”
“I said no.”
He studied her face.
She smiled softly.
“I’m twenty-five, Thomas.”
“I know.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“That is what worries me.”
Margaret laughed.
He smiled.
Then kissed her again.
Nothing more happened that night.
Not because desire was absent.
Because Thomas needed time to understand that wanting her did not make him disloyal to the woman he had buried.
And Margaret needed Thomas to choose her freely rather than be pulled by loneliness.
Their courtship continued through autumn.
No grand gestures.
Margaret crossed the field on Tuesdays.
Thomas began crossing it on Thursdays.
He returned every pie tin himself.
Sometimes with flowers.
Wild ones.
He refused to order Denver flowers on principle.
Margaret preferred his anyway.
One Thursday, Thomas arrived while Margaret was repairing her roof.
He looked up.
“You’re going to fall.”
“No.”
“You’re standing on one foot.”
“I need the other foot.”
“That does not improve the argument.”
Margaret laughed.
Thomas climbed the ladder.
“Move.”
“I have it.”
“Move.”
She shifted.
Thomas repaired the loose shake.
Margaret watched.
“You know, some women find commanding men unattractive.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Thomas looked down at her.