The same kind she used for the pie.
The Ranch Woman looked at him.
“Why are we here?”
He removed his hat.
Her heart began beating faster.
The Widowed Rancher held the hat with both hands.
A man who could face stampeding cattle looked terrified.
The Ranch Woman said nothing.
He began.
“I had a speech.”
She smiled.
“What happened?”
“I forgot it.”
“That seems unfortunate.”
“Yes.”
“You can try again.”
He stared toward the ground.
“I loved my wife.”
The Ranch Woman’s smile softened.
“Yes.”
“I’ll always love her.”
“I know.”
He looked up.
“And I love you.”
She stopped breathing.
The Widowed Rancher continued quickly, perhaps afraid courage would fail.
“Different.”
She listened.
“Not less.”
His voice roughened.
“Not replacement.”
Her eyes filled.
“Just… another whole thing.”
The Ranch Woman laughed through tears.
“Another whole thing?”
“I told you I forgot the speech.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s terrible.”
She stepped closer.
“Continue.”
He swallowed.
“I spent years thinking grief was proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That the first life mattered.”
The Ranch Woman waited.
“I finally understand the life mattered whether I ruined the rest of mine or not.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
He brushed it away.
“You walked across that field for three years.”
“Yes.”
“You made my house feel occupied before you ever lived in it.”
Her breath caught.
“You taught me terrible coffee tastes better with somebody complaining about it.”
She laughed.
He smiled.
“I know your chimney smoke.”
Her eyes closed briefly.
“Your horse.”
His voice softened.
“Your knock.”
He reached inside his shirt pocket.
The Ranch Woman covered her mouth.
A small ring lay in his palm.
Simple.
Gold.
Old.
She recognized it immediately.
“Was that hers?”
He nodded.
The Ranch Woman became very still.
“Her wedding ring?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Her mother’s.”
Understanding came.
“My wife gave it to me before she died.”
The Ranch Woman’s tears spilled freely now.
“What did she say?”
The Widowed Rancher looked toward the mountains.
“That someday I might be stupid enough to think being miserable honored her.”
The Ranch Woman laughed through tears.
“That sounds like someone I would have liked.”
“She would have liked you.”
“How do you know?”
“She hated my coffee too.”
They both laughed.
Then he took her hand.
His own shook.
The Ranch Woman had never seen that.
He looked directly into her eyes.
“I am fifty-six now.”
“You aged.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And?”
“You’re forty-three.”
“Also unfortunately.”
“I don’t have twenty years to give back.”
“I never asked.”
“I know.”
He slipped the ring halfway onto her finger.
Then stopped.