“Will you take whatever years I have left?”
The Ranch Woman’s face crumpled.
Not delicately.
She cried.
Actually cried.
The Widowed Rancher panicked.
“That seems bad.”
She laughed and cried at once.
“Finish putting the ring on, you fool.”
Relief transformed his face.
He pushed it gently into place.
The Ranch Woman looked at it.
Then at him.
“Yes.”
His shoulders sagged.
She stared.
“You thought I might refuse?”
“You’re difficult.”
“You waited three years.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I wasn’t kneeling.”
She looked down.
He was not kneeling.
“You’re standing.”
He looked horrified.
“Was I supposed to kneel?”
The Ranch Woman laughed harder.
“No.”
“Good.”
“My knees hurt.”
She wrapped her arms around him.
He held her.
The orchard smelled like blossoms.
Evening settled over the valley.
For several minutes, neither said anything.
Then the Ranch Woman whispered against his chest.
“I would have married you for the pie joke.”
The Widowed Rancher groaned.
“You waited all this time to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Cruel woman.”
“Slow man.”
They married in June.
Neither wanted a large wedding.
The town disagreed.
Apparently three years of public anticipation had created community ownership of the event.
The church filled.
The Storekeeper cried before the ceremony began.
The Merchant attended.
The Widowed Rancher looked uncomfortable.
The Ranch Woman whispered, “Behave.”
“I am.”
“You’re glaring.”
“I’m looking.”
“You’re glaring at the Merchant.”
“He’s too well dressed.”
“He always is.”
“I dislike it.”
The Ranch Woman smiled.
The Merchant approached afterward.
He shook the Widowed Rancher’s hand.
“You finally got there.”
The Widowed Rancher frowned.
“Got where?”
The Merchant looked at the Ranch Woman.
She laughed.
“Never mind.”
The reception took place between the two ranches.
Someone joked that they should finally remove the fence dividing the properties.
The Widowed Rancher said no.
The Ranch Woman agreed.
People were confused.
Later, while music played, she explained.
“The fence is where we met.”
“Technically we met at church.”
“The fence is where you admitted you were jealous.”
“I never used that word.”
“You hated his flowers.”
“I still do.”
She smiled.
“So the fence stays.”
“Yes.”
The fence stayed.
But they installed a gate.
Right in the middle.
The Widowed Rancher moved into her house for two months while repairs were made to his.
Then they changed plans.
They kept both houses.
One became theirs.
The other became a guest house, storage, and eventually somewhere nieces and nephews stayed during visits.
The Ranch Woman refused to abandon her land.
The Widowed Rancher never asked her to.
They joined some operations.
Kept others separate.
Argued about cattle rotation.
Argued about apples.
Argued about coffee forever.
Marriage did not make them less stubborn.
It simply gave the arguments somewhere permanent to live.
Their first Tuesday as husband and wife arrived almost unnoticed.