He opened a cupboard.
Plenty of food.
That was not the problem.
He made coffee.
It tasted worse than usual.
At noon he left the house.
His feet carried him toward the south property before he consciously decided to go.
Halfway across the field he stopped.
This was ridiculous.
He turned toward home.
Took four steps.
Stopped again.
Swore.
Then crossed the rest of the distance.
The Ranch Woman was repairing her fence.
She heard him approaching but did not immediately look up.
He stopped on the other side of the rails.
“Morning.”
“Afternoon.”
He glanced at the sky.
“Right.”
She tightened wire.
He waited.
She continued working.
“You didn’t come over.”
“No.”
He nodded.
She moved to the next post.
The silence irritated him.
“You usually do.”
“I know.”
“Something wrong?”
“No.”
He watched her hands.
“You’re angry.”
She finally looked up.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“That you noticed.”
He exhaled.
“Ranch Woman.”
“Widowed Rancher.”
He hated when she used his role like a title.
“What did I do?”
She put down the pliers.
“Nothing.”
“That’s clearly not true.”
“No.”
She wiped her gloves against her skirt.
“You did exactly nothing.”
Understanding approached slowly.
He did not enjoy it.
The Ranch Woman rested one arm on the fence.
“You made a joke.”
“Yes.”
“I answered.”
“Yes.”
“You asked what I meant.”
“Yes.”
“I told you to think.”
“I have.”
“And?”
He looked toward the mountains.
She waited.
“What does the Merchant have to do with this?”
The Ranch Woman laughed once.
“You tell me.”
“He’s calling on you.”
“Yes.”
“You’re letting him.”
“Yes.”
The Widowed Rancher’s jaw tightened.
She watched.
“You dislike that.”
“That’s not my place.”
“I didn’t ask whose place it was.”
He looked at her.
She continued.
“Do you dislike it?”
The Widowed Rancher had spent decades becoming skilled at silence.
That morning, silence turned traitor.
His face answered first.
The Ranch Woman softened slightly.
“Why?”
He gripped the top rail.
“Because…”
The sentence stopped.
The Ranch Woman did not rescue him.
He tried again.
“Because I’m used to Tuesdays.”
Her expression changed.
That was not enough.
He knew it immediately.
“It’s more than that.”
She said nothing.
The Widowed Rancher stared at the wood beneath his hands.
“I’m used to looking across the field and knowing you’re there.”
Still silence.
“I know when your chimney starts smoking in the morning.”