He told her himself.
They were sitting on his porch.
“I need to tell you something.”
The Ranch Woman waited.
“Sometimes I talk to her.”
She understood immediately who.
“All right.”
“Out loud.”
“All right.”
He looked frustrated.
“You’re not upset?”
“Why would I be?”
“I don’t know.”
She leaned back.
“What do you say?”
His face softened with embarrassment.
“Things.”
“That is detailed.”
He gave her a look.
She smiled.
“Do you tell her about me?”
Silence.
The Ranch Woman sat straighter.
“You do.”
The Widowed Rancher stared into his coffee.
“What do you say?”
He muttered, “This was a mistake.”
She laughed so hard he nearly left the porch.
“You are cruel.”
“Extremely.”
He finally laughed too.
Then became quiet.
“I told her I was afraid.”
The Ranch Woman’s laughter faded.
“Of what?”
“Being happy.”
She reached for his hand.
“Did she answer?”
He smiled sadly.
“No.”
“Then I will.”
He looked over.
“She loved you.”
“Yes.”
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
“If you had died first, would you have wanted her alone forever?”
He answered immediately.
“No.”
“Then perhaps give her the same generosity.”
The Widowed Rancher looked toward the family cemetery beyond the hill.
He nodded.
That evening he walked there alone.
He stood beside the old stone.
Wind moved through the grass.
“I’m trying.”
That was all.
When he returned, the Ranch Woman sat on the porch waiting.
He did not ask how long she had been there.
He sat beside her.
After several minutes, his hand covered hers.
They watched sunset together.
Autumn deepened.
Then came the harvest social.
Everyone in town knew about the courtship by then.
The Storekeeper knew first.
The church women knew second.
By noon the same day, men at the saloon knew details the Widowed Rancher had not yet learned himself.
He hated town.
The Ranch Woman found it hilarious.
“You could simply ignore them.”
“They ask questions.”
“Answer.”
“They don’t need answers.”
“Then don’t answer.”
“They keep asking.”
“That sounds difficult.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“You enjoy this.”
“Very much.”
The harvest social took place in a large community hall strung with lanterns.
Music carried into the cold night.
The Ranch Woman arrived first.
The Widowed Rancher had spent three days insisting he might not attend.
Then appeared twenty minutes later in his best dark shirt and freshly polished boots.
The Ranch Woman saw him from across the room.
He saw her.
Everything between them became quiet despite fifty people talking.
She wore a simple blue dress.
Nothing extravagant.
He stared anyway.
She walked toward him.
“You came.”
“Yes.”
“You look terrified.”
“I am.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
The fiddle started.
The Widowed Rancher looked toward the dancers.
Then back.