“Happened?”
“Yes.”
“Very flattering.”
“Let me finish.”
She folded her arms.
He continued.
“I thought helping you would settle something in me.”
“It didn’t.”
She listened.
“I thought repaying what your grandfather did for my family would be enough.”
“It wasn’t.”
He stepped closer.
“I thought if I gave you work, protected your land, and got the banker out of town, eventually I’d stop worrying about whether you had firewood.”
The widow’s eyes softened.
“Or whether your roof leaked.”
“It does.”
“I know.”
“Or whether you remembered to eat when you work late.”
She smiled.
“Sometimes.”
“I know.”
He took her hand.
“I don’t want either of us standing alone anymore.”
The widow looked at him.
Her heart began pounding.
“I told you I wasn’t sure about marriage.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And I’m asking anyway.”
He reached into his coat.
No box.
Just a simple gold ring in his palm.
The widow stared.
He looked suddenly less like the richest man in the valley and more like a terrified ranch hand asking permission to dance.
She loved that.
“Will you marry me?”
She did not answer immediately.
His face changed slightly.
Not panic.
Almost.
She stepped closer.
“Do I keep the farm?”
“Yes.”
“The water rights?”
“Yes.”
“My bank accounts?”
“Yes.”
“My name on the deed?”
“Yes.”
“My opinions?”
He laughed.
“I suspect removing those would be impossible.”
“Good.”
She looked at the ring.
“And if I disagree with you?”
“When.”
She smiled.
“When I disagree with you.”
“We argue.”
“And if I win?”
“You usually do.”
“Correct answer.”
He exhaled.
“Is that a yes?”
The widow looked toward the creek.
Her grandfather’s land.
Her husband’s memories.
Years of cold mornings.
Unpaid bills.
Loneliness.
Pride.
Fear.
Then she looked at the man beside her.
He had never asked her to become smaller so he could feel larger.
Never asked her to trade independence for protection.
He had made mistakes.
Paid her mortgage without permission.
Bought ridiculous amounts of fabric.
Interfered.
Argued.
Returned.
Listened.
Waited.
Asked.
The widow touched his face.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
She laughed softly.
“Yes.”
He kissed her before she could say it a third time.
She wrapped both arms around his neck.
The ring remained trapped awkwardly between their hands.
Neither cared.
When they finally separated, his forehead rested against hers.
“You’re sure?”
The widow smiled.
“No.”
He pulled back.
Her smile widened.
“But I’m choosing you anyway.”
He stared.
“That may be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”
“Get used to disappointment.”
He laughed.
She kissed him again.
Their wedding was small.
The widow insisted.
The rancher wanted half the valley.