Her fingers tightened around the edges.
“You never intended me to see it.”
“No.”
“Why write it?”
He shrugged slightly.
“Sometimes it’s easier to tell paper something before you’re brave enough to say it to a person.”
Her eyes filled completely.
The cowboy continued.
“I knew before you came.”
“I knew before the ticket.”
“Before the chair.”
“Before the bed frame.”
“Before the wagon step.”
“I didn’t build those things because I was ashamed of you.”
“I built them because I hoped you would stay long enough to need them.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
Then another.
The cowboy looked alarmed.
“Did I say something wrong?”
The woman laughed through the tears.
“You are impossibly bad at understanding women.”
“That has been suggested.”
“You wrote this four months before we met?”
“Yes.”
“And kept it in your vest?”
“I’ve carried the photograph since the day I rode to meet your stagecoach.”
“Why?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Because I was nervous.”
She stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You’re nearly twice the size of every man in Dry Creek.”
“That doesn’t prevent nerves.”
“What were you afraid of?”
“That you’d see the cabin.”
“The fences.”
“The leaking roof.”
“The size of my cattle herd.”
“My terrible cooking.”
“And decide you crossed fifteen hundred miles for nothing.”
The woman smiled through tears.
“I was afraid you’d see me.”
“I had.”
That simple answer broke the final wall.
She stepped forward.
The cowboy remained still.
She reached toward him.
Her hand settled against the front of his vest.
He looked down at it.
Then at her.
“May I?”
he asked.
Her face softened.
“You’ve been asking permission for six weeks.”
“I intend to keep doing it.”
“Yes.”
He placed his hands carefully at her waist.
No hesitation.
No embarrassment.
No inspection.
Only warmth.
She looked up at him.
“Were you ever ashamed?”
“Of you?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Not once?”
He thought.
“I was embarrassed when you beat me at checkers six games in a row.”
She laughed.
“I was embarrassed when you discovered I had been using the same three terrible recipes for four years.”
“That stew was nearly criminal.”
“I know.”
“And I was embarrassed today.”
Her smile faded.
“Why?”
“Because I let those people make you wonder whether I was standing beside you reluctantly.”
The woman shook her head.
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“Maybe not.”
“But next time, I’ll make it clearer.”
“How?”
“I haven’t decided.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“No gunfights.”
“That removes several options.”
“Cowboy.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“I chose you.”
The woman’s lips parted.
He continued.
“Not your photograph.”
“Not your dress.”
“Not because I needed somebody to cook.”