“That sounds like me.”
She laughed softly.
“It does.”
Her expression became tender.
“Sometimes you called for your wife.”
The rancher went completely still.
She noticed.
He looked toward the flames.
His jaw tightened.
The woman hesitated.
Then she continued gently.
“You were frightened. You kept saying you needed to get home.”
He swallowed.
His wife had been dead for months when the storm struck.
But grief and fever had blurred the boundaries of memory.
He had been calling for someone who could no longer answer.
The woman watched him.
“I didn't know what had happened to her.”
He nodded without looking up.
She continued.
“Sometimes you told me she was waiting.”
A tear slid down his cheek.
He wiped it away quickly.
The woman leaned forward.
“I'm sorry.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
He took a breath.
“Don't be.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he looked toward her.
“Did I say anything else?”
She hesitated.
“A few things.”
“Like what?”
She smiled faintly.
“You told me I had the most beautiful voice in Montana.”
He looked surprised.
Then embarrassed.
“I did?”
She nodded.
“And you said you were going to buy me a horse.”
He laughed.
“Why?”
“Apparently you thought every woman needed a good horse.”
He shook his head.
“Fever must've ruined my judgment.”
She smiled.
“Perhaps.”
Then her expression softened.
“But there was something else.”
He looked up.
“What?”
She glanced toward the fireplace.
“You asked me not to leave you.”
His laughter faded.
She continued.
“You were half asleep. You kept reaching toward the side of the bed and asking whether somebody was still there.”
The rancher stared.
His throat tightened.
The woman folded her hands.
“So I sat beside you.”
He looked at her.
“For nine days?”
She shook her head gently.
“Not every minute.”
A small smile touched her lips.
“I did have bread to bake.”
He tried to smile.
But his eyes were wet.
She continued.
“Whenever you woke frightened, I spoke to you. Sometimes you listened. Sometimes you didn't.”
He looked toward his hand.
Then whispered, “You saved me.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I helped.”
He shook his head.
“You gave me nine days of your life.”
She looked directly at him.
“And I'm glad you survived.”
The words settled between them.
He reached across the table.
She placed her hand in his.
For a long time, they remained that way.
Then he asked the question that had troubled him since seeing the glove.
“Why were you gone when I woke?”