She lowered her eyes.
He stepped closer.
“Darling?”
Her cheeks turned pink.
He waited.
Finally, she whispered, “I was afraid you wouldn't come back.”
The honesty struck him.
He reached for her hand.
“I'm here.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
He looked toward the window.
“I can't promise every storm will be easy. But I won't walk away without telling you where I'm going.”
She studied him.
Then she smiled faintly.
“That's enough for tonight.”
He squeezed her hand.
“Good.”
She turned toward the stove.
“Now sit down before the stew burns.”
He followed her into the kitchen area.
The dining table had been prepared with two bowls, fresh bread, and a jar of preserved peaches.
He stared.
She noticed.
“What?”
He looked toward the second bowl.
“You set a place for me.”
She seemed embarrassed.
“Well, you're here.”
He swallowed.
It was such a small thing.
A bowl.
A spoon.
A place at a table.
But he had spent four years eating alone, often standing beside his stove because sitting at the dining table reminded him of the empty chair across from him.
Now someone had expected him to stay.
Someone had prepared a place.
He sat slowly.
The woman lowered herself into her reinforced chair opposite him.
She had moved it closer to the table earlier, knowing she would need its support after the effort of cooking.
The rancher watched her settle carefully.
Then he looked toward the stew.
“Smells good.”
She smiled.
“It should. You've been bringing me enough venison to feed an army.”
He laughed.
“Didn't know what else to bring.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You could have brought yourself.”
He looked up.
She immediately blushed.
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean.”
He smiled gently.
“And I wish I had.”
She looked toward her bowl.
For a moment, her expression became shy.
Then she cleared her throat.
“Eat before it gets cold.”
He obeyed.
The stew was rich and fragrant, made with tender venison, onions, root vegetables, and herbs she had dried during the summer.
The first spoonful nearly made him groan.
She laughed.
“Good?”
He nodded.
“Woman, if you fed me like this every day, I'd never leave.”
The words came out before he considered their meaning.
The woman's smile softened.
Then she looked down.
“Perhaps that wouldn't be the worst thing.”
He watched her.
The fire snapped.
The storm battered the windows.
And for the first time in years, supper felt like something more than a task required to keep his body alive.