The movement was sharper than he intended.
She flinched.
He immediately regretted it.
But the memory had already overwhelmed him.
“I never asked you to mend my things.”
The room became silent.
The woman stared at him.
Her face grew pale.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she quietly placed the needle on the table.
“All right.”
Her voice was steady.
Too steady.
The rancher looked toward the shirt in his hands.
He knew he'd hurt her.
But instead of apologizing, he turned toward the door.
“I need air.”
She looked away.
“Then take some.”
He stood motionless.
He wanted her to stop him.
He wanted her to ask him to stay.
But she didn't.
And that frightened him even more.
He pulled on his coat.
Then stepped outside into the cold.
The storm had weakened enough that he could walk safely to the stable.
He leaned against the outer wall.
The mountain air filled his lungs.
For several minutes, he stared toward the snow-covered trees.
Then he looked down at the torn shirt.
The repaired seam was almost perfect.
He touched it.
And suddenly he began crying.
He cried because he'd remembered his wife.
He cried because he had frightened the woman who had shown him nothing but kindness.
And he cried because part of him still believed that loving someone new meant abandoning the person he'd lost.
He pressed the shirt against his face.
“I don't know how to do this,” he whispered.
The horse moved quietly behind him.
He looked toward the cabin.
Light glowed through the windows.
He knew the woman was inside.
He knew she was probably hurt.
And he knew he had a choice.
He could saddle his horse and disappear into the mountains again.
Or he could return, acknowledge what he'd done, and face the feelings he'd spent years avoiding.
For a long time, he stood in the cold.
Then he looked toward his damaged hand.
He remembered the old glove.
The nine days she had cared for him.
The way she had asked him to stay.
And the promise he'd made.
He turned toward the cabin.
When he entered, the woman was sitting beside the fireplace.
Her sewing lay untouched on the table.
She looked toward him.
Her expression was guarded.
He removed his coat.
Then he approached slowly.
“Darling?”
She said nothing.
He stopped beside her.
“I owe you an apology.”
She looked down.
He continued.
“You were helping me, and I spoke to you cruelly.”