Because hope had become something she could lose.
And that made it frightening.
The rancher reached his property shortly before sunset.
The journey had been harder than expected.
Several sections of the trail were muddy, and a fallen tree forced him to take a longer route around the lower ridge.
When the ranch finally appeared, he felt both relief and dread.
The house stood where he'd left it.
The barn roof had survived.
But several fences were damaged.
A storage shed had collapsed beneath the snow.
And the yard was scattered with branches and debris.
He dismounted.
Then he stood looking at the house.
For years, it had been the only place he wanted to return to after a long journey.
Now it looked strangely empty.
He opened the front door.
Cold air greeted him.
Dust covered the table.
The stove was dark.
A chair stood beside the window.
His wife's chair.
He stared at it.
For a moment, the familiar grief returned.
But something was different.
He did not feel compelled to flee.
Instead, he walked toward the chair and rested one hand against its back.
“I miss you,” he whispered.
The room remained silent.
He took a breath.
Then he looked toward the window.
Beyond the mountains, somewhere on the other side of the ridge, a woman was probably sitting beside her fireplace, wondering whether he would return.
He smiled faintly.
“And I think I've found someone worth coming home to.”
He stood there for a long time.
Then he began working.
For the next four days, he repaired fences, cleared the yard, inspected the animals, and assessed damage to the outbuildings.
The work was exhausting.
But his mind kept returning to the cabin.
He wondered whether the woman had enough firewood.
Whether the roof repairs were holding.
Whether she'd eaten properly.
Whether she missed him as fiercely as he missed her.
Each evening, he sat at his dining table and imagined her across from him.
He could almost hear her teasing him about his coffee.
He could almost see her smile.
On the fifth day, he packed his saddlebag and prepared to return.
Then heavy rain began falling across the mountains.
It was an unusual, relentless spring rain that melted the remaining snow and sent water pouring down every ravine.
The lower trail became dangerous.
A section near the crossing washed out.
The rancher rode toward it anyway, hoping to find a safe route.
But when he reached the creek, he stopped.
The water was too high.