Perhaps the warmth they shared had meant more to her than to him.
She tried to silence those thoughts.
But loneliness was an old companion.
It knew how to return when the house grew quiet.
On the tenth morning, the rain finally began to ease.
She woke to find a pale strip of sunlight crossing the floor.
For several moments, she simply watched it.
Then she heard something.
A distant engine-like rumble?
No.
Hooves.
She sat upright.
The sound grew closer.
Then came the creak of a wooden wagon.
Her heart began pounding.
She moved carefully toward the window.
Through the mist, she saw two draft horses pulling a heavy supply wagon along the cleared trail.
And beside them walked the rancher.
His coat was muddy.
His boots were soaked.
His hair hung loose around his shoulders.
But he was smiling.
He looked toward the cabin.
Then raised one hand.
The woman pressed her fingers against her mouth.
For a moment, she couldn't move.
Then she began crying.
The rancher brought the wagon near the stable.
He secured the horses.
Then he hurried toward the porch.
The woman was waiting in the doorway.
He stopped when he saw her tears.
“Darling?”
She shook her head.
He stepped closer.
“What's wrong?”
She reached toward him.
He took her hands.
Then she whispered, “I thought you'd changed your mind.”
His expression crumpled.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
He moved closer.
“I tried to come back. The creek was flooded. I couldn't get across safely.”
She nodded through tears.
“I know.”
He looked at her.
“Then why are you crying?”
She swallowed.
“Because knowing something and believing it when you're frightened aren't always the same.”
The rancher stared.
Then he gently pulled her into an embrace.
He held her as closely as their positions allowed, one arm around her shoulders and the other resting against her upper back.
She pressed her face against his chest.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then he whispered, “I came back.”
She nodded.
“I can see that.”
He kissed her hair.
“And I'm planning to keep coming back.”
She began crying harder.
He smiled sadly.
“Unless you decide my cooking is too dangerous.”
She laughed through tears.
Then she lifted her face.
“I'm glad you're home.”
He went still.
Home.
He had spent four years believing home was a place filled with memories of someone he could no longer hold.
Now the woman standing before him had used the word as though he belonged here.
His eyes filled.
He leaned forward.