That mattered.
Perhaps because it was not grand.
Not ownership.
Not beauty.
Not debt.
Presence.
Nahimana asked, “What if I say no?”
His stomach tightened.
“Then I take you home.”
“And never cross our land again?”
“If that’s what your father requires.”
“You would give up the road.”
“Yes.”
“Even now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ethan looked at her.
“Because you are not a road.”
Silence.
Nahimana’s eyes shone slightly.
She looked away before he could be sure.
Then she said, “You may ask.”
“Ask what?”
She sighed.
Ethan understood.
His heart suddenly pounded harder than during the gunfight.
He stood.
Then decided standing felt foolish.
Sat again.
“Nahimana.”
“Yes.”
“Will you stay as my wife?”
She looked directly at him.
“No blanket?”
“No.”
“No debt?”
“No.”
“No chief deciding?”
“No.”
“No ranch deciding?”
“No.”
She let him wait.
Long enough to punish him.
Then:
“Yes.”
Ethan breathed.
She added:
“For now.”
He laughed.
“For now?”
“One month is not finished.”
“You just said yes.”
“I said I will stay.”
“That sounds permanent.”
“Nothing is permanent because you want it to be.”
Ethan smiled.
“Fine.”
She leaned closer.
“Fine.”
Their first kiss happened there.
Not dramatic.
Not hungry.
Careful.
Ethan touched her cheek as if asking permission without words.
Nahimana closed the remaining distance herself.
When they pulled apart, she looked at him.
“You are still slow.”
Ethan laughed.
“Apparently.”
Briggs and Crowe were eventually arrested.
The railroad company denied knowing anything about forged deeds.
Perhaps that was true.
Perhaps not.
The evidence against Crowe was enough.
Ethan kept his land.
More importantly, he kept control of the water.
But Nahimana insisted on one condition before he made any agreement with the railroad.
The spring would not become private leverage against the Apache community whose territory surrounded it.
Water access had to be shared.
Ethan agreed.
When railroad representatives protested, Nahimana sat across from three suited men and said nothing for nearly a full minute.
They became so uncomfortable that one agreed before finishing his argument.
Ethan later told her it was terrifying.
She took it as praise.
Months passed.
The ranch changed.
A new trough.
Stronger fences.
A larger water tank.
The freight road came near but not through the house.
Cattle survived the drought.
Ethan learned Apache words badly.
Nahimana corrected him mercilessly.
She learned to bake biscuits from a neighbor.
They came out harder than Ethan’s.
He wisely said nothing.
Chaska visited twice.
Each time he inspected the ranch as if he personally owned the territory.
Perhaps he believed he did.
The little girl Ethan rescued came often with her grandmother.
She followed Ethan everywhere.
Asked endless questions.
Tried riding Luther despite the horse being nearly too old to tolerate enthusiasm.
One evening Chaska and Ethan sat outside.
Nahimana was inside.