She looked at him.
“What happened to your father?”
Silas was quiet.
“He disappeared.”
“When?”
“I was twenty.”
“Did you ever find him?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He went to Cheyenne.”
“And never returned?”
“No.”
“Did you investigate?”
“I was young.”
“You didn't know how.”
“No.”
She touched his hand.
“You have spent twenty years wondering.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps that's why you recognized my problem.”
“Perhaps.”
The road continued.
That night they stopped near a small river.
They built a fire.
Eleanor sat beneath a blanket.
Silas cooked coffee.
The sky was full of stars.
“You're not what I expected either,” he said.
She smiled.
“I'm beginning to enjoy hearing that.”
“I expected someone who wanted marriage.”
“And instead?”
“I found someone who wants answers.”
“Perhaps I want both.”
He looked at her.
She held his gaze.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Silas set down the coffee pot.
“Why?”
“Because I don't want to spend my life alone.”
He stared at her.
“Neither do I.”
The words were almost a whisper.
The fire crackled.
Eleanor looked at his open collar.
This time she did not pretend otherwise.
Silas noticed.
He leaned toward her.
Their faces were inches apart.
Then he stopped.
“Not like this.”
She blinked.
“Why?”
“Because I want to remember the first time.”
Her expression softened.
“Then remember this.”
She leaned forward.
Their lips met.
It was a brief kiss.
Gentle.
Careful.
Almost uncertain.
But when they separated, neither looked away.
Silas touched her cheek.
“I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“You.”
She smiled.
“Only me?”
“No.”
He looked toward the dark mountains.
“About myself.”
Three days later they reached Denver.
Eleanor's aunt lived in a modest house near the edge of town.
Her name was Margaret Vale.
She was seventy years old.
When she saw Eleanor, she began to cry.
“You look like your mother.”
Eleanor embraced her.
Then introduced Silas.
Margaret looked at him for a long moment.
“You're the rancher.”
“Yes.”
“My sister wrote about you.”
Silas frowned.
“About me?”
“She knew your father.”
Silas went still.
“My father?”
Margaret nodded.
“Your father came to Philadelphia twenty years ago.”
Eleanor looked at Silas.
“What?”
Margaret continued.