“That is not what I asked.”
“You often ask more than one question at once.”
He almost smiled.
“Fine.”
He stepped closer.
“What happens with you?”
Her face changed slightly.
He saw it.
She turned toward the table.
“The same thing that happened before I came.”
“You go back.”
“Yes.”
His chest tightened more than it should have.
He looked away.
She noticed.
Of course she noticed.
The rancher picked up the petition, unfolded it, pretended to read a paragraph he already knew.
The woman said quietly, “You thought I would stay because I owe you.”
He looked up.
“I did not say that.”
“You did not have to.”
“That is convenient.”
“It is accurate.”
He folded the paper again.
“What exactly do you think I believe?”
She studied him for a moment.
Then answered.
“That three years ago you cut my ropes.”
“That you gave me water.”
“That you lied to the men holding me so I could escape.”
“That I came back because a debt remained between us.”
The rancher did not deny it.
She continued.
“And that if I leave after you sign this grievance, you will tell yourself the debt was paid.”
He stared.
She had put the thought into words more cleanly than he ever had.
He hated that.
“What if that is what it is?” he asked.
She stepped closer.
The oil lantern reflected in her eyes.
“Then you do not understand what happened three years ago.”
His jaw tightened.
“I remember it.”
“I did not say you forgot.”
“What am I missing?”
She lifted one hand.
Placed it against the center of his worn leather vest.
The rancher stopped breathing for one second.
Her touch was light.
Not possessive.
Not hesitant either.
He could feel the heat of her palm through the leather.
She said, “A debt exists when someone expects repayment.”
“I expected nothing.”
“I know.”
“Then why call it a debt?”
“I do not.”
He looked into her eyes.
She continued softly.
“You freed me because leaving me bound would have been wrong.”
“That ended the matter.”
His voice dropped.
“Then why did you come back?”
Her expression softened.