The words struck harder than he intended.
Her hands tightened around the cloth.
He saw.
But he was exhausted and frightened and still carrying the last hour inside his body.
He continued.
“It was the reason this ranch had a future.”
The wife’s eyes filled.
She did not look away.
“I know.”
He stopped.
Something in her tone changed him.
“What?”
“I know.”
“What do you mean?”
She released the cloth.
“I knew before the wedding.”
His anger disappeared.
“You heard?”
“Almost the entire conversation.”
The rancher stared.
She continued.
“I knew you needed water.”
“I knew my father wanted me gone.”
“I knew exactly what kind of arrangement I was entering.”
He looked ashamed.
She stepped toward him.
“You think today destroyed the thing you married me for.”
He said nothing.
She reached into the pocket hidden inside her skirt.
Pulled out a folded document.
Placed it against his chest.
He looked down.
“What is this?”
“Read.”
He unfolded it.
His eyes moved across the page.
Confusion.
Then disbelief.
He read the signature.
Looked at her.
“This is dated today.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I transferred permanent ranch-use rights from the spring to the property.”
He stared.
“Not to you.”
“To the ranch.”
“Even if we separate.”
“Even if I leave.”
“Even if you remarry.”
The paper shook slightly in his hands.
“Why?”
Her voice broke for the first time.
“Because when the fire came, you left cattle worth more money than either of us has ever held in our hands.”
“You could have saved them.”
“You didn’t.”
“You went back for the men.”
He looked toward her.
She continued.
“I married a man who wanted my water.”
Tears gathered but did not fall.
“Today I watched that man choose six hired hands over the wealth he thought that water was supposed to protect.”
The rancher could not speak.
She placed one hand over the deed against his chest.
“My mother gave me the spring because she wanted me to decide who deserved access.”
“I decided.”
His eyes filled.
“No.”
She frowned.
“What?”
He stepped backward.
“No.”
The wife stared.
He placed the deed on the table.
“I won't accept it.”
Her face changed.
“Why?”
“Because you just spent the day saving my men while I came home and accused you of risking my future.”
“You were afraid.”
“I was wrong.”
“You were exhausted.”
“I was wrong.”
He looked at the deed.
“And because if I take that now, I will spend the rest of my life wondering whether you gave it because you felt you had to prove you were worth marrying.”
Her breath stopped.
The rancher stepped closer.
“You never had to prove that.”