“I did not know whether you would treat me like a wife.”
“Like labor.”
“Like an obligation.”
“Like the price of irrigation.”
“I did not know whether you would become cruel once you believed the bargain was secured.”
“I did not know whether you would demand my body because a preacher had put your name beside mine.”
“I did not know whether you would take every decision away from me simply because other husbands could.”
Her throat tightened.
“But the spring meant I had something you could not take unless I allowed it.”
The rancher’s eyes filled.
He whispered, “You thought you might need protection from me.”
“Yes.”
The word nearly broke him.
His wife’s face softened.
“I do not now.”
That reached him.
He looked up.
She continued.
“I stopped locking my door months ago.”
“You never entered unless I asked.”
“You brought every account to the kitchen once you realized I understood them.”
“You let me question your foreman in front of the crew.”
“You backed me against my father.”
“You listened when I said selling more cattle would ruin the breeding herd.”
“You let me make decisions you did not like.”
“You apologized when you were wrong.”
A faint, exhausted smile appeared.
“Not quickly.”
“No.”
She almost smiled too.
“Never quickly.”
Then the seriousness returned.
“And tonight…”
Her gaze moved toward the window.
Toward the blackened southern pasture.
“You left cattle inside the fire line.”
The rancher’s jaw tightened.
“Twenty-seven.”
“I know.”
“Some of the best breeding stock.”
“I know.”
“I could hear them.”
His voice broke.
The wife closed the distance slightly.
“You still turned back for the men.”
The rancher looked toward her.
“You didn’t calculate which was worth more.”
“You didn’t ask what losing those cattle would cost this ranch.”
“You saw six people trapped and chose them.”
She placed her palm against the deed still held in his hand.
“That is why I signed the spring over for permanent ranch use tonight.”
He stared at her.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After the fire line broke.”
“You left?”
“For twenty minutes.”
He looked stunned.
“The county clerk was still at the emergency office because half the valley was dealing with the fire.”
“You rode into town?”
“With the younger ranch hand.”
“He said nothing.”
“I told him not to.”
The rancher almost laughed despite everything.
“Of course.”
She continued.
“I had a copy prepared months ago.”
His expression changed.
“Months?”
“Yes.”
“You planned this?”
“I considered it.”
“Since when?”
She thought.
“Since the day you refused my father’s five-percent demand.”
The rancher looked down.
“I was angry that day.”
“I know.”
“I almost regretted it the next morning.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You checked the channel four times before breakfast.”