She looked down.
“The foreman found me in town yesterday.”
The cowboy stared.
“That old traitor.”
“He told me you were unbearable.”
“That is not information.”
She almost smiled.
“He told me you had stopped using the guest room because you could still smell the cedar soap I used.”
The cowboy wanted to kill the foreman after all.
The Apache woman saw his face.
“Do not.”
“I’m considering options.”
“He also told me you rode south twice looking for me.”
The cowboy looked away.
“That was ranch business.”
“Of course.”
“He said you stopped drinking tea.”
“I never drank tea.”
“You started when I was here.”
“Once.”
“Four times.”
“I counted.”
He looked toward her.
That was mistake number one.
The room changed again.
Her eyes softened.
The cowboy asked:
“So why are you here?”
She stood.
Walked toward him.
Stopped close enough that he could feel the heat of the day still lingering in her clothes.
She placed the deed against his chest.
“The first time I came back to this ranch, it was because of the land.”
Her voice lowered.
“The second time, because your mother’s papers needed you.”
She looked into his eyes.
“This time I came because I could not stand the idea that the last thing you believed about me was that I used you.”
His throat tightened.
She continued:
“And because I missed you.”
Simple.
No metaphor.
No dramatic declaration.
That made it stronger.
The cowboy covered her hand with his.
She let him.
He said:
“I spent three weeks telling myself I hated you.”
“I know.”
“I was very convincing.”
“I doubt that.”
“Ask the foreman.”
“He said you were miserable.”
“He is fired.”
“He said you would say that.”
The cowboy laughed despite himself.
Then became serious.
“Our mothers bound the land together.”
“Yes.”
“But I will not use their promise to hold you here.”
Her breathing changed.
“I know.”
“If you stay tonight…”
He paused.
She waited.
Not rescuing him.
He continued:
“If you stay, I want it to be because you choose this place.”
Then corrected himself.
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Choose me.”
There.
He had said it.
The woman’s eyes filled.
Not enough to cry.
Enough to show the words had reached somewhere deep.
She stepped closer.
“You are very slow.”
He stared.
“That is your answer?”
“I crossed half the territory twice.”
“That sounds like poor planning.”