“I should have trusted what I knew about you instead of inventing something because I was frightened.”
She remained quiet.
Then:
“Yes.”
He smiled bitterly.
“You make forgiveness sound very warm.”
She almost smiled.
“You asked for truth.”
“Unfortunately.”
The woman put down her fork.
“I was angry too.”
He looked up.
“At me?”
“Mostly at the men following me.”
“That seems more reasonable.”
“And at you.”
“What did I do?”
“You made me want to come back.”
He stopped.
She continued:
“That was inconvenient.”
A small smile appeared.
The cowboy laughed softly.
“Terrible.”
“Yes.”
For a while, neither said anything.
Then he asked:
“What happens tomorrow?”
She looked toward him.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you ride away?”
“Yes.”
He tried to hide disappointment.
Failed.
She noticed.
“I told you.”
“I know.”
“You look as if I just announced a funeral.”
“I am working on my face.”
“Work harder.”
He smiled.
“When will you return?”
“I don’t know.”
The old anxiety moved through him again.
She saw it.
But this time he did not turn it into anger.
He nodded.
“All right.”
The Apache woman’s eyes softened.
She reached across the table.
Placed her hand palm-up.
He looked at it.
Then at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You are offering me your hand.”
“Yes.”
“That generally means something.”
“It means you may hold it if you want.”
The cowboy smiled.
“That sounds dangerously straightforward.”
“I am trying something new.”
He placed his hand in hers.
No promise.
No ownership.
No attempt to turn touch into certainty.
They remained like that until the lamp burned low.
The next morning, she rode away.
The cowboy watched.
He did not ask for a date.
Did not demand a route.
Did not tell her to be careful as though she had not survived a life before meeting him.
He simply said:
“Come back if you still want to.”
She looked down from the saddle.
“That sounds almost healthy.”
“Do not ruin it.”
She smiled.
Then:
“I will.”
She was gone eight days.
The cowboy counted despite himself.
Day one, he repaired fencing.
Day two, he rode into town and filed additional documents.
Day three, he met with his attorney.
Day four, he told himself he was not counting.
Day five proved he was lying.
Day six, the foreman asked:
“How many days?”
The cowboy answered:
“I don’t know.”
The foreman laughed so hard he had to sit down.