“Agreed.”
“I will not let our children, if we have them, learn that one side of their family rescued the other.”
“Agreed.”
She looked at him.
“And if you become unbearable—”
“I already am.”
“Then I reserve the right to tell you.”
“You have been exercising that right without marriage.”
“Good preparation.”
He smiled.
“Then yes?”
She reached across and took his hand.
“Yes.”
The proposal happened officially several weeks later because the cowboy insisted she deserved something better than a porch negotiation.
He planned carefully.
Too carefully.
A ride to the northern spring.
Food.
A new blanket.
A silver ring he had purchased after selling a young horse.
The Apache woman noticed everything.
Pretended not to.
At the spring, the cowboy began a speech.
He forgot half.
Started again.
She rescued him only after he became visibly miserable.
“You already asked.”
He stopped.
“That is not the point.”
“I already said yes.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you suffering?”
“Because this is supposed to be memorable.”
She smiled.
“It is.”
He looked toward her.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
He held out the ring.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled so hard she laughed.
He slid the ring onto her finger.
Too loose.
She looked.
He looked.
Silence.
Then:
“I measured.”
“With what?”
“A piece of cord.”
“Whose finger?”
He realized.
The foreman’s daughter.
Wrong hand.
The Apache woman laughed until she had tears running down her face.
The cowboy sat on a rock and stared at the water.
“I am leaving.”
“You cannot.”
“It’s my ranch.”
“Shared spring.”
“Not helping.”
She sat beside him.
Still laughing.
Then kissed his cheek.
“I love the ring.”
“It does not fit.”
“Neither did we at first.”
He looked at her.
“That is disgustingly sentimental.”
“You started this.”
They had the ring resized.
The wedding occurred in early autumn.
Small by design.
Both families.
Several neighboring ranchers.
The foreman.
The attorney who had helped defeat the land claim.
The retired clerk.
People connected to the shared-water agreement.
No pageantry pretending conflict had never existed.
The Apache woman’s clothing was made with help from women in her family. Practical enough to move in. Beautiful without becoming a costume for white guests’ expectations.
The cowboy wore black.
The foreman told him he looked like he was attending his own funeral.
The cowboy answered:
“Possible.”
The Apache woman overheard.
“Too late to run?”