Two women stood outside the mercantile pretending not to stare.
The whole county probably knew the ruling already.
News traveled faster than weather when scandal was involved.
The young woman walked down the courthouse steps.
Then stopped.
Her husband nearly walked into her.
“What?”
She turned.
He looked worried.
“Are you all right?”
She considered the question.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“That sounds reasonable.”
She looked back at the courthouse.
“I thought I would feel different.”
“How?”
“Bigger.”
He frowned.
She smiled faintly.
“Not physically.”
“I knew that.”
“You looked concerned.”
“I’m always concerned when somebody says bigger while looking at me.”
She laughed despite herself.
The laugh surprised both of them.
It loosened something in her chest.
She looked toward the road where their wagon waited.
“I thought when the judge ruled, everything before today would stop hurting.”
The mountain man’s expression softened.
“I don’t think courts can do that.”
“No.”
“Pity.”
She nodded.
He hesitated.
Then asked:
“Do you want to go home?”
The word still affected her.
Home.
Not his cabin.
Not the place she had been delivered.
Home.
She looked toward him.
“Yes.”
They rode north before sunset.
For the first hour they barely spoke.
The road climbed away from town.
Cottonwoods gave way to pine.
The air cooled.
She watched the mountains ahead.
Somewhere up there waited forty acres that legally belonged to her.
A cabin where she no longer locked the bedroom door.
A goat with no respect for human authority.
A half-built chicken coop.
A stack of books.
A terrible romance novel.
A man who had originally made the mistake of believing rescue gave him the right to decide first and apologize later.
He had been wrong.
He had admitted it.
Then he had spent months proving the apology was not merely language.
She looked toward him.
He noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been staring.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s usually dangerous.”
She smiled.
He returned his attention to the horses.
After several minutes she said:
“I want another wedding.”
The reins jerked slightly.
The wagon swayed.
She grabbed the side.
“What are you doing?”
He steadied the horses.
“Sorry.”
“You nearly drove us into a ditch.”
“You said something unexpected.”
“You react poorly to romance.”
“I react poorly to surprises.”
She stared.
“You wrestled a black bear.”
“It was a small bear.”
“You told me it weighed four hundred pounds.”
“That story changes depending who’s listening.”
She laughed.
Then became serious again.
“I mean it.”
He looked toward her.