The father followed.
Of course he did.
The town clerk’s office was closed by the time they arrived.
The Younger Sister pounded anyway.
No response.
The Cowboy looked toward the courthouse.
“Judge lives behind the east church.”
The Fiancée shook her head.
“Not him.”
“Why?”
“Father plays cards with him.”
The Cowboy swore.
The Younger Sister looked toward the road north.
“The county recorder.”
“Twenty miles.”
“Yes.”
“Dark in an hour.”
“Yes.”
The Cowboy smiled.
“You have become inconvenient remarkably quickly.”
She looked at him.
“Good.”
They rode north.
Night found them halfway.
Rain began.
Not a storm.
Cold spring rain that soaked collars and made the road shine beneath moonlight.
The Younger Sister struggled more than the others over distance.
The Cowboy watched carefully without insulting her by asking every mile whether she needed to stop.
Finally she raised one hand.
“Five minutes.”
They stopped beneath cottonwoods.
The Fiancée dismounted.
The Younger Sister slid carefully from the saddle and flexed her aching legs.
The Cowboy approached.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
He looked skeptical.
She sighed.
“My hips hurt. My thighs are numb. I have not ridden twenty miles since I was seventeen.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
She smiled faintly.
He offered water.
She drank.
The Fiancée stood several yards away pretending to inspect her saddle.
The Younger Sister looked toward her.
“This is strange.”
“What?”
“You.”
The Cowboy nodded.
“Extremely.”
She laughed softly.
Then became serious.
“You cannot decide you love me tonight just because you discovered I own land.”
His face changed.
“I loved you yesterday.”
She looked away.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“You were still engaged yesterday.”
“I was apparently not.”
“You believed you were.”
He winced.
“Fair.”
The Younger Sister looked at him.
“I will not become the next arrangement.”
“You won’t.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I can.”
“No.”
Her voice strengthened.
“Listen to me.”
He did.
“I spent my entire life being useful enough to keep and undesirable enough not to choose.”
His jaw tightened.
“That is not—”
“Do not interrupt.”
He closed his mouth.
The Fiancée smiled from beside her horse.
The Younger Sister continued.
“If you want me because I cared for your cattle, that is gratitude.”
“No.”
“If you want me because I am different from my sister, that is comparison.”
“No.”
“If you want me because Father treated me badly, that is pity.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“Then someday, when all of this is finished, you may tell me what it actually is.”
The Cowboy looked at her.