“I would not phrase it crudely.”
“I would.”
She turned toward Gideon.
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
“Before you proposed?”
“Yes.”
Her chest tightened.
“So you married me knowing my father might forgive the debt.”
“Yes.”
Horace almost smiled.
Then Gideon continued:
“And I told him to go to hell.”
Horace's face changed.
Abigail stared.
Gideon leaned forward.
“I told your father that if you accepted me, the debt remained exactly what it was.”
“I would pay every dollar.”
“Your money remained yours.”
Abigail looked toward Horace.
“Is that true?”
He did not answer.
“Father.”
“Yes.”
Something inside Abigail moved.
Not relief exactly.
A rearranging.
Every assumption she had carried into marriage loosened at once.
Gideon had not married her for the money.
Then why?
She could ask later.
Horace folded his gloves.
“The note matures in ten weeks.”
Gideon nodded.
“I know.”
“You cannot pay it.”
“I can.”
“Not without selling breeding stock.”
“Then I'll sell breeding stock.”
Abigail stared at him.
Crosswind's breeding herd was the future of the ranch.
Horace knew.
“You would cripple your ranch rather than use money already offered?”
Gideon answered:
“Yes.”
“Idiotic pride.”
Gideon looked at Abigail.
“No.”
“Boundary.”
Horace scoffed.
“Romantic nonsense.”
Then he turned toward Abigail.
“There is another solution.”
Gideon’s expression hardened.
Abigail saw it.
“Speak to me.”
Horace hesitated.
Good.
Then:
“Return home.”
Silence.
Abigail thought she misheard.
“What?”
“Your marriage can be dissolved quietly.”
Gideon stood.
Horace continued:
“Crosswind receives extension and partial cancellation.”
“You return to Cheyenne.”
“The dowry remains intact.”
Gideon took one step.
“Get out.”
Abigail stood faster.
“Gideon.”
He stopped.
Barely.
Horace smiled.
“You see?”
“He understands the practical value.”
Abigail stared at him.
“You came here to purchase an annulment.”
“To prevent unnecessary hardship.”
“Whose?”
“Everyone's.”
She laughed.
It came out wrong.
Almost a sob.
Horace's face softened in the counterfeit way she knew too well.
“Abigail.”
“No.”
“You have been here six weeks.”
“That is not a life.”
“You know nothing about ranch hardship.”
“You are infatuated.”
“You mistake attention for permanence.”
Every old wound found its matching blade.
Horace continued.
“Cross needs money.”
“You need security.”
“Let adults correct an impulsive decision before pride ruins both of you.”
Abigail froze.
Adult.
At twenty-five.
Married.
Managing hundreds of cattle.
Still a child when Horace needed obedience.
Gideon's voice came low.
“Enough.”