When she described a man who had refused to sit beside her in a stagecoach, his jaw tightened.
When she mentioned a dressmaker who charged extra merely because she disliked tailoring larger clothing, he looked genuinely angry.
But he didn't offer empty promises.
He asked how Elena had managed.
What she'd done.
What she wished people understood.
And when she explained that her body didn't prevent her from enjoying life but often required practical accommodations others took for granted, he listened as though she were teaching him something important.
Then she asked about his scar.
For a moment, he became quiet.
He told her about the rockfall during his search for Matthew.
How he'd slipped near a narrow ravine.
How stone struck the side of his face.
How he'd survived only because another rancher found him before the weather worsened.
Elena looked toward the jagged line.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Sometimes.”
She nodded.
“Would you mind if I looked?”
Gideon blinked.
For years, people had stared at the scar from a distance.
Very few had asked permission to examine it.
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
Elena stepped closer.
She studied the healed tissue along his cheek.
Then gently touched the uninjured skin beside it.
Gideon went completely still.
Her fingers were warm.
Soft.
And steady.
She didn't recoil.
Didn't pity him.
Didn't pretend the scar wasn't there.
She simply looked.
Then whispered, “It must have been terrible.”
Gideon swallowed.
“Yes.”
Elena lifted her eyes.
“But you're still handsome.”
He stared.
For a moment, he seemed unable to understand the words.
Then he laughed awkwardly.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“You don't have to—”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Don't you dare tell me what I have to think.”
Gideon stopped.
She smiled.
“I know what a handsome man looks like.”
He stared.
Then, very slowly, color rose into his weathered face.
Elena noticed.
Her smile widened.
“Are you blushing, Mr. Hale?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“It's the fire.”
She laughed.
“Of course.”
Gideon looked toward the fireplace.
Then back at her.
For the first time in ten years, he wanted to believe that the worst thing about his face wasn't all anyone would ever see.
But as Elena's hand rested gently against his cheek, a familiar fear returned.
He stepped away.
Her smile faded.
“Gideon?”
He turned toward the window.
“Getting late.”
She stared.
The change was so sudden that she didn't understand.
A moment earlier, he'd been smiling.