Her voice trembled.
“I believed him.”
The cowboy looked at his hands.
“You had every right to believe someone who made you a promise.”
She shook her head.
“I should have known better.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“Because men don't usually choose women like me.”
The cowboy's expression hardened.
“Some men don't know what they're looking at.”
She gave a sad smile.
“You're kind to say that.”
He turned toward her.
“I'm not being kind.”
The woman looked into his eyes.
For one long moment, the air between them seemed to change.
Then the cowboy looked away.
He had spoken too quickly.
Too honestly.
He did not want her to feel trapped by his affection.
He cleared his throat.
“Would you like some tea?”
She smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
He stood.
But before entering the house, he paused.
“Just so you know, I didn't hire you because I felt sorry for you.”
She looked up.
“Why did you?”
He held her gaze.
“Because I wanted you here.”
Then he disappeared into the kitchen.
The woman remained on the porch, staring at the doorway.
Her heart was beating faster than it had in years.
She touched her cheek.
Then she laughed softly at herself.
It was ridiculous.
She was thirty-two years old.
She had survived grief, disappointment, and humiliation.
Surely she could endure one handsome cowboy making a kind remark.
But that night, lying beneath her blankets, she found herself remembering his words.
I wanted you here.
And for the first time, she allowed herself to imagine that he might have meant something more.
The next morning, the merchant arrived at the ranch.
He came in a polished wagon accompanied by a clerk carrying a leather document case.
The cowboy was repairing a gate when the visitor approached.
He straightened slowly.
The merchant climbed down.
“Good morning.”
The cowboy did not smile.
“Depends what you want.”
The merchant glanced toward the house.
“I've come to speak with the woman from Missouri.”
“She has a name.”
The merchant ignored the remark.
“This is a private matter.”
“Then you should have written to her.”