The distinction hurt.
Necessary.
Garrick absorbed it.
Then nodded.
“You're right.”
He left.
Nola stood alone.
Her heart sank.
She cursed herself.
Then cursed him.
Then cursed the entire male sex for being unable to finish difficult sentences.
Ten minutes later, Garrick returned.
He carried nothing.
His expression had changed.
“Nola.”
She looked up.
“I want you.”
Silence.
He continued:
“Not because Weston was sick.”
“Not because the ranch needs books kept.”
“Not because Clara needs dresses mended.”
“Not because Eli needs somebody to argue with.”
“Not because I’m afraid of an empty house.”
He swallowed.
“I want you when the house is loud.”
“When the ranch is good.”
“When everyone is healthy.”
“I want you when I don't need rescuing.”
Nola’s eyes filled.
Garrick stepped closer.
“I don't know if I’m ready to call what I feel love.”
“Mae died eight months ago.”
“Part of me still wakes expecting her beside me.”
Nola nodded.
“That doesn't frighten me.”
“It frightens me.”
“I know.”
He continued:
“But I know I want the chance to find out what this becomes.”
“No contract.”
“No thirty dollars.”
“No obligation to mother children who already had a mother.”
His voice softened.
“Just stay.”
Nola looked toward her packed bag.
Then toward him.
“Garrick.”
“Yes?”
“You are terrible at this.”
He laughed.
“I know.”
She smiled through tears.
“Good.”
“What?”
“Because if that was practiced, I’d leave.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No.”
His face fell.
Nola stepped closer.
“It’s a ‘court me properly, you miserable rancher.’”
Understanding arrived slowly.
Then fully.
His smile transformed him.
For the first time, Nola saw the man he had probably been before grief hollowed him out.
He whispered:
“I can do that.”
“We’ll see.”
Then he kissed her.
Brief.
Careful.
Almost questioning.
Nola kissed him back.
From the hallway came Clara’s voice.
“Finally.”
They separated.
Eli shouted:
“I told you.”
Weston asked:
“Is Nola old enough to marry Papa?”
Nola closed her eyes.
Garrick started laughing.
The children ran.
The house was loud.
Exactly as promised.
Garrick did court her.
Badly at first.
He brought wildflowers containing three weeds and one thistle.
Nola asked whether he intended romance or bodily injury.
He improved.
He took her riding without discussing cattle.
They ate lunch beside the north spring.
He told her about Mae.
Not only the dying.
The living.
Mae hated thunderstorms.
Loved numbers.
Sang beautifully.
Cheated at cards.
Once broke Garrick’s nose with a broom handle because she thought he was an intruder.
Nola laughed so hard she cried.
That mattered.
Mae became a woman again instead of a tragedy.