He hung in office anyway.
“Vanity,” she said.
“History.”
“Same thing with better paper.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Still beautiful.”
She rolled eyes.
Then smiled after he left.
Anna married at twenty-four.
To schoolteacher named Joseph.
Caleb interrogated him.
Marta interrupted.
“You’re becoming every father you used to mock.”
“He has soft hands.”
“He teaches.”
“Exactly.”
Joseph turned out good.
Anna bought twenty percent stable with saved money.
Marta made her sign papers.
Anna cried.
“So emotional.”
“Business.”
Marta cried after she left.
Caleb pretended not see.
At sixty, Marta and Caleb spent more winters in Red Creek.
Mountain cabin remained.
But Caleb’s leg ached from old tree injury.
Altitude harder.
They visited summers.
One evening at cabin, Marta found old leather envelope.
Original deed draft.
Her name.
She sat.
Caleb entered.
“What?”
She held it up.
“You kept this.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“Important.”
Marta looked at him.
“You know I almost hated you.”
“Yes.”
“You deserved some.”
“Yes.”
“Would you do it again?”
He thought carefully.
“No.”
That surprised her.
“Why?”
“I should've asked.”
“Even if you knew I’d refuse?”
“Especially.”
Marta’s eyes softened.
“You gave me stable.”
“I also decided something about your life without permission.”
“Both can be true.”
She nodded.
“Both are.”
He sat beside.
“Would you have said no?”
“Yes.”
“Then stable would’ve gone to Croft.”
“Probably.”
Caleb smiled faintly.
“Still should have asked.”
Marta leaned against shoulder.
“Annoyingly good answer.”
“I practice.”
They sat outside.
Mountains familiar.
Time made them less intimidating.
Or maybe age did.
Marta asked:
“Do you remember first dirty thing I said to you?”
Caleb groaned.
“Stable door.”
She laughed.
“You turned red.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Cold.”
“June.”
“Mountain blood.”
She laughed until side hurt.
He looked at her with same quiet desire after decades.
Not young desire.
Not urgent.
Steady.
Marta noticed.
“You still stare.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Caleb frowned as if question stupid.
“You know.”
She smiled.
“Say it.”
“You're beautiful.”
“More.”
“Strong.”
“More.”
“Demanding.”
She hit his arm.
He caught hand.
“Mine.”
Marta’s expression shifted.
Caleb immediately corrected:
“My wife.”
“Not my property.”
“Good.”
“Very good.”
She kissed him.
At sixty-seven, Caleb nearly died again.
Horse slipped crossing creek.
He fell.
Broken ribs.
Punctured lung.
Red Creek doctor sent Denver.
Marta sat beside bed three days.