“When this began, I meant to save my ranch.”
“I know.”
“And you meant to stay alive.”
“I know that too.”
She took a slow breath. “That is no longer the whole of it for me.”
His face changed very little. But the stillness in him deepened, like water settling before it reflects.
He set the strap aside.
“Come here,” he said.
She crossed the porch.
He stood, towering over her in that quiet way he had, not showing off height so much as inhabiting it. The scar through his eyebrow had softened in her eyes over time. So had the hard mouth. Or maybe neither had softened at all. Maybe she had simply learned the geography.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a narrow band of plain gold, hammered by hand, imperfect, warm from being carried.
“Asa had a little nugget set aside from the first wash,” he said. “Said a man ought to save proof the earth sometimes pays back what it owes. I took part of it to the smith in town.”
Nell’s throat tightened. “For what?”
“For a second proposal,” he said. “One not made under threat of hanging.”
She laughed once, and to her horror tears came with it.
Rafe’s voice dropped. “Eleanor Hart, I can’t promise you easy. You know that by now. I am not civilized enough for poetry and not polished enough for grand speeches. But I am yours where it counts. In work. In danger. In witness. In old age, if we get that miracle. So I’m asking straight.”
He held out the ring.
“Will you marry me on purpose?”
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