“You didn't see that house.”
“No. I buried a husband.”
Silence.
Etta continued.
“I watched Arthur disappear one pound at a time while doctors sold us bottles that did nothing. I watched him stop being able to carry Clara. Then stop walking downstairs. Then stop eating.”
Her voice caught.
Gideon said nothing.
“I know what loving someone can cost.”
“Then you understand.”
“I understand grief.”
Etta looked directly at him.
“I don't understand choosing it in advance.”
His brow furrowed.
“What?”
“You've spent eleven years living like the fire never ended.”
Gideon went still.
Etta picked up the plates.
“That isn't protecting yourself, Gideon.”
She walked toward the kitchen.
He called after her.
“What is it, then?”
Etta stopped.
She looked over her shoulder.
“Letting the dead decide how the living are allowed to live.”
Then she left him alone.
For two days Gideon barely spoke to her.
Etta worried she had gone too far.
On the third evening, she was stirring stew when he entered the kitchen.
It was almost exactly like the image that would have existed if anyone had been there to preserve the moment.
Etta stood at the wide timber table.
Steam rose from venison and potatoes.
Biscuits cooled nearby.
Gideon remained in his coat, having just returned from the north pasture.
Toby and Clara were upstairs.
The ranch was quiet.
Not the old quiet.
Different.
A temporary quiet containing people who would wake in the morning.
Gideon stood watching her.
Etta noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You have been staring at me for a full minute.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
She continued stirring.
Gideon removed his gloves.
Did not remove his coat.
He walked closer.
Etta's pulse changed.
She hated that her body always noticed him before her mind permitted it.
Gideon stopped beside the table.
One hand rested against the scarred wood.
“You said something the other night.”
“I say many things.”
“I noticed.”
“Which one offended you?”
“The part about the dead.”
Etta's stirring slowed.
Gideon looked toward the skillet.
“I've been angry at you for three days.”
“I noticed that too.”
“Then I realized I was angry because you were right.”
Etta glanced up.
His steel-gray eyes held hers.
“That must have been painful.”
“Excruciating.”
Her mouth twitched.
Gideon stepped closer.
“What did your husband call you?”
The question surprised her.
“Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“Etta.”
“Only Etta?”
“Sometimes Hen.”
Gideon's expression suggested he disapproved.
“He was allowed.”
“What else?”
Etta smiled faintly.
“Love.”
Gideon looked down.
Something passed over his face.
Jealousy, perhaps.
Not of a living rival.
Of a dead man who had known parts of her Gideon had not.
Etta set down the spoon.
“You don't have to compete with Arthur.”
Gideon's eyes rose.
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
“He sounds irritating.”
“He was.”
Gideon almost smiled.
Etta wiped her hands on her apron.
“What is this really about?”
Gideon's answer came quietly.
“The house doesn't feel empty anymore.”
Etta stopped breathing for half a second.
He continued.
“I used to come through that door and hear nothing.”
Steam drifted between them.
“Now Toby is asking questions before my boots are off. Clara leaves drawings in my saddlebag. You shout at men for muddy floors.”
“They deserve it.”
“I know.”
His mouth softened.
“There's bread on the table. Coffee too strong to drink. Someone always needs something.”
“That sounds dreadful.”
“It terrifies me.”
Etta's smile disappeared.
Gideon looked away.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The thing I was trying not to say.”
Etta stepped around the table.
They were closer now.
“Say it.”
He looked at her.
“When I leave in the morning, I think about coming back.”
Her pulse quickened.
“Because of supper?”
“No.”
“Children?”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt unexpectedly.
Gideon saw it.
“And you.”
Etta looked down.
“There.”
His voice dropped.
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you pretend you didn't want me to say it.”
Etta's cheeks warmed.
“You're very confident for a man who barely spoke to me a month ago.”
“I was smarter then.”
She laughed softly.
Gideon moved closer.
Not touching.
“Etta.”
“Yes?”
“I know you're working for me.”
Her expression changed.
He continued quickly.
“That's why I haven't done anything.”
She understood.
And respected him more for saying it.
“You don't want me thinking my position depends on this.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Gideon's jaw tightened.
“That isn't the answer I hoped for.”
Etta smiled.
“What answer did you hope for?”
“I haven't decided.”
“Then don't ask questions before you're prepared.”
“That sounds like Toby.”
“He gets it from his father.”
The sadness crossed her face.
Gideon saw it.
He reached toward her.
Stopped.
Etta looked at his hand.
Then at him.
“You can.”
His hand touched her waist.
Very lightly.
Etta's breathing changed.
Gideon noticed.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Then returned to her eyes.
“Tell me to stop.”
“You haven't started anything.”
“Etta.”
“Gideon.”
His thumb shifted against her apron.
She stepped closer.
The front of her dress brushed his open coat.
He smelled like cold air, horse, leather, pine smoke.
Her hands rested against his chest.
“Still think a warm supper makes lonely men confused?” he asked.
Etta looked at him.
“It can.”
“I'm not confused.”
“No?”
“No.”
She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm.
“What are you, then?”
Gideon's voice dropped.
“Trying very hard to behave.”
Heat moved through her.
Etta leaned closer.
“That sounds miserable.”
“It is.”
She kissed him.
Not cautiously.
Arthur had taught her that wanting someone was not shameful.
Widowhood had taught her that time was not generous enough for endless hesitation.
Gideon's hands tightened at her waist.
For a few seconds the world narrowed to breath, wool, beard, warmth, and the astonishing sensation of being wanted without pity.
When they separated, Gideon's forehead rested against hers.
Etta whispered:
“You're still my employer.”
“I can fix that.”
“How?”
“I'll fire you.”
She pulled back.
“You will not.”
“Then resign.”
“And put my children where?”
“My ranch.”
“As what?”
Gideon stopped.
Etta saw panic return.
Not about desire.
About definition.
Marriage.
Family.
Future.
The room cooled between them.
Etta stepped away.
“That's what I thought.”
Gideon frowned.
“What?”
“You want me here.”
“Yes.”
“You want the children here.”
“Yes.”
“You want me in your bed?”
His eyes darkened.
“Yes.”
“But you don't know what you want us to be.”
“No.”
Etta nodded.
“Then figure that out before we go further.”
Gideon's face tightened.
She picked up the spoon again.
“Dinner in ten minutes.”
He stared.
“That's it?”
“Yes.”
“You kiss me like that and then return to stew?”
Etta looked at him sweetly.
“I told you a warm supper was dangerous.”
Gideon left the kitchen cursing under his breath.