“I’d like it to be because you want me.”
Not the ranch.
Not security.
Him.
Clara’s heart tightened.
She touched his sleeve.
“I understand.”
He covered her hand briefly.
Then let go.
Clara returned to Red Creek.
Henry cried when she entered the cabin.
He tried hiding it.
Failed.
“The debt?”
“Gone.”
He stared.
“All?”
“All.”
Henry sat.
Then started laughing.
Then crying again.
Clara made tea.
For three days, she lived her old life.
Carried water.
Cooked.
Helped repair the roof.
Visited neighbors.
Slept in her narrow bed.
No servants.
No polished floors.
No horse named Daisy trying to kill her.
Everything familiar.
Everything hers.
And every evening she missed Ethan.
Not Blackwood Ranch.
Not the guest room.
Ethan.
His terrible account books.
His laugh.
The way he tilted his hat when thinking.
The quiet at supper when he listened.
The fact he always asked before changing plans involving her.
On the fourth morning Henry found Clara packing.
He leaned against the door.
“So.”
She folded her blue dress.
“So.”
“You going back?”
“Yes.”
“Because he’s rich?”
Clara turned.
Henry smiled.
She threw a stocking at him.
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“You love him?”
Clara paused.
“I don't know.”
“That's honest.”
“I think I could.”
Henry nodded.
“Then don't marry him until you do.”
“I won't.”
“And make him repair that kitchen window.”
“What?”
“You described the ranch for three nights.”
“The kitchen has a draft.”
Clara smiled.
“Goodbye, Papa.”
Ethan did not know she was coming.
Clara arranged passage with a freight wagon.
It took nearly two days.
She reached Blackwood Ranch in rain.
No expensive carriage.
No sister waiting.
A ranch hand spotted her first.
Then yelled toward the barn.
Ethan came running.
Actually running.
He stopped several yards away.
Clara stood beside her trunk wearing a wet brown coat.
Neither moved.
Ethan’s chest rose hard from the run.
“You came back.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Clara smiled.
“You requested honesty.”
“Yes.”
“Because I missed you.”
Everything in Ethan’s face changed.
He walked toward her.
Slowly now.
Stopped close.
“Not the ranch?”
“Your books are offensive.”
He smiled.
“Not the money?”
“I already got what I came for.”
“Not Margaret?”
“That almost kept me away.”
He laughed.
Clara looked up.
“I came back because I wanted to see whether there is something here worth choosing.”
Ethan’s voice dropped.
“And?”
She looked at him.
“I think there might be.”
He raised one hand toward her face.
Stopped.
“May I?”
Clara nodded.
His fingers brushed wet hair from her cheek.
Gentle.
Her breathing changed.
Ethan noticed.
Clara whispered:
“You're staring.”
“Yes.”
“At what?”
“You.”
“I’m wet.”
“Yes.”
“My dress is muddy.”
“Yes.”
“I have nothing.”
Ethan’s expression became serious.
“Don't say that.”
Clara looked at him.
He took both her hands.
Turned them upward.
Calluses.
Small scars.
Working hands.
“You arrived with courage enough to walk into a house where people meant to humiliate you.”
“You worked when nobody asked.”
“You found money my own bookkeeper missed.”
“You went home when staying would've been easier because you needed your choice to be yours.”
He looked into her eyes.
“Clara, I’ve met women wearing enough diamonds to buy a county who brought less into a room than you do.”
Her eyes filled.
Ethan smiled softly.
“You're worth more than gold.”
Clara laughed through tears.
“That is an absurd thing to say.”
“Probably.”
“Gold is extremely valuable.”
“I own some.”
“Then you should understand.”
“I do.”
He moved closer.
“Gold sits in a safe.”
“You argue with me.”
She laughed.
“Terrible comparison.”
“I'm a rancher.”
“Not a poet.”
“Clearly.”
Ethan’s hand settled gently at her waist.
“Can I kiss you?”
Clara looked at his mouth.
Then his eyes.
“Yes.”
The kiss was soft.
Careful.
Almost restrained.
Clara’s fingers curled into his damp shirt.
Ethan drew her slightly closer.
When they separated, she remained near him.
Rain tapped the barn roof.
Horses shifted behind them.
Ethan whispered:
“Stay.”
Clara smiled.
“Ask properly.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You've become demanding.”
“I was always demanding.”
“Fair.”
Ethan took her hand.
“Clara Bennett, will you stay at Blackwood Ranch while we determine whether you can tolerate me for a lifetime?”
She laughed.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“That's not a proposal.”
“I know.”
“Just checking.”
Their courtship lasted four months.
Clara insisted.
Ethan agreed.
Margaret objected.
Ethan stopped discussing marriage with Margaret entirely.
Charlotte apologized.
Properly.
“I thought it would be funny.”
Clara stared.
Charlotte winced.
“I know.”
“It was cruel.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Charlotte looked embarrassed.
“Because Ethan made all of us feel foolish.”
“How?”
“He kept refusing women we considered perfect.”
“So you decided to punish a stranger.”
Charlotte nodded.
“When you say it plainly, I sound awful.”
“You were.”
“I’m sorry.”
Clara accepted eventually.
Not immediately.
Forgiveness, she learned, did not need speed to be real.
Winter arrived.
Clara remained at the ranch.
Separate bedroom.
Work in the office.
She learned cattle records.
Supply contracts.
Payroll.
By January she identified a pattern in freight charges that saved nearly twelve hundred dollars annually.
Ethan stared at her calculations.
“Marry me.”
Clara looked up.
“You're proposing because I found bookkeeping errors?”
“Partly.”
“No.”
He laughed.
“Fine.”
He knelt beside her chair.
Clara froze.
This was different.
No audience.
No sisters.
No arrangement.
Ethan removed nothing from his pocket.
No ring.
Just took her hand.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“When you first arrived, I thought my sisters had finally managed to make me angrier than any person alive.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“Wait.”
She smiled.
Ethan continued.
“Then you spoke.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And I realized you'd already fought the battle without me.”
“You didn't need rescuing.”
“You needed someone to stop making your life a bargain.”
Clara’s eyes softened.
“I don't want to own your choice.”
“I want you to wake up beside me because you keep choosing me.”
“Even when cattle prices collapse.”
“Even when winters are ugly.”
“Even when I forget invoices.”
“You will.”
“Probably.”
He smiled.
“Will you marry me?”
Clara stared at him.