He kept his eyes on the land. "Eleanor always said I made her work for everything. Every conversation, every admission. She said it like it was a complaint, but I think she He paused. I think she understood it, that I meant it more maybe because it cost more."
Clara waited. "You came here," he said, "because you needed a place. I put an advertisement in a paper because I needed help. That's how it facts." He paused.
"But somewhere between the beginning and right now, the facts changed. And I have not been saying what they changed into because I'm not a man who says things easily. But Mabel told me yesterday very directly, because she's her mother's daughter in that way, that I was being a fool about it." Clara kept her expression entirely calm, though inside something had gone very warm and very still at the same time. "She said that?"
"Those exact words," Nate said. "She said, 'Pa, you're being a fool about it. And if you wait any longer, she's going to think you don't have the courage to say it, and she deserves better than a man without the courage to say it.'" "She's 17 next month," Clara said. "I know," he said. "She's terrifying."
"She's remarkable," Clara said. "Yes," he said. He finally turned and looked at her. The evening light was full on his face, weathered and honest and entirely without pretense. "Clara, I am asking you.
I am asking whether you would consider, whether you would be willing." He stopped. Took a breath. Tried again, "Will you marry me?" The open land was very quiet around them.
"Nate," she said. "I know it's not I know this isn't I don't have poetry. I have a ranch that's been through difficulty and seven children who are loud and complicated and one of whom has already informed me that he decided you were his the day you arrived. Which I think means I'm competing with a six-year-old for the privilege of asking." "Yes," she said.
He stopped. "Yes," she said again. Simply, without qualification. He looked at her, really looked at her, the way you look at someone when you're trying to determine if what you just heard is what you think you heard. "You're certain," he said.
"I'm certain of the numbers," she said. And I'm certain of this. Something broke open in his face, not dramatically, not with any performance, just quietly, the way a window opens to let air in that's been needed for a long time. He reached out and took her hand, his large work-ruined hand around hers, and this time he didn't let go. "I'm going to try," he said, "to say things more.