The morning was doing its full autumn brightness around them, the light clean and sharp. I'm going to tell you something, she said finally. And I need you to hear it plainly and not turn it into something it isn't. All right, I am not indifferent to you, she said. The words came out carefully, each one placed with precision.
I have not been indifferent to you since the first night you stood up from that table. But I am also not a woman who can afford to act on feelings without considering the cost. I have nothing behind me, no family to return to, no money saved beyond what I need to survive, no position in this town that isn't entirely dependent on people like Victoria Harrington deciding to tolerate me. If this goes wrong, I have nothing to fall back on. He held her gaze.
What would make it feel less dangerous? She thought about it honestly. The way she did everything time from you specifically. No more coming around just because you want to tell me what you're thinking. Tell me when you're uncertain.
Don't handle me. I'm not handling you. You're being very careful with me, she said, which I appreciate. But careful can become a kind of management if you're not paying attention. I need you to be honest the way I'm being honest with you.
He was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. Last week, he said, "My father told me I was making a fool of myself. He said it plainly at dinner in front of the ranch hand who was eating with us because we were short staffed. He said a Carter doesn't associate with servants. He said I was going to damage everything he'd spent 40 years building and that I clearly hadn't thought about anyone but myself.
Amelia was very still. What did you say? I said he was right that I hadn't thought about anyone but myself. Nathaniel said because it was the first time in 15 years that I was actually certain I was doing something that was mine. Not for the ranch, not for the family name.
Not for the county or the community or anyone's expectations. He paused. Mine? She felt something shift in her chest. She tried to identify it and couldn't quite only that it was large and complicated and had several things in it at once, including something very close to fear.
And your father," she said carefully. "Did he let it rest?" "No," Nathaniel said. "He's never let anything rest in his life." "He'll keep at it." He looked at her. "But he's not wrong that it'll get harder. He's never wrong about things getting harder.