"Want me to what?"
She almost laughed from sheer frustration.
"Want me, Nathan."
The reins shifted in his hands.
Neither horse seemed to notice that the world on the wagon seat had stopped.
Hannah looked at him.
"Your accounts are clean enough now."
"Mercer can't take the range."
"The books are in order."
"You know how many cattle you own."
"You even make drinkable coffee half the time."
"That's generous."
"Don't interrupt."
Nathan closed his mouth.
Hannah continued.
"You don't need me to save Black Pine."
"No."
"My brothers don't need me to save the Whitaker Ranch."
"They probably do."
"Nathan."
"Sorry."
She looked down at her hands.
The next words came harder.
"So if I come back, what am I there for?"
Nathan said nothing.
Hannah felt the old fear stir.
Not the fear of being mocked.
Not the fear of being abandoned beside a road.
Something quieter.
"What place do I have there when there's nothing left for me to fix?"
Nathan pulled the wagon to a stop.
They were halfway between ranches on a stretch of road beneath tall pines.
Snowmelt dripped from the branches.
The horses breathed softly.
Nathan set the brake.
Then he removed his hat.
Hannah looked at him.
He seemed suddenly uncertain.
This enormous man who could drag a steer through mud, break trail through snow, and make a room full of men think carefully before raising their voices.
His fingers tightened around the hat brim.
"I want you when you're useful."
Hannah's face fell slightly.
Nathan continued.
"And when you're not."
She stayed still.
"I want you when you're tired and angry and correcting me."
A pause.
"When you're laughing."
His eyes held hers.
"When you're wrong."
"That hasn't happened yet."
Nathan's mouth moved.
"Give it time."
Hannah laughed despite herself.
Nathan's voice softened.
"I want you when the books are closed."
Her smile faded.
"When there's no problem."
He looked down at his hat.
"When you're sitting at the table doing nothing at all."
Hannah's throat tightened.
Nathan looked back at her.
"I don't want a bookkeeper."
He hesitated.
"I don't want a cook."
Another breath.
"I don't want somebody who can save my ranch."
His voice had gone rough.
"I want Hannah."
For a moment, she could hear nothing but dripping snow.
No speech had ever frightened her more because there was nothing she could do to earn it.
Nothing she could fix to deserve it.
Nathan reached into his coat, then stopped.
His hand came back empty.
Hannah noticed.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"Wrong time."
"Nathan Cole."
He looked miserable.