"I know."
"You're not."
Matthew's eyebrows rose.
"Don't sound disappointed."
"I'm still considering it."
This time he laughed quietly. The same sound from the foaling stall. Later, as Matthew saddled her mare, Rachel noticed an older ranch hand watching from the barn.
He looked amused. Matthew noticed too. The man's face became instantly serious. Rachel bit the inside of her cheek.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Rachel."
She looked at him. Again with her first name. He tightened the cinch.
"You smile when you're trying not to."
"I do not."
"You are now."
She stopped. Matthew stepped back from the horse. His eyes were warm.
Rachel mounted. On the ride home, they spoke mostly about horses. That was safer. But safe had begun to feel less simple.
The following Sunday, Matthew waited outside church beside Rachel's wagon. Lillian came down the steps first. She paused. Matthew tipped his hat.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Then his eyes moved past her. Rachel was coming behind George carrying the horse book beneath one arm because she had been reading it during the wagon ride. Matthew's face changed only slightly.
But Lillian saw. Rachel saw Lillian see. For the first time, there was no reasonable way to pretend. Matthew Hail was not repeatedly finding himself near Rachel Hart by accident.
He was choosing to be there. Rachel, standing beneath the bare cottonwoods with the book held against her chest, had no idea what to do with a man who kept choosing her when her sister was standing right beside them. By the time spring finally reached Cedar Ridge, there was no hiding the change. Snow withdrew into the shaded gullies.
The wagon road turned from ice to mud. Cottonwood buds showed green along the creek. Matthew Hail kept coming. Not every day.
Not often enough to make it improper. Just often enough that people began surrounding stories around it. George helped them. Rachel learned that at the feed store when Mr. Daly leaned across the counter.
"Hear High Mesa may soon have a mistress."
Rachel looked up from the invoice in her hand. "You hear all kinds of things in here."
Daly grinned. "Your pa seems pleased."
Rachel folded the receipt. "Pa is pleased when people talk about him."
"Fair enough."
She carried the feed order outside. Lillian was waiting beside the wagon.
"What did he say?"
"Nothing worth repeating."
Lillian looked toward the store window. "Was it about Matthew?"
Rachel set the sack down. "Does it matter?"
Lillian's face tightened. It was the first time Rachel noticed something beneath her sister's confidence that looked almost like uncertainty.
"He hasn't said anything to me," Lillian said.
Rachel turned. "About what?"
"Anything."
The word came sharper than Lillian meant. Rachel waited. Lillian looked down at her gloves.
"Everyone assumes."