"That sounds unbearable."
"It can be."
Rachel almost smiled. He did not.
"I don't know how to do this part."
"What part?"
"Ask you for something I can't earn by working harder."
The creek moved behind them. Rachel felt very still. Matthew stepped closer. Not enough to crowd her.
Enough that she could see the faint scar at his jaw again. "I want you at High Mesa."
Rachel's fingers tightened around her gloves. Matthew continued before she could answer. "Not because I need someone to keep house."
"Ben would be offended if I suggested that."
That pulled a breath of laughter from her. Then it disappeared.
"I want your judgment. Your temper. Your habit of arguing when I deserve it."
"I don't argue that much."
"You do."
Rachel looked at him. Matthew's expression softened. "I want mornings where you're there before I ride out."
"I want to come back and tell you when I've made a bad decision before I spend three days pretending it was a good one."
Her throat tightened.
"I want to build something with you."
He stopped. Then, plain and direct, "Rachel Hart, will you marry me?"
The world did not change. No thunder. No church bells. A bird moved through the branches above them.
Rachel stared at Matthew. Three months earlier, she had burned the word marriage from her ledger. Now the man half the county thought too wealthy, too intimidating, too difficult to court anyone was standing beside Crow Creek asking her for exactly that. She should have said yes.
Every story she had ever been told said this was the moment a woman waited for. A good man. Land. Security.
A name people respected. And he wanted her. Rachel's eyes lowered to his hands. Those hands had followed her instructions in the foaling stall.
Had held a wagon wheel steady in freezing water. Had waited for a frightened colt to choose him. Matthew was not Jacob Mason. He was not any of the men who had talked to Rachel until Lillian entered a room.
That was what made the answer hurt.
"No."
Matthew did not move. Rachel could hear the creek. She could hear one of the horses tearing grass.
Nothing else.
He said, "No?"
Rachel forced herself to meet his eyes. "No."
His jaw tightened. Not anger. Pain held carefully in place.
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
Matthew waited. Rachel pressed her gloves together between both hands. "I've spent my whole life being the useful one."
His brows drew together. "Rachel—"
"Let me finish."
He stopped. She breathed. "Pa needs something, I do it."
"A horse is sick, I handle it. Feed runs short, I make the numbers work. Lillian has a dress to alter, I sew it."
"Jacob Mason wants to understand a bloodline, he asks me. Then he marries her."
Matthew looked away briefly. Rachel continued. "I know you see more than that."