The question was so small she almost missed what it meant. Her father had walked through gates all his life as if the land on the other side automatically belonged to him. Rachel looked at him. Then opened the gate.
"Yes."
He stepped through. Inside the foaling stall, Daisy stood over a long-legged filly, still uncertain about the arrangement of her own body. George crouched near the rail.
"Good shoulders."
Rachel leaned beside him. "Better feet."
He glanced at her. "Like you planned."
Rachel did not answer. George looked at the foal again. "I should have listened more."
The words were rough. Unpracticed. Rachel could have made him say more.
Could have asked whether he meant the horses. The debt. The years. She didn't.
Some apologies arrived all at once. Others came one board at a time. "She's got to eat," Rachel said.
George nodded. He stood at the gate. He stopped.
"Thank you."
Rachel looked at him.
"For letting me in."
Then he left. The first heavy snow came two weeks later. High Mesa turned white overnight. Fence rails disappeared beneath drifts.
Smoke from the ranch house chimney rose straight into a pale morning sky. Rachel spent most of the day checking mares, updating breeding records, and arguing with Ben over whether the stove in the new office needed another length of pipe. Near sunset, she rode toward the north fence. She knew where Matthew would be.
He was replacing a rail damaged by snow weight. Of course he was. Rachel found him standing beside the fence with a hammer in one hand. His coat was open despite the cold.
Snow clung to his shoulders. "You know ranch hands exist."
Matthew looked over. "So I've heard."
"They can mend fences."
"Rumor."
Rachel dismounted. The horse's breath steamed between them. Matthew set the hammer on the post.
"Everything all right?"
Rachel walked closer. "Yes."
He looked suspicious. "That usually means something's wrong."
"Not today."
A pause. Rachel had rehearsed this conversation twice. Both versions sounded foolish now. Matthew waited.
He was still good at that. Rachel looked at the snow beneath her boots. "I've been thinking about Crow Creek."
Matthew's face remained still. "Which time?"
"The second."
His eyebrows rose. "When I made a poor decision near the cottonwoods?"
"You asked me to marry you."
"That's the one."
Rachel looked up. Matthew's expression changed very slightly. He did not move toward her. She appreciated that.
"I told you no."
"I remember."
"I know."
Wind moved through the bare branches above them. Rachel folded her gloved hands. "I've changed my mind."
Matthew stared at her. For once in his life, the giant rancher appeared to have no words at all. Rachel almost smiled.