Someone who'd chosen to stay. not because she had to, but because she wanted to. "Come on," he said, taking her hand. "Let's go home." And together, they walked down the ridge toward the ranch, toward a future neither of them had dared to imagine just a few months before. Spring came slow that year, like like it was testing the ground before committing.
The snow retreated in patches, leaving mud and dead grass behind. The creek swelled with runoff, and the fields turned from white to brown to eventually a hesitant green. Wyatt and Ayla worked through it all, their hands raw from mending fences, their backs aching from hauling water and clearing debris left by the winter storms. But there was a lightness to the work now that hadn't been there before, a sense of building toward something instead of just holding on. They fell into an easy partnership, each knowing what the other needed without having to ask.
Wyatt would start a job and Ayla would appear with the right tool. She'd struggle with a heavy post and he'd step in to brace it. They moved around each other like dancers who'd practice the same routine a thousand times. One afternoon in early April, they were working on the north pasture fence when Ayla paused, leaning on her post digger. "You ever think about expanding the herd?"
Wyatt looked up from the wire he was stringing. "Thought about it. "Why?" This land could support more cattle, maybe sheep, too. And if we planted hay in the south field, we'd have feed through winter without having to buy it.
"We?" Wyatt repeated, a smile tugging at his mouth. Ayla flushed slightly. "I mean, if I'm staying, I should pull my weight. Help make this place profitable."
You already pull your weight, but yeah, those are good ideas. He went back to the wire, trying to hide how much that single word had meant to him. We like they were partners. Like this was as much hers as his. They finished the fence line as the sun started to dip, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Walking back to the ranch, Wyatt found himself watching her out of the corner of his eye. The way she moved, confident and sure-footed. The way her hair caught the last of the light, the way she smiled at something he'd said, a real smile that reached her eyes. He was falling for her. Had been for a while if he was honest.
But admitting it to himself was one thing. Doing something about it was another. That night after supper, they sat on the porch. The air was finally warm enough to be outside without freezing, and the stars were coming out one by one. Ayla had her feet pulled up under her, wrapped in a blanket, and Wyatt sat on the step below, his back against the post.
"Can I tell you something?" Ayla said, "Always." When I was running before I got to the train station, I kept thinking that if I could just get far enough away, I'd find some place where I belonged. Someplace where people would see me as more than just another drifter or a pair of hands to exploit. She paused, her voice softening.