I said I can manage it. I know. There was no challenge in his voice. That somehow made it worse. Rebecca brushed dust from her skirt.
People get uncomfortable, she said. Everett waited. When a woman takes up more room than they've decided she deserves. His eyes changed slightly. Not surprise.
Understanding. Who? It doesn't matter. It matters if it happened here. I'm not giving you a name so you can go marching across somebody's yard looking like judgment day.
His eyebrow lifted. Despite herself, Rebecca nearly smiled. Nearly. I have managed comments before, Everett. I know.
I managed them before I knew you. I know that, too. Then stop saying you know. All right. The quiet stretched between them.
A horse shifted inside the barn. Rebecca looked toward the dark pasture. I don't need you correcting every person who looks at me wrong. I wasn't planning to. She turned.
No. No. He leaned one shoulder against the wagon. For a man his size, Everett could become remarkably still. You told me yesterday not to interfere.
I did, so I didn't. Rebecca remembered his boots stopping behind her when Owen made the joke, then moving away. You listened. You sounded like you meant it. I did.
I figured believing you was more respectful than rescuing you. That silenced her. Everett looked toward the trunk, then back at her. But hauling that thing around because somebody made you angry isn't independence. It's punishing your own back.
Rebecca folded her arms. You always this irritating? Not with everybody. There it was again. That small dry edge beneath his seriousness.
Rebecca looked away before he could see her expression soften. After a moment, she said. She implied,” You must be desperate. “Everett's face became unreadable for company, Rebecca added. He understood the rest without needing it repeated.
His jaw shifted. Rebecca waited for anger. Instead, he looked down at his own hands. When I was 14, he said, I was already taller than most grown men. She had not expected that.
By 17, strangers would walk up and ask how much I weighed. Men I'd never met wanted to arm wrestle me. Some wanted to fight me just so they could tell people they'd fought the Hailboy. He flexed one hand slowly. First ranch I worked away from home.
The owner hired me before he asked if I knew cattle. Rebecca watched him. He just looked at my shoulders and decided what I was good for. The night seemed quieter. Everett raised his eyes.
People see something different and decide it belongs to them. They comment on it, measure it, judge it. Sometimes they think they're complimenting you. Rebecca's arms slowly unfolded. Did you fight them some?