But when she left, he had let her go. When people talked, he had not claimed her. When Mercer insulted her, Everett had defended her judgment without speaking for her. And when she returned, he had not asked whether she had come back to him. He had simply made room beside him.
Rebecca looked toward the western road. Far beyond the roofs of Copper Ridge, the Wind River Mountains had turned dark blue beneath the evening sky. I burned bread after I left, she said. Everett blinked. What?
Two whole pans. The corner of his mouth moved. That serious? Very. He looked down at his hands.
I wasn't eating much. I heard Franklin talks too much. Harvey does too. Everett smiled. Rebecca did then.
Small at first, then enough that Everett's smile disappeared, replaced by that quiet look he had worn the first night at Miller's Crossing. Rebecca stood. I need to open the shed tomorrow. Everett rose beside her. Need help?
She considered him with the flower barrels. Only the flower barrels for now. Everett put on his hat. Yes, ma'am. Rebecca started down the boardwalk.
After three steps, she stopped. Everett waited. She held out her hand. For one heartbeat, the enormous cowboy only looked at it. Then he placed his hand around hers with such care that Rebecca remembered a stormy station floor, an injured ranch hand, and a frightening looking stranger whose gentleness she had noticed before she knew his name.
They walked toward Harvey Sloan's forge without hurrying. Behind them, Commissioner Dyer's written order dried beneath the blotter. Upstream, men were already taking shovels to Mercer's illegal bank. And somewhere beyond town, water that had been stolen in darkness was beginning its journey home. 3 weeks later, the first real snow came down from the Wind River Mountains.
It began as a thin white dust along the fence rails, then thickened until the road north of Copper Ridge disappeared beneath the horse's hooves. Rebecca sat beside Everett in the ranch wagon with a wool blanket over her knees and her recipe box tucked safely beneath the seat. He had refused to tell her where they were going.” You've been quiet for 6 miles, “she said. Everett kept his eyes on the road.” I've been accused of talking too much. “” By whom? “” You. “Rebecca looked at him.” I have never accused you of talking too much.
Then I must be improving. She laughed before she could stop herself. Everett's mouth lifted. The wagon climbed another low ridge. Then Rebecca saw the station.
Miller's crossing. Its roof had been repaired since summer. A narrow thread of smoke rose from the chimney and three horses stood beneath the leanto with their backs turned against the snow. Rebecca stopped smiling. Everett drew the team to a halt.
For a moment, neither moved. The last time she had stood here, rain had hammered the roof hard enough to drown conversation. Everett had come through that door, carrying another man's weight, soaked and bleeding, too exhausted to lift his spoon without effort. She had been going west toward a job that did not exist. Neither of them had known it.
Everett climbed down and came around the wagon. Rebecca accepted his hand. His palm was warm despite the cold. Inside, the station keeper recognized them immediately. “Well,” Mr.
Miller said, setting down the newspaper he had been reading beside the stove. “I wondered whether I'd see you two again.” Rebecca brushed snow from her shoulders. Everett removed his hat. “You remember us?” Miller stared at him. Son, you're 6 and 1/2 ft tall.