Remembering you isn't exactly labor. Rebecca covered a smile with her glove. Everett looked mildly wounded. They drank coffee from chipped white mugs while the horses rested. Then Everett asked Rebecca to step outside.
Snow had softened the whole valley. The wagon road was almost silent now. The mountains hidden behind low gray clouds. Everett walked toward the side of the station where the summers storm had first driven them together. Rebecca followed.
He stopped beneath the overhang. “This is where you were standing,” he said. “When when you brought me that bowl.” Rebecca glanced at the wall. “You remember exactly where?” “Yes, you were nearly unconscious. Apparently, not enough.” She folded her arms against the cold.
Everett Hail, did you bring me all the way out here to discuss Stew? No. His voice changed just enough that she stopped teasing him. He took off his gloves. For a man who could lift a flower barrel without breathing hard, he suddenly seemed to have difficulty deciding what to do with his hands.
Rebecca waited. I've been thinking about something since the hearing. That sounds dangerous, probably. He looked toward the mountains, then back at her. I want you at Hail Creek.
Rebecca said nothing. Not because I need somebody cooking. Franklin could find a cook. That poor cook. Everett almost smiled.
Then the seriousness returned. And not because I think you need someone to provide for you. Rebecca's arms slowly unfolded. Everett continued, “I've watched you build something out of a shed Harvey Sloan was using to store broken wagon rims. I've watched freigherss change their route because they knew you'd have food ready.
I've watched men twice your age ask your judgment after spending a month pretending they didn't need it.” Snow collected along his shoulders. I don't want to take any of that from you. Rebecca's throat tightened. Everett looked directly at her. But when something happens on my land, I look for you.
When I don't know whether I'm seeing a problem clearly, I want to hear what you see. When I come home at night, he paused. Rebecca waited. The place feels different if you're not there. No grand speech followed.
That was Everett. He simply stood in the snow and let the words remain what they were. I want to make a life with you, Rebecca. Her breath left slowly. I want your judgment beside mine.
Your work beside mine, your stubbornness, too, though I expect that'll cost me. It will, I figured, and my business. Everett hesitated. Rebecca saw the answer forming before he spoke. You wouldn't need to keep working that shed.
There it was. Rebecca looked down. Everett's face changed immediately. I said that wrong. You said what you meant.
No. She met his eyes. I won't close it. Everett. He nodded once.
I know. I spent too many years waiting for somebody to decide whether I was worth hiring. That shed isn't pretty, but it is mine. I know I won't trade one man's judgment for another man's permission. Even yours.