Why not? The question hung between them. Norah was quiet for so long that Silas thought she might not answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, rougher, because every time I do, every time I'm honest about what I am, men run or laugh or h She trailed off. I've been engaged three times, Mr. Boon.
Three times. And three times, once they saw me in person, once they understood that I wasn't exaggerating or being modest, they found reasons to call it off. The last one's mother told him, "No man wants to wake up next to a draft horse." He agreed with her. The words hit Silas like a physical blow.
He thought about his own omissions, his own fears. "I'm not exactly what I presented either," he said quietly. "My letters made it sound like I chose this life, like solitude was a preference, not a," he struggled for the word. "Penance," Norah replied. "Punishment," he corrected.
For being too small, too weak, too scared. He jerked his head around to look at her, but there was no mockery in her face, only understanding. How did you? Because I've been scared every day of my life, Mr. Boon. Scared that I'm too much, that I take up too much space, need too much, am too much of everything good women aren't supposed to be.
She looked at him directly now. I thought maybe if I could get far enough away to a place where nobody knew me, I could just be normal. Or at least pretend to be. And now, now I realize there's no running from what you are. Her smile was sad.
I'll always be too big. You'll always be too small. Question is whether we're fool enough to think two wrongs might make something right. It was harsh, but honest. Silas appreciated the honesty.
He'd had enough of lies. Even the gentle ones people told themselves. "My ranch is 12 miles out," he said. "By the time we get there, we'll both know if this is a mistake." "And if it is, then I'll take you back to town tomorrow and pay for your ticket home.
I'm not a rich man, but I'm not a cruel one either." Norah nodded slowly. "Fair enough." They rode on. The landscape changed gradually as they left the valley.
Grassland giving way to rolling hills dotted with pine, then to rougher country, where sandstone formations rose like ancient sentinels. The afternoon sun beat down with the particular intensity of high summer in Montana, and Silas watched from the corner of his eye as Norah removed her bonnet, then loosened the collar of her dress, seemingly unconcerned with propriety. Sweat beaded on her forehead, darkened the fabric under her arms, but she didn't complain. You're used to hard work, he observed. Farm girl, she said, born and raised in Missouri.