He did not.
By July, three women had confidently predicted the wedding date.
There was still no proposal.
In August, Lillian cornered him outside the mercantile.
Evelyn learned about the conversation much later.
“Are you ever going to ask my sister to marry you?”
James nearly dropped the sack of flour he was carrying.
“That seems like a private matter.”
“She thinks you don’t want her.”
James stared.
“What?”
“She thinks perhaps you realized she’s too old-fashioned or too plain or too—”
“Your sister is not plain.”
Lillian smiled.
James realized the trap.
“Damn it.”
“Exactly.”
He put the flour down.
“The whole town spent years telling her she had no choices. I’m not going to become another person deciding her future for her.”
Lillian’s expression softened.
“That may be the most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard a man say.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s also incredibly stupid.”
James frowned.
“How?”
“Because Evelyn doesn’t need you to decide for her.”
Lillian picked up the flour.
“She needs you to ask.”
Three nights later, James rode to Red Willow Creek.
Evelyn was repairing a section of fencing.
He dismounted.
“Evelyn.”
She glanced up.
“James.”
“I need to ask you something.”
She saw his expression.
Her heart nearly stopped.
He came closer.
“No speech?”
He smiled faintly.
“I had one.”
“What happened to it?”
“I forgot it somewhere between the house and the creek.”
She laughed.
Then he took her hand.
“I love you.”
The world became very still.
James continued.
“I don’t want your land.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you because of your father.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want someone to cook for me, clean for me or disappear so I can feel important.”
Her eyes filled.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
One word.
Everything.
He inhaled.
“Evelyn Hartwell, will you marry me?”
She studied him solemnly.
Then asked, “Will I get a chair?”
James stared at her.
She began laughing.
He pulled her into his arms.
“You can have every damned chair in Wyoming.”
She kissed him before he could say anything else.
And for the first time in her life, Evelyn chose someone without wondering whether choosing herself made her selfish.
They married the following spring.
Not in a church.
Not in the Hartwell house.
They married beneath the enormous cottonwood beside Red Willow Creek.
Lillian stood beside Evelyn.
James’s ranch hands built long tables beneath the trees.
Martha Bell sat in the front row.
Judge Barrow performed the ceremony.
Half of Cedar Ridge attended.
There were no servants.
Anyone who cooked ate first.
Anyone who poured wine had a glass poured for them.
And every single person had a chair.
Almost.
Twenty minutes before the ceremony, Evelyn noticed one empty seat in the front row.
She looked at Lillian.
“Who is missing?”
Lillian’s eyes moved toward the road.
Evelyn followed her gaze.
A small wagon approached.
One woman sat inside.
Beatrice.
Evelyn stopped breathing.
Her mother climbed down slowly.
She looked older.
Smaller.
She wore an ordinary gray dress.
No jewels.
No commanding posture.
She remained near the edge of the gathering, uncertain whether she was welcome.
Evelyn had not invited her.
