“I’ve been told.”

They watched Clara chase chickens across the yard.

After a long silence Ethan said, “My proposal still stands.”

Mary looked at him.

“The one about your bed?”

He groaned.

“I was hoping we could permanently forget that wording.”

“I intend to mention it whenever possible.”

“For the rest of my life?”

Mary smiled.

“That depends.”

His expression changed.

Hope made him look younger.

“On what?”

She stepped closer.

“This time, ask properly.”

Ethan removed his hat.

He looked nervous.

The great Ethan Cole, who could face blizzards, stampeding cattle and armed men without trembling, suddenly could not seem to find words.

Mary waited.

Finally he said, “Mary Whitfield, I don’t need a housekeeper.”

“A promising beginning.”

“I don’t need someone to raise Sarah for me.”

“Better.”

“I don’t need saving.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“That may be debatable.”

He laughed.

Then his expression softened.

“I want you because this house sounds different when you’re inside it.”

Mary’s smile disappeared.

Ethan stepped closer.

“I want you because Clara climbs into my lap when she’s tired and because Sarah laughs again. Because you argue with me. Because you burn biscuits whenever you’re angry. Because every morning I wake up wondering whether I deserve one more day with you.”

Mary’s eyes filled.

“And because somewhere between Cedar Ridge and this ranch, I fell in love with the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

She whispered, “That was better.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You haven’t asked anything yet.”

“Oh.”

He took a breath.

“Mary Whitfield, will you marry me?”

She looked toward the yard.

Sarah and Clara had stopped chasing chickens.

Both girls were listening shamelessly.

Clara shouted, “Say yes!”

Sarah elbowed her.

“You’re supposed to let them have privacy.”

“You’re watching too!”

“I’m older.”

Mary laughed through her tears.

She turned back to Ethan.

“Yes.”

He kissed her.

Not desperately.

Not possessively.

Gently.

A promise rather than a claim.

The girls screamed with delight.

The chickens scattered.

And for several glorious seconds, the Double C Ranch was filled with nothing but laughter.

They married beneath the cottonwoods in May.

Nearly everyone in Cedar Ridge attended.

Mr. Miller supplied cakes.

The saloon owner brought six bottles of champagne he claimed had been intended for an important occasion and reluctantly admitted this qualified.

Sarah wore blue.

Clara wore yellow.

Ethan could not stop staring at Mary.

Halfway through the celebration, Sarah came running from the house carrying the wooden horse Thomas had carved.

“Mary!”

Mary turned.

“What is it?”

“There’s something inside!”

Ethan frowned.

“Inside what?”

Sarah showed them the horse.

One side had loosened.

Ethan carefully worked a thin blade into the seam.

The carving opened.

Inside was another tiny folded paper.

Mary stared.

Thomas.

Even after death, somehow Thomas kept speaking.

Her hands trembled as she unfolded it.

The message was short.

Only several lines.

Abigail had written them.

Mary read aloud.

“If Thomas ever learns Sarah lived, tell him I never stopped loving the boy he was. But if he has found happiness elsewhere, he must not destroy it out of guilt.”