Page 64 of Cowboy Mountain Man

Her hands settle on my shoulders. “What was that for?”

“You’re finished with the ladder.”

“How romantic.”

“Come down faster next time.”

She laughs. The sound reaches the barn, where June lifts her head over the stall door.

A year ago, I had a quiet house, two horses, and a kitchen that worked fine. Now I have plants along the porch rail, framed photographs on the walls, and a coffee maker that asks more questions than most witnesses.

I also have Hope’s boots beside mine. Every morning when I see them, I know exactly how lucky I am.

She spent three nights away this week, cataloging a collection in the Catskills. Came home yesterday with a bag of laundry, a box of pastries, and six photographs of a chair she insists is important.

I listened to all six explanations. Mostly while touching her. It helped.

“You’ve been very patient today,” she says.

“I’m always patient.”

She looks at the ladder. Then at me. “With reasonable people.”

“I’ll remember that.”

I carry the ladder to the shed while she goes inside. When I return, she has set two bowls on the kitchen table. Soup. Bread. The green lantern I repaired last fall glows between them.

“No anniversary dinner in town?” I ask. Not of our wedding. Of the day we met. I’ll never forget it.

She shakes her head. “I wanted this.”

I pull out her chair. She sits, then catches my hand before I can move away. “And you.”

I bend and kiss her forehead. “That part you’ve got.”

We married in June. Small ceremony. Alden stood beside me. Marin cried from the audience. And Hope’s sister stood beside her and told me she’d kept the original picture of my truck.

Just in case.

Hope laughed so hard she nearly missed her cue.

I keep a wedding photograph on my desk at Equinox. She’s looking up at me in it, smiling. I’m looking at her. Apparently, I did that through most of the ceremony.

After dinner, she leaves me to wash the bowls while she puts the bread away. It’s a fair arrangement. She made dinner. I’m enjoying the view.

“Harlan?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember when you told me you wanted breakfast with me?”

I turn off the tap. She stands beside the counter, twisting her wedding ring.

I dry my hands. “Every morning.”

“And you wanted to take me riding when nobody was chasing us.”

“We did that.”