Why? Because missing someone means you’re attached to them.

An attachment is dangerous when nothing is certain.

Colt turned to look at her.

What would make it certain? Evelyn met his eyes, and he saw the war happening behind them.

the part of her that wanted to believe in possibilities, fighting against the part that had learned the hard way not to hope for too much.

I don’t know, she whispered.

I don’t know if anything can be certain in this world.

Then maybe we just do our best and see what happens.

That’s a gamble.

Everything’s a gamble.

At least this one has good odds.

She smiled, but it was tinged with sadness.

You’re an optimist, Colt Harlo.

And you’re a pessimist, Evelyn Hart.

I’m a realist.

Maybe we balance each other out then.

Evelyn leaned against his shoulder just slightly, just enough that he could feel her warmth through the fabric of his shirt.

It was the first time she’d initiated physical contact, and Colt held perfectly still, afraid that moving might break whatever spell had allowed it.

Maybe, she said softly.

They sat there until full dark, neither of them willing to be the first to leave.

Both of them knowing that something had shifted between them, something fragile and precious and terrifying.

September came in with cooler nights, and the first hints that summer’s brutality was finally loosening its grip.

The cottonwoods along Willow Creek started showing touches of gold, and the air carried the promise of autumn.

Colt had saved enough money.

The land he wanted, 20 acres with good water and decent grazing, was available, and the owner was willing to sell at a price Colt could afford if he emptied his savings and committed himself to a future in Broken Creek.

It should have been an easy decision.

This was what he’d worked toward for 5 years.

This was the dream, the goal, the entire point of every sacrifice he’d made.

But now there was Evelyn, and Evelyn complicated everything.

He tried to explain it to Sheriff Brennan one afternoon while they sat outside the jail watching the town move through its daily chaos.

“You’re overthinking it,” Brennan said, whittling a piece of wood into something that might eventually be a bird or might just be a very optimistic stick.

“You want the land, you want the girl.

Buy the land.

Court the girl.

See if she’ll have you.

” Simple.

Nothing about Evelyn is simple.

True.

That woman’s got more walls than a fort, and she’s got good reasons for every single one.

Brennan examined his whittling critically, but she’s let you past some of them, hasn’t she? Some, maybe? Then keep going.

But Colt, you need to understand something about women like Evelyn Hart.

The sheriff set down his knife and turned to face him directly.

She’s been hurt.

Not just poor, not just struggling, actually hurt by life in ways that leave marks you can’t see.

That kind of hurt makes people cautious.

And you can’t rush cautious.

You push too hard, she’ll bolt.

You don’t push at all.

She’ll assume you’re not serious.

So, what do I do? You be patient.

You be honest.

And when you make a move, you make damn sure it’s the right one because you probably won’t get a second chance.

Colt turned those words over in his mind for the next week, looking for the right approach, the right timing, the right words.

The opportunity came on a Sunday in late September.

They were walking their usual path, the Cottonwoods, now fully gold and dropping leaves into the creek like scattered coins.

Evelyn had been quieter than usual, her responses to his conversation attempts distracted and brief.

Finally, Colt stopped walking.

What’s wrong? Nothing, Evelyn.

She turned to face him, and he saw something in her expression that made his stomach drop.

A kind of resigned defeat that he’d seen once before when he’d asked her about the dress.

“The widow is selling the boarding house,” she said flatly.

“New owner takes possession in 6 weeks.

He’s bringing his own staff.

” Colt felt the bottom drop out of his world.

“What are you going to do?” “I don’t know.

” Her voice was steady, but he could see her hands shaking.

Look for other work, I suppose.

Mrs.

Henderson mentioned that the hotel might need kitchen help, or maybe the merkantile, or she trailed off, and they both knew what came after, or the saloons, the cribs, the places where desperate women went when all other options ran out.

marry me.

The words came out before Colt had fully formed the thought, raw and unplanned and completely sincere.

Evelyn went absolutely still.

What? Marry me.

I’m buying land, 20 acres with water and timber.

I’ll build us a house.

You won’t have to work for anyone else.

You won’t have to worry about where you’ll go or what you’ll do.

You’ll be safe.

” For a long moment, Evelyn just stared at him.

Then, without warning, her face crumpled and she started crying.

Not delicate tears, but great heaving sobs that shook her entire body.

Colt stood frozen, horrified.

This was not the reaction he’d expected or hoped for.

“I’m sorry,” he started, reaching for her.

“I didn’t mean to.

Don’t.

” She stepped back, holding up a hand to ward him off.

“Don’t touch me right now, Evelyn.

I You want to save me?” Her voice was thick with tears and something harder.

Anger maybe or betrayal.

That’s what this is.

You see poor desperate Evelyn who’s about to lose her position and you think I’ll rescue her.

I’ll be the hero who saves the damsel in distress.

That’s not isn’t it? She swiped at her eyes angrily.

Be honest, Colt.

If the widow wasn’t selling the boarding house, would you have proposed today? The question hung between them like a knife.

Colt wanted to say yes.

He wanted to say that he’d been planning to propose anyway, that the timing was just coincidence, but Evelyn had asked for honesty and she deserved it.

I don’t know, he admitted.

Maybe not today, but soon.

I was working up to it.

Working up to it? She laughed bitterly.

That’s perfect.

You were working up to proposing to me like it’s a job that needs doing, and then my crisis comes along and provides the perfect excuse to accelerate your timeline.

It’s not like that.

Then what is it like? Explain it to me.

Because from where I’m standing, it looks like charity.

And I told you, Colt.

I told you from the beginning, I can’t accept charity.

Not even from you.

Especially not from you.

It’s not charity.

Colt said, his own frustration rising.

I care about you.

You feel sorry for me.

There’s a difference.

No, I do.

You love me? The question came out sharp and challenging.

Because marriage is supposed to be about love, isn’t it? So, do you love me, Colt Harlo? Or do you just think I’m a good investment for your new ranch, a built-in housekeeper and cook who will work for free? The words were deliberately cruel, designed to hurt, and they succeeded.

“That’s not fair,” Colt said quietly.

“Nothing about this is fair.

” Evelyn’s voice cracked.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me.

You think you’re offering me safety, but you’re asking me to trade one kind of dependence for another.

Right now, I work for the widow.

I get paid.

Not much, but it’s mine.

I can leave if I want to.

If I marry you, I become your property.

You control everything.

Where I live, what I do, who I see.

And if you turn out to be cruel or indifferent, or you just get tired of me, I have no recourse.

None.

I can’t divorce you.

I can’t leave without being ruined.

I can’t even legally own property in my own name.

I would never.

You don’t know what you do.

She was fully crying now, tears streaming down her face.

Men say they’d never hurt their wives, and then they do.

They say they’ll cherish and protect, and then they abandon or abuse or just slowly grind the life out of women until there’s nothing left but empty shells going through the motions.

Is that what you think I’d do? I don’t know.

That’s the problem.

I don’t know.

I’ve known you for 2 months, Colt.

Two months of Sunday walks and nice conversations.

That’s not enough time to know someone.

It’s not enough time to bet your entire life on.

Then what would be enough time? 6 months, a year, 5 years? Colt heard his voice rising and tried to control it because you’re right.

Nothing is certain.

I could court you for 5 years and still turn out to be someone other than who you thought I was.

Or you could be someone other than I think.

That’s the risk of being human.

We can’t know everything.

Then why are you asking me to gamble everything on you when you’re not risking anything close to the same? The question stopped him cold.

What do you mean? Evelyn wiped her eyes, her expression hardening into something that looked like resignation.

If this marriage doesn’t work out, you lose a wife.

Maybe you’re disappointed.

Maybe you’re inconvenienced.

But you still have your land.

You still have your freedom.

You can move on, but if it doesn’t work out for me, I lose everything.

I can’t get unmarried.

I can’t get my independence back.

I’d be a used woman.

Damaged goods, unmarriageable to anyone else.

That’s not a fair gamble, Colt.

The stakes are completely different.

Colt stood there, Evelyn’s words hitting him like physical blows.

He’d never thought about it that way.

how marriage, which was supposed to be a partnership, was actually a profoundly unequal transaction where women risked everything and men risked relatively little.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

“You’re right.

I didn’t think about I just saw you in trouble and wanted to help.

That’s not the same as thinking it through.

” Evelyn nodded slowly, some of the fight draining out of her.

“I know you meant well, but meaning well isn’t enough.

It’s never enough.

” They stood there in the golden September afternoon, the creek running beside them.

The future that had seemed within reach, now shattered into pieces neither of them knew how to put back together.

“So, what do we do?” Colt asked quietly.

Evelyn looked at him with eyes that held a lifetime of weariness.

“I don’t know.

I need time to think.

I need She trailed off, then shook her head.

I just need time.

” All right.

And Colt, don’t wait for me.

If you meet someone else, someone who isn’t so complicated and broken and terrified of everything, don’t pass that up on my account.

There isn’t anyone else.

There could be.

I don’t want anyone else.

Evelyn smiled sadly.

You say that now.

She turned and walked away, leaving Colt standing alone beside the creek, watching her faded green dress disappear through the cottonwoods like smoke.

And for the first time since coming to Montana, Colt Harllo had no idea what to do next.

The days after their argument crawled by like wounded animals.

Colt bought the land anyway.

20 acres of creek bottom and timber purchased with every penny he’d saved over 5 years of backbreaking work.

The deed sat in his saddle bag like an accusation.

Proof that he was moving forward with his plans while the woman he’d asked to share them wouldn’t even look at him.

He saw her once from a distance carrying water from the town pump.

She didn’t see him or pretended not to, and Colt let her go without calling out.

Evelyn had asked for time, and he [clears throat] was trying to give it to her, even though every instinct he had screamed to fix this, to make it right, to find some way to prove he wasn’t the threat she thought he was.

Sheriff Brennan found him 3 days later sitting outside the saloon with a half empty bottle that he wasn’t really drinking from, just holding like a prop.

“Heard you bought the Morrison Creek parcel,” Brennan said, settling onto the bench beside him.

“Yeah, also heard you proposed to Evelyn Hart and she turned you down.

” Colt shot him a look.

This town can’t keep anything quiet, can it? Not when the boarding house cooks her sister, who tells the merkantile owner’s wife, who tells everyone who listen.

Brennan studied him with those sharp eyes that saw too much.

You doing all right? Fine.

That’s a lie, but I’ll let it stand.

The sheriff was quiet for a moment.

She didn’t say no, you know.

She didn’t say yes either.

She said she needed time.

That’s not the same as a rejection.

Colt took a drink he didn’t want.

She said marriage would make her my property, that I’d control everything and she’d have no recourse if I turned out to be a bastard.

Hard to come back from that kind of assessment.

She’s not wrong, though.

Legally speaking, that’s exactly what happens.

I know that, but I wouldn’t You wouldn’t control her.

You wouldn’t hurt her.

You wouldn’t grind the life out of her until she’s just a shell.

I know that, Colt.

You know that, but she doesn’t know that.

Not for certain.

And the whole structure of society tells her she should be terrified of making a mistake.

Colt set the bottle down harder than he meant to.

So what do I do? How do I prove I’m not going to be that kind of husband when the entire legal system is designed to give me all the power? Brennan was quiet for a long time.

When he finally spoke, his voice was thoughtful.

You know what the problem is? You asked her to marry you when she was vulnerable.

When she was scared about losing her position.

So now she can’t separate your proposal from her crisis, and she’s wondering if you’d have wanted her at all if she wasn’t desperate.

I would have.

I was planning to propose anyway, but you didn’t.

You waited until she was in trouble, and then you offered marriage like a solution to a problem instead of a natural expression of how you feel about her.

The words settled in Colt’s chest like stones.

I didn’t mean it that way.

I know, but it’s how it looked, and looking matters almost as much as meaning.

Brennan stood stretching his back.

You want my advice? Stop trying to save her.

She doesn’t need saving.

She needs partnership.

Show her you see her as an equal, not a charity case.

And for the love of all that’s holy, tell the woman you love her if you do, because she asked you point blank and you dodged the question.

I didn’t dodge.

You talked about caring, about investment, about risk.

You gave her everything except the one thing she actually asked for.

The sheriff tipped his hat.

“Think about it, Harlo.

” He walked away, leaving Colt alone with his thoughts and his half- empty bottle and the uncomfortable realization that Brennan was absolutely right.

Evelyn had asked if he loved her, and he talked around it like a coward.

The truth was, he did love her.

He’d probably loved her since that first Sunday walk when she’d smiled at him like she was remembering what hope felt like.

But saying it out loud made it real.

And making it real meant being vulnerable.

And Colt Harlo had spent his entire adult life avoiding vulnerability like it was poison.

Because vulnerability meant someone could hurt you.

And he’d been [clears throat] hurt enough for one lifetime.

But sitting there on that bench watching the sun set over his new land, Colt realized something important.

Evelyn was vulnerable every single day of her life.

She couldn’t afford not to be.

And she was still brave enough to keep trying, to keep hoping, to let him past her walls even when everything in her experience told her not to.

The least he could do was match that courage.

He stood up, left the bottle on the bench, and started walking toward the boarding house with purpose for the first time in days.

But when he got there, the widow Pritchard met him at the door with an expression that made his stomach drop.

She’s not here.

Where is she? Gone to stay with Mrs.

Henderson for a few days.

Said she needed some distance to think.

The widow’s eyes were shrewd.

You hurt that girl, Mr.

Harlo? Not intentionally.

Intention doesn’t always matter.

What matters is whether you’re going to fix it.

I’m trying to.

Then try harder.

She started to close the door, then paused.

For what it’s worth, Evelyn talks about you.

Not much.

That girl keeps her thoughts close, but enough that I know you matter to her.

She’s scared, Mr.

Harlo.

Not of you specifically, but of what you represent.

Can’t say I blame her.

The door closed, leaving Colt standing in the gathering darkness with more questions than answers.

3 days later, Colt found himself sitting across from Martha Henderson in her small parlor, accepting tea he didn’t want, and trying to figure out how to ask if he could see the woman staying with her without sounding like a stalker.

“Mrs.

Henderson solved the problem for him.

” “She’s in the back garden,” the older woman said, setting down her teacup with a decisive click.

been out there for an hour staring at my tomato plants like they hold the secrets of the universe.

You want to talk to her? Go ahead.

But Mr.

Harlo, if you upset her any more than she already is, I’ll take a skillet to your head.

Are we clear? Yes, ma’am.

He found Evelyn exactly where Mrs.

Henderson said she’d be, sitting on a wooden bench surrounded by rows of late season vegetables.

She looked up when she heard his footsteps, and something complicated crossed her face.

Not quite pleasure, not quite dismay.

Something caught between the two.

Colt, can I sit? She hesitated, then nodded.

Colt lowered himself onto the bench, leaving space between them, acutely aware of every inch of distance.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Colt said finally.

“Not for proposing.

I’m not sorry for that.

but for the timing, for making it look like I was trying to rescue you instead of asking you to build a life with me.

Evelyn’s hands twisted in her lap.

You don’t have to apologize.

Yeah, I do because Brennan was right.

I asked you to marry me when you were vulnerable, and that wasn’t fair.

It made it look like my proposal was about your situation instead of about you, wasn’t it, though? At least partly.

Her voice was quiet but steady.

Be honest, Colt.

If I wasn’t about to lose my position, would you have proposed that day? No, but I would have proposed soon.

I was working up the courage.

Courage? She said the word like she was testing its weight.

What were you afraid of? You saying no? You saying yes for the wrong reasons, saying the words out loud and making it real.

He turned to look at her directly.

But mostly I was afraid of this, of you looking at me like you’re not sure whether to trust me or run from me.

Evelyn’s expression softened slightly.

I don’t want to run from you.

But you don’t trust me either.

I want to.

The admission seemed to cost her something.

I want to trust that you’re different, that you mean what you say, that you won’t turn into someone else once you have legal control over my life.

But Colt, wanting to trust someone and actually trusting them are two different things.

What would it take for you to trust me? She was quiet for a long time, staring at the tomato plants like they might have answers.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

I don’t know if anything would be enough.

The law is what it is.

Marriage gives you all the power, and no amount of promises changes that legal reality.

Colt felt frustration rising, but pushed it down.

Getting angry wouldn’t help.

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