Chapter 11 - The Woman Ethan Chose
The rumor became impossible by breakfast.
A cake appeared.
Then flowers.
Then a dressmaker.
Martha found all three waiting outside the Callaway kitchen.
She stared at Ethan.
“This is your fault.”
“My fault?”
“Your town.”
“I live twenty miles away.”
“Convenient.”
Ruth sat happily drinking tea.
“You could stop the rumor.”
“So could you.”
“I’m ill.”
“You walked downstairs without help.”
“A temporary miracle.”
Martha pointed at her.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Ethan walked outside.
Martha followed.
“You’re escaping again.”
“I’m checking fences.”
“You checked them yesterday.”
“I’m checking more carefully.”
She folded her arms.
“Ethan.”
He stopped.
The humor faded.
“We should talk.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It probably will be.”
They walked to the barn.
Ethan leaned against the door.
“I don’t want you embarrassed.”
“I survived being called buffalo girl for fifteen years. Engagement rumors are easy.”
His jaw tightened at the nickname.
Martha noticed.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Get angry for me.”
“I’m allowed.”
“No. You’re allowed to get angry because cruelty bothers you. Not because I need defending.”
He nodded.
“All right.”
That answer surprised her.
Most men argued when corrected.
Ethan listened.
Dangerous quality.
He took off his hat.
“Martha, do you want me to deny it?”
The question was simple.
The answer was not.
She looked toward the mountains.
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
“That’s reassuring.”
He smiled faintly.
“I know I want you here.”
She looked at him.
“I know I think about whether you’ve eaten.”
“Very romantic.”
“I know when you leave a room, I notice.”
Martha stopped joking.
“I know I trust you with my mother more than anyone alive.”
His voice dropped.
“And I know the idea of you riding back to Ridgewater when this is finished feels wrong.”
Martha’s chest tightened.
Ethan stepped closer.
“But I don’t know how to ask a woman like you to stay without making it sound like another job.”
“A woman like me?”
“Strong enough to know the difference.”
For years men had called Martha strong when they meant useful.
Strong enough to carry laundry.
Strong enough to work alone.
Strong enough not to need tenderness.
Ethan meant something else.
He respected her choice.
That mattered.
Before Martha could answer, a horse galloped into the yard.
The federal marshal dismounted.
“Morrow was seen near the south pass.”
Ethan’s expression changed instantly.
“How long ago?”
“Two hours.”
“Headed where?”
The marshal looked toward the ranch house.
“Here.”
They fortified the property.
Ranch hands positioned themselves near the barn.
Ruth refused to leave.
Martha stayed beside her.
Night came.
Nothing happened.
Midnight.
Still nothing.
At two, Ethan entered the kitchen.
“He’s not coming.”
Martha looked at him.
“He wants you tired.”
“Probably.”
“He knows you’ll stay awake.”
“Yes.”
“Then sleep.”
“No.”
“Ethan.”
“No.”
She sighed.
“Fine.”
Martha made coffee.
They sat together.
Around three, a dog barked.
Ethan stood.
Then glass shattered upstairs.
Ruth screamed.
Martha ran.
Smoke filled the hallway.
A burning bottle had landed inside Ruth’s room.
Martha grabbed a blanket and smothered the flames.
Ethan reached the window.
A figure ran toward the trees.
“Morrow!”
Ethan raised his rifle.
Martha caught the barrel.
“Too far.”
“He’ll come back.”
“Yes.”
“And next time?”
“We make sure he finds what he’s looking for.”
Ethan turned.
“What?”
Martha looked at the blackened floor.
Morrow had become desperate.
Desperate men could be led.
The next morning, Ridgewater heard Martha Boone had decided to sell the north ridge.
The news spread deliberately.
By noon, Martha sat in the bank office with Charles Vale’s replacement discussing paperwork.
Ethan waited outside.
The marshal hid in the back room.
Martha signed nothing.
But word leaked exactly as intended.
At sunset, a message arrived.
Come to the north ridge cabin alone. Bring the deed.
Martha smiled.
Ethan did not.
“I hate your plans.”
“They work.”
“They involve you being bait.”
“I’m difficult bait.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
Martha touched his arm.
“I’ll be all right.”
His eyes held hers.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
“I’m coming.”
“I assumed.”
“You told Morrow you’d be alone.”
“I lie occasionally.”
“Good.”
They reached the north ridge cabin after dark.
Martha entered.
Morrow emerged from behind the stove.
He looked exhausted.
His beard had grown.
His eyes were wild.
“Deed?”
Martha held an envelope.
“First tell me why.”
“Why what?”
“Why help Price?”
Morrow laughed.
“Money.”
“That simple?”
“Usually.”
“You helped poison Ruth.”
“I never touched her.”
“You helped cover it.”
He shrugged.
“Everybody has a price.”
Martha looked almost pitying.
“That’s what men like you tell yourselves because it’s easier than admitting some people won’t sell.”
His face hardened.
“Deed.”
She tossed the envelope onto the table.
Morrow opened it.
Blank paper.
His eyes lifted.
Martha smiled.
“You should have checked the windows.”
Ethan appeared outside with the marshal.
Morrow grabbed Martha.
Knife at her throat.
Ethan stopped.
“Let her go.”
“Back up!”
Martha remained perfectly still.
“Morrow.”
“Shut up.”
“You know what your problem is?”
“I said shut up.”
“You keep assuming women are helpless when you’re holding them.”
She drove her elbow backward.
Morrow grunted.
The knife moved.
Martha twisted.
Ethan rushed in.
Seconds later Morrow was on the floor.
The marshal handcuffed him.
Martha touched her neck.
A thin scratch.
Nothing more.
Ethan saw it.
His face went white.
“Martha.”
“I’m fine.”
He pulled her into his arms.
No hesitation.
No embarrassment.
Martha froze.
Then relaxed against him.
Morrow laughed from the floor.
“Callaway finally found himself a bride.”
Ethan looked down at him.
Then back at Martha.
Something changed.
He did not let go.
The marshal took Morrow outside.
Martha whispered, “You can release me now.”
“I know.”
He didn’t.
“Ethan.”
“Yes?”
“You’re making the rumor worse.”
He looked at her.
“Maybe I’m tired of correcting people.”
Her heart began pounding.
He reached into his coat.
Martha stared.
“Surely you don’t carry a ring during arrests.”
“No.”
He pulled out a small wooden box.
“I’ve been carrying it three days.”
Martha stopped breathing.
Ethan opened it.
Inside rested a simple gold ring.
“My mother gave me this.”
“Ethan—”
“I know the timing is terrible.”
“Extremely.”
“I know we haven’t known each other long.”
“Correct.”
“I know you’ll probably tell me my proposal is poorly organized.”
“It is.”
He almost smiled.
Then became serious.
“Martha Boone, I don’t need somebody soft enough for my ranch.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Careful.”
“I need someone I respect.”
That silenced her.
“Someone who makes me think before acting.”
“Nearly impossible work.”
“Someone my mother loves.”
“She has taste.”
“Someone I want beside me after all this is over.”
Martha’s eyes burned.
Ethan held the ring.
“I’m not asking because of land.”
“I know.”
“I’m not asking because Ridgewater expects it.”
“I know.”
“I’m asking because for the first time in my life, home feels different when somebody leaves the room.”
Martha looked at the man who had rejected six beautiful women.
Then she thought of every person who had laughed at her.
Every mirror she had avoided.
Every year she had accepted being useful instead of cherished.
She smiled.
“You still haven’t actually asked.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Will you marry me?”
Martha let him suffer for three seconds.
Then five.
Finally:
“Yes.”
He breathed.
She held up a finger.
“On one condition.”
His face fell.
“What?”
“I never do your laundry.”
Ethan laughed.
Then he kissed her.
May you like
And for once, Martha Boone did not care who might be watching.
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