Ethan winced.
“I remember.”
“Were you flirting with me?”
“No.”
Her face fell theatrically.
“I mean—yes.”
“That was quick.”
“I didn’t know I was flirting until after I did it.”
“So you accidentally proposed?”
“I did not propose.”
“You nearly did.”
“I complimented you.”
“And then?”
“You ruined everything by revealing a murder conspiracy.”
Clara smiled.
“I have poor timing.”
“Terrible.”
She looked toward the creek.
“Ethan.”
He heard the seriousness in her voice.
“What?”
“Are you ever going to finish what you were going to say?”
He knew exactly what she meant.
The creek confession.
The moment before she said wait.
He had answered partly with a kiss.
But never with words.
Ethan turned her toward him.
“Clara Harmon.”
“Yes?”
“I spent years thinking there was nothing wrong with coming home to an empty house.”
She watched him.
“I convinced myself silence was peace.”
He took both her hands.
“Then you started humming everywhere.”
She laughed softly.
“And now my house feels too quiet even when you’ve only been gone an hour.”
Her eyes filled.
Ethan reached into his pocket.
Clara stopped breathing.
He held a small ring.
It had belonged to his mother.
Thomas had returned it to him the week before.
Ethan lowered himself onto one knee beside the same creek where everything had begun.
Clara covered her mouth.
“Whoever marries you,” Ethan said, “will be a very lucky man.”
She began crying and laughing simultaneously.
“I believe you’ve said that before.”
“I’m hoping for a better answer this time.”
She nodded.
He smiled.
“Clara Harmon, would you marry me?”
She did not answer immediately.
Ethan’s smile faded.
“Clara?”
She leaned closer.
“I was hoping it would be you.”
He laughed.
Then she kissed him.
They married in October.
Daniel walked Clara down the aisle.
Ruth cried before the ceremony even started.
Thomas stood at the back of the church, uncertain whether he belonged closer.
Ethan noticed.
He walked down the aisle before the service began and stood beside him.
Thomas looked surprised.
Ethan did not say anything.
He simply remained there.
It was enough.
When Clara entered, Ethan forgot every other person in the room.
She wore the same dress her mother had worn and carried late-season wildflowers.
No Rourke contract waited on the altar.
No sheriff stood near the door.
No one owned her choice.
When the minister asked who gave Clara in marriage, Daniel smiled.
“She gives herself.”
Clara squeezed his hand.
Then she walked to Ethan.
They exchanged vows quietly.
Simple promises.
Nothing grand.
Nothing theatrical.
Perhaps because both understood better than most what promises could cost.
Afterward the entire town gathered at the Harmon ranch.
Tables stretched beneath the cottonwoods.
Children chased one another through the grass.
Someone played fiddle.
Thomas sat apart for much of the evening.
Clara noticed.
She always noticed.
She carried him a plate.
“Mr. Briggs.”
Thomas smiled.
“I suppose that name is finished.”
“I liked Mr. Briggs.”
“I was a better man as Briggs.”
“No.”
Clara sat beside him.
“You were the same man trying to become better.”
Thomas looked toward Ethan.
“He may never forgive me completely.”
“Maybe not.”
Thomas nodded.
Clara continued.
“But forgiveness isn’t a door. It doesn’t open once.”
Thomas looked at her.
“What is it?”
“A road.”
She smiled.
“You keep walking.”