She laughed.
“Yes, you foolish cowboy. I'll marry you.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
Then he kissed her beneath the cottonwood tree.
The children noticed.
Kimi shouted.
“Are you getting married?”
Ayana laughed.
Nathaniel looked toward the boy.
“Apparently!”
Kimi grinned.
“Can we have cake?”
Nathaniel smiled.
“I suppose that's the important question.”
The wedding took place six weeks later.
It was not extravagant.
There were no expensive decorations or grand carriages.
The community gathered beneath the cottonwood trees near the river.
Spring flowers covered the hills.
Women prepared food.
Children helped decorate the gathering place with ribbons and branches.
Tavish stood beside Ayana before the ceremony.
He studied her face.
“You look happy.”
“I am.”
He nodded slowly.
“Your mother would have been proud.”
Ayana swallowed.
“I wish she were here.”
“So do I.”
For a moment, they stood in silence.
Then Tavish took her hands.
“I owe you another apology.”
“Father…”
“Let me say it.”
She waited.
“When I demanded that cowboy marry you, I thought I was protecting you from a lonely future.”
He looked toward Nathaniel, who was speaking with Koda near the river.
“But I was wrong to believe you needed someone to choose you before your life could be complete.”
Ayana's eyes filled.
Tavish touched her cheek.
“You have always been enough.”
She embraced him.
“I know that now.”
The ceremony was simple.
There were words spoken by people important to both families, promises exchanged by Nathaniel and Ayana, and a shared meal that lasted until sunset.
Nathaniel did not promise to be her protector.
He promised to be her partner.
Ayana did not promise obedience.
She promised honesty, kindness, and the courage to build a life with him even when the road ahead was uncertain.
When they kissed, the children cheered.
Koda whistled loudly.
Solan complained that the food was getting cold.
And Tavish laughed so hard that tears ran down his face.
That evening, Nathaniel and Ayana walked toward the small house he had built beside the river.
It had two rooms.
A stone fireplace.
A covered veranda.
And a roof that was, to Ayana's great surprise, perfectly straight.
She stood outside and looked up.
“You finally learned.”
Nathaniel grinned.
“I had a demanding teacher.”
She opened the door.
Inside, sunlight fell across wooden floors.
There was a table near the window.
A shelf filled with jars for her medicines.
A small writing desk.
And beside the fireplace stood a low wooden cabinet.
Ayana approached it.
On top rested the little carved horse.
Its missing ear had not been repaired.
Beside it stood three other wooden animals.
A deer.
A rabbit.
And a crooked little bird.
Ayana looked at Nathaniel.
“You made more.”
“I've been practicing.”
She touched the rabbit.
“They're beautiful.”
He laughed.
“You don't have to lie.”
“I'm not.”
She turned toward him.
“What are they for?”
Nathaniel hesitated.
“Perhaps one day there will be children here who enjoy them.”
Ayana's expression changed.
He immediately continued.
“Not because we have to. Not because anyone expects it. Just…”
He looked around the room.
“I've been thinking about how many children in this territory have lost families. And how many need somewhere safe.”
Ayana stared at him.
Then slowly, she smiled.
“I've been thinking about that too.”
Nathaniel stepped closer.
“Have you?”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the window, where the last light of evening touched the river.
“I don't know what our family will look like.”
“Neither do I.”
“But perhaps we don't need to know yet.”
He took her hand.
“No.”
She leaned against him.
“Perhaps we can begin by making room.”
Nathaniel kissed her forehead.
“Then we'll make room.”
The first child arrived at their home the following winter.
Her name was Lucy.
She was seven years old, with tangled brown hair, large gray eyes, and a habit of refusing to speak to strangers.
Her parents had died during an epidemic in a mining settlement.
A distant relative had briefly cared for her but could no longer provide a home.
When a traveling minister brought her to Red Willow Valley, Tavish suggested that Nathaniel and Ayana might be willing to help.
They were.
Lucy arrived carrying a small cloth bag containing two dresses, a broken comb, and a faded photograph.
She stood in the doorway without moving.
Ayana knelt to meet her eyes.
“Hello, Lucy.”
The girl stared.
“My name is Ayana.”
Silence.
“This is Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel removed his hat.
“Pleased to meet you.”
Lucy looked at him suspiciously.
He smiled.
“That's fair. I look suspicious before breakfast.”
Ayana gave him a warning glance.
Lucy did not smile.
They showed her a small bedroom.
There was a narrow bed covered with a colorful blanket.
A wooden chest.
A chair beside the window.
And a shelf holding several carved animals.
Lucy examined them.
Then reached for the horse with one missing ear.
She held it carefully.
“This one's broken.”
Nathaniel leaned against the doorway.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you fix it?”
He looked at Ayana.
Then back at Lucy.
“Because someone taught me that broken things can still be loved.”
Lucy stared at the little horse.
For a moment, her lower lip trembled.
Then she turned away.
Ayana quietly left a cup of warm milk on the table.
They did not pressure her to speak.
They did not demand gratitude.
They let her explore the house.
When night came, Lucy refused to sleep.
Ayana found her sitting on the floor beside the bed, holding the wooden horse.
“Are you frightened?”
The girl did not answer.
Ayana sat nearby.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then Lucy whispered, “Will you send me away?”
Ayana felt her heart tighten.
“No.”
“People say that.”
“I know.”
“They said I could stay before.”
Ayana swallowed.
She wanted to promise that nothing bad would ever happen again.
But she knew that would be a lie.
Instead, she said, “You can stay here. We will take care of you.”
Lucy looked up.
“For how long?”
Ayana held out her hand.
“As long as you need us.”