I could have
buried my face into the base of his neck and the length of his hair. Instead, I timidly put my arms around his
small waist and clenched my arms as he jerked his horse into motion.
We rode across his dry land, my arms
hugging him, breathing him in, completely silent.
‘If I am dreaming,’ I thought, ‘I don’t
want to wake up.’
Then a homestead came into view on the flat
horizon. I saw a rancher-style house made of board and
batten wood with a smoking, stone chimney and a meager porch supported by crude
beams clearly cut out of thin tree trunks.
A plain, wood barn sat at the distant left
with chickens bopping about it freely. Someone
came out of the front door of the house in a long, dark blue skirt covered by a
white, waist apron (with eyelet at the bottom – pretty!) and a high collared, prairie blouse.
‘He’s married,’ my brain reasoned, ‘Dang.’
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