Page 63 of The Rancher's Wedding

You are strong, Estelle. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. This is just like getting on the train back in Philadelphia: you didn’t think you could do it until you actually did it. You can talk to him. You need to talk to him. And whether or not he takes it well, he needs to hear it.

Michael was too involved in his job to notice her and the hogs focused on him. Though she still hadn’t warmed to their smell, she had warmed to their personalities. They were like fat, hairless dogs, with smiles on their faces, eager to please and make friends with you, assuming you had food for them. It was always a delight to visit them with some scraps and see them light up and trot their big, chubby bodies over to the fence to see what she had.

It was just another reminder of how much she loved the ranch. Nobody was ever that happy to see her back in Philadelphia, not even Megan and certainly not Ethan. And, here, while Michael didn’t necessarily get as excited as the pigs when they first saw each other every morning, he had a look in his eyes and a smile reserved for her that she never noticed him having around anybody else.

Michael heaved a handful of half-eaten carrots into the pen and the five hogs scurried towards it, grunting with joy along the way. When Estelle was alone, she liked to imitate them. It made her laugh.

She wasn’t in a laughing mood at the moment, but the image of the hogs cheered her up and energized her in a way that her inner soliloquy hadn’t.

“Michael,” she said, and he turned around.

“Oh, hi there.” There was that smile on his face and the special look in his eyes.

You can do it, Estelle, her inner voice told her.

“I had something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She looked down at her shaking hands, as if somehow it would be easier if she didn’t need to see his face while she revealed her truth.

“Just a second,” Michael said. He set down the bucket of scraps and removed his gloves, then walked over to Estelle.

“Would you look at that?” he asked, pointing over towards the sunset. “God is quite the gifted painter, isn’t he?”

She followed his finger toward the horizon.

“It’s strange, I see it every day. Probably every day of my life, just about. And twice if you count the sunrise. Yet, every time I do, I can’t help but be amazed at it. It’s my reward for a hard day’s work. And on Sundays I get it for free.”

He was right. There was a beauty in the sunset that words could never convey. Poets had tried for centuries, eying the same exact phenomenon, as had painters, and none of them had even come close to capturing the feeling of awe that she felt when looking at the sun leave the sky.

It’s something she’d never appreciated until coming out to Utah. Did sunrises and sunsets even exist in the city? They must, but Estelle couldn’t remember ever having seen one.

“It’s beautiful,” Estelle said.

It was a distraction, though. And she needed to do what she had set out to do otherwise, it would continue to burn on her conscience.

“Michael, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She looked over at him at his face, so content in the red and orange hues of the setting sun. It was a shame that she was about to take that contentment away.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The sunset had always been Michael’s favorite time of day. Even as a child, he recognized its beauty and, as he grew older, believed he’d never see such beauty matched by anything in the world. He was glad to be wrong.

Estelle’s face, with that hint of sorrow in it, was facing away from the sun and so fell in a soft shadow, giving her a soft, angelic quality. Michael’s head felt lighter and he had an intense desire to wrap his arms around her and hug her as hard as he could, but he was filthy from having finished working with the pigs and held himself back.

“Michael, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said. He could tell from her expression that something was on her mind. Likely a fear that he wouldn’t love her as much if he knew something about her.

“No,” Michael said, “there isn’t.”

He took her hands, but kept his distance in order to keep his muddy clothes from touching hers. The gloves had at least kept his hands clean and allowed him some reassuring contact to tell her what he needed to say.

“I don’t care who you think you were,” Michael said. “I care who you are. And the woman who’s been on this ranch the past couple of months? Well, she’s the one I married. The one you left behind in Philadelphia I don’t much care what she did.”

“It matters,” Estelle said.

“I’m telling you right now,” Michael said, “that it doesn’t, and I don’t want a perfect sunset leading into a perfect evening ruined. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow because I’ve got a plan for us for tonight.”

“You do?” she asked. “What is it?”

The sadness in her face dissipated as she waited for Michael’s response. It was exactly what he wanted to see, but the truth was he was nervous. Just like she had something to tell him, he had something to tell her, but the difference was what he had to tell her was actually more of a question and it was actually about the two of them.

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