The mustang is standing easily under her hand.
The sun is most of the way down and the light is going gold across the western fence of Sharp.
She looks up when she hears my boots on the gravel. "Spur, you're back!"
"I'm back."
"Gosh, what time is it? I feel like you’ve been gone for a while."
"Yeah, I was. It’s nearly sunset."
She sets the curry comb on the fence rail. Climbs through and walks over to me. Cinch follows her on his side because I taught him to follow humans like that.
She stops in front of me.
"You ready, baby?"
"For what?"
"For the thing I'm about to do."
She puts her hand on the side of my face. "Spur, I’ve been ready for this."
I take her hand. Lead her into the round pen. Close the gate behind us. Cinch comes over and stands at my shoulder.
The Lyle family is on the back porch of the main house a hundred yards away. I can see Marlena with her dish towel, Grace with Waylon on her hip, Shadow next to her, Bex on the swing, Banshee on the porch rail, Phantom in the doorway with a coffee in his hand.
Far enough away they can't hear me. But they made sure they’re damn close enough to see.
I take Dakota's hand in both of mine. The mustang at my shoulder. The dust of the round pen under our boots.
"Dakota."
"Spur."
"I’ve loved you for a long damn time, baby. Longer than I had any right to. I waited because you weren't ready, and I would have waited the rest of my life if I had to. But I don't have to anymore, do I?"
"No, Spur."
I let go of her hand. Reach into the pocket of my cut. Pull the velvet box out and drop down on one knee in the dust of the round pen.
Cinch shifts beside me, but he doesn't move.
I open the box.
"This was my grandmother's. My grandfather put it on her hand outside a courthouse in San Saba in 1967 and she didn't take it off until she gave it to me. I have had it in a cedar box in my cabin for years waiting for the woman it belonged to. The woman is you."
Dakota is crying. Quietly. Just tears.
"Marry me, Dakota Lyle. Be my ol’ lady. Take my name. Have my babies. Let me ride to your funeral when we're both eighty years old."
She drops to her knees in the dust in front of me. "Yes, Spur."
"Say it again."
"Yes, I’ll marry you!"
"Again."
