He watched.
Then attempted it.
“Ro…sa…lie.”
The voice startled her.
Gideon almost never spoke.
Without hearing himself, his words came rough and uncertain.
But her name was recognizable.
Rosalie covered her mouth.
He immediately looked embarrassed.
“No.”
She grabbed the notebook.
Again.
He frowned.
She underlined it.
Again.
“Rosalie.”
Her eyes filled.
She wrote:
Beautiful.
Gideon laughed silently.
Then shook his head.
He pointed toward himself and wrote:
Bad.
Rosalie took the pencil.
No.
She looked directly into his eyes.
Your voice is yours.
His smile vanished.
Something vulnerable entered his face.
Slowly, Gideon touched two fingers to his chest.
Then to hers.
Rosalie did not know the sign.
He wrote:
Thank you.
On the third morning, the clouds cleared.
Coldwater lay twelve miles south.
Gideon wanted Rosalie to remain at the ranch.
Rosalie refused.
They rode together.
The road wound between snow-covered pines and white pastureland beneath
