Jean gave a little gurgle that may have been related to laughter, and Lite's lips quirked with humorous embarrassment as he went on.
"I don't guess," he said slowly, "that I'm going to turn you over at all, Jean. Not altogether. I guess I've just about got to keep you. It—takes two to make a home, and—I've got my heart set on us making a home outa the Lazy A again; you and me, making a home for us and your dad. How—how does that sound to you, Jean?"
Jean was wiping her eyes as unobtrusively as she might. She did not answer.
"How does it sound, you and me making a home together?" Lite was growing pale, and his hands trembled. "Tell me."
"It sounds—good," said Jean unsteadily.
For several minutes Lite did not say a word. They sat there holding hands quite foolishly, and stared out at the drenched desert.
"Soon as your dad comes," he said at last, very simply, "we'll be married." He was silent another minute, and added under his breath like a prayer, "And we'll all go—home."