"And you can't come if you insist on talking about that," she countered.
"I'll come," he stated. "Tell me when you're going to move over to the Circle P."
"Not ever," she said. "I'd rather be a man's horse than his wife. Men treat women like little tinsel queens before, and afterwards they answer to save a cook's wages and drudge their lives out feeding a hunch of half-starved hands—or else go to the other extreme. Wives are either work horses or pets. I was raised like a boy and I want to have a say in running things myself."
"You can go your own gait," he pledged.
"I'm doing that now," she returned. "And prefer going on as I am."
Slade rose and moved over to her, taking her hands and lifting her from her chair.
The girl pushed him back with a hand braced against his chest.
"Stop it!" she said. "You're getting wilder every time you come, but you've never pawed at me before. I won't have people's hands on me," and she made a grimace of distaste.
The man reached out again and drew her to him. She wrenched away and faced Slade.
"That will be the last time you'll do that until I give the word," she said. "I don't want the Circle P—or you. When I do I'll let you know!"