"But I do hold it against you!" she cried vehemently. "You tried to murder him!"
Rafe raised a bland hand, palm outward. "Not a-tall. You've got it all wrong. I might have known you would. Women never do get things straight."
"I got this straight all right, and you might as well know I haven't a bit of use for you, and I don't want you in my kitchen. So there!"
"Now listen, li'l girl," he said persuasively. "You don't understand me a-tall, I tell you. I may look hard—a rough diamond but I'm the pure quill underneath, and I like you."
Hazel was so surprised that she stopped churning. She stared at him, saucer-eyed, her mouth open.
Rafe nodded his head at her. "Yeah, I like you. I have liked you a-uh-long time. And I've got a proposition to make you. How'd you like to marry me?"
Hazel's expression registered immediate distaste. "I wouldn't like. Not for a minute. No."
Rafe considered it necessary to explain matters more fully. "I mean marry me all regular and go to live at my ranch. You wouldn't have to work hard. You could have the washin' done and have help in the kitchen. I'm a mighty easy feller to get along with too, once you get to know me."
"I don't want to get to know you!" Hazel had resumed her churning, but her negation was no less decisive.
"I'd be good to you. Give you all the dresses and fixings you want—in reason. Say, I'd even have one of these cabinet organs packed in for you. New furniture, too—in reason. I'll be generous. I've got money, and I'd sure be willing to spend it on a girl like you."