I visited Cecily at Manzanita Post every now and again. I liked her. She was pretty and I liked what she talked about.

I'd never been any good with girls. As a younger teenager, I was awkward. Most of the girls I'd liked back then were infatuations based on nothing. I'd see a pretty girl in the general store once or twice and fall in love. If I ever saw her again in town my heart would race, and sometimes I'd even say hello.

The only time I ever actually spoke to a girl, made any effort, was when I was seventeen. Her husband came and punched me in the face, breaking my nose and my pride, and after that I kept my eyes down.

I suppose that after two years I didn't learn much of a lesson. I rather liked Cecily, although I got the feeling her Uncle didn't want me around.

She was honest, but shy at times, and kind. She worked hard simply because she wanted to.

Still, I didn't know much about her. I know she lived with her Uncle. Her mother had died when she was born and her father worked from place to place. She didn't know how to read or write, but she knew a little Spanish. More than me, at least.

She didn't ask me many questions. Maybe she saw that I didn't much like talking. I hoped that was so.

One day I built up the courage to tell her that she looked pretty in green. She laughed and said nothing, so I took it as a good sign.

But, as usual, I was a fool. I'd seen him around a few times, although I'd paid no mind to him. He was tall, skinny, and redheaded with a face full of freckles, and his name was Patrick.

She introduced me one day, and it was the way she held his arm that made heat rush to my ears. He was nice, and he shook my hand and told me he'd heard of my father. He even apologized for what had happened to him. I felt even worse.

I'm sure Cecily found me rude when I left shortly afterward, and I'm sure she finds me even ruder now that I've stopped visiting. I tell myself that I don't visit because it's not appropriate, she's supposed to marry Patrick soon and I had no place there. In truth, I'm afraid that seeing her again will bring that wave of humiliation back.

At least it was only my pride broken once again, and this time my nose stayed intact.