Evan's fever broke sometime in the night and by the time the sky had begun to turn grey with dawning, he was feeling better. He wasn't out of the woods yet. It would take time for the bullet wound to heal, and he'd have to be careful not to tear the stitches or get it infected, but he was feeling better than he had in days. The sun was just rising, golden rays of light peeking in through Marin's bedroom window. The blankets were rumpled, cast-off clothing and a bath towel littering the floor. Evan had tucked the blanket up around her, pressing an affectionate kiss against her forehead, before creeping out of the room.

He'd found his clothes, clean but tattered, and had dressed and gone downstairs to make a pot of coffee, letting her sleep as long as she wanted. He'd even cleaned up the bathroom before he'd gotten dressed, rising early, unable to sleep any longer. He had a to-do list a mile long starting with trimming his hair and beard, which were starting to make him look like a mountain man instead of a farm hand. He stepped out onto the porch, pausing a moment to examine the door, making a mental note to secure it later. Despite the ache in his side, he felt restless, tired of lying in bed, anxious to make himself useful.

Marin stirred slowly as the sound of movement through the house stilled, her hands reaching to where she expected to find the heat of his body beside hers. When her fingers encountered cool cloth, her eyes snapped open, suddenly transported from lazy half-waking to full consciousness, afraid to leap to the conclusion that Evan had left her during the night. She blinked in the glare of dawning sunlight from the window, pushing herself to sit up and look around in faint confusion. She recalled soft words and softer touches, the fright of the night completely forgotten in the passion that had followed.

A faint smile touched her lips; she did not believe Evan would have left her, not after their sharing of one another in the darkness. Slipping from the bed, she went in search of clothing herself, her hands still in the process of twisting her curls up into a claw at the back of her head as she stepped down the stairs. "Evan?"

There was the tell-tale drip and distinct smell of coffee percolating in the kitchen, a hint that he was still around somewhere. He hadn't gotten around to starting breakfast yet, but that was the next thing on his list. The front door was cracked open a little, letting in a cool morning breeze, as well as a shaft of morning light. Out on the porch, he had set up a makeshift barber shop, a mirror propped against a can atop a barrel and him stooped over with a scissors in his hand, snipping at hair and beard in an awkward and rather clumsy fashion. "Out here!" he called, hearing her call his name.

She was drawn toward the smell of the coffee, detouring through the kitchen before following the sound of his call to ease the front door open. Her gaze touched on the dented wooden panel that guarded her home, the lock that had been shot off the night before, and a shudder touched her in remembrance of that gunshot - she'd thought the object of that bullet had been Evan, which was why she had come to the top of the stairs in the first place.

Stepping out onto the porch, she squinted a little in the morning sunlight, her gaze lowering to where her ....employee" fiance" lover" She didn't know which he was, yet hoped for the second and third with a fervor that surprised her. Tucking her arms about herself, she took up a lean out of his light, watching him with a fond smile. "Need a hand?"

His eyes slid sideways to look at her, and distracted by the sight of her, he mishandled the scissors, nearly cutting his cheek open. "Damnit," he cursed, brushing his fingers against his own cheek and scowling when he saw blood. It wasn't a serious cut, just a scratch but enough to draw blood. "You are a distraction, woman," he remarked, wiping the blood on his pants and looking back to the mirror. "If you could just get the back, I'd be much obliged."

"Idiot," she insulted him fondly for his ridiculous new cut, pushing from her lean with a low chuckle to take the scissors from him. Their heights were so disaparate that even with him sat down, she barely had to bent to touch a gentle kiss to his little injury before slipping around behind him.

"What possessed you to poke yourself in the cheek with scissors, anyway?" she asked playfully, studying the mess of his hair for a moment before taking charge of trimming it back. "I don't look that scruffy this morning."

He snorted, head following her as she kissed him and slipped around behind him, admiring the view. "You're about as far from scruffy as they come." He turned a little sideways to smirk at her, feeling his oats this morning, unable to resist the urge to tease her, and not sitting still as he should be doing if he wanted her help. "By the way, you lost the wager."

Marin laughed, the sound much lighter than it had been, far easier on her lips this morning than in the days before. Such a difference one night could make. As the scissors carefully followed the line of his neck, neatening up the cuts he'd made, she deliberately leaned against his back. "You never set the stakes, so I'd say that the wager was never agreed on," she countered his teasing smirk, one hand turning his face forward once again by means of fingertips beneath his chin.

He was grinning from ear to ear, dimples in his cheeks peeking through the scruff that passed for beard now that he'd trimmed it, turning his face forward for a moment before turning back to grin up at her, gray-green eyes clear and bright and dancing with mischief. "I told you you wouldn't last a week. Hell, you didn't even last a night."

Never mind that he was just as much, if not more, to blame for their little tryst, but he couldn't help but tease her anyway.

Marin's hand curled to his cheek, drawing his gaze back to hers. "I don't care what people think," she told him firmly, the sincerity of that insistence shining clear in her words and expression. At his additional comment, however, she felt herself blush a little. "We could pretend I never said anything," she suggested, before realising something. "You know, that's the second time you've avoided outright answering that question."

He looked back at her, green eyes meeting blue, a heartfelt expression on his face. "Lost someone I loved once, Marin. I don't reckon I wanna go through that again." That wasn't a no, however. He'd thought about it while he was lying in bed the previous night, watching her face in the moonlight, wrapped in each other's embrace. "If I get married again, it's for love and for life, not convenience." He watched her closely to see her reaction. Though she didn't know it, she held his heart in her hands.

She stared at him, almost insulted by the wary insinuation that she had asked him purely to get herself out of her little problem. "I would never propose a marriage just for convenience," she said vehemently, her expression betraying how appalling she found even the idea of tying herself to anyone for no reason that involved her own heart. "Evan, you asked me last night if I'm falling in love with you. I answered you truly - if you didn't believe me, why did you ....Why make love to me as though you did?"

Distress had blossomed in her eyes and voice as she spoke, genuinely upset by the thought that their shared night had been nothing more than a simple relief of tension for him when it had meant so much more to her.

He frowned at her as she misunderstood his meaning, or perhaps she understood him completely. "I believe you, Marin. It's just..." He licked his lips, trailing off a moment. "I reckon..." He stammered, nervously, searching for the right words. "I think I'm falling in love with you and....I need to be sure you're sure." He sighed, unsure he was explaining himself properly, unsure she'd understand what it was he was trying to say.

"I am sure." She sat up from her lean in his arms, unable to think of any words that could convince him of her sincerity. Instead, her lips found his, a slow kiss that built to fervent promise and desire not just for what they had already shared, but for the time ahead of them together. "I have never been more sure of anything, Evan," was whispered against his lips. "Never."

His eyes drifted closed as he savored her kiss, that kiss reassuring him perhaps even more than her words, feeling the love and desire that was growing between them that transcended words, defied explanation. He opened his eyes, looking at her in wonder when their lips parted, still wondering if all of this wasn't just a dream, a hint of fear in his eyes that needed to be shared. "I don't-I don't wanna lose you."

That fear cut her deep, touching on a similar feeling deep in her own heart, though one she had never felt as keenly as he did. Sliding from his lap, she slipped between his legs, touching the tip of her nose to his as her arms wrapped warmly about him, fingertips stroking through his newly trimmed hair. "Then don't let go," she whispered fiercely, gazing into his eyes with all the determination that colored the truest decisions in her life. "I'm not going anywhere, Evan. I want to be yours, in every way I can be, too much to let something drag me away too soon."

That fear was at the crux of the matter, the one and only thing that might hold him back, but he didn't want to let fear rule his life, not anymore. He looked into those beautiful blue eyes of hers, recognizing the determination there and the growing affection that was mirrored in his own eyes. "I ain't gonna lose you like I lost Ellie. I can't," he told her with equal determination, admitting the fear that was holding him back.

"I'll make you a deal," Marin offered softly, holding his gaze with that tender ferocity still as she leaned close into his embrace, ignoring the crush of her chest to his in favor of keeping his attention with her words. "You look after yourself and don't get killed, and I'll do the same. I fully intend for us to die in our bed, surrounded by children and grandchildren."