Chapter 3 - One Bed, Two Doors, and a Promise
Silas Vale looked nothing like Josephine expected.
That frightened her.
She had imagined somebody obviously cruel.
A scarred face.
A loud voice.
A man whose wickedness announced itself before he entered a room.
Instead Vale was elegant.
Clean-shaven.
Silver beginning at his temples.
His black coat fit perfectly.
He looked like somebody who could walk into a respectable church and be invited to sit in the first pew.
Harlan remained between him and the cabin.
Josephine watched through the curtain.
Vale said something.
Harlan shook his head.
One of the other riders shifted.
Harlan did not.
Finally Vale dismounted.
Josephine's heart began hammering.
He walked forward until only several feet separated the men.
Then he produced an envelope.
Harlan accepted it.
Vale turned his head toward the window again.
Even through glass and falling snow, Josephine felt seen.
Not admired.
Assessed.
His eyes moved across the cabin as though mentally measuring something that belonged to him.
Josephine closed the curtain.
A minute later hoofbeats disappeared.
Harlan returned.
“What did he want?”
He removed his coat slowly.
“Coffee would be nice.”
“Harlan.”
He glanced at her.
“You're not going to distract me with coffee.”
“I was hoping.”
She held out her hand.
“The letter.”
Harlan's eyes narrowed.
“You don't have to read it.”
“If it's about me, I do.”
He gave her the envelope.
Josephine unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was elegant.
Mr. Creek,
The agreement you entered into with Gideon Bell interfered with a prior understanding. Mrs. Creek's father accepted consideration from me before accepting yours.
I am prepared to reimburse your expenses generously.
Two hundred dollars.
No questions.
No inconvenience.
Send Josephine to Black Pine once the pass is open and consider the matter settled.
Josephine stopped reading.
For several seconds she could hear only the ticking stove.
Then she forced herself to continue.
If you refuse, the validity of your marriage may become a matter for the territorial court.
It would be unfortunate for the lady to endure public embarrassment over a transaction that could be settled privately.
S.V.
Josephine placed the paper down.
“He paid my father first.”
“Apparently.”
“How much?”
“He didn't say.”
“Do you believe him?”
Harlan leaned against the table.
“I believe Gideon could take money from ten men if he thought none would meet.”
Josephine stared at the flames.
She felt foolish.
Not because of anything she had done.
Because some stubborn part of her had still hoped her father possessed a limit.
Apparently he did not.
“What happens if your marriage isn't legal?”
“Our marriage is legal.”
“You're sure?”
“The preacher filed the certificate before we left Missouri.”
“Then what is Vale threatening?”
“Cost.”
Josephine looked at him.
“Court costs. Attorneys. Travel. Time.”
Harlan tapped the letter.
“Men with money often don't need to win. They only need to make defending yourself expensive.”
Josephine understood that.
Her father had done something similar at home.
He did not need to forbid her from visiting friends.
He simply made every attempt so unpleasant that eventually Josephine stopped trying.
“What will you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Vale wants a reaction.”
Harlan tore the letter in half.
Josephine caught his wrist.
“Don't.”
He stopped.
“We may need it.”
Harlan considered.
Then handed it back.
“Good idea.”
Again.
Good idea.
Josephine tucked the letter into the wooden box where Harlan stored papers.
That evening the storm worsened.
Wind struck the cabin like fists.
The stable disappeared behind curtains of snow.
Harlan added wood to the stove.
Josephine sat mending one of his shirts.
He had protested when she picked it up.
She had ignored him.
“You don't have to work for your supper,” he said.
“I know.”
“Then why are you sewing that?”
“Because the sleeve is nearly detached.”
“I have another shirt.”
“And when that one breaks?”
“I'll buy another.”
Josephine looked up.
“That is possibly the most wasteful sentence I've ever heard.”
Harlan surrendered.
“Yes, ma'am.”
She hid her smile.
Hours passed.
Harlan read beside the lantern.
Josephine noticed the title.
Shakespeare.
“You read plays?”
“Sometimes.”
“You don't look like someone who reads Shakespeare.”
“What does a person who reads Shakespeare look like?”
“Less likely to split a tree with an ax.”
“Shakespeare readers require firewood too.”
Josephine laughed softly.
Then lightning flashed.
The wind roared.
Something struck the roof.
The cabin shook.
Josephine jumped.
Harlan was instantly alert.
“Tree limb.”
Another impact came.
Josephine looked toward her bedroom door.
A slow drip appeared above it.
Harlan cursed under his breath.
Within minutes, water began leaking through the damaged roof.
“You can't sleep there tonight.”
Josephine stiffened.
Harlan saw it immediately.
“The door to my room locks too.”
She blinked.
“You have a room?”
“Back there.”
“I thought you slept beside the stove.”
“I did last night.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn't want you waking up and wondering where I was.”
Josephine looked away.
Harlan grabbed blankets.
“You take mine.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Here.”
“No.”
He stared.
“You injured your shoulder today. You're not sleeping on boards again.”
“I've slept on worse.”
“I'm beginning to suspect you've made bad decisions your entire life.”
“Possible.”
Josephine looked toward his bedroom.
Then at the floor.
There was only one proper bed in the cabin.
Her pulse quickened.
Not because she expected Harlan to demand anything.
He had proven otherwise.
But because the idea of sharing a room with a man still felt dangerous.
Harlan understood.
“I'll sleep against the door.”
“What?”
“If that makes you feel safer.”
Her eyes lifted.
He meant it.
Josephine swallowed.
“The bed is large.”
Harlan went still.
She nearly lost her nerve.
“We could put blankets down the middle.”
“No.”
Josephine's face burned.
Harlan clarified quickly.
“I mean you don't need to compromise because of my roof.”
“I'm not compromising.”
She looked directly at him.
“I'm choosing.”
That word mattered.
Choosing.
Harlan studied her.
Finally he nodded.
They placed a rolled blanket between them like a border between countries.
Josephine lay on one side fully clothed.
Harlan lay on the other.
He remained so far toward the edge that half his shoulder nearly hung off the mattress.
Josephine stared into darkness.
“Harlan?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you live alone?”
Silence.
Then: “It's easier.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It's the one I have tonight.”
Josephine turned toward him.
She could barely see his profile.
“Did someone hurt you?”
His breath changed.
“No.”
“Did you hurt someone?”
Longer silence.
“No.”
Then quietly:
“I failed someone.”
Josephine waited.
He did not continue.
“Who?”
“My sister.”
Josephine's chest tightened.
“What happened?”
Harlan closed his eyes.
“Another night.”
Outside, the blizzard raged.
Inside, Josephine discovered that trust was not a dramatic thing.
Sometimes it was simply knowing the man beside you would not cross a blanket placed between two pillows.
She woke before dawn.
The blanket remained exactly where they had placed it.
Harlan was gone.
For one panicked moment Josephine sat up.
Then she saw a piece of paper on his pillow.
She unfolded it.
Checking the roof. Back soon.
H.
Below that was something else.
A single sentence.
You never have to be afraid of sleeping in this house.
Josephine pressed the note against her chest.
Then she heard a crash outside.
She ran to the window.
Harlan was lying in the snow.
May you like
And a rider Josephine had never seen before was galloping away from the stable.
---
