“I wish you'd told me.”
“I know.”
“But I understand why you didn't.”
Judith looked up.
“You do?”
“The same people telling me today what your body is worth are the same people you've lived beside your whole life.”
His mouth tightened.
“I imagine a woman learns to guard things.”
Judith’s eyes filled.
Zeke looked toward the bed.
Then back.
“The sons.”
Her breath stopped.
He gave a small embarrassed smile.
“Forget the sons.”
“Zeke…”
“I meant something when I said it.”
“What?”
“That I want a family.”
There.
She closed her eyes.
“But family doesn't have to mean what I pictured before today.”
Judith opened them again.
Zeke stepped closer.
Slow enough that she could retreat.
She did not.
He lifted one hand.
Waited.
Judith nodded.
His fingers touched beneath her chin.
Calloused.
Gentle.
She shivered.
His eyes searched hers.
“I chose you.”
Her throat tightened.
“You didn't know me.”
“I knew enough.”
“You heard people rejecting me.”
“Yes.”
“That isn't knowing me.”
“No.”
His thumb moved lightly along her jaw.
“But I know more now.”
“You're stubborn.”
Judith almost smiled.
“You insult my cooking.”
“It deserves it.”
“You work harder than half the men down there.”
“Three-quarters.”
“Arrogant.”
“Accurate.”
Zeke’s mouth curved.
Then he became serious.
“I chose Judith.”
“Not sons.”
“Not your hips because someone told me they meant fertility.”
“Not your work because I wanted a servant.”
“You.”
Judith could not speak.
Zeke’s other hand moved toward her waist.
He stopped just before touching.
She looked at it.
Then at him.
“May I?”
The question cracked something open.
“Yes.”
His arm settled around her.
Judith had been held before.
As a child.
By her mother.
Once by a cousin after her father died.
Never like this.
Never by a man who desired her.
She knew he desired her.
His breathing betrayed him.
The tension in his enormous body betrayed him.
The way his gaze kept moving to her mouth betrayed him.
And still he waited.
Judith placed one hand against his chest.
Solid.
Hot beneath the shirt.
Zeke inhaled.
She felt it beneath her palm.
“You are nervous.”
She whispered.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“You've never kissed a woman.”
His expression became defensive.
“I did once.”
Judith raised an eyebrow.
“When?”
“I was sixteen.”
“That was twenty-four years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Did she kiss you back?”
Zeke thought.
“Not especially.”
Judith laughed.
He frowned.
“This is deeply humiliating.”
“You told the entire community I would birth three sons.”
“I deserve some humiliation.”
“Yes.”
His fingers tightened slightly at her waist.
Judith’s laughter faded.
Their faces were close now.
“Why have you been alone so long?”
Zeke looked at her mouth.
Then her eyes.
“I'll tell you.”
“When?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because right now I’m trying very hard to decide whether my wife wants me to kiss her.”
Judith’s pulse jumped.
She moved closer.
The front of her powder-blue dress brushed his trousers.
Zeke went completely still.
Judith whispered:
“What do you think?”
“I think I’m out of practice.”
“Then perhaps you need practice.”
His eyes darkened.
“Judith.”
“Yes?”
“You've known me one day.”
“I married you.”
“That is not an answer.”
She looked at him.
For the first time that day, fear loosened.
“I want you to kiss me.”
Zeke did.
Slowly.
His mouth touched hers with almost painful restraint.
Judith had spent years being told she was too much.
Too big.
Too hungry.
Too loud.
Too difficult.
Zeke kissed her as though he was terrified of taking too much.
She pulled back.
He immediately released her.
“What?”
“That was terrible.”
His face fell.
Judith almost laughed.
“No.”
She put both hands on his chest.
“You kissed me like I’m made of spun sugar.”
“I don't know what I'm doing.”
“I noticed.”
He stared.
Then Judith reached up and pulled him down.
The second kiss was different.
She kissed him.
Not passively.
Not like a dutiful bride.
Zeke made a low sound in his throat.
His arms closed more firmly around her.
Judith’s whole body seemed to wake at once.
Heat climbed through her.
His beard scratched her cheek.
His large hand spread across her back.
He stopped once.
“Too much?”
She stared at him.
“Do not ask the woman everyone calls too much whether she wants less.”
A smile slowly appeared.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
He kissed her again.
Later they sat beside the stove.
Not in bed.
Not yet.
Judith leaned against his shoulder.
Zeke’s arm remained around her.
The secret sat between them but no longer like a wall.
She whispered:
“You really don't care?”
He looked down.
“About children?”
“Yes.”
“I care.”
Her heart tightened.
He continued:
“I want them.”
“I won't lie.”
Judith appreciated that even when it hurt.
“But wanting something doesn't mean I get to turn you into the price of getting it.”
She looked at him.
“What if I can never give you any?”
Zeke’s jaw moved.
“Then we decide what family means.”
“Together.”
“You could regret me.”
“Yes.”
Judith’s face changed.
He immediately added:
“I could regret anything.”
“The mountain.”
“This cabin.”
My boots.”
“That stew.”
“You should regret the stew.”
“I do.”
She laughed.
Zeke continued:
“Marriage isn't choosing something because regret is impossible.”
“It’s choosing somebody you want to face regret with.”
Judith stared at him.
“That was almost wise.”
“Don't tell anyone.”
She rested her head against him.
For the first time in years, sleep came easily.
Morning brought embarrassment.
Judith woke in the bed.
Fully clothed.
Zeke was not beside her.
She remembered falling asleep near the stove.
He must have carried her.
The thought made her face burn.
She got up.
Outside, an axe struck wood.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Judith opened the door.
Cold slapped her face.
Zeke stood thirty yards away splitting logs.