“Take off everything.”
The words struck Josephine Hale harder than the December wind hammering the cabin walls.
For a moment she could only stare at the man standing across from her.
Harlan Creek was larger inside the cabin than he had seemed from Reverend Stokes’s wagon, which Josephine had not believed possible. At six feet five inches, he nearly filled the space between the heavy wooden table and the stone hearth. A dark leather winter coat covered his broad body, and a thick mantle of brown wolf fur made his shoulders seem wide enough to hold up the cabin roof.
His beard was dark.
His hair hung past his collar.
His eyes were deep gray and unreadable.
Josephine's back pressed against the rough timber wall.
The whalebone corset beneath her dusty-rose wedding dress dug deeper into her ribs.
She had been wearing it for nearly twelve hours.
Her aunt had laced it before sunrise.
“Stand still,” Aunt Margaret had snapped as Josephine struggled to breathe. “If you are going to meet a husband, the least you can do is present something resembling a respectable female shape.”
Josephine had nearly laughed.
There was no amount of whalebone in Missouri capable of transforming her body into the narrow silhouette Aunt Margaret considered respectable.
Josephine was full-bodied.
Very full-bodied.
She had been since childhood.
Wide hips.
Soft stomach.
Heavy breasts.
Strong thighs.
Round cheeks.
A body that occupied space without apology even when Josephine herself had spent years apologizing for it.
Women noticed.
Men noticed.
Children noticed because adults taught them to.
By thirteen, she understood that entering a room meant waiting for someone to decide whether her body was amusing.
By sixteen, she knew which girls would invite her to dances only because standing beside Josephine made them feel prettier.
By nineteen, she had stopped attending.
By twenty-two, she had heard every version of the same sentence.
A woman like you should be grateful any man wants you.
Then her father sold her marriage contract.
Twenty dollars.
Two draft horses.
That was the value agreed upon.
Josephine had expected the man who purchased her contract to treat the exchange as permission.
Now Harlan Creek stood in front of her and ordered her to remove everything.
Her heart hammered.
Harlan saw fear enter her face.
His expression changed.
Not much.
Enough.
Then he turned his back.
Josephine blinked.
Without looking at her again, Harlan crossed toward the broad cedar chest beside the fireplace.
He knelt.
The hinges creaked.
His massive hands disappeared inside.
Josephine's fingers closed around the front of her dress.
Every terrible story about him crowded into her mind.
Harlan Creek lived with wolves.
Harlan Creek had killed three men with an axe.
Harlan Creek trapped women the way he trapped animals.
Harlan Creek came down from the mountains twice each year because even tavern owners did not want him sleeping under their roofs.
She had heard all of it.
Mostly from people who had never spoken to him.
Harlan stood.
Something blue rested over one arm.
A folded wool garment.
Another bundle of fur sat beneath it.
He turned slowly enough not to startle her.
Josephine stared.
“A nightdress,” he said.
His voice was low and rough.
She looked at the deep-blue fabric.
There was cream lace along the neckline and sleeves.
Not expensive.
But soft.
Then she noticed the fur-lined robe.
And a thick wool blanket.
Harlan held them out.
“That thing under your dress is hurting you.”
Josephine's hand flew instinctively to her waist.
His eyes followed.
“The corset.”
Her cheeks burned.
“You noticed?”
“You've taken twelve breaths since you came inside.”
She stared.
He continued.
“None of them were full.”
Josephine did not know what to say.
Harlan stepped toward the bedroom door.
Then stopped.
He pointed.
“That room is yours.”
“Mine?”
“Door locks from inside.”
She stared at the plain wooden door.
“Change there.”
Harlan set the clothing on a chair near it.
“Take off the dress. Take off the corset. Anything else that's wet or hurting.”
Her face became hotter.
Harlan immediately understood.
His jaw tightened.
“I'll stay out here.”
Josephine looked toward him.
“You said take off everything.”
“I meant everything hurting you.”
Silence.
Harlan's eyes dropped toward the ivory corset pressing visibly beneath her dress.
“Burn it if you want.”
Josephine nearly smiled.
“You don't like corsets?”
“I don't know enough about them to have an opinion.”
“Then why burn it?”
“Because you look like it's trying to kill you.”
That unexpected bluntness broke something.
Not fear exactly.
The shape of fear.
Josephine let out a breath.
A painful one.
Harlan gestured toward the bedroom again.
“I won't come in.”
“What if I call?”
“Then I'll ask before opening.”
Josephine stared at him.
She had known the man less than ten minutes.
Already he had promised more boundaries than her own family had allowed her in twenty-two years.
She stepped toward the chair.
Her fingers touched the blue nightdress.
Soft wool.
Warm.
Bought deliberately.
“For me?”
Harlan looked uncomfortable.
“Yes.”
“How did you know my size?”
“I didn't.”
She glanced at him.
“Then?”
“Bought the largest one Mrs. Cooper had.”
Josephine almost laughed.
Harlan's face remained serious.
“If it doesn't fit, we'll get another.”
Something tightened in her throat.
Not the corset this time.
“You bought this before I arrived?”
“Yes.”
“And the robe?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His expression became confused.
“Because winter is cold.”
Josephine stared at him.
That answer was so practical that it felt intimate.
She looked down at the garments.
Then at Harlan's enormous scarred hand.
Without understanding why, she reached toward it.
Her fingertips touched his.
Harlan became perfectly still.
Not pulling.
Not grabbing.
Simply waiting.
Josephine curled her fingers around two of his.
His hand could have swallowed hers.
“You paid for my contract,” she whispered.
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Twenty dollars.”
“Yes.”
“And two horses.”
“They were good horses.”
The faintest smile touched her mouth.
Harlan saw it.
Something softened in his eyes.
Josephine continued.
“The first thing you're giving me is a locked room and clothing I can breathe in.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Harlan looked toward the fire.
Then back.
“Because your father was selling a contract.”
Josephine waited.
“I wasn't buying you.”
Her throat tightened.
“What were you buying?”
“A stop.”
She frowned.
Harlan's voice lowered.
“A stop to another man deciding where you go next.”
Josephine did not breathe.
The corset hurt too much.
Or perhaps something else did.
“If you ever come into my arms,” Harlan said, “I want it to be because you walked there.”
Josephine's eyes filled.
She hated herself for that.
Crying felt weak.
Aunt Margaret had taught her that too.
Harlan noticed the tears.
He did not comment.
Josephine looked down.
“Then don't move.”
His brow furrowed.
“What?”
She stepped closer.
One careful step.
Then another.
The front of her dusty-rose dress almost touched his fur coat.
Harlan stopped breathing.
Josephine looked upward.
Far upward.
“You said if I ever came into your arms, I should walk there myself.”
“Yes.”
“I am not asking you to hold me.”
His eyes searched hers.
“Not yet.”
The words affected him.
She saw it.
Josephine touched his hand again.
“But perhaps don't stand quite so far away.”
Harlan nodded.
“All right.”
That was the first agreement of their marriage.
Josephine changed behind the locked door.
Removing the corset took longer than expected.
Aunt Margaret had tightened the laces so aggressively that Josephine could barely reach them.
She tried twisting.
Pain stabbed beneath her ribs.
Finally she called, “Harlan?”
Footsteps stopped outside.
“Yes?”
“I need help.”
Silence.
Then:
“With what?”
“The laces.”
Another silence.
Longer.
Josephine almost smiled.
The feared mountain brute sounded terrified.
“Do you want me to come in?”
“Yes.”
“Are you dressed?”
“I still have the dress on.”
The door opened two inches.
Harlan looked through.
Josephine stood with her back toward him.
“Come in.”
He did.
She pointed over one shoulder.
“The knots are behind me.”
Harlan stared at the laces as though confronted with complicated machinery.
“How?”
“Untie them.”
“I understand that part.”
His fingers approached.
Stopped.
“May I touch the fabric?”
Josephine closed her eyes briefly.
“Yes.”
His hands were enormous.
But surprisingly careful.
He pulled at the first knot.
Nothing.
Again.
“Who tied this?”
“My aunt.”
“Does she hate you?”
Josephine laughed.
A real laugh.
Harlan froze.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I have wondered the same thing.”
His mouth moved slightly.
He worked another knot.
The corset loosened one fraction.
Josephine inhaled.
Deeper.
Her eyes closed.
Harlan noticed.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
He loosened another.
And another.
Each one gave Josephine another inch of breath.
By the time the final knot released, her shoulders dropped.
Harlan stepped backward instantly.
“There.”
Josephine turned.
He had already looked away.
“You can leave.”
He did.
The door closed.
Josephine stared at it.
No man had ever touched clothing against her body with less entitlement.
Not even doctors.
She removed the corset.