“You don’t owe me that.”
“I didn’t ask what I owe.”
His breathing changed.
Sadi stepped closer.
“What happens?”
Lucien’s voice became rough.
“I sleep beside you.”
“And if I kiss you?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Sadi’s pulse jumped.
Lucien said, “Then I’m going to have a difficult time remembering how to breathe.”
Despite everything, she laughed.
The sound broke the tension.
Lucien looked almost embarrassed.
Sadi reached up.
Touched his scar.
His entire body froze.
She traced only the uninjured skin beside it.
“Who did this?”
“Bear trap chain.”
“That is disappointingly ordinary.”
“It nearly removed my jaw.”
“Less ordinary.”
He smiled.
A real smile this time.
It transformed him.
Sadi had not expected that.
The monster suddenly looked like a man who had forgotten he possessed a face capable of warmth.
She lowered her hand.
Lucien caught it gently.
Not holding.
Simply stopping it before she pulled away completely.
His thumb rested against her knuckles.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Sadi thought.
“Yes.”
He released her immediately.
She caught his hand before it fell.
“I didn’t say I wanted you to move.”
Lucien stared.
Sadi guided his enormous palm to her waist.
His fingers trembled.
The trembling did something unexpected to her.
All her life, Sadi had been treated as though powerful men were dangerous because they did not fear anything.
Lucien’s fear was different.
He was afraid of being dangerous to her.
She whispered, “You’ve never done this before?”
His face reddened.
“No.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Not even—”
“No.”
Sadi smiled.
“Lucien Holt, terror of the Bitterroots.”
He frowned.
“Don’t.”
“Thirty-four years old.”
“Sadi.”
“Lives with wolves.”
“I do not live with wolves.”
“Afraid of one woman in a blue nightdress.”
“I am not afraid of the dress.”
She looked down deliberately.
His gaze followed before he caught himself.
Sadi’s smile deepened.
“Oh.”
Lucien closed his eyes.
“Please stop.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked whether I would sleep beside you.”
“Yes.”
“And I am trying to answer like a decent man.”
Sadi stepped closer until the fabric of her nightdress brushed his shirt.
“Then answer honestly.”
His eyes opened.
She saw the answer before he spoke.
“I want you.”
The words were quiet.
Almost painful.
Sadi’s breath caught.
Lucien continued.
“I have wanted you since you walked into that chapel.”
Her heart beat harder.
“But?”
“But I believed you had chosen this.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what belongs to the lie and what belongs to you.”
That sentence silenced her.
Sadi looked toward the single bed.
Then back.
She understood what he meant.
If she slept with him tonight, was it because she truly wanted him?
Or because a town had trained her to believe marriage meant obligation?
Or because she was frightened of being sent back?
Or because he fed her?
Or because she did not know where else to go?
Choice became complicated when every option carried dependence.
Sadi whispered, “Maybe we don’t know tonight.”
Lucien nodded.
Relief and disappointment crossed his face simultaneously.
She smiled slightly.
“But you can still kiss me.”
His eyes widened.
Sadi tilted her head.
“Unless the mountain monster is frightened.”
That did it.
Lucien bent.
Slowly.
Giving her time.
His lips touched hers.
The kiss was so careful that Sadi almost laughed again.
Then she felt the tension in him.
The enormous effort to remain gentle.
She leaned closer.
Lucien responded.
His hand stayed at her waist.
Nothing else.
Sadi moved her own hand into his beard, then around the back of his neck.
The kiss deepened naturally.
Not practiced.
Not perfect.
Honest.
When they separated, Lucien looked stunned.
Sadi whispered, “That was good.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Very?”
She laughed softly.
“Enough to try again.”
They did.
Then Sadi slept in the bed.
Lucien slept beside the hearth.
But before she closed her eyes, she looked at him through the firelight and no longer saw a monster.
That was almost more frightening.
Because monsters were easy to understand.
Good men could be loved.
And love had always cost Sadi more than she possessed.
Morning arrived bright and viciously cold.
Sadi woke beneath three blankets.
For several seconds she did not remember where she was.
Then the smell of coffee reached her.
Lucien stood beside the stove wearing a dark shirt and heavy trousers, his hair still damp from having apparently washed in water cold enough to kill ordinary people.
He looked over.
“Morning.”
Sadi stretched.
“Did you sleep?”
“Yes.”
“You lie badly.”
Lucien looked toward the bearskins.
“They’re comfortable.”
“Then why are you walking like someone kicked you down a mountain?”
He said nothing.
Sadi smiled.
“Pride is unattractive.”
“So is mockery before coffee.”
She laughed.
Breakfast consisted of biscuits, smoked elk, fried potatoes, and coffee strong enough to dissolve a spoon.
Sadi ate more than she normally allowed herself.
Lucien noticed.
He said nothing.
That became another small kindness.
At the boarding house, food had always been measured.
Workers ate after guests.
Sadi learned to make hunger quiet.
Lucien apparently believed plates existed to be filled.
When she reached for a second biscuit, he simply moved the basket closer.
Afterward, she said, “When can we go back?”
Lucien looked out the window.
“Two days if weather holds.”
“To confront Cobb?”
“Yes.”
Sadi nodded.
Then:
“And afterward?”
Lucien became still.
“That is yours.”
“What is?”
“Whether you come back.”
The words hurt unexpectedly.
She looked at him.
“You would let me stay in Oak Haven?”
“Yes.”
“After all this?”
“Yes.”
“You paid—”
Lucien’s eyes hardened.
“Do not finish that sentence.”
Sadi stopped.
He continued.
“I paid nothing for you.”
“You gave them six wagons.”
“For hungry people.”
“And asked for a wife.”
“I asked to meet a woman who wanted the same arrangement.”
“You still lost the meat if I leave.”
Lucien shrugged.
“They ate it.”
“So you get nothing.”
He looked at her.
“I don’t trade kindness for ownership.”
Sadi’s throat tightened.
She turned away quickly.
Lucien returned to repairing a snowshoe.
He gave her privacy without asking why her eyes had filled.
That afternoon, Sadi explored the cabin.
She found more food than one man could reasonably need.
Barrels of flour.
Salt.
Beans.
Dried fruit.
Coffee.
Preserved vegetables.
Smokehouse stores.
Lucien had prepared for two people.
Maybe more.
She found a second pair of gloves.
Women’s size.
A hairbrush still wrapped in paper.
Three bolts of cloth.
A small sewing box.
She carried it toward him.
“You bought this?”
Lucien looked embarrassed.
“I asked the merchant what women use.”
Sadi opened it.
Needles.
Thread.
Pins.
Scissors.
A thimble.
“You bought an entire sewing box because somebody told you wives sew?”
“I thought you might.”