“Hold still.”

Caleb Rusk’s voice cut through the cabin.

Lydia pressed her back harder against the log wall.

“I said no.”

“And I said you’ll die if you keep fighting me.”

He didn’t raise his voice. Somehow, that made his words more frightening.

The black linen strip steamed above the iron stove. Its edges were dark with charcoal and something that smelled bitterly of pine.

Lydia looked at the wound on her thigh.

The puncture had been caused by a broken piece of metal when the stagecoach overturned on the narrow mountain trail. She had barely noticed it at first. There had been too much snow, too much shouting, and too much fear.

But now her leg was swollen, the skin around the wound H๏τ and angry.

She had begun shivering before Caleb carried her into the cabin.

“Please,” she whispered. “There must be another way.”

Caleb put down the knife.

For the first time since she had met him, his expression softened.

“Miss Hart, look at me.”

She did.

“I’ve seen men die from wounds smaller than yours. I’ve watched a boy lose his leg because someone was too frightened to clean a wound properly. I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Why do you care?”

He was silent.

“I’m not even your wife yet,” she continued. “You haven’t seen me in a wedding dress. You haven’t had time to discover how disappointing I am.”

His jaw тιԍнтened.

“Don’t say that.”

Lydia blinked.

“What?”

“Don’t speak about yourself like that.”

He moved closer, carrying a bowl of H๏τ water.

“You think I sent for you because I couldn’t find another woman?”

“Isn’t that precisely what happened?”

“No.”

He crouched in front of her.

“I sent for you because you told me the truth when every other woman who answered my advertisement sent me a pH๏τograph and a list of things she wanted.”

Lydia looked away.

Caleb dipped a clean cloth into the water.

“You told me you were strong. You told me you weren’t pretty by fashionable standards. You told me you had no money and no intention of pretending otherwise.”

He paused.

“Do you know how rare honesty is?”

Lydia swallowed.

Then he carefully cleaned the wound.

She cried out, gripping the edge of the wooden chair.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

It was the first gentle thing he had said all evening.

When he finished, he covered the wound with clean dressing and wrapped her leg securely.

The black linen remained beside the stove.

Lydia stared at it.

“What was that for?”

Caleb looked at the steaming cloth.

“An old treatment my father taught me. But we’re not putting anything into that wound tonight. I’ll keep it clean, watch the swelling, and get you to the physician as soon as the pᴀss is safe.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“You changed your mind?”

“I listened.”

For some reason, those two words made her eyes sting.

By midnight, the storm had become a wall of white.

Caleb had placed Lydia in the only bedroom, given her his thickest wool blanket, and set a pot of broth beside the bed.

He slept in a chair near the stove.

Or at least, he pretended to.

Lydia watched him through the half-open door.

His boots remained on.

A rifle rested within reach of his hand.

There was something deeply unsettling about the way he listened to the wind.

As though he expected someone to come through it.

“Caleb?”

His head turned immediately.

“Yes?”

“Do you regret sending for me?”

“No.”

“You haven’t even seen me properly in daylight.”

“I have eyes.”

She almost smiled.

“That isn’t an answer.”

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then he said, “I regret that you had to travel so far to find somewhere you could belong.”

Lydia felt her throat тιԍнтen.

She turned her face toward the pillow.

No man had ever spoken to her like that.

Not her stepfather.

Not the gentlemen who had laughed when she entered a ballroom.

Not even the man who had once promised to marry her before withdrawing his proposal after his mother called her figure unsuitable.

She closed her eyes.

“Good night, Mr. Rusk.”

“Caleb.”

“What?”

“You can call me Caleb.”

She smiled faintly.

“Good night, Caleb.”

The following morning, Lydia woke to the smell of coffee and woodsmoke.

Her leg still hurt, but the feverish sensation seemed less intense.

She sat up carefully.

On the chair beside the bed lay a folded dress.

It was dark blue, simple, and beautifully made.

There was also a note.

Your wedding dress was ruined. This belonged to my mother. It should fit you better than the one you brought.

Lydia touched the fabric.

It was soft, warm, and considerably more expensive than anything she owned.

When she entered the kitchen, Caleb was splitting kindling near the back door.

He looked up.

For a moment, his axe stopped moving.

Lydia was wearing the blue dress, her thick brown hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded.

“Breakfast is ready.”

She sat at the table.

There were eggs, bread, fried potatoes, and a small dish of honey.

“You prepared all this?”

“I didn’t expect you to live on snow.”

She laughed.

Caleb glanced at her.

Then something unexpected happened.

He smiled.

It transformed his face.

For the first time, Lydia noticed that beneath his weather-beaten appearance was a handsome man, perhaps ten years older than her, with thoughtful eyes and a quiet sadness that seemed to follow him everywhere.

“Why do you live alone?” she asked.

His smile disappeared.

“It’s complicated.”

“Most interesting things are.”

He sat opposite her.

“My wife died seven years ago.”

Lydia lowered her fork.

“I’m sorry.”

“She was called Margaret. We had a little girl. Anna.”

“What happened?”

“An outbreak of fever in the valley. I was away hunting. By the time I returned, they were both gone.”

Lydia’s heart ached.

“That’s terrible.”

Caleb stared into his coffee.

“After that, I stopped going into town. People wanted to tell me God had a plan. I didn’t want to hear it.”

She reached across the table.

Her fingers rested lightly against his.

He looked down at her hand.

Neither moved for several seconds.

Then Lydia said quietly, “I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people and still feel unwanted.”

Caleb looked at her.

“Your stepfather?”

She nodded.

“He said I was too much of everything. Too tall. Too broad. Too difficult to dress. Too expensive to feed.”

Caleb’s expression hardened.

“Sounds like a miserable man.”

“He was.”

“Then he was wrong.”

Lydia looked up.

Caleb continued eating as though he hadn’t just changed something inside her.

Three days later, the storm cleared.

Caleb rode into town to collect supplies and arrange for a physician to examine Lydia.

He told her not to leave the cabin.

She promised.

But around noon, someone knocked on the door.

Lydia opened it.

A woman in a fine fur-trimmed coat stood outside, accompanied by a young man carrying a leather satchel.

“Good afternoon,” the woman said.

“Good afternoon.”

The visitor looked Lydia up and down.

“You must be Caleb’s new bride.”

Lydia straightened.

“I’m Lydia Hart.”

The woman’s smile was thin.

“Eleanor Whitmore. My family owns considerable land in this valley.”

Lydia waited.

Eleanor stepped inside without being invited.

“I hope Caleb explained that he has a rather complicated past.”

“He mentioned his late wife.”

“Ah. Then perhaps he has been more forthcoming than I expected.”

Eleanor removed her gloves.

“I was engaged to Caleb before Margaret came along.”

Lydia felt an uncomfortable тιԍнтening in her stomach.

“Were you?”

“His father and mine had an understanding. Unfortunately, Caleb chose a woman from a poor family instead.”

She looked toward the kitchen.

“Now I hear he’s sending away for another wife.”

Lydia remained silent.

Eleanor’s gaze returned to her.

“I must say, I expected someone different.”

Lydia knew exactly what she meant.

Her height.

Her broad shoulders.

Her substantial figure.

The same things that had followed her throughout her life.

But she had no intention of allowing this woman to make her feel small.

“Caleb asked for a strong wife,” Lydia replied. “Perhaps he got exactly what he wanted.”

Eleanor’s smile тιԍнтened.

“Confidence is admirable. But you should understand that Caleb is not a man who stays interested for long.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

The young man carrying the satchel looked down quickly.

Eleanor’s cheeks flushed.

“You’re quite bold.”

“I’ve had practice.”

The woman leaned closer.

“Listen carefully, Miss Hart. Caleb’s land is worth a great deal. There are people in this valley who would do almost anything to obtain it. Don’t ᴀssume he sent for you because he wants a wife.”

Lydia’s stomach тιԍнтened.

“What are you suggesting?”

Eleanor smiled.

“Ask him why he advertised for a bride in the first place.”

Then she left.

But before stepping onto the porch, she turned.

“Oh, and one more thing. If I were you, I wouldn’t sign anything he puts in front of you.”

The door closed.

Lydia stood motionless.

For the first time, doubt entered her mind.

That evening, Caleb returned with the physician.

Dr. Samuel Bennett examined Lydia’s leg, changed the dressing, and ᴀssured them that she was recovering.

After he left, Lydia sat beside the stove.

“Who is Eleanor Whitmore?”

Caleb stopped removing his coat.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“She came here.”

His expression darkened.

“What did she want?”

“To warn me about you.”

Caleb placed his coat on the chair.

“Did she?”

“She said you weren’t looking for a wife. She said you needed someone to protect your land.”

He stared at the floor.

Lydia’s voice trembled.

“Is that true?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

Then he crossed the room and opened an old wooden drawer.

He removed a thick envelope.

Inside were property documents, a map, and a newspaper clipping.

He placed them on the table.

“Seven years ago, my father left me this mountain.”

Lydia examined the map.

It showed thousands of acres of timberland, a river, and several mining claims.

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s silver beneath the northern ridge. A company from Denver has been trying to buy the land for years.”

“And?”

“My father refused. He knew the mining company planned to poison the river and drive the settlers out.”

Caleb placed another document on the table.

“After he died, the company started making offers to me. I refused, too.”

Lydia looked at him.

“Then what does that have to do with marrying me?”

He took a slow breath.

“Because my father left one condition in his will.”

“What condition?”

Caleb looked directly at her.

“The land cannot be sold, transferred, or divided unless I have a legal heir.”

Lydia’s fingers тιԍнтened around the edge of the paper.

“An heir?”

“A child.”

Silence filled the cabin.

Lydia slowly stood.

“So you needed a wife to give you a child.”

Caleb didn’t deny it.

“I wanted a family. But I also needed to protect this land.”

She looked at him, her eyes filling.

“And you thought I was simply someone who could solve both problems?”

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

He lowered his head.

“Because I was afraid you’d refuse.”

Lydia laughed bitterly.

“You were afraid I’d refuse, so you decided I didn’t deserve to know the truth?”

He stepped toward her.

“Lydia—”

“No.”

She moved away.

“I came here because I thought someone had finally chosen me without asking me to become smaller, prettier, or more convenient.”

Her voice broke.

“I thought you wanted me.”

Caleb stood perfectly still.

Then he said something that made her turn.

“I do.”

She shook her head.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you climbed into a stagecoach knowing you might never be welcomed anywhere again. I know you endured a terrible journey without asking anyone to carry you. I know you were frightened when I treated your wound, but you still found the courage to trust me.”

He swallowed.

“And I know that when you walked into my kitchen wearing my mother’s dress, this cabin felt like a home again for the first time in seven years.”

Lydia couldn’t speak.

Caleb continued.

“The land was the reason I placed the advertisement. It was not the reason I chose you.”

He reached into the envelope and removed one final document.

It was a marriage agreement.

But there was something unusual about it.

He had written a clause in his own hand.

Lydia Hart shall retain full control over her property, earnings, and personal decisions. She shall never be required to bear a child or surrender her rights to the Rusk estate.

Lydia stared at the words.

“You wrote this?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t make another woman live under conditions she never agreed to.”

He looked at her.

“Not after what happened to Margaret.”

Before Lydia could ask what he meant, a horse galloped toward the cabin.

Then came a violent pounding at the door.

“RUSK!”

Caleb grabbed his rifle.

A man’s voice shouted from outside.

“Open up! It’s the sheriff!”

Caleb moved toward the window.

His face changed.

Lydia approached him.

“What is it?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then he turned.

“Eleanor has accused you of stealing her family’s property.”

“What?”

“She’s also told the sheriff that you were never legally invited here.”

Lydia felt the room spin.

“But you sent for me!”

“I know.”

Caleb looked toward the door.

Then came another shout.

“Caleb Rusk! We have a warrant for Lydia Hart’s arrest!”

Lydia stepped backward.

Caleb moved in front of her.

And through the window, she saw something that made her blood run cold.

Standing beside the sheriff was Harlan Greaves, the stagecoach driver who had brought her to the mountain.

He was holding her original trunk.

And on top of it lay a bloodstained wedding veil.

Caleb raised his rifle.

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

“Lydia, stay behind me.”

But she was staring at the trunk.

Because she recognized the handwriting on the paper tied around its handle.

It was her stepfather’s.

And the message contained only eleven words:

Bring the girl back. She has no idea who her real father was.

Lydia felt her knees weaken.

Her entire life had been built on a lie.

And the man she had crossed the country to marry might be the only person standing between her and the truth.

TO BE CONTINUED — PART 3.