PART 2 — THE GIANT’S HOUSE HAD ROOM FOR TWO, BUT NOT FOR SECRETS

“Low branch,” Mara repeated.

Abel ducked just in time.

The pine limb swept over his shoulder and struck the back of the wagon with a crack.

He glanced at her.

“You always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Must be exhausting.”

“For the people listening, perhaps.”

Abel gave a quiet grunt that might have been a laugh.

Mara settled back against the seat. The trail grew steeper, and the last light slipped behind the mountains. She had expected the journey to be uncomfortable. She had not expected the man beside her to be so silent.

He did not complain about the rough road. He did not ask about the blood on her sleeve again. And when the wagon tilted dangerously near a narrow bend, his enormous hand moved instinctively to steady her without grabbing her.

It was the first kindness she had noticed all day.

After another hour, the trees opened onto a small clearing.

A log cabin stood near a stream, its chimney sending a thin ribbon of smoke into the evening air. A woodshed leaned against one side, and a fenced pasture stretched toward the pine-covered slope. There were two horses near the stable and a vegetable garden protected by a rough wooden fence.

Mara looked around.

“This is your home?”

“It is.”

“Not bad.”

Abel glanced at her, seemingly surprised.

“Most people call it remote.”

“Most people have probably never lived somewhere with a roof that doesn’t leak.”

He climbed down and reached for her carpetbag.

Mara held on.

“I can carry it.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“Then why are you taking it?”

“Because the path is muddy, and I’d rather not spend tomorrow repairing the bag if you fall.”

She studied him, then released it.

Inside, the cabin was larger than it appeared from outside. A stone fireplace dominated one wall. There was a heavy wooden table, two chairs, shelves filled with books, and a narrow staircase leading to the upper floor.

The place was clean but strangely bare.

One plate sat on the table. One cup rested beside the stove. A second chair had been pushed against the wall as though no one had used it in years.

Mara set down her satchel.

“You live alone?”

“Yes.”

“No family nearby?”

“No.”

“Friends?”

Abel removed his coat.

“Not many.”

Mara glanced at the single plate.

“That explains the furniture.”

He looked toward her.

“What does?”

“You’ve furnished this place for one person and then advertised for a wife. I hope you understand I’ll require a second cup.”

For a moment, Abel said nothing.

Then he crossed to a cupboard and brought out another cup.

“There’s one.”

“Wonderful. The marriage is already improving.”

He placed it on the table.

Mara tried not to smile.

Abel showed her the bedroom upstairs. It was small but warm, with a narrow bed, a washstand, and a window overlooking the pasture.

“I’ll sleep downstairs,” he said. “You can have the room.”

Mara raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to pretend I’m made of glᴀss.”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“Good. Because I don’t need a guardian.”

“I didn’t offer to be one.”

His answer was so straightforward that she found herself without a reply.

He pointed toward the stairs.

“There’s a latch on the inside. Use it if you want. You’ll have your privacy.”

Mara looked at him more carefully.

“You really do intend to let me make my own choices?”

“That’s what I wrote for.”

She folded her arms.

“Then let me ask something. What exactly did you expect when you sent for a wife?”

Abel stared into the fireplace.

“A companion. Someone steady. Someone who wouldn’t mind the mountain.”

“And quiet?”

“I never asked for quiet.”

“The newspaper did.”

“Then the newspaper doesn’t know me.”

Mara pulled out the chair and sat.

“Why didn’t you correct it?”

Abel remained standing.

For a long moment, the only sound was the fire.

“Because I didn’t think anyone would answer the advertisement if they knew the truth.”

“What truth?”

He looked toward the window.

“I’m not an easy man to live with.”

Mara waited.

“I work long hours. I don’t visit town often. I don’t have much to say, and I don’t always know what to say when someone expects me to.”

“That’s not a terrible confession.”

“It is if you’re hoping for a husband who fills every silence.”

Mara considered him.

“Perhaps I can fill enough silence for both of us.”

His eyes returned to hers.

There was something almost startled in his expression.

Then he nodded.

“Dinner’s ready.”

The meal was simple: beans, potatoes, smoked meat, and fresh coffee. Mara ate with the appeтιтe of someone who had spent too many days traveling on poor meals.

Abel watched her reach for another helping.

“There’s more,” he said.

“I noticed.”

“You don’t have to ask.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

He looked down at his plate, and Mara realized he was trying not to smile.

After supper, she discovered a stack of folded newspapers beside the fireplace. Most were several months old. One had the marriage advertisement still folded inside.

She picked it up.

WANTED: A STEADY WOMAN TO SHARE A MOUNTAIN HOME. A QUIET DISPOSITION PREFERRED.

Mara tapped the paper.

“Here it is. The source of all our troubles.”

Abel reached for it.

“I didn’t write that.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“The editor changed it.”

“And you never saw the printed version?”

“I did. By then, the advertisement had already been running.”

Mara looked at him.

“Did you receive many replies?”

“Three.”

“What happened?”

“One woman wanted a house in town. Another wanted me to sell the horses. The third stopped writing when she learned how far the cabin was from the nearest church.”

“And you chose me?”

“I didn’t choose you because of your letters.”

Mara’s expression тιԍнтened.

“Then why?”

Abel took a folded sheet from the table.

“Because of what you wrote in the last one.”

He handed it to her.

Mara recognized her own handwriting.

I am not a quiet woman. I have opinions about nearly everything, and I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life pretending otherwise. I can cook, mend, ride, and work hard. But I will not be treated as a servant or as a burden. If you want a woman who agrees with every word you say, I am not the one.

At the bottom, Abel had written one sentence.

That sounds like someone I could respect.

Mara read it twice.

“You could have told me that at the station.”

“I thought I had.”

“You told me you wanted a steady wife.”

“You asked if I was afraid of women. I was still trying to answer.”

Mara laughed.

It was a bright, unrestrained sound, and it seemed to surprise the cabin itself.

Abel looked at her as though he had not heard laughter in that room for a very long time.

Then came a knock.

Three hard blows against the front door.

Abel’s expression changed immediately.

He crossed the room and opened it.

A thin man in a black hat stood outside, holding a leather folder.

“Evening, Stone.”

“Mercer.”

The visitor glanced past Abel and noticed Mara.

“So the bride arrived.”

Mara stood.

“Apparently, the news travels faster than the train.”

The man ignored her.

“I’m here about the eastern pasture.”

Abel’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“I told you the answer.”

“You haven’t heard my latest offer.”

“I don’t need to.”

The stranger opened his folder.

“There’s a problem with your property line. The county survey puts the eastern pasture under the old Voss claim.”

Abel didn’t move.

“That survey is wrong.”

“Then you won’t mind signing a temporary agreement while we settle the matter.”

Mara stepped closer.

“Who are you?”

The man finally looked at her.

“Elias Mercer. I handle land matters for several property owners in this county.”

“And what exactly are you asking my husband to sign?”

“Something that doesn’t concern you, ma’am.”

Mara smiled politely.

“Then you won’t mind explaining it.”

Mercer’s expression darkened.

Abel stepped between them.

“She’s my wife. Anything concerning this property concerns her.”

Mercer looked surprised.

Then he placed a document on the table.

“Read it before tomorrow, Stone. If you don’t sign, the county will have no choice but to investigate the boundary dispute.”

He left without another word.

Mara picked up the paper.

The first paragraph seemed ordinary enough. The second contained a description of the eastern pasture. But near the bottom, she found a clause that made her stop.

It gave Mercer temporary control over the land, including access to the water rights.

She looked at Abel.

“This isn’t a temporary agreement.”

“I know.”

“They want the spring.”

Abel took the document from her.

“Yes.”

Mara glanced toward the dark window.

“Then I suppose we have our first problem as husband and wife.”

Abel looked at her.

“You don’t have to involve yourself.”

She raised her chin.

“Mr. Stone, I crossed half a continent to build a life. I didn’t come here to sit upstairs while strangers take pieces of it.”

He studied her for a long moment.

Then he folded the paper and placed it beside the fireplace.

“Tomorrow, we’ll ride into town.”

Mara smiled.

“Good. I’ve been wanting to see what sort of people live in Mercy Hollow.”

Abel’s expression turned serious.

“Some of them won’t welcome you.”

“Then they’ll have to learn to tolerate disappointment.”

For the first time that evening, Abel laughed openly.

But neither of them noticed the shadow moving past the cabin window.

Someone had been listening.

And that someone knew exactly what Mercer had come to take.