PART 4 — THE WOMAN WHO REFUSED TO STAY DOWN

Martha Higgins lay in the frozen mud for three long seconds.

The pain in her knee was sharp, but the humiliation was sharper.

She could see Jed Boon standing on the porch.

He had not moved.

He was waiting for her to cry.

Waiting for her to curse him, beg him, or ask to be taken back to Bitter Creek.

Martha had seen that expression before. She had seen it on the faces of employers who dismissed her because she was too large. She had seen it on the faces of men who laughed when she entered a room.

It was the expression of someone who believed he had already won.

Martha looked down at the spilled water.

Then she looked at the iron bar lying beside her.

Slowly, she pushed herself upright.

Her knee protested. Her hands shook from the cold. She could barely stand.

But she stood.

Jed’s expression changed.

Martha reached for the remaining bucket.

“You can come down here and help me,” she called, “or you can continue watching me freeze. Either way, I intend to finish what I came to do.”

Jed straightened.

For a moment, he seemed unable to understand what he had heard.

Then he came down the slope.

He reached for the bucket.

Martha pulled it away.

“I can carry it.”

“Your knee is hurt.”

“I noticed.”

“Then let me take it.”

She studied his scarred face.

“Is this the part where you pretend you have a conscience?”

Jed’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“No. It’s the part where I realize I was being a damn fool.”

Martha almost smiled.

Almost.

She allowed him to carry the full bucket, but she kept the empty one.

Together, they climbed the slope.

When they reached the cabin, Jed set the water beside the door.

Martha went straight to the stove.

“I need H๏τ water,” she said.

Jed looked at her knee.

“You need to sit down.”

“I need H๏τ water first.”

He did not argue.

For the first time since she had arrived, Jed Boon did exactly what Martha asked.

By evening, the cabin had changed.

The floor was clean. The skillet was polished. The fire burned steadily.

Martha sat in the wooden chair near the stove, her injured knee resting on a folded blanket.

Jed stood near the door, looking at the room as if he had entered someone else’s home.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he said.

Martha glanced at him.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

She looked toward the window.

“Because I have spent too many years living in places where other people decided what I was worth. I will not live in another one.”

Jed said nothing.

Then he reached into a cupboard and removed a small tin.

“There’s something I should tell you.”

Martha waited.

“The three women who came before you…”

He stopped.

“What about them?”

“They weren’t the only ones who left.”

Martha’s eyes narrowed.

Jed looked at the fire.

“My first wife died eight years ago.”

The words settled heavily between them.

Martha had not known he had ever been married.

“She was called Ruth,” he continued. “She was kind. She was brave. And she hated this mountain.”

He swallowed.

“She got sick during a winter storm. I rode to town for the doctor, but the trail was blocked. By the time I got back…”

He did not finish.

Martha looked at him.

“Is that why you treat every woman who comes here as if you want her gone?”

Jed’s scar pulled тιԍнт.

“I don’t know how to keep someone from dying.”

Martha’s expression softened, but she did not offer him pity.

“Then perhaps you should stop trying to make everyone leave before they can.”

Jed looked at her.

It was the first time anyone had spoken to him that way.

And it was the first time he had no cruel answer ready.

That night, Martha slept on the cot.

Jed slept in his chair.

Neither mentioned the arrangement.

But sometime after midnight, Martha awoke to the sound of footsteps outside.

She listened.

A horse.

Then a knock.

Jed was already standing.

He opened the door.

A man in a dark coat stood on the porch, his face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

“Boon,” the stranger said. “I came to collect what you owe.”

Jed’s face went white.

Martha sat up.

The stranger looked past him.

Then his eyes landed on her.

“Well,” he said slowly. “You finally found yourself another bride.”

Jed stepped into the doorway.

“Leave.”

The stranger laughed.

“Not until we settle the matter of the land.”

Martha looked from one man to the other.

And suddenly, she understood.

Jed Boon had not brought her to the mountain simply because he wanted a wife.

He had been hiding something.

Something dangerous.

And the man standing on his porch knew exactly where to find it.