PART 2 — THE KNIFE WAS NEVER MEANT FOR HER

Wilder flinched.

Goss stopped immediately.

For several seconds, neither of them moved. Then the enormous mountain man lowered the knife.

“Hell,” he muttered. “I should’ve warned you.”

Wilder kept her eyes fixed on the blade.

“What are you doing?”

“Cutting the cord. That knot’s pulled тιԍнт enough to stop your breathing.”

He stepped back, holding the knife where she could see it.

“I won’t touch you unless you tell me to. You can untie it yourself if you’d rather. But those stays need to come off before you warm up properly.”

Wilder swallowed.

“You said you bought a wife.”

“I did.”

“And my father accepted two horses for me.”

“I know what the agreement says.”

“Then what exactly do you expect?”

Goss looked at her for a long moment.

“Right now? For you to stop shivering before you fall over.”

He placed the knife on the workbench and turned away again.

“There’s a blanket on the bed. Wrap yourself in it. I’ll put your clothes near the stove, but not close enough to burn.”

Wilder stared at his back.

She had spent twenty-six years learning to recognize the different kinds of danger a man could represent. There was the danger of a raised voice, the danger of a closed door, and the quiet danger of someone who believed that paying money gave him ownership over another human being.

Goss was difficult to understand.

He had the strength to frighten her, but he had stepped away when she flinched.

Slowly, she worked the stubborn cord loose. When the stays finally came free, she nearly cried from the relief of breathing properly.

She wrapped herself in the blanket and sat near the fireplace.

Goss placed a kettle over the flames.

“There’s broth in the pot,” he said. “You’ll need something warm in your stomach.”

“I have biscuits.”

“Those things in your paper bag?”

She glanced toward the door.

He had already seen them.

“They were given to me.”

“They’re hard enough to break a tooth.”

“They’re food.”

Goss turned around.

For the first time, something resembling amusement crossed his weathered face.

“That’s a poor argument, but I suppose it’s technically correct.”

He ladled broth into a wooden bowl and set it on the table.

Wilder approached cautiously.

The broth smelled of onions, potatoes, and meat. She hadn’t eaten a proper meal since the previous morning, but she forced herself to take small spoonfuls.

Goss sat across from her.

He didn’t stare.

That, more than anything, unsettled her.

Most men who had looked at her throughout her life had made certain she understood exactly what they thought of her size. Some had laughed openly. Others had hidden their cruelty behind compliments that were worse than insults.

Goss simply ate his own supper.

After a while, he spoke.

“Your father told the placement service you were agreeable.”

Wilder stopped eating.

“My father told them whatever would get him the horses.”

Goss nodded once.

“I figured.”

“He said I was fortunate. He said no other man would want a woman like me.”

Goss put down his spoon.

“Your father sounds like a fool.”

Wilder gave a short, bitter laugh.

“He’s been called worse.”

“Probably deserved it.”

Silence settled between them.

Then Goss reached into a small wooden box beside his chair and removed a folded document.

“This is the agreement I received.”

Wilder recognized the placement service’s seal.

He unfolded it.

The paper stated that she would keep the household, prepare meals, ᴀssist with the winter stores, and share the cabin with Saurin Goss. In exchange, she would receive food, shelter, and a share of any profits from their trading.

At the bottom, beneath the official signatures, was a sentence written in smaller print.

The woman shall remain with the purchaser for the duration of the contract.

Wilder’s stomach тιԍнтened.

“What does that mean?”

Goss leaned back.

“It means the service wanted to make certain I couldn’t send you away after one week and demand my money back.”

“And if I want to leave?”

His expression became hard.

“Then you leave.”

She looked up.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“But you paid for me.”

“I paid the service. I didn’t buy your soul.”

Wilder stared at him.

He took the document from her and folded it carefully.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go through the rest of it. If there’s anything you don’t agree with, we’ll settle it.”

“Why would you do that?”

Goss looked toward the dark window.

“Because I know what it feels like when someone else decides your life belongs to them.”

He said nothing more.

That night, Wilder slept on the bed while Goss took a chair beside the fireplace.

She woke twice, expecting to find him standing over her.

Both times, he was exactly where he had been, asleep with his arms folded and his boots still on.

The next morning, she discovered why.

The mountain man had a bad habit of waking before dawn.

He was already outside splitting wood when she opened her eyes.

A small stack of dry clothing sat beside the stove. Her dress had been washed and hung near the hearth. Her boots had been stuffed with warm cloth.

And beside her trunk lay a pair of thick wool socks.

There was no note.

No demand.

Only a bowl of oatmeal waiting on the table.

Wilder ate slowly, looking around the cabin.

There was a second chair. A second cup. A shelf cleared beside the bed.

Goss had prepared for someone to come.

But had he prepared for a wife?

Or simply for another person who needed somewhere to survive the winter?

She was still thinking about it when he entered.

“There’s something you should know,” he said.

He placed a small leather pouch on the table.

Wilder recognized the seal stamped into its flap.

It belonged to the White Fish Valley Placement Service.

Goss opened it and removed a letter.

“Your father didn’t tell you everything about the agreement.”

Wilder’s hands went cold.

“What else did he do?”

Goss unfolded the letter.

“He wasn’t the first man to offer you for payment.”

And the name written beneath her father’s signature was one Wilder had not heard in nearly ten years.

It belonged to the man who had once promised to take her away from Pincher Creek.