PART 2 — THE REAL REASON HE PAID TWENTY DOLLARS

Harlan stared into the fire for a long moment.

“Your father owed money to a man named Silas Crowe,” he finally said. “A considerable amount. When he couldn’t pay, Crowe threatened to take your family’s farm.”

Josephine тιԍнтened the buffalo robe around her shoulders.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Your father offered you as part of the bargain.”

Her face went pale.

“He told me I was marrying a rancher.”

“He told Crowe he had a daughter he could trade.”

Josephine looked down at the steaming mug in her hands.

“So you knew?”

“I knew enough to understand you weren’t being given a choice.”

Harlan leaned back.

“I’d heard about Crowe before. He has a habit of collecting debts in ways that leave people with nothing. I couldn’t let him take you.”

Josephine swallowed.

“Then why did you agree to marry me?”

“Because your father wouldn’t let you leave otherwise. The preacher believed he was arranging a proper marriage. Your father believed he’d found a way to get rid of a problem. And I believed I could get you away from both of them.”

Josephine studied his face.

“You could have told me.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I should have.”

The honesty unsettled her more than an excuse would have.

Harlan stood and placed another log on the fire.

“You’re safe here. There’s a bedroom upstairs. I’ll sleep near the stove. When the storm pᴀsses, you can decide what you want to do.”

“And if I want to leave?”

“I’ll take you wherever you choose.”

Josephine looked at the door.

The snow outside was piling against it. The mountain road had vanished beneath the storm, and the wind rattled the windows.

“You can’t take me anywhere tonight.”

“No. Tonight, you eat, get warm, and rest.”

He returned to his chair.

Josephine took another sip of broth.

It was rich with vegetables and herbs. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the warmth reached her stomach.

“There’s bread in the cupboard,” Harlan said. “And dried apples. Help yourself.”

She glanced toward the kitchen.

“May I?”

He looked at her as if the question made no sense.

“It’s your kitchen too, if you’re staying.”

Your kitchen.

Not his kitchen where she was permitted to work.

Not his house where she was expected to obey.

A place where she could simply belong.

Josephine had never heard anyone offer her something so ordinary in such a remarkable way.

The following morning, the blizzard had not stopped.

Josephine woke in a small upstairs bedroom with a thick quilt tucked beneath her chin. A clean wool dress lay folded over a chair, along with a pair of warm stockings.

She dressed slowly and went downstairs.

Harlan was outside splitting wood.

On the table sat a plate of eggs, bread, and a small dish of honey.

Beside it was a note.

Eat before the coffee gets cold. There’s no hurry.

Josephine smiled faintly.

She was cutting a piece of bread when Harlan came inside, carrying an armful of firewood.

“You’re awake.”

“I couldn’t sleep any longer.”

“Good. I was going to ask if you knew how to make biscuits.”

Josephine blinked.

“Biscuits?”

“The ones my mother used to make. Mine could break a man’s tooth.”

For the first time, she laughed.

It was a small sound, almost unfamiliar to her.

“I can try.”

Harlan placed the wood beside the stove.

“Then I’ll be the judge.”

She found flour, baking powder, salt, and a bowl. Her hands moved cautiously at first, but the familiar work began to settle her nerves.

Her mother had taught her to bake when she was a girl. Before her father began criticizing the cost of flour, before her aunt decided Josephine needed to be corrected, before every family gathering became another opportunity to discuss her appearance.

She mixed the dough, shaped it, and placed the biscuits in the oven.

Harlan watched from the other side of the kitchen.

“You’ve done this before.”

“My mother taught me.”

“Was she a good cook?”

“The best.”

Josephine’s smile faded.

“She died when I was twelve.”

Harlan nodded.

“Mine died when I was sixteen.”

They shared a quiet moment.

Then Josephine asked, “Did you ever marry?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Harlan looked toward the window.

“Spent too many years thinking a man who lived alone was better than a man who disappointed someone.”

Josephine understood that feeling.

She had spent years believing a woman who disappointed others deserved less.

When the biscuits were ready, Harlan took one, broke it open, and tasted it.

He chewed slowly.

Josephine waited.

“Well?”

He reached for another.

“Don’t suppose you’d consider making these again tomorrow?”

She laughed.

“I’ll consider it.”

And for the first time, the cabin felt less like a place she had been delivered to and more like somewhere she might choose to stay.

On the third afternoon, the storm finally weakened.

Harlan went outside to check the livestock while Josephine cleaned the kitchen.

She was sweeping beneath the table when she noticed a small wooden box pushed against the wall.

It was old, with a brᴀss clasp and a faded blue ribbon tied around it.

She reached down to move it.

A folded piece of paper slipped from beneath the lid.

Josephine recognized the handwriting immediately.

Her father’s.

Her fingers turned cold.

She opened the paper.

Mr. Crowe,

The girl will arrive at the mountain property by Thursday. Creek has agreed to the arrangement. The twenty dollars and two draft horses will settle the remaining balance. Once the preacher completes the ceremony, I expect the matter to be considered finished.

Josephine read the letter again.

Then she noticed another line at the bottom.

There is no need to tell her about the other agreement.

Her heart began pounding.

What other agreement?

She heard boots on the porch.

Harlan opened the door and stopped when he saw the paper in her hands.

“Where did you find that?”

“Under the box.”

He looked at the letter.

For the first time since she had met him, he appeared genuinely troubled.

“Josephine, I can explain.”

She stood.

“What other agreement?”

Harlan closed the door behind him.

“Your father promised Crowe something else.”

“What?”

He hesitated.

“Your mother’s land.”

Josephine stared at him.

The little cottage where her mother had raised her. The orchard she had planted with her own hands. The patch of garden where Josephine had spent childhood summers.

“My father sold it?”

“He tried.”

“Did you know?”

“I found out after the preacher left.”

Josephine felt the room spinning.

Harlan stepped forward but stopped when he saw her expression.

“I have the original deed,” he said. “Your mother left the land to you. Your father had no right to sell it.”

Josephine looked at him.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to speak with the lawyer first. I didn’t want to give you another promise without knowing I could keep it.”

She lowered the letter.

All her life, people had made decisions about her and then explained them afterward.

She was tired of being the last person to know what was happening to her own life.

“I want to see the deed,” she said.

Harlan nodded.

“Tomorrow, we’ll ride to town.”

But before morning came, someone knocked at the cabin door.

Three hard knocks.

Harlan reached for his coat.

Josephine stood behind him.

When he opened the door, a man with a black hat and a silver-handled cane stood on the porch.

His eyes went directly to Josephine.

“Miss Josephine,” he said pleasantly. “I’ve come to collect what your father promised.”

Harlan stepped into the doorway.

“Silas Crowe.”

The stranger smiled.

“Mr. Creek. I believe we have unfinished business.”