The blizzard came four days later.
Montana disappeared behind white.
Road gone.
Fences buried.
Ranch hands trapped in the bunkhouse.
Thomas and Sarah inside the main house with Margaret.
The first day passed in work.
The second in conversation.
The third changed everything.
Sarah spent the afternoon reviewing spring planning notes.
Thomas inspected doors and windows.
Margaret made stew.
By evening the storm shook the house hard enough to rattle the glass.
After supper Margaret retired early.
Sarah sat in the small upstairs sitting room adjoining her bedroom.
She had changed into a dusty-blue house dress softer than the formal clothes she usually wore.
The neckline was lower.
Not intentionally provocative.
Simply comfortable.
Or that was what she told herself.
Thomas knocked.
“Come in.”
He entered carrying a ledger.
“You forgot this.”
Sarah smiled.
“You crossed the house in a blizzard to deliver a book?”
“We are inside.”
“You know what I mean.”
Thomas set it down.
Neither moved.
Sarah sat on the edge of the bed.
Thomas looked at her.
She looked at him.
Weeks of restraint filled the room.
Thomas stepped closer.
Sarah's breath caught.
He stopped.
“Tell me to leave.”
She stared.
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
Heat moved through her.
Thomas knelt in front of her, perhaps because standing made him tower over her.
His hands remained on his own thighs.
Sarah looked at him.
“That's worse.”
“What?”
“You being careful.”
“Would you prefer I wasn't?”
Her pulse jumped.
She smiled slowly.
“If you keep touching me that carefully, Thomas, I’m going to start wondering what you'd do if I asked you to stop being careful.”
His eyes changed.
Sarah almost regretted the sentence.
Almost.
Thomas's hand moved to her knee over the fabric.
Only that.
Yet she inhaled sharply.
“Don't tempt me unless you mean it.”
His voice was low.
“I've spent weeks imagining exactly how you'd sound when you finally stopped pretending you didn't want me.”
Sarah felt her face burn.
“You imagined that?”
“Yes.”
“How frequently?”
Thomas gave her a look.
“That is not a wise question.”
She leaned closer.
“Answer.”
“Often.”
Sarah caught his vest.
Pulled him toward her.
“Then maybe tonight I want to know whether all that restraint is real.”
Her lips nearly touched his.
“Or something you've been hiding behind.”
Thomas's hand moved around her waist.
His forehead touched hers.
“One word.”
He whispered.
“Give me one word, darling, and I'll spend the rest of the night making sure you never doubt how badly your husband wants you.”
Sarah's eyes closed.
Then Thomas moved away.
Not far.
But enough.
She opened her eyes.
“What?”
He looked tortured.
Sarah released his vest.
“What is it?”
Thomas stood.
Walked toward the window.
Sarah's desire turned instantly into unease.
“Thomas.”
“I need to tell you something.”
No.
Nothing good ever began that way.
Sarah rose.
“What?”
Thomas faced her.
“The bank loan.”
Her expression changed.
“What about it?”
“When I expanded the ranch two years ago, the bank included conditions.”
“Financial?”
“Partly.”
Sarah waited.
Thomas's face was the face he wore when choosing honesty because dishonesty had become unbearable.
“One condition required evidence of stable household establishment before December first.”
Sarah stared.
Thomas continued.
“Marriage.”
The word landed cold.