Pike pulled the reins harder.
“Mountain men aren’t patient with difficult women.”
Josephine stared toward the road.
“Then perhaps we shall both be disappointed.”
The storm thickened.
By the time Harlan Creek’s cabin appeared through the pines, Josephine had begun trembling uncontrollably.
The cabin stood alone in a small valley beneath a wall of dark mountains. It was larger than she expected, built from thick pine logs and stone, with a steep roof carrying nearly two feet of snow.
A barn stood behind it.
Smoke rose from the chimney.
A split-rail fence surrounded several acres of pasture disappearing beneath white drifts.
The front door opened.
Harlan Creek stepped outside.
Josephine forgot the pain in her ribs for one second.
He was enormous.
Not fat.
Not merely tall.
Built.
His shoulders strained beneath a heavy wolf-fur coat. Dark hair brushed his collar. A thick brown beard covered a strong weathered jaw, and pale gray eyes studied the wagon from beneath a fur-lined hat.
A rifle rested against the porch post.
He looked like the mountains had decided to become a man.
Pike pulled the wagon to a stop.
“Harlan.”
Harlan’s attention moved immediately to Josephine.
His expression changed.
Not disappointment.
Not amusement.
Concern.
“You took too long.”
“The pass is closing.”
Harlan stepped toward the wagon.
His eyes settled on Josephine’s face.
“You all right?”
Josephine automatically answered the way she always did.
“I’m fine.”
Harlan’s gaze dropped to her blue lips.
Then to the way she held herself rigidly.
“No, you’re not.”
Preacher Pike climbed down.
“Your bride’s dramatic.”
Harlan looked at him.
The temperature in the valley seemed to fall another ten degrees.
“What did you say?”
Pike cleared his throat.
“I said the weather was dramatic.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Josephine stared.
Harlan stepped beside the wagon.
“Can you climb down?”
She nodded.
She tried.
Her frozen skirt caught around her boot.
Josephine slipped.
Harlan caught her.
His arms locked around her heavy body with surprising ease.
For one terrible second, embarrassment consumed her.
Most men who had ever attempted to help Josephine physically had either struggled or made sure she knew they were struggling.
Harlan simply steadied her.
No grunt.
No joke.
No hesitation.
His hands rested at her waist only long enough to make certain her feet were under her.
Then he released her.
“You’re freezing.”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“No.”
Josephine looked up at him.
His eyes were pale but not cold.
Pike unloaded her trunk.
“The papers are complete.”
Harlan did not look away from Josephine.
“You hungry?”
“A little.”
Pike laughed.
“A little?”
Josephine’s cheeks flared.
Harlan slowly turned toward him.
“Get off my land.”
The preacher’s smile vanished.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I brought your wife through a storm.”
“And now you’re leaving.”
“The pass—”
“You were worried enough about it fifteen minutes ago to hurry here. Start hurrying back.”
Pike glared.
Harlan took one step toward him.
The preacher climbed onto the wagon without another word.
Before leaving, he looked at Josephine.
“Remember what your father told you.”
Harlan heard.
“What did her father tell her?”
Pike snapped the reins.
The horses moved.
Harlan watched the wagon until it disappeared.
Then he picked up Josephine’s trunk.
She blinked.
“You don’t have to carry that.”
“I know.”
“It’s heavy.”
“So are most useful things.”
Josephine stared at him.