His hands stopped.
Finally.
She had surprised him.
Good.
Josephine waited.
Harlan slowly set aside the leather.
“Yes.”
One word.
No hesitation.
Her throat tightened.
“How attractive?”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Josephine.”
“You wanted honesty.”
“I wanted you to have information about your land.”
“I’m expanding the conversation.”
“I noticed.”
She shifted closer.
Harlan tracked the movement.
“How attractive?”
His pale eyes darkened.
“Enough that sleeping in that chair has become an act of discipline.”
Josephine’s pulse hammered.
She liked that answer far too much.
“And if I asked you to sleep in the bed tonight?”
His gaze held hers.
“I’d ask what you meant by sleep.”
Her cheeks warmed.
“Suppose I wasn’t sure.”
“Then we sleep.”
“And if I become sure?”
“Then you tell me.”
Josephine touched the edge of the table.
“You really mean that.”
“Yes.”
“Even though we’re married.”
“Especially because the circumstances of that marriage were rotten.”
She looked at him.
“What would you have done if I arrived and hated you?”
“Taken you to a lawyer.”
“What if I wanted an annulment?”
“Helped.”
“What if I wanted half your ranch too?”
Harlan smiled faintly.
“My ranch borders yours. Different deed.”
“I know.”
“I’d say no.”
Josephine laughed.
“Good.”
The attraction growing between them no longer frightened her in quite the same way.
But she did not invite him into bed that night.
Or the next.
She needed something first.
Control.
Not over him.
Over herself.
For perhaps the first time in her adult life, Josephine discovered what it felt like when no one demanded that she rush toward gratitude.
Harlan waited.
The pass opened on the fourth morning.
They rode south.
Josephine wore one of the simple wool dresses from her trunk.
Without the corset.
The dress sat differently on her body.
Her stomach rounded naturally.
Her waist appeared wider.
Her chest rested more heavily.
Her large arms filled the sleeves.
For the first mile, Josephine felt exposed.
Then she realized Harlan had not looked at her differently.
When he helped her mount the wagon, his hand was secure beneath her forearm.
Nothing more.
Timber Crossing took half a day to reach.
People stared when Josephine climbed down beside Harlan.
Word had spread about the marriage.
People always preferred gossip to work.
Harlan led her directly to the law office of Margaret Bell.
Josephine expected a man.
Instead, the attorney who opened the door was a fifty-six-year-old widow wearing steel spectacles and an expression capable of making dishonest people confess voluntarily.
“You’re Josephine.”
“Yes.”
Margaret looked at Harlan.
“Out.”
Josephine blinked.
Harlan did not argue.
He left.
Margaret shut the door.
Josephine almost smiled.
“I like you.”
“You may not after my fee.”
“I own copper, apparently.”
Margaret’s eyebrow rose.
“Harlan told you.”
“He did.”
“Good. That saves us time.”
For two hours, Margaret examined every document.
Then she confirmed what Harlan had said.
Eleanor Vale had inherited 3,800 acres from her father.
She later transferred them legally to Josephine through a protected trust deed.
Edwin never owned the property.
Josephine did.
But Margaret found something worse.