He never answered for her.
Once, a company representative turned to him and said, “Surely you can persuade your wife.”
Harlan looked toward Josephine.
“She heard your offer.”
The man smiled awkwardly.
“Marriage means joint decisions.”
Harlan’s expression hardened.
“This land isn’t joint.”
Josephine felt something warm move through her.
The representative tried again.
“But naturally you have influence.”
Harlan leaned back.
“So does weather. Neither gives me ownership.”
Josephine accepted the fourth proposal.
Not a sale.
A limited lease.
Strict water protections.
No permanent claim on the homestead valley.
Environmental restrictions long before anyone used such language.
A percentage of extracted mineral revenue rather than a single payment.
Margaret called it unusually clever.
Josephine called it reading.
When the documents were signed, Josephine’s hands trembled.
Not because she doubted herself.
Because her mother’s voice seemed to return.
Never sign something because someone you love says it is harmless.
Josephine read every word.
Then signed.
That evening, she and Harlan returned to his cabin.
Or perhaps not his cabin anymore.
Josephine had discovered an old boundary map proving that the building sat only fifty yards inside Harlan’s separate property.
Her land began near the creek.
They were neighbors.
Married neighbors.
It amused her.
Harlan lit the stove.
Josephine removed her coat.
The burned corset was long gone.
The memory remained.
She stood beside the same rocking chair.
“Harlan.”
He looked over.
“Yes?”
“Do you regret it?”
“What?”
“The bargain.”
“No.”
“Even now?”
“Especially now.”
She smiled faintly.
“I’m richer than you.”
“I suspected that would happen.”
“Does it bother you?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
Harlan considered.
“You may become unbearable.”
“I already am.”
“Yes.”
Josephine laughed.
Then the laughter softened.
They looked at each other.
Weeks of tension lived between them.
Attraction had not disappeared beneath court hearings and forged papers.
It had grown.
Perhaps because Harlan never exploited it.
Josephine stepped toward him.
He became still.
“Do you remember what I asked the first night?”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“Very.”
“What did I ask?”
Harlan’s voice lowered.
“You asked what would happen if you invited me into the bed.”
Josephine closed the distance.
“And?”
“I told you to ask again when you were warm and certain.”
She touched his chest.
His heartbeat was heavy beneath her palm.
“I’m warm.”
“Yes.”
“I’m certain.”
Harlan’s gaze dropped to her lips.
“About what?”
Josephine smiled.
“You said you would ask exactly what I wanted.”
“Yes.”
“So ask.”
His hand lifted but stopped short of her waist.
“What do you want, Josephine?”
Her pulse raced.
“You.”
The word landed heavily.
Harlan swallowed.
“How?”
She appreciated the question more than she could explain.
Josephine guided his hand to her waist.
Her broad waist.
The part Aunt Miriam had spent years trying to compress.
“Start there.”