“That sounds annoyingly reasonable.”
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
“And if I ask tomorrow?”
Harlan’s voice dropped.
“Then I’ll ask exactly what you want.”
Her cheeks burned.
“And if I say closer?”
“I come closer.”
“If I say stop?”
“I stop.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes.”
Josephine’s gaze fell to his large hands.
“And if I don’t say stop?”
Harlan inhaled.
“Then I still make sure you’re choosing every step.”
The answer stirred something powerful and unfamiliar inside her.
Not simply attraction.
Safety.
Josephine had never realized safety could itself feel intimate.
Harlan stepped away first.
“Sleep.”
She almost protested.
Then exhaustion won.
Josephine climbed into the bed.
Harlan remained beside the stove.
She watched him through half-closed eyes.
He cleaned the knife.
Then set it far away.
Josephine fell asleep before she could decide whether that detail made her feel better.
She woke to sunlight.
For one confused moment, Josephine did not know where she was.
Then she smelled coffee.
Harlan stood beside the stove frying potatoes.
The storm had stopped.
Morning light spilled through frost-covered windows.
Josephine sat up.
The buffalo robe had been tucked over her during the night.
She was still wearing the chemise.
Harlan had not touched her.
“Morning,” he said.
Josephine looked toward the chair.
A folded blanket lay across it.
“You actually slept there?”
“Yes.”
“That chair is too small.”
“I’ve slept in saddles.”
“That explains your personality.”
Harlan looked over.
Josephine smiled faintly.
He almost smiled back.
Then reality returned.
“My father.”
Harlan nodded.
“Pass won’t open today.”
“How long?”
“Maybe three days.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You can if the alternative is freezing to death.”
Josephine frowned.
He placed breakfast on the table.
“Eat.”
She stared.
“There’s that tone again.”
“I’m learning slowly.”
He changed his voice exaggeratedly.
“Would you consider eating, Mrs. Creek?”
Josephine stiffened.
Harlan saw it.
“Sorry.”
She looked down.
“Am I Mrs. Creek?”
“If you want to be.”
“That isn’t how marriage usually works.”
“Nothing about this one is usual.”
She sat.
The plate held eggs, potatoes, thick bacon, and bread.
Josephine stared at the quantity.
Harlan noticed.
“Too much?”
“No.”
“Too little?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“My aunt says women shouldn’t eat like this in front of men.”
Harlan looked genuinely confused.
“Why?”
Josephine nearly laughed.
“So we appear delicate.”
He glanced at her broad frame.
“Seems late for pretending.”
She stared at him.
Harlan immediately winced.
“That sounded terrible.”
Josephine burst out laughing.
He waited.
When she finally stopped, tears of amusement had replaced the previous night’s grief.
“You truly are awful at this.”
“At talking?”
“At women.”
“Yes.”
Josephine picked up her fork.