The knife appeared behind her back before she had even learned whether the mountain man intended to marry her.
She heard the soft metallic scrape of a blade leaving its sheath, and every muscle in her body tightened.
Outside the isolated Wyoming cabin, snow pressed against the windows. Wind moved through the pine trees with a long, mournful sound, and a fire crackled inside the stone fireplace.
The young woman sat sideways on a wooden chair, wearing a cream-colored corset that had been laced so tightly she could barely take a full breath.
She was twenty-five years old, with fair skin, soft rosy cheeks, frightened blue eyes, and thick chestnut-brown hair gathered into a loose, untidy knot. Her figure was full and generously curved, the kind of body her father had spent years insisting she should be ashamed of.
The long brown skirt covering her legs was dusty from the journey.
Her shoulders ached.
Her wrists still bore faint marks from the rope her father had tied around them earlier that afternoon.
And somewhere behind her stood a man she had met only three hours earlier.
He was thirty-eight, tall and broad-shouldered, with thick brown hair reaching his collar, a heavy beard, and the powerful build of someone accustomed to chopping timber, carrying supplies, and surviving brutal mountain winters.
He wore a black linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, brown leather suspenders, weathered trousers, and heavy boots.
Twenty dollars.
That was what her father had accepted for her.
Twenty dollars in silver coins.
Not even enough to buy a decent horse.
And now she was alone with the stranger who had paid it.
She heard him move closer.
Then she felt a gentle tug at the laces along her back.
Her heart began pounding.
"Please," she whispered.
The man stopped immediately.
She turned her head, her eyes shining with fear.
"Please don't hurt me."
He looked down at the knife in his hand.
Then at her face.
Something changed in his expression.
He seemed almost wounded by the terror he saw.
"Easy, sweetheart," he said quietly. "I'm not going to hurt you."
She didn't believe him.
Men had been making promises to her for years.
Her father promised things would improve after the next harvest.
The town preacher promised patience would be rewarded.
The wealthy rancher who once proposed marriage promised she'd never have to worry about money again.
Every promise seemed to come with a price.
And usually, she was expected to pay it.
The mountain man crouched slightly so she could see the blade.
"These laces are cutting into you."
She swallowed.
"What?"
"Your breathing. You've been struggling since we left town."