Her eyes flickered toward the corset.
He continued.
"If you'll let me, I'll cut the knots. Nothing more."
She stared at him.
"You bought me."
His jaw tightened.
"No."
"My father took your money."
"I paid him twenty dollars."
"That's the same thing."
The man shook his head.
"No, it isn't."
He looked directly into her eyes.
"I didn't buy a wife. I bought your freedom."
The words settled between them.
For several seconds, she could only stare.
Then she gave a bitter little laugh.
"My freedom?"
"Yes."
"With a knife behind my back?"
He glanced at the blade again.
Then he carefully placed it on the table beside her.
"You're right."
She blinked.
He stepped away.
"I should've asked before drawing it."
The young woman studied him.
No man had ever admitted she was right so quickly.
Her father would have shouted.
The rancher would have laughed.
Even the preacher might have explained that she was being unreasonable.
But the mountain man simply stood several feet away, hands visible, waiting.
The fire crackled.
Snow tapped softly against the window.
Finally, she whispered, "You can cut them."
He looked at her.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
He retrieved the knife.
Then he moved behind her again.
"Keep your hands against the front of the bodice."
She obeyed.
The knife slipped beneath the first tight knot.
One careful movement.
A soft snapping sound.
The upper laces loosened.
She inhaled sharply.
The relief was immediate.
Another cord gave way.
Then another.
Her shoulders relaxed as the unbearable pressure around her ribs began easing.
She hadn't realized how painfully she'd been breathing until she could finally draw air into her lungs without fighting the garment.
The mountain man worked slowly.
He never touched her bare skin.
When the last knot parted, he stepped away and placed the knife on the table.
"There."
The woman remained motionless.
She could breathe.
She could move.
For the first time in years, she was sitting in front of a man who had given her something without immediately demanding something in return.
She turned toward him.
"Why?"
He frowned.
"Why what?"
"Why would you pay my father twenty dollars if you didn't want a wife?"
The mountain man looked toward the fire.
His face became serious.
"Because I know what kind of man your father is."
She felt a chill.
"How?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "Your mother once saved my life."
The young woman's breath caught.
"My mother?"
He nodded.
"I knew her before she married your father."
She stared.
Her mother had been dead for fourteen years.
Her father rarely spoke about her.
Whenever the young woman asked questions, he either became angry or dismissed the subject.