She whispered:
“So you ordered a wife from a catalog.”
He winced.
“When you say it that way…”
She almost laughed.
Then:
“Why me?”
He hesitated.
She looked up.
“The advertisement had dozens.”
“I know.”
“What was in my letter?”
“You said you could work.”
“So did everyone.”
“You said you didn’t need romance.”
She looked away.
Of course.
Her original letter had been cold.
Practical.
Almost challenging.
I can cook enough not to starve.
I can sew.
I know accounts.
I do not faint at blood.
I am not seeking poetry.
She had expected that honesty to repel most men.
Instead, he had replied.
The cowboy continued:
“You wrote that you wanted a house where doors didn’t need to stay open.”
The bride’s head lifted.
She had forgotten that line.
One careless sentence written after midnight.
He remembered.
“That’s why you built the room.”
“Yes.”
Before she even arrived.
He walked toward the bedside table.
Stopped.
Opened the drawer.
The bride’s body tightened automatically.
He noticed.
His face changed.
He moved slower.
Then removed a folded packet.
“Here.”
She did not take it.
“What?”
“Something I should’ve told you earlier.”
Her suspicion returned completely.
He extended the papers.
She took them.
Legal documents.
County seal.
Property description.
She read slowly.
Then faster.
Her eyes lifted.
“What is this?”
“The cabin.”
“I can read.”
He almost smiled.
“It’s yours.”
She stared.
“No.”
“I filed it yesterday.”
“Why?”
The cowboy looked uncomfortable.
“If tomorrow you decide you can’t marry me…”
He swallowed.
“…you still have somewhere to stay until spring.”
The bride stood so quickly the papers shook.
“You gave me your house?”
“Cabin.”
“Your cabin.”
“Yes.”
“Before I married you.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He nodded.
“Possible.”
She looked back at the document.
“And this?”
Another paper.
Bank draft.
Enough money for train fare east and several months of expenses.
The bride’s breathing changed.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure you can say no.”
Her head snapped up.
The cowboy continued quietly:
“If you come to my bed because the alternative is freezing outside or having nowhere to go, that isn’t choosing me.”
The bride stared.
Something inside her cracked.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
A wall she had spent years reinforcing developed one thin line.
She hated him for it.
For one furious second, she hated him completely.
Because men had spent years teaching her that every kindness carried debt.
And this fool had handed her a deed.
A train ticket.
An exit.
He had ruined the rules she knew.
Her eyes burned.
“Why?”
The cowboy looked confused.