Sadie kept waiting for him to speak about the marriage.
He did not.
Finally she said, “You asked for a wife.”
Lucien stopped chewing.
“So Cobb said.”
“You didn’t?”
“I asked for you.”
That was worse.
Sadie’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth.
“Why?”
He stared into the fire.
“Not tonight.”
“You bought me with food and think you decide when I get answers?”
His eyes rose.
A flash of pain crossed his face.
“I didn’t buy you.”
“The town seemed to think otherwise.”
“They were wrong.”
“You gave six wagons.”
“I did.”
“And took me.”
“I did.”
“Then explain the distinction.”
Lucien set his bowl down.
He looked toward the darkness beyond the fire.
Then back at her.
“I told Cobb I’d bring the stores Oak Haven needed if you came with me willingly.”
Sadie stared.
“Willingly.”
“Yes.”
“He never asked me.”
Lucien’s face hardened.
“I know that now.”
“You knew at the church.”
“I suspected.”
“So you married me anyway.”
“Yes.”
The word landed like a stone.
Sadie stood so fast her bowl tipped.
Beans spilled into snow.
“You could have stopped it.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because Cobb would have locked you back inside the boardinghouse before sunset.”
Sadie laughed bitterly.
“You expect me to believe the mayor would imprison me?”
“I expect you to wait until I can prove what I’m saying.”
“You keep saying that.”
Lucien stood.
Sadie took a step backward.
He noticed.
Stopped immediately.
He was large enough to cross the distance in one stride.
He did not.
“I won’t touch you.”
Sadie’s heart pounded.
“You already did.”
“At church.”
“Yes.”
“You’re my husband.”
“On paper.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means tonight you sleep under my canvas.”
“And you?”
“By the fire.”
She stared.
Lucien pointed toward a bedroll he had already placed on the opposite side of the flames.
Sadie looked.
Then back at him.
“You planned that?”
“Yes.”
“Before we left?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lucien picked up her fallen bowl.
“Because marriage isn’t permission.”
Sadie did not know what to say.
He wiped the bowl with snow.
Then held it out.
“You should eat.”
She took it slowly.
“You are a very confusing man.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By whom?”
“My mother.”
The idea of Lucien Holt having a mother startled her enough that she almost smiled.
Almost.
He returned to the fire.
Sadie sat again.
Neither spoke for the rest of the meal.
That night she lay beneath the buffalo robe listening to wind.
Lucien’s shape remained on the far side of the fire.
He did not move toward her.
Not once.
The next morning, the journey resumed.
The road narrowed.
Snow deepened.
Near noon, Lucien stopped beside a stand of pines.
He climbed down.
Sadie frowned.
“What?”
“Road ends.”
She looked ahead.
Only a steep trail disappeared into the trees.
“You said three days.”