Abigail looked at him.
Cole did not look back.
Not yet.
He was staring at Henry.
Eventually Henry lowered his eyes.
The preacher cleared his throat.
“Well.”
No one moved.
The preacher tried again.
“Perhaps we should begin.”
Cole finally looked at Abigail.
“Ready?”
She had not expected him to ask.
Her father had arranged almost everything before his death.
The legal terms.
The ranch documents.
The correspondence with Cole.
Even the date had been suggested in a letter Nathaniel wrote before the pneumonia became too severe for him to leave bed.
Abigail had spent weeks feeling as though her life were a parcel being redirected.
Now this near-stranger asked one simple question.
Ready?
Abigail looked at the church.
Then the people waiting to watch her fail.
Then at Cole.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
She almost smiled.
“But I don’t think another hour will improve matters.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
Humor.
“Fair enough.”
They entered together.
The wedding was brief.
Abigail preferred it that way.
The preacher spoke about duty.
Commitment.
Providence.
Abigail suspected he had prepared a considerably more romantic sermon before deciding this marriage did not deserve one.
Cole said his vows without hesitation.
Abigail did the same.
When the preacher declared them husband and wife, no one cheered except Abigail’s widowed aunt Margaret, who clapped once before apparently realizing she was alone.
Outside, the crowd gathered around tables of bread, smoked meat, preserved fruit, and one cake that leaned slightly to the left.
Abigail did not want a reception.
Copper Ridge did.
People enjoyed inspecting consequences.
She stood beside the cake while women offered compliments shaped like insults.
“You look surprisingly lovely.”
“That color is very forgiving.”
“At least Mr. Mercer has a substantial house.”
“It must be a comfort not to worry about babies immediately.”
That last remark came from Mrs. Eleanor Voss, whose five children spent most Sundays trying to injure one another behind church.
Abigail smiled.
“I imagine motherhood requires more interest in children than in other women’s marriages.”
Mrs. Voss blinked.
Abigail took another piece of cake.
Across the yard, Cole saw the exchange.
She caught the smallest smile at the corner of his mouth.
Later, Henry Cobb approached again.
He had apparently mistaken Cole’s restraint for forgiveness.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
Abigail turned.
Henry looked at the piece of cake in her hand.
His eyes lingered.
There it was.
The calculation.
Abigail ate another bite deliberately.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Cobb?”
Henry grinned.
“Just wanted to offer congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“You and Mercer make an interesting pair.”
“So everyone keeps explaining.”
Henry laughed.
“You’ll have plenty of room out there.”
Abigail knew exactly what he meant.
Before she could answer, Cole appeared beside her.
Henry straightened.
Cole handed Abigail a cup of water.
Then looked at Henry.
“Didn’t we finish this conversation?”
Henry’s face changed.
“I’m being polite.”
“Try harder.”
Abigail almost laughed.
Henry walked away.
Cole watched until he disappeared into the crowd.
Then he looked at the cake.
“Good?”
Abigail stared at him.
“What?”
“The cake.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“The baker was worried.”
“About the cake?”
“About whether there’d be enough.”
Abigail stiffened.
Cole saw it instantly.
His brow furrowed.
“No.”
She looked away.
“No what?”
“I meant because half the county invited itself.”
Abigail looked back.
Cole’s expression had become frustrated.