“With themselves,” he added. “Not you.”
She studied him.
He exhaled.
“I’m going to say foolish things sometimes.”
“Probably.”
“I’d prefer you tell me.”
“I probably will.”
“Good.”
He looked toward the reception.
“Want to leave?”
She glanced at the crowd.
“Yes.”
Relief crossed his face.
“Thank God.”
They left their own wedding before anyone could object.
Mercer Ranch sat twelve miles north of Copper Ridge.
The road followed a creek through rolling grassland before climbing toward low pine-covered hills.
Cole drove.
Abigail sat beside him with her trunk behind them.
Neither spoke for the first mile.
Then Cole said, “There’s something I should explain before we reach the house.”
Abigail’s stomach tightened.
This was the part she had feared.
The bargain behind the bargain.
A debt.
A demand.
A set of expectations nobody had bothered to mention because the contract now gave him a wife.
She looked at him.
Cole kept his eyes on the road.
“My room is upstairs.”
“All right.”
“There are three bedrooms.”
Abigail waited.
“You can take either of the others.”
She stared.
Cole glanced over.
“That sounded strange.”
“A little.”
“What I mean is, we don’t have to share.”
Abigail’s fingers loosened around the edge of her coat.
Cole continued.
“I know what the preacher said.”
“Yes.”
“And what the law says.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not interested in discussing what either thinks belongs to me.”
She remained silent.
He looked at her again.
“You understand?”
“I think so.”
“If you ever want something different, we talk.”
Her cheeks warmed.
Cole immediately looked back at the road.
“But not because a marriage certificate says so.”
Abigail swallowed.
“And if I never want something different?”
“Then we remain married and sleep in separate rooms.”
“You would accept that?”
“Yes.”
“What about children?”
The question came before she could stop it.
Cole’s expression changed.
Abigail regretted asking.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
His hands tightened on the reins.
“You should ask.”
He stared ahead.
“The doctor was probably right.”
Abigail said nothing.
“I was twenty-eight. Fever nearly killed me.”
He paused.
“Afterward, he said children were unlikely.”
“Unlikely or impossible?”
“His word was impossible.”
Abigail watched the road.
Cole gave a small bitter laugh.
“Copper Ridge improved the diagnosis to ‘useless’ within a month.”
She looked at him.
“People enjoy simplifying other people’s pain.”
His eyes moved toward her briefly.
“That sounded practiced.”
“It is.”
Silence returned.
Then Cole said, “If you wanted children, I should have asked before agreeing.”
Abigail surprised herself by answering honestly.
“I don’t know whether I do.”
Cole nodded.
“That’s allowed.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Not knowing.”
No one had ever said that either.
The ranch house was larger than Abigail expected.
Not grand.
But solid.
Logs darkened by decades of weather.
Wide porch.
Stone chimney.
A kitchen with a real brick hearth and deep shelves crowded with jars.
Cole carried her trunk inside.
Abigail noticed immediately that the kitchen table was covered in paper.
Bills.
Receipts.