“You’re doing it.”
She looked up sharply.
“Doing what?”
“Thinking instead of eating.”
Abigail stiffened.
Cole sat opposite her.
“I don’t know what someone taught you.”
She looked away.
“But you don’t have to earn supper here.”
Her throat tightened.
“I never said I did.”
“No.”
He leaned back.
“You didn’t have to.”
Abigail stared at him.
Cole nodded toward the plate.
“Eat if you’re hungry.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Don’t.”
“That simple?”
“It should be.”
She picked up the bread.
Cole returned to his coffee.
Abigail hated how close she came to crying.
Instead she ate.
The town noticed them.
Copper Ridge always noticed.
Cole arrived at the general store with Abigail beside him.
People stared.
Some laughed less openly now.
Henry Cobb tried.
“Mercer, your bride’s turned banker?”
Cole looked at him.
“No.”
Henry grinned.
“Then why’s she been digging through everyone’s papers?”
Abigail answered before Cole could.
“Because unlike gossip, arithmetic occasionally produces something useful.”
Someone behind Henry snorted.
Henry’s face reddened.
“You think you’re clever.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“I think you’re easy.”
Cole coughed suspiciously into his hand.
Outside, he laughed until he had to lean against the wagon.
Abigail crossed her arms.
“You enjoyed that far too much.”
“He deserves worse.”
“Perhaps.”
Cole looked at her.
“You were magnificent.”
The word struck differently.
Abigail froze.
Cole seemed to realize what he had said.
His smile faded into uncertainty.
“I meant—”
“I know.”
He touched the brim of his hat.
Awkward.
Abigail climbed into the wagon before he could see her face.
She smiled all the way home.
Three nights later, someone threw a rock through the kitchen window.
Glass shattered across the floor.
Cole was on his feet instantly.
Abigail ducked.
A paper tied around the stone landed near the table.
Cole grabbed his rifle.
“No.”
He looked at her.
Abigail pointed toward the door.
“They want you outside angry.”
He stopped.
She picked up the note.
Three words.
STOP DIGGING, WIFE.
Cole’s face became cold.
Abigail read it again.
Wife.
Not Abigail.
Not Mrs. Mercer.
Wife.
As though her identity existed only through the man beside her.
She placed the note on the table.
Cole said, “We go to the sheriff.”
“He banks with Blackwood.”
“We still document it.”
Abigail looked at him.
“That was almost lawyerly.”
“I’ve been living with you.”
“Dangerous.”
Cole set down the rifle.
Then he looked at the broken window.
“You should leave.”
Abigail became still.
“What?”
“Until this settles.”
She stared.
Cole continued.
“Go to your aunt.”
“No.”
“Abigail.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.