Harlan extinguished one lamp.
Then another.
Within seconds, the cabin changed from warm refuge to defensive position.
Josephine watched him move.
No wasted motion.
No panic.
He closed the shutters on the north windows and checked the iron bar across the front door.
The horse cried again.
Closer.
“That is not one of mine,” Harlan said.
Josephine’s skin prickled.
“How can you tell?”
“Mine are in the barn.”
He reached for a rifle from above the mantel.
Josephine looked toward the bedroom.
“Should I hide?”
Harlan considered.
“If I say run, take the back door.”
“Into a blizzard?”
“There’s a root cellar twenty yards uphill.”
“You expect me to find it in that?”
“No.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because staying may be worse.”
That silenced her.
Harlan looked at the iron poker still near the hearth.
“Keep that close.”
A fist struck the door.
Three times.
“Harlan Creek!”
Josephine recognized the voice.
Reverend Stokes.
Harlan did not lower the rifle.
“Open this door!”
Harlan looked through a narrow gap in the shutter.
“Who’s with you?”
“What?”
“You didn’t ride back alone.”
Silence.
Josephine’s heartbeat hammered.
Finally Stokes answered.
“Two men from town.”
“Names.”
“Harlan, this is ridiculous.”
“Names.”
Another voice came through the storm.
“Calvin Mercer.”
Josephine knew the name.
Everyone did.
Mercer owned a gambling room behind the Silver Crown saloon.
A third voice followed.
“Wade Pike.”
Josephine’s stomach dropped.
Pike collected debts for Mercer.
She had seen him once drag a farmer through the mud because the man could not cover a card game.
Harlan stepped away from the door.
“Leave.”
Mercer laughed.
“We came to discuss property.”
“No property here belongs to you.”
“Maybe not yet.”
Josephine felt Harlan become still.
Mercer shouted again.
“Vale played another round after you left.”
Josephine closed her eyes.
Harlan had been right.
Another note.
“What did he wager?” Harlan asked.
Josephine already knew.
Mercer’s answer confirmed it.
“The little sister.”
Josephine lunged toward the door.
Harlan caught her forearm.
She jerked violently.
He released her instantly.
“Sorry.”
“They have Elsie?”
“Not yet,” Mercer called from outside. “But Silas signed her contract.”
Josephine turned pale.
“Open the door,” she whispered.
“No.”
“Harlan—”
“He wants you frightened.”
“My sister—”
“Is safer if he believes we don’t care.”
Josephine stared at him.
“How can you say that?”
“Because men like Mercer charge more when they smell desperation.”
He looked toward the door.
“So we give him none.”
Then he raised his voice.
“Silas can’t sell what isn’t his.”
Mercer laughed.
“The girl lives under his roof.”
“She’s sixteen.”
“Old enough for a contract.”
“Not one signed under gambling debt.”
“You suddenly a lawyer?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps Reverend Stokes can explain.”
Josephine looked sharply toward the door.
Stokes spoke.
“Mr. Creek, the arrangement is complicated.”
“You witnessed it?”
“I witnessed a document.”
“You witnessed Josephine’s too.”
Silence.
“You watched her father force her.”
Stokes answered quickly.
“I saw no such thing.”
Josephine stepped forward.
“You looked away.”
There was a pause outside.
Stokes had not expected her voice.
“Josephine?”
“You looked away when he grabbed me.”
“I think emotions are making you remember—”
“I remember perfectly.”
Harlan’s face did not change, but something cold entered his eyes.
Mercer interrupted.
“We didn’t climb this mountain to debate morality. Silas owes me six hundred dollars.”
Josephine nearly laughed from shock.
Six hundred dollars could buy a substantial farm.
“My father never had six hundred dollars in his life.”
“He should have thought of that before sitting at my table.”
“What do you want?” Harlan asked.
“Payment.”
“You won’t get it.”
“Then I collect according to the note.”
Josephine moved closer to Harlan.
“How long?”
Harlan glanced at her.
She repeated, louder, “How long before you take Elsie?”
Mercer answered.
“Three days.”
“Why three?”
“Christmas Eve.”
His amusement carried through the storm.
“Seemed festive.”
Josephine’s hands curled into fists.
Harlan opened the door suddenly.
Snow blasted inside.
Mercer stood twenty feet away, mounted on a dark horse.
Pike sat beside him.
Reverend Stokes was between them.
Harlan remained inside the threshold.
Rifle lowered but ready.
“Three days,” he said.
Mercer smiled.
“Glad we understand each other.”
“I’ll bring money.”
Josephine turned toward him.
Mercer’s smile widened.
“Thought you said I wouldn’t get it.”
“You won’t.”
The smile faded.
Harlan continued.
“I’ll bring what Silas owes legally. You bring every note with his signature.”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed.
“All of them?”
“All.”
“And if there happens to be something you don’t like?”
“Then we discuss it.”
Mercer looked at Harlan’s rifle.
“I hear you discuss with your fists.”
“Only when people stop listening.”
Pike laughed.
Mercer did not.
Then he looked past Harlan and saw Josephine.
His expression changed.
It was not admiration.
It was appraisal.
Josephine knew that look.
She despised it more than ridicule.
“So that’s the bride.”
Harlan stepped sideways, blocking Mercer’s view.
Mercer smiled.
“Touchy.”
“Ride.”
Mercer tipped his hat.
“Christmas Eve. Noon.”
The three men turned downhill.
Harlan shut the door.
Josephine rounded on him.
“You do not have six hundred dollars.”
“No.”
“Then why did you promise payment?”
“I promised what your father owes legally.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means gambling debts involving coercion can be challenged.”
“By whom?”
“Judge Everett.”
“He lives two counties away.”
“Yes.”
“You cannot get there and back in three days in this storm.”
“No.”
Josephine waited.
Harlan walked to the table.
“Then what are we doing?”
“Going to town tomorrow.”
“To Mercer?”
“To your father.”
Her stomach turned.
“No.”
“We need the truth.”
“He will lie.”
“I know.”
“He has always lied when truth costs him something.”
“Then maybe he lies badly.”
Josephine looked at the marriage release still on the table.
“You really planned to let me leave?”
“Yes.”
“What would you have done if I had asked you to take me east?”
“Taken you east.”
“In winter?”
“Spring.”
“And until then?”
“You would stay here.”
“Behind the locked door?”
“If you wanted.”
“And you?”
“Barn. Loft. Chair.”
Josephine studied him.
“Why?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Why what?”
“Why are you behaving as though my choices matter?”
Harlan frowned.
“They do.”
The simplicity of it almost made Josephine angry.
“You say that like everybody knows it.”
“They should.”
“Well, they don’t.”
Harlan stared at her for a moment.
Then he nodded.
“No.”
That was all.
No attempt to fix twenty-two years of damage with a speech.
No promise that she had misunderstood her family.
Just acknowledgment.
Josephine turned away.
She noticed a framed photograph tucked halfway behind a tin box on the shelf.
A young woman stood beside Harlan.
Same eyes.
Same dark hair.
She was thin and smiling.
“Your sister?”
Harlan followed her gaze.
“Yes.”
“The one who wore the corset?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
Josephine looked back.
“I’m sorry.”
“Eight years.”
“How?”
“Fever.”
Harlan picked up the photograph.
“Her name was Mary.”
Josephine waited.
“She married badly,” he said.
Something in his tone suggested more.
“Did her husband hurt her?”
Harlan placed the photograph back.
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Not soon enough.”
Josephine understood then.
The locked door.
The distance.
His immediate reaction to the corset.
His refusal to touch her after she said no.
“You think I’m Mary.”
Harlan’s head snapped toward her.
“No.”
“You’re trying to save me because you couldn’t save her.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He struggled for words.
It was almost painful to watch.
Finally he said, “Because nobody saved her.”
Josephine softened.
“That sounds like the same thing.”
“It isn’t.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You’re not a debt I owe my sister.”
The answer stunned her.
“You’re Josephine.”
Nobody had ever said her name with such weight.
Not as a burden.
Not as a joke.
As if being Josephine was sufficient reason to matter.
The wind rattled the shutters.
Harlan returned the rifle above the mantel.
“You should sleep.”
“I won’t.”
“We leave before sunrise.”
“In this storm?”
“It should break by morning.”
Josephine looked toward the blue flannel garment folded near the bedroom.
“Harlan?”
He glanced at her.
“When you said ‘take off everything’...”
His beard moved slightly.
For the first time, Josephine realized he might be embarrassed.
“Poor choice of words.”
Despite everything, she laughed.
It escaped unexpectedly.
Harlan looked startled.
Josephine laughed harder.
The terror of the day, the absurdity, the exhaustion—everything poured out.
“You think?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t talk much.”
“I noticed.”
“Usually works better.”
Josephine covered her mouth.
A small smile appeared beneath Harlan’s beard.
It transformed him.
Not into a handsome gentleman from a storybook.
Something more believable.
A tired man.
A decent one, perhaps.
Then Josephine’s laughter faded.
“Tomorrow, my father will try to send me back with you.”
Harlan’s expression grew serious again.
“He can’t.”
“He believes he can.”
“What do you believe?”
Josephine looked at the release document.
“I don’t know yet.”
“All right.”
That answer again.
No pressure.
No demand.
Josephine carried the release into the bedroom.
Before closing the door, she looked back.
Harlan was spreading a blanket on the floor beside the fireplace.
“You can take the chair,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“That floor is wood.”
“I noticed.”
“You really are stubborn.”
“Yes.”
She almost closed the door.
Then stopped.
“Harlan?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
He went very still.
“For what?”
Josephine touched her ribs where the corset had bruised her.
“For noticing I couldn’t breathe.”
Harlan looked at the fire.
“Good night, Josephine.”
She closed the door.
But sometime near midnight, Josephine woke to the sound of voices.
Not from inside the cabin.
From outside.
She moved quietly toward the window and lifted one corner of the curtain.
Two lanterns were moving among the trees.
One vanished.
Then another.
Harlan appeared from the darkness below her window, rifle in hand.
Josephine opened the bedroom door.
“Harlan.”
He looked inside.
“We’re not alone.”
A gunshot shattered the silence.
The barn erupted in flames.