Winter tightened its grip on Crow Ridge.
By February, snow reached the lower cabin windows, and the pine trees carried white burdens on every branch.
Josie did not mind.
The isolation that once frightened her now felt protective.
Judson taught her to recognize animal tracks, find dry tinder beneath snow, and read changes in the sky.
Josie taught Judson that biscuits did not need to resemble ammunition.
Their arguments became almost affectionate.
“You burned them again,” she said one morning.
“They're cooked.”
“They could be used to build another fireplace.”
Judson bit one.
The biscuit cracked loudly.
He stared at it.
Josie folded her arms.
“Well?”
“I like them firm.”
She burst out laughing.
He smiled.
Judson’s smile was rare enough that she still felt something inside her shift whenever she saw it.
Then one afternoon, the dogs started barking.
Judson looked through the window.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“Riders.”
Josie moved beside him.
Three men climbed the trail.
She recognized one immediately.
Her father.
The warmth vanished from the cabin.
Amos looked worse than before.
His coat hung loose on his body. His face was red from cold and alcohol, and his beard was untrimmed.
Two strangers followed him.
Judson picked up his rifle.
“Stay inside.”
“No.”
“Josie.”
“He's my father.”
“That doesn't make him safe.”
“He came for something.”
Judson looked at her.
“He isn't taking you.”
The words settled her breathing.
Together they stepped onto the porch.
Amos climbed from his horse.
“Well.”
Josie waited.
Her father gave her an astonished look.
“You look healthy.”
She nearly laughed.
Was that surprise?
Had he expected Judson to starve her?
“What do you want, Pa?”
Amos shifted.
“Heard you were doing well.”
“That isn't why you're here.”
The two strangers exchanged looks.
One wore a deputy’s badge.
The other was O’Malley.
Josie’s stomach tightened.
O’Malley avoided her eyes.
Amos pointed at Judson.
“This man took my daughter.”
Judson did not move.
Josie stared at her father.
“You sold me.”
“I never sold you.”
“You offered me for supplies in front of half the town.”
“I arranged employment.”
Josie almost could not believe what she was hearing.
Amos turned toward the deputy.
“He was supposed to keep her through winter. Now I want her returned.”
“Why?” Josie asked.
Amos ignored her.
Judson’s voice came low.
“She decides.”
Amos laughed.
“She’s my daughter.”
“She’s twenty-three.”
“She belongs with family.”
Josie’s anger finally rose above fear.
“Family?”
Amos looked at her.
She stepped from behind Judson.
“You traded me for flour.”
His face reddened.
“I kept you alive.”
“No. Judson kept me alive.”
“I’m your father.”
“And you sold the flour.”
That silenced him.
O’Malley shifted.
Amos turned toward him.
“Shut up.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Josie looked at O’Malley.
“Did he?”
O’Malley sighed.
“Yes.”
Her heart hurt despite knowing the truth already.
The deputy cleared his throat.
“Miss Hale, your father claims Mr. Rourke is holding you unwillingly.”
Josie almost smiled.
“No.”
“You're free to leave?”
“Yes.”
“Has he threatened you?”
“No.”
“Harmed you?”
“No.”
“Then I reckon there's no crime.”
Amos exploded.
“You rode all this way to tell me that?”
The deputy frowned.
“I rode because you said a woman had been kidnapped.”
“She doesn’t know what she's saying.”
Judson took one step forward.
The porch boards creaked.
Amos stepped back instinctively.
“You don’t speak for her.”
Amos’s eyes narrowed.
“You think because you bought some flour she belongs to you?”
“No.”
“Then hand her over.”
“No.”
Amos smiled bitterly.
“There it is.”
Judson’s hands curled.
Josie touched his arm.
“I'll handle this.”
He looked at her.
She stepped toward her father.
“Why do you want me back?”
“I told you.”
“No. Tell the truth.”
Amos avoided her eyes.
Josie noticed O’Malley’s discomfort.
“What happened?”
O’Malley sighed.
“Amos owes men in town.”
“How much?”
“More than forty now.”
Amos snapped, “Stay out of it.”
Josie finally understood.
“You need me to work.”
Amos said nothing.
“Or marry.”
The silence answered her.
“Who?”
Amos rubbed his mouth.
“Silas Mercer.”
Josie’s blood went cold.
Silas Mercer owned a freight company and had buried two wives.
Rumor said the second had fallen down a staircase.
Rumor also said she had been afraid of him.
“He offered to clear your debts,” Josie whispered.
Amos looked at her.
“It’s a good match.”
Judson moved.
Josie caught his coat.
“Don't.”
His eyes were murderous.
Amos laughed nervously.
“What? You jealous, mountain man?”
Judson’s voice dropped.
“No.”
“Then—”
“I’m deciding how much prison time you're worth.”
The deputy stepped between them.
“Enough.”
Josie faced her father.
“No.”
Amos blinked.
“What?”
“I will not marry Silas Mercer.”
“You don't know what's good for you.”
“I know exactly what's good for me.”
“I’m your father.”
Josie’s voice shook, but she did not lower it.
“You stopped being my father the moment you pointed at me across that trading post and told a stranger I didn't eat much.”
Amos’s face changed.
For one instant, she saw guilt.
Then anger covered it.
“You ungrateful girl.”
Josie flinched.
Judson stepped beside her.
Not in front.
Beside.
That mattered.
Amos noticed too.
“You'll regret choosing him.”
Josie looked at Judson.
“No.”
Then back at Amos.
“I regret believing you might someday choose me.”
Her father mounted his horse.
He did not say goodbye.
As he turned away, O’Malley lingered.
“Josie.”
She looked at him.
“I should've stopped it that day.”
“Would he have listened?”
“No.”
“Then you couldn't.”
O’Malley nodded.
The riders left.
Josie stayed on the porch until they disappeared.
Then her knees weakened.
Judson caught her.
This time she did not pull away.
She pressed her face against his coat.
His arms remained uncertain at his sides.
“Hold me,” she whispered.
He did.
Carefully at first.
Then fully.
Josie cried.
Not only for what Amos had done.
For the father he had once been.
For the little girl who remembered riding on his shoulders before cholera.
For the woman who finally understood that love could not survive if only one person carried it.
Judson held her until she stopped.
That night, Josie sat near the fire.
“I don't want to leave.”
Judson looked at her.
“You don't have to.”
“I don't mean until spring.”
His expression became guarded.
“What do you mean?”
“I want to stay.”
Silence.
“You should see the world first.”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“No.”
His voice was firmer.
Josie frowned.
“You don't want me here?”
“That isn't what I said.”
“It sounds like it.”
Judson stood.
“You came here because you had no choice.”
“I have a choice now.”
“You've known freedom for less than three months.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything.”
He paced toward the window.
“If you stay because I was the first man who treated you decently, how do you know you want me? Maybe you just want what I represent.”
Josie's heart pounded.
“You?”
Judson turned.
“I didn't say—”
“You said want you.”
His jaw tightened.
Josie stood.
“Do you want me?”
He looked away.
“Judson.”
“Yes.”
The word came rough.
Her breath stopped.
He continued before she could respond.
“Which is exactly why I won't touch you until I know you're choosing me instead of safety.”
Josie’s eyes filled.
“Why do you make everything so difficult?”
“Because no one gave you a choice at the trading post.”
He stepped closer.
“I’ll be damned before I take another one from you.”
Josie looked up at the enormous man everyone feared.
And suddenly she knew.
She rose onto her toes and kissed him.
Judson froze.
His hands remained at his sides.
Josie kissed him again.
Still he did not move.
She pulled back.
“Aren't you going to—”
“Are you sure?”
She almost laughed.
“Yes.”
“Josie.”
“Yes.”
Only then did his hand rise to her cheek.
His second hand settled carefully around her waist.
The kiss he gave her was nothing like the violence she had once imagined from him.
It was slow.
Almost reverent.
When they separated, Judson pressed his forehead to hers.
“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that.”
Josie smiled.
“I have some idea.”
Outside, wind swept snow against the windows.
Inside, for the first time, neither of them slept near the edge of the bed.