Josie woke before sunrise with no idea where she was.
For one terrifying second she expected the leaking roof of her father’s cabin.
Instead she saw pine rafters.
Warm quilts.
A fading orange fire.
Then she remembered.
Judson.
The trading post.
The bargain.
She sat up quickly.
Judson was already awake.
He stood near the stove wearing a faded gray shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Without the bearskin coat, he seemed somehow even larger.
Josie pulled the blanket to her chest.
Judson noticed but did not comment.
“Coffee?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
He poured some into a tin cup.
When he set it on the table, he remained several feet away.
Josie noticed that too.
Everything he did seemed designed to leave space between them.
She climbed from the bed.
Her shoes sat beside it.
During the night, someone had placed thick wool socks next to them.
Josie stared.
“Those yours?”
Judson nodded.
“They’ll be too big.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Feet won’t freeze.”
She had no answer to that.
Breakfast consisted of biscuits, bacon, and eggs.
Josie nearly laughed when she saw the eggs.
She had forgotten ordinary people could eat breakfast this way.
Judson sat opposite her.
She ate carefully.
“Is there work?” she asked.
He looked up.
“Work?”
“For me.”
“No.”
Josie frowned.
“I can cook.”
“I cook.”
“I can clean.”
“Cabin’s clean.”
“I can sew.”
“I got hands.”
Her frustration sharpened.
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
Judson studied her.
“Get healthy.”
The words unsettled her more than an order would have.
Nobody had cared whether she was healthy in months.
“I can’t stay here doing nothing.”
“You’re not staying forever.”
Josie stiffened.
“When am I leaving?”
“Whenever you want.”
She almost laughed.
“Where would I go?”
Judson’s eyes lowered.
“That’s yours to decide.”
Josie crossed her arms.
“Pa sold me to you.”
“No.”
“You paid him.”
“I bought supplies.”
“For me.”
“For a hungry fool who would’ve sold the stove next.”
Josie stared.
Judson immediately seemed to regret the insult.
“Sorry.”
“He is a fool.”
Judson’s mouth almost twitched.
Almost.
Josie took another bite of biscuit.
“Why didn’t you just give him the supplies?”
“Wouldn’t have taken them.”
“He took them when you asked for me.”
Judson shook his head.
“I didn’t ask for you.”
Her spoon stopped.
“What?”
“Your father offered.”
“And you agreed.”
“I agreed to take you away.”
The distinction hit her slowly.
Josie looked toward the fire.
“From him.”
Judson nodded.
Something about the answer hurt.
Perhaps because part of her had still been protecting Amos inside her mind.
Her father was grieving.
Her father was hungry.
Her father was drinking because he was suffering.
There had always been a reason.
But Judson’s simple sentence stripped the excuses away.
He had taken Josie away because leaving her there had been crueler than taking her.
She spent the morning learning the cabin.
Judson owned surprisingly few things.
Tools.
Traps.
Books.
A rifle over the mantel.
Two chipped ceramic plates.
A Bible.
Several medical guides.
A wooden box that remained locked.
No photographs.
No feminine possessions.
No evidence of the murdered wife people whispered about.
By midday, Judson left to check traps.
Before going, he set a small pistol on the table.
Josie stared at it.
“What’s that for?”
“Wolves mostly.”
“You’re leaving it with me?”
“Yes.”
“What if I shoot you when you return?”
Judson pulled on his coat.
“Then I reckon I should knock first.”
She blinked.
It took Josie a moment to realize he had made a joke.
Judson left.
The cabin became silent.
For the first time, Josie understood something extraordinary.
She was alone.
The door was unlocked.
A pistol sat within reach.
Judson had not imprisoned her.
She could leave.
Of course, she would probably freeze before reaching town.
Still, the choice mattered.
Josie began cleaning despite Judson’s refusal to assign work.
Not because she owed him.
Because sitting still made her anxious.
She swept the floor.
Folded blankets.
Organized jars.
Then she discovered a basket beside the stove filled with socks that needed mending.
She smiled.
“So much for having hands.”
She repaired three pairs before he returned.
Judson stepped inside carrying two rabbits.
His gaze moved toward the basket.
“You do those?”
“Yes.”
“Told you not to work.”
“You told me there was no work.”
“That’s different.”
“You were wrong.”
Judson stared.
Josie waited for anger.
Instead he nodded toward the socks.
“Good stitching.”
That was it.
Days became a week.
The arrangement developed quietly.
Judson slept on the floor.
Josie slept in the bed.
Each morning she protested.
Each evening he ignored her.
Finally, on the eighth night, she stood between him and his blanket.
“This is ridiculous.”
Judson stopped.
“What?”
“You’re twice my size.”
“Probably.”
“That floor has to hurt.”
“I’ve slept on rock.”
“That doesn’t make it sensible.”
Judson looked toward the bed.
“You want the floor?”
“No.”
“Then problem solved.”
Josie glared.
“No, it isn’t.”
Something appeared in his eyes.
Amusement.
She had not seen it before.
“You always argue this much?”
“I’m only beginning.”
This time, Judson smiled.
It transformed him.
The terrifying mountain man suddenly looked younger.
Human.
Josie forgot what she intended to say.
Judson’s smile disappeared almost immediately.
He turned away.
But she had seen it.
The rumors became harder to believe after that.
Judson spoke little, but his actions betrayed him constantly.
He left the best portion of meat in Josie’s bowl.
He repaired her shoes while she slept.
He carved wooden handles onto the bucket because he noticed the metal hurt her fingers.
When her cough worsened one evening, he stayed awake beside the fire until dawn, brewing willow-bark tea and pretending he was awake because he “wasn’t tired.”
Yet he never touched her unnecessarily.
Never entered the bed.
Never demanded affection.
Josie found herself waiting for the hidden price.
None came.
Two weeks after she arrived, she finally asked about Cheyenne.
They were peeling potatoes.
“Did you kill a man?”
Judson’s knife stopped.
Josie immediately regretted asking.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I did.”
Her stomach tightened.
Judson resumed peeling.
“What happened?”
“Man had a knife against a woman’s throat.”
Josie stared.
“He was drunk. Angry. Said she belonged to him.”
Judson cut the potato in half.
“I disagreed.”
The simplicity of the words chilled her.
“Did you mean to kill him?”
“No.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
“Who was the woman?”
“His wife.”
Josie lowered her gaze.
“And she told people?”
“No.”
“Then how did everyone hear about it?”
“Dead man had brothers.”
That explained everything.
Rumors had carried half the truth and discarded the part that mattered.
“What happened to the woman?”
“Went east.”
“With family?”
Judson nodded.
Josie looked at his scarred hands.
“You saved her.”
Judson’s face hardened.
“I killed someone.”
“Both can be true.”
His eyes met hers.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Judson stood.
“Storm coming.”
He carried firewood inside.
The conversation ended.
But something between them had changed.
Josie no longer wondered whether Judson was dangerous.
She knew he was.
The important question was who needed to fear him.
And she was beginning to suspect the answer was never going to be her.