Wait for him to drink himself to death.

Inherit whatever he’s got.

Hart doesn’t have anything worth inheriting.

Maybe she doesn’t know that.

Mar had gone very still beside him.

Caleb felt anger rise hot and sharp.

He stepped out of the stall.

Say that again.

Both men spun around.

Haskell’s face went red.

I didn’t.

We were just You were just spreading lies about my wife.

Third time this week I’ve heard somebody question her character.

I’m getting tired of it.

Look, Hart, no offense, meant then don’t give any.

Caleb took a step forward.

You got questions about our situation? Ask me.

You got opinions about our character? Keep them to yourself.

Otherwise, we’re going to have a problem.

The other man raised his hands.

We’re leaving.

Come on, Roy.

They backed out quickly.

Caleb stood there breathing hard, fists clenched.

“Caleb.

” Mara’s voice was quiet behind him.

He turned.

She was watching him with an expression he couldn’t read.

“You can’t fight everyone in town,” she said.

“Watch me.

” “This is what I was afraid of.

You defending me just makes it worse.

Makes people think we’re hiding something.

We’re not hiding anything, aren’t we?” She moved closer.

“We’re married, but living separately.

filing for divorce but acting protective.

You can’t blame people for being confused.

I can blame them for being cruel.

Cruelty is just confusion with teeth.

She touched his arm lightly.

Let it go, please.

I’ve survived worse than gossip.

But Caleb couldn’t let it go.

Over the next week, he found himself paying closer attention to how people treated Mara.

Most were merely cold.

They didn’t go out of their way to speak to her, but they didn’t actively shun her either.

A few, like Mrs.

Brennan and Garrett, made efforts to be kind, but others, like Haskell and his friends, seemed to take pleasure in their quiet cruelties.

Conversations that stopped when Mara approached.

Deliberate exclusion from church social events, prices at the general store that seemed to climb when she was the customer.

It gnawed at him.

Then came the day supplies needed hauling from the railroad depot.

15 mi south.

Caleb volunteered, grateful for the work and the distance.

He was loading the wagon when Mara appeared.

I’m coming with you, she said.

I need fabric.

Mrs.

Brennan said there’s a dry goods store in Rston that carries better quality than what’s here.

It’s a hard ride.

We’ll be gone all day.

I can handle hard rides.

I got here, didn’t I? So they set out together in the pre-dawn cold, the wagon creaking beneath them.

The road was rough, carved through hills that were just beginning to show their winter colors.

They rode in comfortable silence for the first hour.

Then Mara said, “Can I ask you something?” “You can ask.

Can’t promise I’ll answer.

” “Fair enough.

” She was quiet for a moment.

“When you were in the war, did you ever think about me?” The question surprised him sometimes.

What did you think? That you were probably better off? That whatever life you’d built without me was probably happier than anything I could have given you.

He glanced at her.

I was wrong about that.

You couldn’t have known about James.

No, but I should have known leaving would hurt you.

Should have cared enough to find out.

Would it have changed anything if you’d known I was pregnant? Caleb turned the question over honestly.

I want to say yes, but truthfully, I don’t know.

I was so young, so scared.

I might have run anyway and just hated myself more for it.

At least that’s honest.

They rode on.

Around midday, they stopped to rest the horses.

Mara unpacked bread and cheese from her bag, and they ate sitting on a flat rock overlooking a valley that stretched toward distant mountains.

“It’s beautiful here,” Mara said.

“I promised to take you to the mountains.

Guess I’m 9 years late.

She smiled slightly.

Better late than never.

They reached Rston by mid-afternoon.

It was barely bigger than Haven Creek.

A handful of buildings clustered around the depot.

While Caleb loaded supplies, Mara went to the dry goods store.

She emerged half an hour later with a wrapped parcel and an expression Caleb couldn’t quite read.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine, just the woman in the store.

She was kind.

Didn’t know me.

Didn’t have opinions about me.

It It was nice.

We could stay, Caleb said suddenly.

Mara looked at him.

What? Here, Rston.

For the residency requirement.

Nobody knows us here.

You could start fresh.

And you? I could I don’t know.

Work.

Same as anywhere.

Mara shook her head slowly.

No, we already told the lawyer Haven Creek.

Besides, running to a new place doesn’t fix anything, just gives you new scenery for the same problems.

When did you get so wise? 9 years of thinking gives you time to figure things out.

They started back as the sun lowered.

They were maybe 5 miles from Haven Creek when the weather turned.

It came fast, the way mountain storms do, the sky darkening from blue to bruised purple, the temperature dropping until their breath showed white.

Then the first snowflakes, fat and wet, falling faster and faster until the road ahead disappeared into a swirling white curtain.

“We need to find shelter!” Caleb shouted over the rising wind.

“Where? There’s nothing out here.

” But there was barely.

About a quarter mile off the road, half hidden by a stand of pines, stood an old line shack.

Caleb had passed it a dozen times without thinking much of it.

Now it looked like salvation.

He urged the horses toward it, fighting the wind.

By the time they reached the shack, snow had covered everything in a thick white blanket, and visibility was down to a few feet.

Caleb kicked the door open.

The inside was tiny, maybe 10 ft square, with a rusted stove, a broken chair, and a pile of old furs in the corner that smelled like mildew and mouse.

But it had four walls and a roof, and right now that was enough.

He helped Mara inside, then went back for the horses.

He managed to get them into a lean tube beside the shack, threw blankets over them, then fought his way back inside.

Mara was crouched by the stove, trying to coax life from the handful of kindling she’d found.

Her hands were shaking from cold.

Here.

Caleb took over, got a fire started with practice deficiency.

Smoke billowed at first, then the chimney caught and drew it up.

Weak heat began to radiate from the stove.

They stood close to it, not speaking, letting the warmth slowly penetrate their frozen layers.

Outside, the wind howled like something alive.

“How long will this last?” Mara asked.

“Could be an hour, could be all night.

” Caleb checked their supplies.

The food was in the wagon, but he’d managed to grab one of the blankets.

“We should stay warm.

Storm like this, cold’s more dangerous than anything.

” “I know.

” But as the temperature continued to drop and the fire burned through the limited fuel, Caleb realized they had a problem.

The stove was too small, the fuel too scarce, and the shack too drafty to hold heat properly.

We need to conserve warmth, he said quietly.

Mara looked at him.

Understanding dawned in her eyes.

You mean share body heat.

It’s not I’m not trying to I know.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

It’s just practical.

Yeah, practical.

They arranged the furs from the corner, musty but dry, and the blanket from the wagon.

Caleb sat down with his back against the wall.

After a moment’s hesitation, Mara settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.

“This okay?” he asked.

“It’s fine.

” But her voice was tight, and he could feel the tension in her body.

Minutes passed.

The fire crackled.

The wind screamed.

Caleb, Mara said finally.

I need to tell you something about that night in Kansas.

His stomach tightened.

You don’t have to.

I wasn’t drunk.

She interrupted.

I told you that before, but I don’t think you understood what I meant.

I was completely sober.

I knew what I was doing.

I wanted to marry you.

Caleb didn’t know what to say.

I was so tired.

Mara continued, her voice soft.

Tired of being alone.

tired of being afraid.

You were kind to me that night.

Really kind, not just trying to get something.

You listened when I talked.

You made me laugh.

And when you asked me to marry you, even though you were drunk and probably didn’t mean it, I said yes because I wanted it to be real.

Mara, his voice cracked.

And when I woke up the next morning and you were gone, I told myself it didn’t matter, that I’d been stupid to hope.

But then I realized I was pregnant.

And suddenly it mattered more than anything.

She turned to look at him and in the firelight her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

I kept waiting for you to come back.

Every day for months I’d see a man on horseback and my heart would jump, but it was never you.

I’m sorry, Caleb said, and the words felt like shattered glass in his throat.

I’m so sorry.

I know you are, but sorry doesn’t doesn’t change it.

I know.

He looked at her directly.

If I could go back, if I could be the man you needed me to be.

You can’t.

Nobody can.

Mar’s voice was steady now, but sad.

That’s what I’ve learned.

You can’t go back.

You can only go forward.

And that’s what I’m trying to do.

Get the divorce.

Start over.

Build the life I should have had without me in it.

Without anyone in it but me.

For a while.

Anyway, I need to learn who I am when I’m not waiting for someone else to make me whole.

The words should have been a relief.

Instead, they felt like a door closing.

They sat in silence as the storm raged.

Eventually, despite the cold and the discomfort, exhaustion began to pull at Caleb.

His eyes grew heavy.

Beside him, Mara’s breathing had deepened.

He was halfway to sleep when she shivered violently.

“Cold?” he murmured.

a little.

Without thinking, Caleb put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer.

She stiffened, then slowly relaxed against him, her head coming to rest on his chest.

“This is dangerous,” she whispered.

“I know.

We’re supposed to be ending this.

” Not, but neither of them moved.

Caleb could feel her heartbeat against his side, steady and sure.

Could smell the soap she used, something faintly floral that reminded him of spring.

could feel the weight of her trust as she let herself lean on him.

Nine years.

Nine years of wondering what if.

Nine years of carrying the weight of his choices.

And now here she was, real and warm and alive in his arms.

And all he could think was how badly he wanted to keep her there.

“Mara,” he said quietly.

She tilted her head to look up at him.

Their faces were inches apart.

He could see the freckles scattered across her nose, the tiny scar on her chin, the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered, but she didn’t move away.

“I know,” the moment stretched taut and trembling.

Caleb felt his hand come up to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.

Mara’s eyes closed briefly, and a small sound escaped her throat.

Not quite a gasp, not quite a sigh.

Caleb, if we do this, if we let this happen, I know, he said again, and he did know.

He knew it would complicate everything.

Knew it would make the divorce harder, the goodbye more painful.

Knew it was probably the worst possible decision they could make.

He kissed her anyway.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t soft or sweet or any of the things a kiss should be.

It was desperate and hungry.

Nine years of longing and regret and want compressed into a single moment.

Mara made a sound against his mouth.

Surprise or surrender? He couldn’t tell.

And then she was kissing him back with equal desperation.

Her hands fisting in his shirt.

They broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Mara said, but her voice shook.

“I know we’re still getting divorced.

I know this is just it’s just I know.

She kissed him again and this time there was something almost violent in it like she was trying to hurt him or hurt herself or maybe both.

Caleb pulled her closer.

One hand tangled in her hair, the other pressed against the small of her back.

When they broke apart again, Mara was crying.

“I hate you,” she whispered against his mouth.

“I hate you so much.

” “I know.

You ruined everything.

You ruined my life.

I know.

And I still Her voice broke.

I still want you.

How is that possible? How could I want someone who hurt me so much? Caleb had no answer.

He just held her while she cried, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, her hair.

Outside, the storm continued its assault.

But inside the tiny shack, wrapped in threadbear furs and shared warmth.

They clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.

Eventually, the tears stopped.

Mara pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes.

I’m sorry, she said.

For what? For falling apart.

For She gestured vaguely at the space between them.

For this? Don’t apologize.

Not for this.

She looked at him with red- rimmed eyes.

What are we doing, Caleb? I don’t know, but whatever it is, we don’t have to figure it out tonight.

Mara nodded slowly.

She settled back against him, and this time when his arms came around her, it felt less like desperation and more like something quieter, something that might, in a different world, have been comfort.

They stayed like that through the long night, dozing fitfully, waking when the fire burned too low, feeding it with scraps of wood from the broken chair.

By dawn, the storm had passed, leaving behind a world transformed by snow.

They rode back to Haven Creek in silence, the wagon wheels carving fresh tracks through pristine white.

When they arrived, people stared at their disheveled clothes, their exhausted faces, the way they sat close together on the wagon seat.

Let them stare, Caleb thought.

Let them talk.

He helped Mara down in front of the boarding house.

Their hands lingered together a moment longer than necessary.

Thank you, she said quietly, for keeping me warm.

anytime.

He meant it more than he should have.

She gave him a look that was equal parts warning and want, then disappeared inside.

Caleb drove the wagon to the livery, unloaded supplies with mechanical precision, and tried not to think about how her mouth had felt against his, how her body had fit perfectly in his arms, how right it had felt to hold her.

He was failing miserably.

That night, lying in the loft, he touched his lips and could still taste her.

Could still feel the ghost of her warmth.

Could still hear her voice saying, “I hate you.

” With tears streaming down her face, 8 months suddenly felt like both an eternity and nowhere near long enough.

The morning after the storm, Caleb woke to find Haven Creek transformed into something from a different season entirely.

Snow lay thick on every surface, muffling sound, turning the rough settlement into something almost beautiful.

He stood in the livery doorway, breathclouding the air, and tried to convince himself that last night had been a mistake born of cold and fear and proximity.

He failed at that, too.

For 3 days he avoided her.

Not obviously, he still nodded when they passed in the street, still tipped his hat, but he made sure their paths didn’t cross for longer than a few seconds.

It was cowardice dressed up as courtesy, and he knew it.

On the fourth day, she cornered him.

He was splitting wood behind the boarding house when he heard her voice.

You’re avoiding me.

Caleb brought the axe down hard, splitting a log clean through.

I’m working.

You’ve been working in very specific places where I’m not.

That’s called avoiding.

Mara moved closer, arms crossed against the cold.

We need to talk about what happened.

Nothing happened.

Caleb, we got caught in a storm.

We kept each other warm, that’s all.

He set another log on the stump, raised the axe.

That’s not all, and you know it.

The axe came down.

Wood split.

What do you want me to say, Mara? I want you to look at me and tell me the truth.

He finally turned to face her.

Her cheeks were flushed from cold, her dark hair escaping from its braid.

She looked tired and determined and heartbreakingly real.

The truth, he said carefully, is that kissing you was a mistake.

It confused things.

Made everything harder.

For who? For both of us.

Don’t tell me what’s hard for me.

Her voice sharpened.

I’m the one who’s been waiting 9 years for honesty from you.

The least you can do is give it to me now.

Caleb set down the axe.

Fine.

You want honesty? I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

About you? About how you felt in my arms? About how badly I wanted to? He stopped himself.

But it doesn’t matter what I want.

We’re getting divorced.

You said it yourself.

You need to learn who you are without someone else.

That includes me.

I know what I said.

Then what are we doing here? Mara was quiet for a long moment.

When she spoke, her voice was softer.

I don’t know.

I just I needed to make sure we were clear that this doesn’t change the plan.

It doesn’t.

Good.

But she didn’t leave.

She stood there worrying her lower lip between her teeth and Caleb recognized the gesture from 9 years ago.

She did it when she was working up to saying something difficult.

What? He asked.

People saw us come back together from the storm.

They’re talking.

People are always talking.

It’s worse now.

They’re saying.

She looked away.

They’re saying I seduced you in that shack.

That I’m trying to trap you into a real marriage.

Anger flared hot in Caleb’s chest.

Who’s saying that? Does it matter? The point is we need to be more careful.

No more.

She gestured vaguely.

Whatever that was.

We need to keep our distance.

That’s what I’ve been doing.

I know.

I’m just I’m saying it out loud so we both understand.

I understand.

He picked up the axe again.

Anything else? Mara flinched at the coldness in his tone.

No, that’s all.

She walked away, and Caleb split wood until his shoulders screamed and his hands blistered, trying to drive out the image of her face.

December arrived with bitter cold and shorter days.

The work in Haven Creek slowed as winter settled in hard.

Caleb took what jobs he could find, hauling firewood, clearing snow from roofs, repairing storm damage.

Mara’s sewing business remained steady.

They were civil when they crossed paths.

Polite, careful.

It was killing him.

He was mcking out stalls one afternoon when Garrett appeared in the livery doorway.

“Got a minute?” the blacksmith asked.

“Sure?” Caleb leaned the pitchfork against the wall.

Garrett pulled out a flask, took a swig, offered it to Caleb.

You look like hell.

“Thanks.

” Caleb drank, felt the whiskey burn.

“You going to tell me what’s eating you, or do I have to guess?” “Nothing’s eating me, right? And I’m the king of England.

Garrett took the flask back.

Look, I’m not trying to pry, but you’re wound tighter than a $2 watch, and it’s starting to show.

You nearly took Roy Haskell’s head off yesterday for nothing.

He was running his mouth.

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