I came to this dusty cabin as Quade Pembroke's bride because I needed a name that would not leave me behind like everyone else. The law says our marriage secures the homestead only if we prove it in the one bed that fills this room, and the lantern casts shadows long enough to hide nothing. His limp from old wounds matches the caution in my own heart, yet his hands on the dipper at the water barrel already feel like a claim I cannot refuse.
I step closer to the light, my fingers brushing his sleeve as I ask whether the walls will suffice. He lifts my chin without answering, and I wait for the moment when duty turns into the hunger we both pretend to ignore, even as my heart races with the hope that this time I will not be left alone.
