For years she had believed desire would require her to become someone else.
Smaller.
Prettier.
Less visible.
Instead she stood exactly as she was while the most feared man in the valley kissed her as though restraint had become painful.
Then Judson stopped.
Forehead against hers.
“Still want this?”
Josie laughed breathlessly.
“You ask too many questions.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her again.
When they finally separated, both were flushed.
Judson looked stunned.
Josie smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
She laughed.
That evening changed nothing publicly.
Everything privately.
They did not suddenly become husband and wife.
Judson did not claim her.
Josie did not promise forever.
They kissed.
Held each other.
Slept in the same bed once during a storm because the floor became intolerably cold.
Nothing happened beyond warmth.
Still, waking beside him felt dangerous.
Not because of him.
Because she wanted it again.
March brought the first sign of trouble.
A rider came from the valley.
Young man.
Message from O’Malley.
Josie’s father was alive.
That surprised her.
Not because she wished otherwise.
Because winter had been brutal.
Amos wanted her back.
Josie laughed when she heard.
Judson did not.
“What exactly did he say?”
The rider looked uncomfortable.
“That he never sold her permanent.”
Josie’s face hardened.
The rider continued.
“Says the supplies were for winter service.”
“Service?”
Judson repeated.
His voice made the young man step back.
“His word.”
Josie folded her arms.
“What changed?”
The rider hesitated.
“People heard Mr. Vale might marry.”
Judson’s eyes became dangerous.
Josie understood.
Her father thought marriage created value.
If Judson wanted Josie enough to marry her, perhaps Amos believed he could demand payment.
Again.
The rider handed over a letter.
Josie opened it.
Her father's handwriting was poor.
Come home. Bargain finished first thaw. Vale owes more if he means to keep you.
She read it twice.
Then handed it to Judson.
He became completely still.
Josie took the letter back.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where somebody ends up injured.”
He looked toward the valley.
“I am calm.”
“You look homicidal.”
“Those coexist.”
Josie almost laughed.
Then the pain arrived.
Her father still believed she could be negotiated.
Not daughter.
Not woman.
Property whose market value had increased.
Judson said:
“You choose.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“If you want to return, I take you.”
“If you want to go somewhere else when the road opens, I take you.”
“If you stay here, you stay.”
“Your father doesn't decide.”
Josie swallowed.
“And if he comes?”
Judson’s eyes hardened.
“He'll learn the same thing.”
April opened the lower pass.
With it came six men.
Amos rode in front.
He looked thinner.
Older.
Yet his eyes became bright when he saw Judson’s cabin.
Wealth.
Land.
Barn.
Horses.
Josie watched from the porch.
Judson stood several feet behind her.
Not in front.
That mattered.
Amos dismounted.
“Josie.”
She did not answer.