She saw him watching in the mirror.
“Staring again.”
“Yes.”
“Shameless.”
“Married.”
“Not the same thing.”
“No.”
His expression softened.
“May I?”
Josie turned.
“What?”
“Come closer.”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
He did.
The first touch belonged to both of them.
Everything afterward did too.
Morning arrived late.
Judson had already been awake but refused to move because Josie’s head rested against his chest.
When she finally opened her eyes, he smiled.
“Morning.”
She looked at the sunlight.
“What time?”
“Late.”
“How late?”
“Embarrassing.”
Josie laughed.
Then noticed breakfast on the table.
“You cooked.”
“Yes.”
She sat.
“Hungry?”
The old question.
For years hunger had carried shame.
Too much food.
Too much body.
Too much need.
Josie looked at the plate.
Eggs.
Potatoes.
Biscuits.
Butter.
Jam.
Then at Judson.
“Yes.”
He pushed the plate closer.
“Eat.”
This time she did without hesitation.
Summer arrived.
Josie planted a garden larger than Judson thought reasonable.
He complained.
She ignored him.
By August, they had enough beans to feed half the mountain.
Judson admitted nothing.
She reminded him daily.
The cabin changed slowly.
Curtains.
A second bookshelf.
Her wide oak chair remained.
Then another appeared beside it.
Judson’s.
Josie laughed.
“You made yours larger too.”
“More comfortable.”
“You could have done that years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Nobody taught me.”
She sat beside him.
“That sounds suspiciously sentimental.”
“Don't spread it around.”
Her father returned once.
Alone.
Two years after the trading post.
He stood outside the fence.
Older.
Sober.
Maybe temporarily.
Josie went out.
Judson remained near the barn.
Not hidden.
Not intervening.
Amos removed his hat.
“I heard you had a boy.”
Josie nodded.
Their son slept inside.
Large baby.
Healthy.
Judson claimed the child had Josie’s stubbornness.
Josie said the child lacked enough language for that insult.
Amos looked toward the house.
“Can I see him?”
Josie thought.
“No.”
Pain crossed her father’s face.
She allowed it.
“I came to apologize.”
“Then apologize.”
He looked down.
“I was hungry.”
“So was I.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
“I thought Vale would take care of you.”
“You didn't know that.”
“No.”
“I told myself.”
Josie waited.
Amos swallowed.
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I should have protected you.”
“Yes.”
“I treated you like something I could trade.”
“Yes.”
He finally looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”