Possessive.
She pulled free.
“Do not touch me again.”
The next morning Mrs. Talley heard that Eliza had been seen returning late to her boardinghouse with a man.
Two days later, someone claimed Nathan Cole had left through the back entrance after midnight.
Nathan had never entered Eliza’s boardinghouse.
The closest he had come was repairing the school pump four months earlier.
Facts mattered little once gossip became entertainment.
By Sunday, one mother had withdrawn her daughter from lessons.
By Monday, the board had summoned Eliza.
Now they expected her to repair the damage.
Not Grayson.
Eliza.
She raised her hand and knocked.
Three times.
Nothing.
Her courage almost failed.
Then the door opened.
Nathan Cole stood there.
He had apparently been working indoors.
His cream shirt sleeves were rolled past his forearms.
Dark brown vest.
No coat.
Black trousers.
Hair slightly untidy.
At thirty-two, Nathan was young enough that women in Willow Creek still discussed his bachelorhood as an administrative problem the town had somehow failed to correct.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and quiet.
Not shy.
There was a difference.
Shy men avoided attention because it frightened them.
Nathan simply did not waste words.
His eyes dropped briefly to the rain around Eliza.
Then returned to her face.
“Miss Hart.”
“Nathan.”
That surprised him.
She almost always called him Mr. Cole.
He stepped aside immediately.
“Come in.”
“I haven’t said why I’m here.”
“You’re soaked.”
“That is not an explanation.”
“No.”
Rain blew across the porch.
Nathan looked beyond her.
Then back.
“You can explain while not catching pneumonia.”
Eliza should have laughed.
She did not have the strength.
She entered.
Warmth hit first.
Woodsmoke.
Coffee.
Leather.
The quiet smell of a house occupied by one careful man.
Nathan shut the door.
Eliza stood awkwardly near it.
He reached toward her cloak.
Then stopped.
“May I?”
That small question nearly undid her.
“Please.”
He removed the wet cloak and hung it near the stove.
Without it, Eliza suddenly felt more exposed.
Her white dress was simpler than what she wore to school, fitted through the waist with a slightly deeper square neckline.
She had chosen it that morning without imagining she would stand in Nathan Cole’s parlor asking him to marry her by evening.
His eyes remained on her face.
That helped.
“Tea?”
“No.”
“Coffee?”
“No.”
“You look like you need one of them.”
“I need something worse.”
Nathan leaned one shoulder against the table.
“That sounds promising.”
Eliza stared.
Was that a joke?
The quiet Nathan Cole possessed jokes?
She tightened her grip around the folded contract.
“Nathan.”
“Yes?”
“I need a husband by Monday.”
He did not move.
Not one muscle.
Rain struck the windows.
A horse shifted somewhere beyond the barn.
Eliza wished lightning would hit the house and save her from continuing.
Nathan finally said:
“I see.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Probably not.”
“It is temporary.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Temporary husband.”
“Six months.”
“You’ve thought this through.”
“I have tried.”
She extended the document.
Nathan took it.
His fingers brushed her glove.