“Abigail.”
“I said yes.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
She walked closer.
Placed both hands against his chest.
“I have spent months hearing men tell me what my words mean.”
“Do not become one of them now.”
Simon smiled.
“Yes, ma’am.”
That night they shared the bed.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing owed.
They kissed beneath heavy blankets while snow whispered against the window.
When Abigail became nervous, Simon stopped.
Every time.
When she laughed from embarrassment, he laughed with her, never at her.
When she covered part of herself instinctively, he did not pull her hands away.
He simply kissed her forehead.
Waited.
Abigail eventually lowered them herself.
Later, she lay against his chest listening to his heartbeat.
“That was less frightening than I expected.”
Simon smiled into her hair.
“High praise.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She traced one scar on his hand.
“You’re really staying?”
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
“As long as we both wake up choosing it.”
Abigail smiled.
“That is not how you said it before.”
“I was being romantic.”
“You?”
“Rare occurrence.”
She kissed him.
Months passed.
Josiah’s legal pressure weakened.
Not vanished.
Investigations into fraudulent debt practices expanded after other families came forward.
The Prescott mineral claim eventually became part of a carefully structured lease.
Abigail refused outright sale.
Her father had lost too much through debt and desperation.
She would not trade land merely because money arrived.
Simon supported that.
More importantly, he disagreed sometimes.
Abigail appreciated that.
He was not worshipping her.
He was building with her.
They established a small company controlling the claim and water rights.
A lawyer in Missoula handled contracts.
Abigail learned every document.
Simon learned enough to ask irritating questions.
Years earlier, people assumed Abigail’s size made her dependent.
Now bankers sat across from her waiting while she corrected their clauses.
That pleased her immensely.
They married the following spring.
Not because a marriage solved safety.
Not because society demanded it.
Because they wanted to.
The ceremony happened outside the cabin.
Margaret brought pie.
The deputy marshal stood witness.
Simon wore a coat Abigail secretly hated.
Abigail wore dark emerald velvet.
No white.
Never again.
When Simon saw her, he stopped walking.
Margaret whispered:
“Close your mouth.”
Simon obeyed.
Badly.
Abigail smiled.
During the vows, Simon’s voice shook.
That surprised everyone.
Especially him.
When it was Abigail’s turn, she said:
“I spent most of my life believing love meant becoming easier for another person to keep.”
Simon’s eyes filled.
She continued:
“You taught me belonging is not being kept.”
“It is being free enough to stay.”
Simon swallowed hard.
Then whispered:
“Stay.”
Abigail smiled.
“Forever.”
Their life was not effortless.
Abigail’s health required care.
Travel was difficult.
Furniture often needed adaptation.
Cold weather hurt her joints.
Simon occasionally became overprotective.
She hated that.
Once, when he told her not to ride into town because the road was muddy, she stared at him.
“Are you my husband or my jailer?”
Simon went pale.
He never made the mistake lightly again.
Another time, Abigail ignored a physician’s advice because she hated feeling managed.
Simon confronted her.
She accused him of treating her like Josiah.
That wounded him deeply.
She apologized.
Freedom did not mean rejecting every concern.