The first thing Ruth Holloway noticed after the last wedding guest left was how quiet the house became.
For twelve hours there had been music, wagon wheels, voices, glasses touching, women whispering, men laughing too loudly, and enough congratulatory remarks to make Ruth feel as if she had been displayed rather than married.
Now there was only wind.
It moved around the mountain ranch house in long winter breaths, brushing snow against the windows and making the old timber walls creak.
Ruth stood beside the bed in the upstairs room and listened.
She was still wearing her wedding dress.
Ivory lace covered her arms and shoulders, softened the full shape of her body, and fell in a wide skirt almost to the polished floorboards.
She had spent more money on it than she wanted to admit.
Not because she expected anyone to find her beautiful.
Because she wanted, for one day, to look at herself without apologizing.
That had almost worked.
Almost.
Then she noticed her husband standing near the door.
Jonah Clay had removed his formal coat hours earlier.
Now he wore dark trousers, boots, and the sleeveless fur vest that seemed more natural on him than the tailored jacket had.
His broad chest remained uncovered beneath it.
A pale scar crossed one shoulder.
Another disappeared beneath the fur.
At thirty-four, Jonah possessed the kind of body that made men unconsciously move out of his path and women look twice before pretending they had not.
He was tall enough to make the bedroom doorframe appear inadequate.
His dark hair brushed his collar.
His beard was full but kept.
And his hands looked capable of repairing a wagon axle or breaking one.
One of those hands had closed around his battered black hat.
Ruth stared.
“Where are you going?”
Jonah glanced toward the window.
The barn stood beyond it beneath cold moonlight.
“To sleep with the horses.”
For several seconds Ruth honestly believed she had misunderstood.
“On our wedding night?”
Jonah placed the hat against one thigh.
“They won’t mind having me.”
Ruth’s fingers tightened around the lace at her waist.
“Is that supposed to be amusing?”
“No.”
“Then what is it supposed to be?”
Jonah looked at her.
Nothing in his expression helped.
He had been that way from the moment she met him.
Never cruel.
Never cold exactly.
Simply difficult to read.
The entire town had theories about Jonah Clay.
That he had killed men before coming west.
That his first wife had been rich.
That she had been poor.
That she had died in childbirth.
That she had left him.
That he had buried her himself.
That he owned more cattle than he admitted because he hated taxes.
That he could ride three days without sleeping.
That wolves avoided his ranch.
Most of it was nonsense.
Ruth knew because she had asked him.
He usually answered rumors with one word.
“No.”
Occasionally:
“Idiots.”
His proposal had been equally efficient.
Three months earlier he had appeared at the boardinghouse while snow fell across the porch.
Ruth was sitting near the stove repairing a sleeve.
The landlady had already informed her that her room would no longer be available after Christmas.
Not because Ruth had failed to pay.
Because respectable women in town had begun threatening to stop sending relatives to the boardinghouse if Ruth remained there.
The banker’s son had vanished.
The story left behind belonged entirely to his family.
He had been innocent.
Ruth had tempted him.
Ruth had invented promises.
Ruth had pursued money.
Ruth had embarrassed a good family.
Nobody asked why a supposedly innocent man had visited her room repeatedly for six months.
Nobody asked why he had written letters.
Nobody asked where those letters went after his father confronted him.
Respectability had better bookkeeping than truth.
Jonah entered wearing snow across his shoulders.
He looked directly at Ruth.
“Would you rather wear my name than let them keep chewing on yours?”
That was the proposal.
Ruth laughed because she thought he was joking.
He waited.
Then she realized he was not.
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You need somewhere they can’t throw you out of.”
“That isn’t marriage.”
“No.”
“What do you need?”
He had been silent too long.
Then:
“A wife.”
Ruth almost laughed again.
“Any wife?”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
She had asked him what made her different.
Jonah had looked at her for nearly ten seconds.
Then said:
“You don’t lie when being honest costs you.”
It was the strangest compliment she had ever received.
Two months later they married.
Now he was leaving the bedroom.
Ruth felt something cold move through her that had nothing to do with snow.