Gray and serious.

Too serious now.

“We’ll figure something out.”

Caleb stared at her.

He knew.

She knew he knew.

But neither of them said it.

Sarah whispered, “Can we boil potatoes?”

“There aren’t any potatoes.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll make something.”

“Like what?”

Martha’s throat closed.

Then a shadow separated itself from the supply wagon across the street.

The man who stepped into the road was impossible to mistake.

Gideon Cole.

Children in Oak Haven told stories about him.

Some said he had killed a grizzly with an ax.

Others claimed he slept through winter beneath bear hides and spoke only to wolves.

Women claimed he had once lived among the Blackfeet.

Men claimed everything else.

The truth was simpler.

Gideon Cole lived alone on Bitterroot Ridge, came into Oak Haven only a few times each year, and frightened people because he did not appear to need them.

He was enormous.

Not fat.

Not soft.

Huge in the way old trees were huge.

Broad shoulders filled his dark coat. A black-brown beard covered the lower half of his weathered face. His hands were scarred, his boots mud-caked, and a pale line ran from the corner of his left eyebrow toward his temple.

His eyes were dark gray.

Quiet eyes.

Martha had seen him inside the mercantile.

Which meant he had heard everything.

Wonderful.

One humiliation had apparently not been enough.

Gideon crossed the street.

Caleb immediately set Bess down and stepped in front of Martha.

The boy did not reach Gideon’s chest.

He still raised his chin.

Gideon stopped.

For the first time that day, something almost warm touched Martha’s heart.

Her son was terrified.

He stood there anyway.

Gideon looked down at Caleb.

Then at Martha.

“You need food.”

Martha’s humiliation hardened into anger.

“And you need manners.”

A pause.

“Probably.”

“And if you walked over here to tell me what I already know, save your breath.”

“Didn’t.”

“Then state your business.”

His eyes moved toward Sarah, who had hidden behind Martha.

“And a roof.”

Martha felt as if he had struck her.

Her landlord had given her until morning.

Apparently the whole town knew.

She stepped forward.

“I said state your business.”

“I got a cabin.”

“Good for you.”

“Four rooms.”

Martha waited.

“Two root cellars,” he continued. “Smokehouse. Elk meat. Potatoes. Carrots. Oats. Flour. Enough firewood for winter.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

For the first time, Gideon Cole looked uncomfortable.

The mountain man glanced toward the muddy street.

Then back at her.

“I need a wife.”

Martha stared.

Behind them, someone laughed.

Another person slowed to listen.

Martha almost laughed too.

“A wife?”

“Yes.”

“Have you looked at me?”

His expression did not change.

“I am looking.”

Heat crawled into Martha’s cheeks.

“I come with three children.”

“I counted.”

“I’m not exactly what the men in this town consider desirable.”

“Didn’t ask them.”

That silenced her.

Even Caleb turned around.

Gideon shifted his weight.

“I cut timber. Hunt. Run trap lines. Sometimes I’m gone twelve hours. Sometimes two days. Cabin gets cold. Food goes uncooked. Garden goes to waste.”

“So you want a servant.”

“No.”

The answer came so quickly Martha blinked.

“A partner.”

Martha laughed once, bitterly.

“A partner you happen to marry.”