By November, Coulter no longer needed Carmen to write his name for practice.
He could read short notices.
Simple newspaper articles.
Bills from the feed supplier.
He even wrote Carmen a note one morning.
It contained four words.
Gone early. Back tonight.
The letters leaned in different directions, and the G looked suspiciously like a six.
Carmen treasured it anyway.
She folded the paper and placed it inside her mother's old Bible.
What frightened her was how quickly their arrangement had begun to feel like marriage.
Not the kind Thomas Kelly believed in.
Something quieter.
Coulter remembered which piece of chicken Carmen preferred.
Carmen could tell from the way he closed the door whether the day at the stable had gone badly.
He repaired the loose heel on her boot.
She stitched the tear in his winter coat.
They argued over whether coffee should be strong enough to frighten a horse.
They laughed.
They worried.
And every night, Coulter still climbed into the loft.
At first Carmen had felt relieved.
Now she sometimes found herself listening to him move overhead and wondering whether he was awake too.
She disliked that thought.
Mostly because she liked it.
One afternoon a traveling merchant named Samuel Price arrived at the cabin with fabric, sugar, tinware, and a wagon full of things rural families could rarely afford.
Carmen bought thread.
Samuel was charming in the harmless way of men who survived by getting people to like them.
While Coulter carried a sack from the wagon, Samuel watched Carmen bargain over the price of flour.
"Mrs. Morse," he said, "you could probably talk a rattlesnake out of biting."
Carmen smiled.
"I'd rather not test that."
Samuel laughed.
Coulter returned.
The merchant nodded toward him.
"Your husband is a lucky man."
Coulter's expression barely changed.
"Safe travels."
That evening he was unusually quiet.
Carmen noticed during supper.
"Is something wrong?"
"No."
"You've answered three questions with one word."
"Efficient."
"Coulter."
He stared at his plate.
Carmen waited.
Finally he said, "Merchant was right."
"About what?"
"I'm lucky."
She smiled.
"You are."
"That's not what I meant."
Carmen studied him.
Coulter leaned back.
"Men like him can give you things."
"Thread?"
"Don't."
"Then say what you mean."
He stood and carried his plate to the basin.
"I mean you should have more than this."
Understanding struck her.
She almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the emotion underneath his words was so unexpected.
"Are you jealous?"
Coulter turned.
"No."
"You are."
"I'm not jealous of Samuel Price."
"You remember his full name?"
"Was printed on the wagon."
"You can barely read."
His mouth fell open.
Carmen immediately covered her smile.
"That was cruel."
"A little."
Coulter turned toward the sink again.
Carmen stood.
"Look at me."
He didn't.
She crossed the cabin.
"Coulter."
He finally faced her.
"You deserve someone educated," he said.
"You're becoming educated."
"Someone with money."
"I've had money."
"A proper house."
"I've lived in one."
"Someone who knows how to talk at dinner parties."
"You hate dinner parties you've never attended."
"Exactly."
Carmen stepped closer.
"You think I miss my father's house?"
"Sometimes."
"You're wrong."
"You miss not worrying about flour."
"That's different."
"You should have better."
Carmen's voice softened.
"Better than what?"
He gestured around them.
"This."
"Or better than you?"
Coulter's silence answered.
Carmen's chest hurt.
She suddenly understood that Coulter's kindness had a shadow.
He genuinely believed he was beneath her.
Not because she treated him that way.
Because the world had.
Stable hand.
Orphan.
Poor.
Barely literate.
Thomas Kelly had deliberately chosen Coulter because he assumed Carmen would see those things and feel humiliated.
Some part of Coulter had believed Thomas too.
Carmen moved closer.
"I think about you when you're gone."
Coulter froze.
She continued before courage abandoned her.
"I wonder if you've eaten."
"Carmen—"
"I wonder if you're cold. I know which days your shoulder hurts because you rub it when you think I'm not looking."
His eyes widened slightly.
"I listen for your horse every evening."
He said nothing.
"I know when you're tired by the way you drop your gloves."
Coulter swallowed.
Carmen's voice became quieter.
"And when you don't come home exactly when I expect you, I stand near the window."
"Why?"
She almost smiled.
"Because I miss you."
The cabin became utterly silent.
Coulter stared at her as though she had spoken another language.
"You shouldn't."
"Stop telling me what I should feel."
He flinched.
Carmen softened.
"You of all people."
That reached him.
He looked down.
"You're right."
"I don't want Samuel Price."
"I know."
"I don't want Everett Langley."
"Definitely know that."
She smiled faintly.
"I don't want my father's house."
Coulter lifted his eyes.
"I want this."
His breathing changed.
Carmen stepped even closer.
"I want you."
Coulter did not touch her.
That, more than anything, made her certain.
She reached for his hand.
His fingers were rough and warm.
"Carmen."
"What?"
"If I kiss you, I don't know whether I'll be very good at stopping."
Her heart raced.
"Then don't kiss me unless I ask."
He nodded immediately.
She waited.
His eyes searched hers.
Carmen whispered, "Kiss me."
Coulter did.
The first kiss was tentative.
Almost careful to the point of pain.
Carmen's hand moved to his chest.
His heart hammered beneath her palm.
When she leaned closer, something changed.
Coulter cupped the side of her face.
His second kiss carried months of restraint.
Carmen felt tears sting unexpectedly.
Not sadness.
Not fear.
Freedom.
When they finally separated, Coulter rested his forehead against hers.
"I love you."
She laughed softly through tears.
"You look terrified."
"I am."
"Why?"
"Because I love you."
Carmen touched his cheek.
"I love you too."
Coulter closed his eyes.
Later, after the fire burned low, Carmen sat on the edge of the bed.
Coulter picked up his blanket.
She looked at it.
Then at him.
"You're joking."
He frowned.
"About what?"
"The loft."
His ears reddened.
"Carmen."
"We just told each other we're in love."
"I noticed."
"And you're still sleeping up there?"
Coulter rubbed the back of his neck.
She nearly laughed.
"Why?"
He placed one hand on the ladder.
"When we share that bed, I want it to happen because we choose it."
"I am choosing it."
"Tonight you're emotional."
"I'm always emotional around you."
That made him smile.
Carmen stood.
"What if I'm choosing you?"
Coulter's expression became serious.
"Then I want to choose you properly too."
She frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"You'll see."
The next several days, Coulter behaved strangely.
He disappeared after work.
He hid something beneath a saddle blanket.
He asked Carmen whether she preferred white flowers or yellow flowers, then claimed the question was about horses.
"You have never met a horse who cared about flower colors."
"You don't know every horse."
Three weeks after their first kiss, Coulter came home early.
He had washed.
Shaved.
Changed into his best shirt.
Carmen stared.
"Did somebody die?"
"Hopefully not."
He held out his hand.
"Come outside."
Carmen followed him.
Behind the cabin stood five people.
Harlan from the stable.
Old Mrs. Nash.
Samuel Price, the merchant.
The local judge and his wife.
Wildflowers decorated the fence.
Carmen stopped.
"What is this?"
Coulter faced her.
His hands were trembling.
She had never seen them tremble.
"Carmen Kelly."
"Morse."
"Not for another minute."
Everyone laughed softly.
Coulter took a breath.
"The first time we married, you didn't get a choice."
Her eyes filled instantly.
"So I'm asking now."
He reached into his pocket and produced a simple copper ring.
It was inexpensive.
Slightly uneven.
Beautiful.
"I don't have land."
"Coulter—"
"I don't have much money. I'm still slow at reading. And there's a goat stealing something from our garden right now."
Everyone glanced over.
Eleanor was, in fact, eating cabbage.
Carmen laughed through tears.
"But I love you," Coulter continued. "And if you'll have me when nobody is ordering you to, I'd like to marry you again."
Carmen covered her mouth.
"Why?"
His smile trembled.
"Because this time I want to hear you say yes when you're free to say no."
Carmen stepped into his arms.
"Yes."
The judge cleared his throat.
"Mrs. Morse, technically I have several questions first."
She laughed.
The ceremony was small.
Carmen wore a homemade blue dress.
Coulter wore his best coat.
No one from the Kelly family attended.
When the judge asked if she took Coulter Morse as her husband, Carmen looked directly into his eyes.
"I do."
Coulter's eyes shone.
"And Mr. Morse?"
"I do."
Afterward they returned to their cabin.
Coulter carried her over the threshold.
Carmen laughed.
"You realize I already live here."
"Trying to be traditional."
"You married a dangerous woman if you wanted tradition."
"Learning that."
The door closed.
That night, for the first time, the loft remained empty.
But happiness had a way of frightening people who had spent too long expecting punishment.
Two mornings later, Coulter arrived at the stable and discovered Harlan waiting outside.
The older man's face was grim.
"What's wrong?" Coulter asked.
Harlan handed him an envelope.
Coulter recognized the handwriting on the front.
Thomas Kelly.
Inside was a notice.
The land beneath Coulter's cabin had been purchased.
The new owner intended to terminate the lease before winter ended.
Coulter read the final signature twice.
Thomas Kelly.
He stood motionless.
Harlan swore under his breath.
"Looks like your father-in-law isn't finished with you."
Coulter folded the paper slowly.
"No."
His face hardened.
"But I'm finished letting him decide what happens to Carmen."
And for the first time in his life, the quiet stable hand began preparing for a fight.
---