Emery’s hair was clean and still wet. She combed it out and let it fall in curls down her back. When she stepped into the dining room an hour later, all the men stood.

Her gaze was drawn to Trapper. His wounds were all doctored and bandaged. His clothes looked new. His smile was the same as it always was when he looked at her.

Before she could take a seat at the table, the girls stepped in. They looked every bit the little ladies they were. Emery and Trapper remained silent as the girls entertained their father with stories of the trail.

She noticed none mentioned the trouble they’d faced in the snowy ravine. Maybe they didn’t think it was proper conversation over dinner.

The girls invited Emery to join them for dessert in the kitchen so the men could talk. This apparently was a ritual in the house. Martha and the kitchen help had raised the girls and they wanted their time to talk.

Emery excused herself after two pieces of pie and retired to her beautiful room. She slipped into a nightgown far fancier than the one she’d bought at the trading post and brushed her hair until it shined.

Then, she stepped into the hallway and tried the door across from hers. Martha had mentioned it was Trapper’s room. She wanted to check on him. He’d looked tired at dinner.

The room was dark except for the low light from the fireplace. She tiptoed to the bed and saw he was sound asleep. The man she thought was the bravest she’d ever known had finally let down his guard and slept.

Without giving it much thought, she crawled into bed with him, rested her head on the one spot on his chest that wasn’t covered in bandages, and closed her eyes.

They’d never talked of the future. He’d never mentioned marriage. Neither had ever said they loved the other. But there was nowhere in the world she wanted to be but by his side.

Deep in the night, he moved and found her next to him. Without saying a word, he pulled her close and kissed her.

When he finally pulled free, he whispered, “Am I dreaming?”

“No, I’m here.”

He sounded half asleep when he asked, “Will you have kids with me?”

“No,” she answered. “We’re not married.”

“Then will you marry me?”

“No. You don’t know me.”

“Sure, I do.” He moved his hand over the soft cotton of her gown. “I know the way you kiss and the way you feel and how gentle and shy you are.”

She had to tell him the truth. The whole truth. “I’m not a widow.”

His body tensed, and she knew he was totally awake now. “Are you saying that your husband is alive? Did he leave you? Did you leave him?”