Chapter 20
But strength was the quality Calvin Brooks respected most in the world.
She found that the acknowledgment hurt almost as much as his cruelty had.
“My body hurts,” she said. “That is not the same as weakness.”
“I know that now.”
“You could have known it sooner.”
“I know that too.”
She heard no defense. That unsettled her further.
Calvin shivered violently, the movement jerking through his shoulders. Henrietta shoved aside what remained of pride and caution and pulled herself against him until his head rested near her shoulder. The position put pressure on her hip, and a familiar deep ache flared through the joint, but his trembling eased slightly.
He went rigid. “What are you doing?”
“Preserving an ungrateful investment.”
“Henrietta.”
“You are freezing.”
“So are you.”
“Then we may as well be economical about it.”
For a moment he resisted from sheer habit. Then another shiver seized him, and the resistance drained away. He shifted carefully, allowing the uninjured side of his body to settle against hers beneath the coat. His breath touched the wool scarf near her cheek.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Henrietta became aware of absurd details. The coarse scrape of his beard against her temple. The smell of leather, horse sweat, blood, and snow in his clothing. The irregular rhythm of his breath when pain pulsed through the broken leg. She had been married to him for months and had never been so physically close.
Calvin, apparently aware of the same thing, said, “This is not how I imagined our first shared bed.”
Henrietta stared at him in the darkness. “Did you imagine one?”
A pause followed.
“No,” he admitted.
“Then you have exceeded expectations.”
A faint laugh moved through his chest. It surprised them both. The sound ended in a wince, but something in the shelter changed after it. The air remained murderous, the cold remained dangerous, yet the silence between them no longer felt like another piece of winter.
The hours dragged.
Henrietta refused to sleep. Whenever Calvin’s answers became slow, she pinched his hand, forced him to name ranch horses, demanded the cost of feed, asked which fence line needed repair. He cursed her with increasing creativity and answered anyway.
At some point in the blackest part of the night, he stopped responding.
Henrietta jerked upright. “Calvin.”
Nothing.
She slapped his cheek.
His eyes opened sluggishly. “What?”
“You went quiet.”
“I was asleep.”