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married. Being a part of her sister’s hours of labor, watching as the beloved link between the two of them was severed, she’d mourned not only the mother, but the child left behind with only Kyle as a champion.
    Staying there had been an option she’d shrunk from, so she’d chosen the lesser of two evils, this trip to Montana, answering the letter from the agency she’d contacted about the matter of looking for a husband. Answering the mail-order bride ad had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. But upon contemplation, she’d decided that anything was better than facing life in the same house as Kyle.
    She’d left the cemetary quickly, sad at abandoning her sister’s newborn child, but too fearful of the infant’s father to do otherwise. She rued her decision, watching from the sidelines as Kyle made a hash of being a father. There was nothing she could do but wait for news that would complete her journey to wedded bliss.
    Now she stood in the arms of another man and searched her mind for any minute detail of married life she might have heard from Alma. She recalled nothing worth her attention, only a shuddering tale of shame on Alma’s part, a painful using of her body by the man who’d promised to cherish her.
    â€œI know about cherishing a woman,” she said, recalling Luc’s words. “I don’t want any of it directed at me.”
    â€œHow many men have directed anything at you?” he asked, his eyes on her, as if he thought she might be counting the number of masculine persons she’d allowed to touch her.
    â€œI’m not interested in men or what they have to offer,” she said.
    â€œYou’re not?” he asked. “I’d have sworn you kinda liked me kissing you. And you didn’t seem to take offense at my touching your—”
    â€œJust stop right there,” she blurted. “I don’t welcome your advances, sir.”
    â€œI’m not a sir to you, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m your husband, the man you’re going to live the rest of your life with.”
    He turned sober then, his lips pressing together, and he bent to pick her up, holding her high against his chest. Her feet dangled, her arm hung limply over his back and she felt like a sack of oats hanging from his embrace.
    â€œPut me down,” she ordered him, aware that her position made her extremely vulnerable to whatever he had in mind. And what he had in mind was certainly not what she had planned for today.
    He left her no choice, marching from the kitchen into the small, square hallway, then up the flight of stairs to the second floor of the farmhouse.
    The hallway was apparently carpeted, for his footsteps were muffled as he walked. And then he halted in front of an open doorway and sidled into the room, taking care that he not bump her head on the door frame. From her position, she could see little of the room, aware that it held massive furniture, a large chifforobe and a matching chest of drawers.
    Lucas lowered her to the floor, catching hold of her as if he feared she might try to escape. His grip was tight, but left herfree to look around her, and she turned her head to view the big bed behind her. High posts adorned each corner. The headboard was tall, and resembled the one on her parents’ bed at home.
    The quilt covering the mattress reflected some woman’s skill with a needle, for Jennifer caught sight of tiny stitches that bound the pieced patches together.
    â€œThis is my room?” she asked, already knowing the answer she would hear.
    â€œI thought I made it clear that we would share this bed,” Lucas told her, his voice patient, as though he spoke to a child who was extremely dense. “Now sit down, Jennifer.”
    â€œWhere?” She looked up at him, dazed and frightened by the turn of events.
    â€œRight here, sweetheart, on the mattress.”
    She looked down at the quilt, glanced at the