“Let’s go,” Adam says, taking my hand.
I don’t budge. “Adam…”
“What, sweetheart?” He stops, turns toward me, and pulls me against him. “Am I rushing you? Tell me if you don’t feel what I feel.”
I swallow. Is he rushing me? If I’m honest, I’ve been in love with this man since I was about five. By the time I was ten, I’d decided I was going to marry him when I grew up. I even told him so once. Why is he doing this, though? Marriage is for life.
I’ve worried for a long time that my dad would suddenly make me marry someone he’d met somewhere. Someone I wouldn’t know. Probably someone too old for me. Someone without all their teeth. Someone who smelled gross and didn’t take enough baths. Someone who would force themselves between my legs and make me cry.
By local standards, I’m considered an old maid. In the mountains, girls are often married off at a young age, sometimes because their parents have too many kids and can’t afford to feed them all. But my dad hasn’t let me out of the house or introduced me to anyone. I’m glad because I didn’t want to be forced to marry a stranger. I know why he hasn’t done it. If I leave the house, there won’t be anyone to take care of him.
If my mama were alive, I would have been married by now. I was eighteen when she died. My sister was nineteen. Mama always advocated for us and insisted he not force us to marry so young. But their discussions had been escalating, and Hannah and I had both known our days were numbered.
Everything changed when Mama died. For one thing, Hannah ran off. I hope she found a way to escape our father’s matchmaking. A part of me has been angry with her for leaving me, but I can’t blame her.
In a way, she saved us both. If she’s happy and making her own life somewhere, good for her. Her leaving meant Dad never forced me to marry. He needs me. Not that life with him is all roses and sunshine. It’s not. He’s mean and cruel, far more so than he ever was when Mama was alive. But I remind myself every day that cooking and cleaning for an angry drunk is better than also having to spread my legs for one. Even nursing the occasional black eye and spending time in that dark, cold, wet cellar is better than letting a nasty man into my vagina.
Adam is going to rock the boat so hard my dad will pop a vein in his forehead.
He hugs me tighter. “Have you changed your mind about me, firecracker?” His voice is light and teasing.
I frown.
“Ten years ago, you told me you were going to marry me when you grew up. Did you change your mind?”
So he does remember… My face heats. It’s so sweet that my throat swells up. “No,” I whisper.
Suddenly, Adam drops to one knee in front of me. He’s so tall that we’re almost eye-to-eye. He takes both my hands in his and holds my gaze. “Rebekah Sharp, will you do the honor of marrying me?”
Tears run down my cheeks.
“I promise to always put you first, to cherish you, to comfort you when you’re sad, to hold you when you’re hurting. I promise to take care of you, provide for you and our children, to make sure you have enough food, to keep a roof over your head and clothes on your sweet body. Except when we’re in bed.” He grins at that last part.
My cheeks flush deeper.
He reaches up to stroke my face. “You’re so pretty when you blush, sweetheart.”
I grab his face, my fingers threading in his beard. “You really mean it?”
“Every word. Will you marry me, Rebekah?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He grabs me around the waist, stands, and swings me around in a circle so fast I get dizzy and start giggling. It’s just like he used to do when I was a kid. Granted, I don’t weigh much, so I’m not hard to lift. I feel like I’m flying. I haven’t felt this free and light since…probably the last time we did this.
He finally pulls me against his chest, my feet dangling. “Let’s go. Asher’s waiting for us.”
Five
Adam
* * *
Rebekah sits ramrod straight and wrings her hands together in her lap as I pull the truck up the overgrown dirt road that leads to her childhood home. Last time I was here, this place was in very bad shape. It’s ten times worse today.
The front of it is covered in weeds and vines. It has not been painted since it was built—I suspect that was more than forty years ago. Richard Sharp is a second-generation owner. His parents owned this land before he was born.
Asher is leaning against his truck, waiting for me as I hop down from the driver’s side. He marches toward me, brows furrowed, and hisses, “Please tell me you’re joking.” He shifts his gaze to Rebekah, who has not moved an inch. She’s staring at him, eyes narrowed. Her expression is a cross between wanting to fiercely go toe-to-toe with my brother and bursting into tears.
