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Jesse’s chest eased a little.

“Em’s here,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Bass bleeding?”

“I have not heard Carolina scold him.”

“That ain’t no.”

“It is the best evidence currently available.”

He nodded faintly.

Eden’s mouth curved.

There. Another smile. Small, but he had put it there.

Then he remembered she might leave — the thought came sudden and sharp.

Missouri. Josiah. Mother. Telegram. Family needs you.

If she left, the chair by the window would sit empty.

That should not matter.

It did.

Something restless moved inside him. Not quite fear. Not only that. Need again, ugly and exposed. He did not want to need her. He barely knew her. She was a woman from Missouri who wrote things down, corrected him, and prayed as if the Lord were near enough to hear without shouting.

He should not need her.

If she went back, who would sit without fussing? Who would tell him the truth without making it heavy? Who would understand the anger before it finished leaving his mouth?

His gaze moved to the towel on the table.

A darker thought came close behind.

If she were his wife, she would not have to leave the room every time Nate changed a bandage lower than proper. She could help with more than tea and notebooks. She could stay without anyone raising brows or whispering. No one could call her home so easily if she had a husband here.

The thought was practical. It was also shameful.

Jesse knew both things and still let it grow.

“Eden.”

“Yes?”

“If we married, you wouldn’t have to go back.”

The room went still.

The moment the words left him, he knew they were wrong.

Not false. Worse. Wrong in their shape.

Eden did not move. Her face changed slowly, not with shock exactly, but with something more painful. Disappointment, perhaps. Not in him as a broken man. In the offer itself.