Page 81

“What did you say?” she asked.

He could have retreated. Claimed pain. Claimed confusion. Claimed he had not meant it.

Pride would not let him. Neither would fear.

“If we married,” he said, rougher now, “you’d have reason to stay.”

Her hands folded together in her lap. “A reason.”

“Yes.”

“You mean obligation.”

The word cut.

“No.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He looked toward the ceiling. “You’re already here. Emily wrote you. You came for…” He stopped before saying me. He could not bear the sound of it. “You came. If we married, you could help proper. Folks wouldn’t think anything of it.”

“Help proper,” she repeated.

He heard it then. How it sounded.

Still, he pressed on, because wounded pride often drove a wagon straight into a ditch and called it direction.

“You know this sort of thing. You said so. Your brother—”

“My brother recovered.”

“And you helped him.”

“Yes.”

“I need—”

He stopped. Too late.

Her face went still.

“You need,” she said softly.

Jesse’s jaw tightened. “That ain’t what I meant.”

“I think it is exactly what you meant.”

“No. I meant…” He fumbled for words, angry at his mind, his mouth, the bed, the whole miserable day. “You need a place. I need help. It makes sense.”

Eden stood.

Not quickly. Not dramatically. That would have been easier to meet with anger. She stood as if something inside her had straightened beyond his reach.

“I will not marry a man because he needs a nurse.”

“You ain’t a nurse.”

“No. I am not.” Her voice sharpened. “I will not marry because a man wants a caretaker with a wedding ring.”