Eliza Prokopovits

Chapter 1

Wyoming Territory, March, 1883

Cora placed the cup of coffee in front of their visitor and took a seat on the bench that lined one side of the wooden table, trying not to begrudge him some of their dwindling stores. They were neighbors, after all, and hospitality was important.

Craig MacLeod, seated beside her on the bench, was a burly Scottish immigrant, somewhere around forty-five years old, with carroty red hair streaked with silver. His face was lined from years of hard work in all rough conditions, but his brown eyes were friendly. Cora’s parents had always gotten on well with the MacLeods, so when he drove up unexpectedly this morning asking to speak with her, she’d welcomed him in.

Spring was barely underway, the snow only just thawing enough to follow the unmarked road between homesteads. A week ago, he couldn’t have made the trip at all.

Cora’s brother, Carter, sat in his customary chair at the head of the table, leaning back, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was stoic, unreadable, but that was standard for Carter. He was never emotional, but she wished for a brief moment that she could tell what he was thinking about their unexpected guest.

“I won’t lie to you, Miss Hewitt,” Mr. MacLeod said, twisting the coffee cup between his big, calloused hands. “We’re in a right state over at our place now that Mary’s gone. Made it through the winter alright since she’d set us up well before she passed, but it’s been a challenge keeping up with chores and the wee ones. And my cooking’s nothing to write home about. I kept us alive, but…”

He shrugged and glanced toward the door. Beyond it, his four children, all under the age of ten, were playing in the muddy yard under the supervision of Cora’s younger sister, Maisie. He studied his coffee for a minute then sighed and met Cora’s eyes.

“We need a woman in the house. I can’t manage it all alone, and the cooking and preserving and whatnot—it’s more’n I know how to do. So I’m here to ask you to marry me.”

Cora blinked at him. She sure hadn’t expected that when he’d arrived. His wife had been gone six months, and she believed every word of how difficult those months had been. She’d noticed that the children’s clothing was wearing thin at the elbows and knees, and the older girls’ hair looked like it had been brushed through with someone’s fingers rather than an actual comb before being tied haphazardly with scraps of cotton. She didn’t doubt that his family needed a woman to fill the roles of wife, mother, housekeeper, cook, and general caretaker. But much as she respected Mr. MacLeod as a neighbor, she had no interest in filling that role herself.

“I’m honored you thought of me,” she said slowly, darting another glance at her still-impassive brother. “Mary’s shoes are not easy ones to fill. But I’m afraid I’m not looking to marry at the moment. My family needs me here. Perhaps you’d consider a mail-order bride?” she offered. “I’ve heard that several men in town are happy with theirs.”

MacLeod frowned and rubbed his stubbled chin. “I’ve heard that too, but you never know what you’ll get with one of those. Last thing I need’s a city girl who knows nothing of bairns. You’re a good woman, and you’d make a man a good wife. Sure you won’t reconsider?”

Cora nodded. “I’m sure. But thank you.”

MacLeod nodded, drained his coffee, and got to his feet. “We’d best be off then. There’s bound to be at least one more storm coming before spring’s here for good.”

Cora took his cup to the sink and washed it while Carter walked the man out. She peeked through the window as her siblings helped the young children climb into the back of the wagon. This wasn’t the first proposal of marriage she’d received in the last few years, and it wasn’t likely to be the last. Craig MacLeod wasn’t a bad man, and he’d have treated her well. But while his pragmatic approach to marriage might work for some, it wasn’t enough to convince Cora to give up the life she had.

She couldn’t imagine him lovingly rubbing her tired feet after a long day or stealing kisses in the barn during chores like she’d seen her parents do. A marriage between them wouldn’t include his arm around her waist, snugging her into his side, or her head resting contentedly on his shoulder. They wouldn’t have that bottomless affection or playful teasing that her parents had modeled. And while no one had ever told Cora what to look for in a relationship, she’d seen it daily for most of her life.

She leaned her hip against the edge of the sink, absently drying her hands on the towel as she watched out the window. The poor, motherless MacLeod children did tug at her heart. But as much as she liked being needed, she already had her own siblings to look after. When Ma and Pa had died of a fever five years ago, her last promise to Ma had been to take care of Carter and Maisie.

Carter, then twenty-one and already working hard around the farm, would work himself into the ground and forget to eat or sleep if someone didn’t remind him, especially if he knew that his younger sisters’ wellbeing depended on the homestead’s success, and by default, on him. And he’d never give a hint that he was struggling.

Maisie had been only fifteen at the time. Cora, seventeen and barely a woman herself, had stepped into the role of mother for both of them. She made sure that everyone was fed and clothed, that the house was clean, that food was grown and stored for winter. Mr. MacLeod had been right that she was capable of what he was asking, but she’d never break her word to Ma and leave her family while they still needed her.

And maybe, a small part of her whispered, it would be nice to be wanted by her husband, rather than merely needed.

***

Cora had heard Sunday called a day of rest before, but she supposed that whoever had refused to work hadn’t been living on a homestead. Or maybe they didn’t count feeding the animals, milking, or gathering eggs as “work.” It was true that there were other chores they wouldn’t do on a Sunday, but it was also true that they were up at first light just like every other day.

Maisie threw on her work dress from the day before, shoving her feet into boots without bothering to tie the laces. She grabbed a leftover biscuit from dinner and followed Carter silently out to do barn chores. Cora watched the door close behind them with a wry smile. Her sister was cheerful and talkative most of the time, but before breakfast she could be as ornery as their older brother.

Cora pulled on her work clothes, too, but didn’t bother with shoes, liking the feel of the worn wooden planks beneath her bare feet as she shaped the dough she’d left rising overnight, even when spring still felt an awful lot like winter. She tossed her head to throw her braid back over her shoulder and out of the way. She set the loaf aside to proof on the warming oven while she opened the last jar of preserved pears from last season and mixed flour, sugar, and oats with a bit of butter into a crumble topping. This all went into Ma’s favorite pie plate with the scalloped edging. Then the two pans went into the oven.

Cora shoved her feet into boots and darted across the yard, the mud frozen into hard ruts and ridges overnight, to get the basket of eggs Maisie left waiting for her at the door of the barn. She was grateful that it was Maisie’s turn to collect the eggs. She’d never complain to her siblings, but she secretly hated Bernice, the ornery alpha hen of the flock, and longed for the day it was her turn for the frying pan.

Scooping up the basket, she took a minute to pause and enjoy the crisp, early morning air chilling her lungs, the sun just peeking over the horizon. A disgruntled moo from inside the barn reminded her that chores were afoot, so she hurried back to the house to fry the eggs for breakfast. By the time they were ready, and she’d cleared off the mess she’d made of the table, her brother and sister were washing up to eat.

They sat together at the table, Carter at the head where Pa used to sit, and Maisie in Ma’s old chair. Cora placed the eggs and the rest of the leftover biscuits on the table along with a pat of butter and three cups of steaming coffee—little more than bitter water to try to make the rest of the grounds last until they could get to town for supplies. Then she slid onto the bench that she and her siblings used to sit on together.

Everything in this house reminded her of what life used to be like, and sometimes it made her breath catch and her eyes burn, but sometimes, like this morning, it wrapped her up like a warm quilt, all the years of joy and all the people who’d loved her. Carter muttered a short prayer of thanks, and they began to eat. Breakfast was always a silent meal, as Maisie wasn’t fully herself yet, and Carter spoke mostly in grunts and grumbles at any time of day. She missed the way he used to be—never as bubbly as Maisie, but… more alive. Happier.

After breakfast, Cora took the bread and pear crumble from the oven and set them on a folded towel on the table to cool while they changed into their Sunday best. Their best wasn’t anything fancy, just their newest clothes without the holes or the worn-thin areas. Maisie’s was a peach calico that brought out the golden highlights in her hair and made her cheeks glow. Cora’s was a deep blue patterned with tiny pink flowers and green leaves. She didn’t know what kind of magic was in the pink flowers, but they made her feel feminine and graceful, not sturdy and practical like she was most of the week. She twisted her hair up and secured it with a tortoiseshell comb of Ma’s.

“How do I look?” she asked Maisie. The only looking glass they had was Ma’s little handheld mirror, and Cora never trusted it to tell the whole story.

“It’s only the Brooks, Cor,” Maisie said without looking up from where she sat on the edge of the bed, tying her boots. “It’s not like they haven’t seen you looking your worst. Like that time you fell in mud trying to catch old Helen.”

Cora cringed at the memory of the milk cow who’d gotten out and decided to make a run for it. It had been after a full day of rain, and Cora had returned sodden, filthy, and in tears, pleading with Carter and the Brooks boys to come help her catch the wretched creature.

“Not helpful, Mais. I’d rather not be remembered like that.”

“I’m pretty certain none of us could forget it,” Maisie said with a grin, straightening.

Cora huffed and debated asking Carter instead, not that he’d be any more help.

“You look lovely,” her sister said, standing and coming to hug her. “Stop fussing. That dress brings out the green in your eyes, and I only wish I could get my hair to stay like that.”

“Would you like me to help with your hair?”

Maisie shook her head. She’d done her long brown hair into two braids and coiled them around her head like a crown. Her hair was so fine and silky that braiding it was the only way to keep it from sliding out of hairpins, and even then it was usually wisping everywhere and half fallen down by the end of the day. “No point in wasting time on a style that won’t last the morning.”

When they emerged from their shared bedroom, Carter was already outside preparing the horses. Cora carefully wrapped the bread and crumble in towels. She laid them neatly in a basket, tucking a jar of dill-pickled green beans alongside them. Then she and Maisie grabbed their hats and coats, and they hurried out the door. In the yard, both horses—Butter and Daffy, short for Daffodil, both named by Maisie for their golden coats—stood saddled and waiting with Carter at their heads. Maisie mounted Daffy and waited while Cora handed her brother the basket and mounted behind her. She’d rather walk than ride, especially since the saddle wasn’t made for two, but not until spring had fully arrived. Their Sunday best wouldn’t be their best for long with all that mud. Carter mounted Butter, holding the basket in front of him as they rode the well-worn path to their nearest neighbors.

The sun was well up on its morning climb when they reached the Brooks’ house. Eighteen-year-old Jilly opened the door and welcomed them all in, greeting the girls with hugs and Carter with a special smile. The sunlight caught her just right, making her blue eyes glitter and her strawberry-blonde hair glow pink. Carter barely acknowledged her, following Maisie into the kitchen with the basket of food. Cora gave Jilly an extra smile in apology for her brother.

Once everyone was inside, they all piled into the living room. The three girls took their customary spots on the sofa, with petite Ma Brooks in her rocker and lanky Pa Brooks in a chair brought in from the kitchen. Jilly’s older brothers, Jack and Grant, sat on the floor against the far wall, and Carter stood leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed.

Pa Brooks started by saying a prayer, then he read a chapter from Matthew, a psalm, and a chapter from Proverbs. They’d been doing Sunday service this way with their two families every week for as long as Cora could remember, even back when her father used to take turns being the one to read from the Bible. It wasn’t feasible to attend the nearest church five hours away, so they met here in the Brooks house, which had more space for everyone to fit in the same room.

The reading was followed by another prayer, and then they sang a few familiar hymns. Maisie’s voice was the strongest, though Cora and Jilly weren’t bad. Carter could carry a tune, but he never sang. Grant was always a bit off pitch, and Jack mostly hummed along, eyes half closed like he was listening to the words. Cora loved the way their voices all blended. It filled her with a sense of family that not much else had given her in the past few years. Yes, she had her siblings, but this, all of them, they belonged together.

After the little service, they moved to the kitchen, and Cora helped Ma Brooks lay out food on the table. Once the weather warmed enough, they’d take their meal outside on a blanket where they’d have a bit more space. For now, the table was crowded with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, bread and butter, and pickles. There were only enough chairs for half of them, and barely room for plates. Carter and the two Brooks boys ate standing up.

Most of the talk through the meal was about spring chores. Both homesteads had extensive vegetable gardens to plant, and the Brooks family had a growing flock of sheep that needed to be sheared before lambing.

“Before we all get too busy,” Cora put in, “I need to make a trip to town for supplies.”

“We,” Carter corrected.

Cora wrinkled her nose at him but didn’t argue. Haven River Falls was the nearest town with a mercantile, but it was a five-hour drive from their homesteads. Add in the fact that, despite the recent growth of the town and the influx of new families and mail-order brides, men still outnumbered women by more than three to one…. Carter would never let Cora or Maisie near the town without him to protect them.

“We’ve run out of sugar and tea. I used the last of the salt this morning, and we have maybe one week’s supply of weak coffee left. And Carter’s even grumpier without it.” Her arched brows dared her brother to argue.

He merely grunted, and Ma Brooks laughed. “Grant doesn’t do well without his morning coffee either. We ran out a month ago.”

“I avoid him until about noon,” Jilly said in a loud whisper that she clearly meant for her brother to hear.

“We can’t all be sunshine in the morning,” Grant grumbled as Jack elbowed him in the side.

As the conversation devolved into good-natured ribbing, Cora got up and started serving the pear crumble. Jack’s plate was the last to appear in front of her, and after she’d dished his serving, he mumbled, “Could I have the, um, extra crumbs, please?”

Cora glanced up at him, noticing the pink tinge to his cheeks. She’d never quite understood how Jack could have ended up as shy as he was with outgoing siblings like Grant and Jilly. He was always polite to her, but he didn’t speak much. In truth, she hadn’t had many interactions with him besides Sunday mornings since they were children and both still doing lessons for part of the day under the instruction of one of their mothers. But he was three years older than she was, so he’d moved from indoor lessons to working with Pa Brooks and the sheep long before she’d left the schoolroom.

She scraped the last few bits of crumble from the pie plate and onto Jack’s serving.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, retreating to his spot against the wall to eat it.

Cora moved to the dry sink to start washing the used dishes, pouring cool water from the bucket by the door and steaming water from the kettle on the stove into the basin. The splash of water couldn’t quite drown out Maisie’s next words.

“Guess what happened to Cora yesterday.”

Cora half turned, her hands already wet and soapy. As expected, Maisie and Jilly had their heads together. The two had been thick as thieves for years, being the youngest of the group and in the schoolroom together the longest.

“Mais—” Cora protested, but it was no use.

“Mr. MacLeod proposed.”

Jilly gasped. “When? Where? How?”

A quick glance around the room showed that everyone was listening to the girls’ conversation. Cora cringed. She hated to be the center of attention, even though Maisie was the one telling the story, and she didn’t want poor Mr. MacLeod’s disappointment to be the subject of amusement. As there was no stopping her sister now, she purposely turned her back on the room and got to washing dishes.

“He drove out to the house, bringing all his kids along in the wagon.”

“He drove to the house?” Jilly sounded incredulous. Even Ma Brooks made a surprised humming sound. “That’s… new,” Jilly continued. “I mean, you get offers every time you walk down the street in Haven River Falls, but for someone to make a trip out here on purpose just to ask…”

“I reckon he’s finding it hard now without his wife,” Pa Brooks said calmly.

“Yep,” Carter acknowledged.

Cora was surprised that her brother contributed to the conversation at all. He hadn’t said anything to MacLeod himself.

“Gotta check Bandit,” Jack said abruptly. A second later he’d dropped his scraped-clean plate into the sink with a slight wet plop and vanished out the door. Cora frowned, confused, but then she heard what Jack must have heard first—faint barking from the barn. She returned to washing up and wishing she could ignore the talk behind her.

Chapter 2

Jack jogged to the barn. He was sure Bandit was barking at nothing, but it was a convenient excuse to get out of there. The situation felt uncomfortably familiar, and he didn’t like it one bit.

As he slid the barn door open, he flashed back five years. He’d just turned twenty; Cora had been seventeen. They’d been going about their lives, both working with their families on their respective homesteads. Ever since he’d quit schooling at fourteen, he hadn’t spent much time with her, but she was always there, always around.

And then the day Maisie had spoken up, much like today, announcing in a sing-song voice that Cora had a beau. Cora’s face had gone bright red, and Jack had the startling thought that she looked perfectly adorable flustered like that.

While Cora tried to shush her sister, Maisie and Mrs. Hewitt had spilled the news: Luke Opelski had come calling. The Opelski spread was one of the largest cattle ranches in the area, and Luke was the second son. He was older than Jack and Carter, in his mid-twenties, and ready to settle down with a good woman.

Apparently, a woman like Cora.

It had been an eye-opening moment for Jack. The fact that Cora was a woman shouldn’t have caught him so totally off guard, but it had. She was Carter’s little sister. She was friends with Jilly, who was still a kid herself. And yet, somehow, without him realizing, she’d grown up.

Once he’d noticed, he couldn’t stop noticing. The way her hazel eyes looked browner or greener depending on what she wore. The way a blush would turn her cheeks the color of strawberries. How her dresses hugged the curves he’d somehow missed seeing. How she worked hard, smiled often, and was always ready to help. Qualities he’d seen and absently admired without recognizing their impact.

Suddenly, Jack saw Cora—the real, entire, beautiful, grown-up Cora. And to see her was to love her. He was tumbling head over heels… silently and from a distance because she was courting Luke Opelski.

He’d been too late, too slow to recognize the incredible young woman who lived right next door. To have his heart fall and break simultaneously was more than he could handle on his own. Oddly, it was Jilly who’d helped him pull himself together.

Despite their seven-year age difference, they’d always been close. Maybe he’d treated her more like a doll or a plaything than he ought to when they were children, but it meant that he’d let her tag along and be his tiny, chatty shadow. And it meant that she often confided her bright, little secrets to him.

In the face of his despair, she’d confessed to having a crush on Carter, one that had already lasted several years. Somehow, knowing that he wasn’t the only one in unrequited love with one of the Hewitts made Jack’s load easier to bear.

It still wasn’t easy. Jack had always intended to continue working the homestead with Pa, eventually taking it over and having his own family there, maybe building another cabin on the property to give them a bit more room. But if Cora married Luke… Jack was looking at a future as the quiet, lonely, perpetually grumpy bachelor uncle to Grant’s and Jilly’s kids because he’d never be able to get Cora out of his heart enough to let someone else into it.

It was a bleak prospect, but nothing to the pain of watching the girls giggle together over Cora’s romance as they did their chores around the homesteads and seeing Cora blush over another man.

After a few months of torment, however, worse happened: Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt both died of a fever within weeks of each other.

Soon it came out that Cora’s relationship with Luke Opelski had fallen apart as well, though Jack never heard the details of why or how. Jack’s heart had ached—with sadness for his friends, with his own grief over their parents who had been like an aunt and uncle, and with guilt over his relief that Cora was free again.

In the first weeks and months after their loss, Jack hadn’t said anything to Cora out of respect. By the time he thought she might be open to a new courtship, he’d noticed a change. Her spark had dimmed. She smiled a little less and worked a lot harder. She ran their homestead like a general, keeping everything in impressive order.

But she was closed off in a way she hadn’t been. Sometimes Maisie, Jilly, and Ma could still bring out her softness, her brightness, but she was businesslike with everyone else. It was a painful irony to Jack that after he’d failed to notice her for years, now she was the one to not notice him.

He’d tried to talk to her, tried to start just a simple conversation. But she was so pretty he got nervous, and when he got nervous, he forgot words even more frequently than he usually did. Stammering made him feel like an idiot, sweeping him back to his perpetual failures in the schoolroom. He’d gotten sick of feeling stupid for struggling to read when the younger children were miles ahead of him already, so he’d quit. Trying to talk to Cora had made him feel just as stupid, so he’d quit that too.

And now, after five years of pining over her from a distance and hoping for a way to win her over that didn’t involve humiliating himself, he was right back where he started.

Too late. Again.

Jack found Bandit curled up on his blanket in the barn, panting happily, nothing alarming in sight. Jack leaned his arms against the railing of the main sheep pen. Half the flock was here inside, but the rest seemed to have braved the early spring chill and wandered out into the fenced pasture. The muddy ground in the pasture had been churned by dozens of hooves, and any grass attempting to grow had long since been ripped up or trampled.

But with the volatile weather of retreating winter and the grass needing to grow before it could support grazing, they’d keep the sheep close to the barn where they could feed them the last of the hay until May, when they’d turn them loose on the open range.

Jack ran through the projected schedule for the next few months to distract himself. Shearing in a couple of weeks. Lambing soon after that. Planting the garden and the alfalfa fields. Letting the sheep out on the range. Taking the shorn fleeces to town to ship to the woolen mill in St. Louis. Cutting hay. Harvesting. Taking the sheep who’d be sold for meat to market.

There was always work to be done, and Jack would keep busy this year, like always. But his attempted distraction failed horribly when he mentally added finding a way to avoid Cora’s wedding onto his list.

He leaned over, resting his head on his arms still folded on the railing, willing the nausea to subside.

“She said no.”

The soft voice startled him, but he didn’t raise his head. Leave it to Jilly to know that he was a wreck and had come here to hide it.

“You can come back now.” Her voice was closer but still soft. “They’ve gone.” She stopped right beside him, resting her arms on the railing, her elbow pressed against his. He took another deep breath and raised his head. She bumped him with her shoulder. “Did you hear me, though? She said no. She refused MacLeod.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. Cora said she suggested he get himself a mail-order bride.”

“Why…?”

“Why didn’t she accept a man twice her age with four children?” Jilly made a face. “That’s a job, not a marriage.”

“Unless they love each other.”

Jilly shrugged. “But she doesn’t love him, and he doesn’t love her. His were practical reasons, and she’s happy where she is.”

Jack thought of how Cora’s smile had become a faint copy of what it had once been, and he wondered how happy she really was. He didn’t think happiness with her life was why she’d turned down MacLeod.

“But Jack…” Jilly began, hesitating. Jack knew this meant that she was going to say something he wouldn’t like to hear. Jilly was all sunshine, so she never liked to say the hard things. “There will be somebody else.”

And there it was. The gut punch delivered in the quietest, gentlest way by the sweetest of sisters. He looked away.

“Nobody thinks much of the proposals we all get in town every year. They’re opportunistic. She’s had plenty of those, and she’ll get plenty more. But sometime, someone is going to make the effort. They’ll see what you see, and they’ll change her mind.”

Jack’s jaw clenched. Jilly laid a hand on his forearm.

“If you want her, you’ve got to step up. You be the one to change her mind.”

“I can’t talk to her,” Jack muttered. “I get tongue-tied. Even if I plan out what I want to say, I forget half the words and sound like an idiot.”

“Then find a way to show her.”

She gently squeezed his arm and let go, stepping toward the barn door.

“And she doesn’t think you’re an idiot. No one does.”

Jack gripped the railing, his knuckles going white. Jilly had been too young to notice how badly his lessons had gone, but Cora had been witness to all of it. Besides, Jilly always saw the best in everyone.

“That’s only because she doesn’t think of me at all,” Jack said.

Jilly made a little noise of disagreement, but let his comment go. At the door, she paused. “Show her,” she repeated. Then she was gone.

Jack stayed where he was, letting the conversation roll through his head, over and over. Cora wasn’t marrying MacLeod. Jack wasn’t too late. Yet. He still had a chance to woo her, if he could just come up with a plan and the courage to implement it.

The residual nausea still churning in his gut said he’d have to find the courage somewhere, because he couldn’t just watch Cora love someone else again. Without Cora, his life… well, his life would look pretty much exactly the same as it did right now, but the regret and loneliness would eat him alive until he went entirely hollow.

He had to do what Jilly said. He had to be the one to change Cora’s mind. He just needed a plan.

Words were out. He was too shy to talk to her. If shyness were the only problem, he’d write her a letter, but his vocabulary, spelling, and handwriting were all equally terrible. It would not leave a good impression.

Show her, Jilly had said.

He could do that. He could gladly do acts of service that didn’t require speaking, things above and beyond the usual polite gestures he aimed for in general. Cora was always working hard and doing things for others. He could be the one who lightened her load, who did things for her.

The idea warmed his anxious heart. He wanted to be that for her.

But that could only be step one. He would have to talk to her eventually if he wanted to have a life with her. He wanted to talk to her. He just might need some time to work up a little extra courage. Hopefully, helping her with things would give him more opportunities to try.

So step one: acts of service.

Step two: speak up.

But would it be enough? Would any of those things truly show her his heart? Would she notice him in time before someone else stole her attention?

Show her.

An idea came to him, an idea that left him feeling almost as vulnerable as confessing his feelings aloud would. It would reveal a side of himself that she hadn’t seen, and it would shine a light on his innermost thoughts and dreams. But that was the point, right? He wanted her to see him, the flawed man who was madly in love with her.

As he thought through his plan for the rest of the day, he reluctantly acknowledged that vulnerability was his only option. He added another step to his plan, to enact before and between his acts of service. A step that would show her his heart.

If you want her, you’ve got to step up.

Jilly was right. It was time to act.

***

Read the rest of Winning Cora on April 15!

Nora clung tightly to the bear’s neck. His gait wasn’t graceful, and she jostled awkwardly, but the ground fell away behind them in a rush. They soon left behind the boundaries of the village and the fields Nora recognized, hurtling to places she’d never been. Green fields, clusters of trees, majestic peaks—the glorious, rolling countryside of the Lake District slid past. Nora had never imagined moving at such a speed.

After only a minute or two, they slowed. The bear was breathing heavily; she could feel the rough rhythm of his inhales. Nora, by contrast, had been struck breathless, and now she filled her lungs fully for the first time since they’d left the garden.

“Can’t run for long,” the bear gasped after a long moment. He was walking now, but they were still moving faster than a wagon. “I was afraid your father would change his mind.”

“Papa wouldn’t,” Nora assured him. Her father had given her the choice, and he would trust her with it. “John might, but he’s notoriously hard to wake in the morning.”

“The brother who opened the door?”

Nora nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes. He thought I ought to leave well enough alone.”

“Perhaps he’s right, but I’m glad you didn’t.” The bear’s deep voice rumbled through Nora. She realized suddenly that she was beyond the reach of her family and getting farther. Her companion must have felt her stiffen, because he said, “You’re safe with me. I won’t harm you, and I won’t allow anyone else to.”

Nora gulped back her nerves and shifted slightly to settle more comfortably against his back. Her knees were just behind his shoulder joints, and she half lay along his spine so she could cling to his long neck. He walked with a kind of swaying stride, but Nora soon adjusted to it.

They didn’t speak much after that. They moved steadily north for several hours. When the sun was climbing high overhead, they reached a valley with a small lake, where the bear stopped to drink. Nora tumbled awkwardly off his back and knelt to drink herself. The water was clear and cold. Without giving her any warning, the bear finished his drink and plunged into the water, splashing her. She gasped at the shock but was soon fascinated by watching him swim, only his narrow head visible above the water. She’d never learned to swim, never even wanted to, but watching him glide through the water made her almost wish she could.

After a few minutes, he returned to shore and shook himself. “Needed to cool off,” he grunted as he turned back to her. “Are you ready?”

Nora nodded and scrambled onto his back. His fur was still wet, which made her skirt cling to her legs, but she ignored the discomfort. She was riding a bear into an adventure; discomfort was to be expected.

They stopped several more times that day for a drink and a cooling swim. One pond was well stocked with fish, and Nora watched in amazement as the bear caught several and immediately devoured them.

“Would you like me to catch you one?” he asked when he caught her staring.

“No, thank you.” Papa and John sometimes caught fish from the nearby lake or stream, but Nora didn’t know how she’d cook one without a frying pan or fire. She’d found some brambles not far from the shore and snacked on a few handfuls of berries while she watched the bear catch his lunch. It would have to do.

The bear cleaned his face and paws in the water, and they were off again. The sun was sinking low when they approached a village. Stopping, the bear sank to the ground to let Nora climb off.

“Walk into the village and find the inn. Give them my name; they’ll have a room ready for you, and dinner too.”

“Aren’t you coming?” For some reason, staying alone in a strange place made Nora more nervous than leaving home with an enchanted bear.

“I would frighten the villagers,” he said. “The innkeeper is a good man. You’ll be safe. Meet me here at dawn.”

Nora bit her lips together and nodded, sucking a deep breath through her nose before turning and walking into the village alone. She glanced over her shoulder once before the buildings closed in behind her; the bear stood exactly where she’d left him, watching.

The inn was not hard to find. It was a whitewashed timber building, three times the size of Nora’s family’s cottage, with rooms on two stories. At the mention of Alek Davies, the innkeeper led her to an upstairs room and left her with the promise of a dinner tray to be brought up. Nora looked around in awe. The room was the same size as the parlor she’d shared with her siblings, with one large bed, a washstand, a desk and chair, and a wardrobe. All of this space was for her? She shivered, feeling suddenly small and out of place. A man—or bear—who could afford to travel and stay in places like this was above her station, and by quite a lot. Why on earth had he chosen her?

Nora’s mind raced with questions until a knock on the door announced the arrival of dinner. The serving maid placed the tray on the desk, eyed Nora curiously, curtsied, and left. Nora didn’t waste time. She devoured the cold chicken and salad and crusty bread just as voraciously as the bear had inhaled the fish earlier. At last, feeling truly full for the first time in ages, she changed into her nightdress, climbed into the big bed, and fell asleep.

She woke in the dark and spent a frightened, disoriented minute trying to remember where she was. She was alone in bed with no sister to cuddle against, no brothers snoring across the room. Loneliness crept in, and Nora lay wide awake, unable to sleep again. She fumbled with the shutter of the nearest window, letting in the cool night air. The sky was just beginning to gray. She watched it slowly lighten for a while before dressing in the dark and pulling the bell cord for a servant. By the time a sleepy maid knocked lightly on the door, Nora had bundled her nightdress back into her sack and had her boots on.

“I need to be on my way before dawn,” she told the maid, who couldn’t have been much older than Julia. “Do I owe anything? And might I have something for breakfast? I’m so sorry to wake you.”

“You didn’t wake me, miss,” the maid said, stifling her yawn so that she didn’t inadvertently blow out her candle. “I was already getting up to help cook. I’ll find you something to eat and be back in a moment.”

True to her word, the girl returned a few minutes later. “I’m afraid it’s not much, but nothing else is ready yet.” She set down a plate with two slices of day old bread and a small pot of strawberry preserves.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

The maid used her candle to light one on the desk for Nora then disappeared down the stairs. Nora ate quickly and made her way down to the small foyer, looking around for the innkeeper. She found him in the empty dining room, poring over a ledger.

“Pardon me,” she said softly.

His head jerked up, and he pressed a beefy hand to his chest. “Gave me a turn, didn’t you, miss? How can I help you?”

“I need to be on my way. Do I owe anything?”

“Nothing, miss. It’s all been prepaid.”

Nora nodded, bemused, and thanked him before leaving the inn and starting back down the street. Alek Davies had planned for her to stay there. He’d prepared for this trip to Scotland in advance. When? When had she come to his attention, and when had he decided to propose? Nora shook her head as if it would help her clear her muddled thoughts. She didn’t regret accepting him, but she couldn’t help feeling like a helpless pawn in a game whose rules hadn’t been explained to her.

She reached the outskirts of the village just as the sky was brightening with the sunrise. The nearest mountains kept the village in shadow, but the birds knew what time it was and set about exuberantly welcoming the day. The bear was nowhere to be seen, but Nora was early. She found a spot under the nearest tree and leaned against the trunk, enjoying the birdsong and the golden glow bathing the underside of the clouds.

A minute later, a large shape eased up beside her, and a low voice rumbled, “We should go.”

“Good morning.” Nora turned to the bear, shaken to find his head so close to hers. But after the lonely hours of darkness, she was glad to climb onto his back. They set off, keeping the rising sun on their right.

That day and the next continued much the same as the first. The hills, valleys, and fields began to blur together for Nora. They stopped every few hours for a drink and a splash in a stream or pond. The bear fished; Nora foraged. They followed the road, keeping off of it but near enough to use it for guidance. The bear only broke into his full sprint once, when the sun was sinking and there was still a distance to go to the second village. As Nora clung to his neck and buried her face in his coarse fur, a small part of her wondered why he was rushing. Even after the sun went down, the sky would be light enough to see by for another hour or more.

Nora didn’t ask; she couldn’t find her voice while traveling at such a speed, and the bear didn’t have breath to answer anyway. When at last she tumbled off his back at the edge of the village, he gasped out a gruff, “See you at dawn,” and began to walk away even before she had passed the first buildings.

Somewhere on the second day, they’d crossed into Scotland. Nora couldn’t tell when; the countryside all looked the same, and she couldn’t read the rare road signs they passed. On the third evening, when he left her at the edge of the village, the bear said, “Bring MacArthur with you at dawn. I trust him to marry us and not ask questions.”

Nora nodded silently and made her way to the inn. As she’d guessed, Mr. MacArthur was the innkeeper. He, like the others, was expecting her, though he seemed surprised when he took in her worn clothing and small bag of possessions. Nora ignored this reminder that she was too poor and insignificant for whoever Alek Davies really was. She was here, and she’d carry on with the plan.

Mr. MacArthur showed her to her room, with another large bed that she could have easily shared with two or three sisters.

“I’ll have them send up some supper for you, miss,” the innkeeper said, his hand on the door handle. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes, actually,” Nora said hesitantly. “I need to meet Mr. Davies at dawn. He asked that you accompany me—we’re to exchange our vows, you see, and he trusts you to do it.”

The innkeeper gave her a strangely sharp look when she said the bear’s name. “He mentioned it to me when he booked your room. I’m at your service.” He bowed slightly. “Would you like breakfast before then, or something to take with you on the road?”

“Just something small, please.”

Nora thanked him, and he left. She stood at the window, watching the color leach from the sky until her dinner tray arrived. She ate, changed, and lay on the bed. Her full stomach made her sleepy, but her nerves kept her awake. In the morning she’d be married. To an enchanted bear. She closed her eyes and stifled a moan. What had she gotten herself into?

Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits

A week passed without a sign of the bear. Sometimes Nora felt a creeping feeling up her back and neck as if someone were watching her, but when she looked around, there was no one. It made her jumpy, enough so that both Julia and Bess commented on it. She couldn’t explain it, so she said she was fine and hoped they didn’t notice how tight her smile was.

The long days of harvest ended. William was no longer needed to help in the fields, and even Papa and John were given an afternoon off. Nora wished their afternoon could have been a rare sunny one, but rain drooped down, casting a dreary pall over the countryside. She supposed they must find it a relief to be inside on a rainy day rather than out working in the mud. Mama had no jobs that day either, so the whole family was home.

The twins played hide and seek in the bedrooms with Patience and Henry. William sat at the kitchen table with a book he’d borrowed from the lending library. He’d convinced the librarian to teach him to read, and now he haltingly read aloud, dragging one finger along the lines of words as he went. Nora felt a swelling of pride in her younger brother for doing something no one else in the family had. Julia sat and listened to William while mending Bess’s spare frock, which was threadbare from having been worn by both Nora and Julia before her. Mama stood by the fire, stirring a pot of preserves with a long-handled spoon while Nora laid out the jars.

Papa and John rested in their chairs, legs stretched out long. Papa’s eyes were closed, but the occasional twitches of a smile that crossed his face at the conversations around him or the happy hollering from the next room proved that he wasn’t napping. John had out his knife and a bit of wood, and he was shaping it into something that Nora couldn’t guess at yet. John never told them what he was making, just allowed them to speculate until the piece was done and they could all see for themselves.

It was a cozy day, despite the rain, and Nora felt warm and happy in the love of her family.

A thumping on the garden door interrupted William’s reading, causing Papa to open his eyes and straighten. Mama wiped her sleeve across her sweating face and looked around, surprised. The thumping came again, and Nora froze. That wasn’t a normal knock. Why was someone at the back door? And who of their neighbors would be out in this rain?

John laid his wood and knife on the table and rose to open the door. Everyone gasped. Filling the doorframe was the white bear.

The room fell utterly silent but for the crackling of the fire and the patter of rain outside. Patience could be faintly heard from the other room, counting.

The bear held a leather pouch dangling from its mouth by the string. It dropped the pouch on the floor at its feet, its beady black eyes roaming the room until they landed on Nora. She held her breath. After a long look, the bear’s eyes slid to her father, who now stood between the doorway and the rest of the family.

“I wish to make an offer for your daughter Honora.”

The deep and rumbling voice suited the mountain of a bear, Nora thought, unable to wrap her mind around the words themselves.

“How do you know my name?” she asked.

Her family stared between her and the bear. Papa finally found his voice. “Never mind that, what makes you think we’d accept any offer you make? I won’t give my daughter to a beast.”

“My name is Alek Davies,” the bear rumbled, rain running along its long neck and narrow head to drip from its muzzle onto the kitchen floor. “I am not entirely what I seem. And I think you’ll find my offer is very generous.”

Papa scoffed, but Nora stepped forward. “How generous?”

“An annuity of two hundred pounds a year to your family.” The bear’s glittering eyes held hers. She heard gasps from her family, but her attention remained fixed on the bear. “School tuition for your brothers—” A sharp inhale from William—“and a dowry of ten pounds each for your sisters.”

The room seemed to spin around Nora, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. That kind of money would be life-changing. Her family would have enough to eat all winter. Her siblings could have new clothes, rather than patching and repairing frocks that barely had enough fabric left to sew together. William—dear, studious William—could get an education. John may be too old to care much about school, but Nolan and Henry could have a chance at a better future too. And her sisters would have the opportunity to marry well. Everything Nora had ever wished for her family was being offered to her. All she had to do was accept.

“No.” John’s sharp refusal cut through her thoughts. “We won’t sacrifice our sister for all the money in the world.”

Nora frowned at him, seeing him anew. He was still her younger brother, but his expression was fierce and protective, and she saw a hint of the manly strength he’d grow into. She felt a warm pride and affection, mingled with annoyance that he tried to speak for her.

“Sacrifice?” The bear’s deep voice sounded only mildly curious. “Who said anything about sacrifice? Miss Sheppard will come to no harm. I need a wife, but it would be in name only. I would ask nothing of her beyond coming to keep house with me.”

Nora wanted to ask why—why did he need a wife of convenience, and why did he want her?—but she couldn’t make the words come out. Papa came to Nora and laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, his weather-beaten face furrowed into a concerned frown.

“Nora?” he murmured. “What say you? I will not make this decision for you because you must live with the outcome.”

Every face turned toward her; every breath held. Nora met the bear’s gaze again.

He bent his head to nudge the pouch forward across the floor. “Here are twenty pounds to start,” he rumbled. “And you will be receiving word from Mr. John Everett of Everett and Lowell in London with details on the annuity.”

He couldn’t possibly know that William was the only one among them who could read. But the librarian or Sir Kimble would help Papa if asked.

Nora tried not to let the pouch of coins on the floor distract her, though it was a staggering sum all on its own to offer for a girl like her. She studied the bear, taking inventory of her feelings beyond the overwhelming shock and confusion. It—he, the bear, Alek Davies—stared back at her, inscrutable and mysterious, but she wasn’t frightened. She was intrigued. And his offer was beyond generous.

“I accept,” she said softly.

Papa’s hand tightened on Nora’s shoulder. Mama sobbed and rushed over to pull her into a hug. After a long moment, Papa addressed the bear, his voice cracking. “Have you a marriage license?”

“We’ll go to Scotland,” the bear said. “No man of the cloth would marry someone like me in the Church of England.” He looked again at Nora. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

She nodded. He backed out of the doorway, giving them a brief glimpse of the drenched garden before John kicked the pouch of coins out of the way, slammed the door shut, and bolted it. Nora’s brother whirled to face her.

“What were you thinking, agreeing to marry a monster?” he demanded.

“He’s not a monster,” Nora protested.

“He’s a bear,” William put in. “I remember seeing pictures of them in a book at the library. Right, Nor?”

Nora nodded. “He has a human name, and he can talk. Obviously, he’s under a spell of some kind.”

“All the more reason not to marry him!” John ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Why get mixed up with magic when you can settle to a good life with Sloane here in the village?”

Nora wasn’t sure how to answer that. She had never pretended to feel more for Martin Sloane than she did, but it wasn’t as if she loved this Alek Davies either. Something about the bear called to her.

Maybe it was the very magic that John was cautioning against. Magic was the realm of the Fae and the wealthy, those who could afford an education in spell-work. It had been so far beyond Nora’s reach that she’d given up dreaming of learning even the most basic spells when she’d been Bess’s age.

Maybe it was the thrill of adventure, something Nora had only experienced in her imagination. Even the smallest change from the monotony of daily survival would be welcome, and this would not be small.

Perhaps it was even the hint of desperation about him, whatever had caused him to offer such an exorbitantly imbalanced proposition. He needed her.

“He promised me more than Martin Sloane ever could.”

Nora almost cringed as the words left her mouth. How mercenary did that sound? And, yes, she was mercenary, but only for the sake of her family. She wasn’t solely referring to the financial aspect, either, though she doubted her brother would see that.

John opened his mouth to argue more, but Papa put up his hand. “Enough. Nora has made her decision, and we’ll respect that.”

Nora smiled at her father gratefully. He might not love her choice, but he stood by it. John grumbled as he returned to his seat and began to cut into his block of wood with more violence than before. William blinked around at everyone before returning to his book. Though Julia’s hands still held her mending, they sat motionless, and she watched Nora with wide eyes that glittered wetly in the firelight.

Don’t cry, Nora thought, turning quickly back to the preserves over the fire and stirring them. Neither she nor Julia were watering pots, but if one of them started, the other would follow. Nora knew she’d done what was best for her family, but that didn’t mean saying goodbye would be easy.

For tea that night they had bread they’d baked that morning, a bit of cheese, and some apples. It wasn’t nearly enough, and Nora felt justified again in her decision. Tomorrow Mama would take a coin from the bear’s pouch to the market and buy enough for everyone to have a full stomach. That thought warmed Nora despite the awkwardness of the conversation around the table. The younger children had heard of their visitor, probably from William, and were bubbling over with curiosity. Nolan and Bess were disappointed not to have seen the bear, Patience kept asking questions about what he looked like, and even Henry tilted his tousled head adorably and said, “Bear?” Their enthusiasm was counterbalanced by silence from John and Julia, and even Mama and Papa said little.

Nora excused herself from the table early, unable to take another uncomfortable minute. She found a clean, empty flour sack and brought it to the parlor room. Her spare dress and stockings were in the trunk at the foot of the bed, sharing space with her sisters’. With those packed, she sank onto the edge of the bed and looked around. She’d pack her nightdress in the morning, but beyond that, she had nothing else to bring. The comb she shared with her sisters would stay here with them. Any doll or toy she’d ever owned had long since been passed along to a younger sibling, and none of them were things to be kept by a soon-to-be-married woman.

Mama found her there, a small bundle of cloth in her hands. She sat beside Nora and silently unwrapped the bundle, revealing neatly cut squares and larger scraps of fabric that Nora recognized as pieces from older garments that had been too worn to be patched or saved. There were pieces from a blue plaid shirt John and William had both worn and part of a dress that Patience had torn only weeks ago.

“I was saving these to sew your wedding quilt,” Mama said, a catch in her voice. “I thought we’d have time to work on it together.”

Nora felt a catch in her own chest. She’d imagined that too, spending the time between proposal and wedding with her mother and sisters, sewing the top of the quilt that would grace her marriage bed. Mama and Papa still slept under the one Mama had sewn with her mother two decades before, and her grandparents’ quilt was the one that hung as a curtain to divide the room. It was a family tradition that she’d always intended to continue.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wished her choice hadn’t taken that special time from Mama, but she couldn’t regret the decision itself.

Mama shook her head, folding the fabric back up. “These are for you anyway,” she said, setting the bundle on Nora’s lap and pushing to her feet. “Even if you sew the quilt yourself, you’ll keep the love of your family close.”

She bent and kissed the top of Nora’s head, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

Nora tucked the scrap fabric into her flour sack and then sat alone for another minute, only emerging when she heard the bustle from the kitchen declaring tea at an end. She helped clean up, shepherded her siblings through their bedtime routine, and got into bed herself. Nora lay awake, silently staring into the darkness as she listened to her siblings’ breathing. She could tell when Bess dropped off to sleep, and she recognized both John’s and Nolan’s snores. Julia, she thought, was still awake, so she wasn’t surprised when her sister huddled closer to her and whispered in her ear.

“Are you sure?”

Nora nodded silently.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

She shook her head slightly. Her life was about to change completely, and that made her stomach knot with nerves, but she had no fear of the bear.

“You’re the bravest of us,” Julia whispered, resting her head on Nora’s shoulder. She was silent for a long time before adding, “I’ll miss you.”

Nora turned just slightly and kissed the top of her sister’s head. “Same,” she breathed. A tightness in her throat kept her from saying more, and she blinked into the darkness to stop the tears from falling. One escaped and slid down her cheek anyway.

They fell asleep like that. Nora woke in the dark, only dim gray showing through the window. Dawn was still an hour away, but she had no hope of falling back asleep. She carefully maneuvered out of the bed, sliding her pillow under Julia’s head before her sister could wake. She dressed silently, folded her nightdress and stuffed it into the top of her flour sack, and tiptoed from the room with her bundle in hand. In the kitchen, she built up the fire. Mama had left bread rising overnight, and Nora slid it into the oven once it warmed so that it would be ready when the others got up. Nora didn’t have time to wait for the bread, so she made boiled porridge in a pot, stirring in a dollop of the preserves they’d made. She ate it slowly, savoring the sweetness of the fruit, forcing herself to finish the bowl despite her nerve-reduced appetite. Whatever this day had in store, she’d need the energy.

She washed the pot and bowl and put them away. The light outside was growing. Nora found a long piece of twine and used it to tie her sack of clothing. An extra couple of knots created a loop that she slung over her head and shoulder so that her bundle hung secure in the center of her back.

A muffled movement from one of the bedrooms made her freeze, glancing at the doorway. She grabbed her boots before slipping out into the garden barefoot and pulling the door softly closed behind her. The empty garden sparkled with dew as the dawn brightened. Nora crouched to tie on her boots, and when she straightened again, he was there.

Nora had always found dawn to be a magical time, balanced as it was between night and day. It suited the bear somehow. He glowed faintly in the growing light as he stood on the far side of the garden, watching her.

Nora crossed silently to stand in front of him. They stood eye to eye. His front legs were nearly as long as her entire body. This close, his narrow head looked huge. Nora took a slow, shaky breath.

“Are you ready, Miss Sheppard?”

Nora steeled herself to ask the question she hadn’t voiced last night. “Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“It seemed an arrangement that will benefit us both,” he rumbled. “I get the wife I require, and you get a comfortable future for yourself and your family.”

But why do you require a wife? Nora opened her mouth to ask, but the bear forestalled her.

“I shall explain more at another time. For now, we must be on our way.”

“How are we to get to Scotland?”

“You shall ride me.”

He lowered himself to lie on his belly. Even lying, she had to scramble awkwardly to get onto his back. “Sorry,” she mumbled as her knee caught him in the ribs. He didn’t respond as he waited for her to get settled. Nora tucked her skirt around her legs. She’d never ridden a horse, but she was certain riders had something to hold onto—straps of leather or the horse’s mane or something. Of course, bears were nothing like horses. She doubted anyone had ever ridden one before, so she oughtn’t feel awkward if she didn’t know how.

“How am I to stay on?” She hated the tremor in her voice.

“Cling with your knees,” the bear said. “Lean forward and hold onto my neck.”

Nora obeyed.

He pushed himself up to his feet. “Ready?”

“Yes, sir,” she said softly, sending one last long look toward the cottage where she’d grown up.

For a second, she thought she saw someone in the kitchen window, watching, maybe waving. But before she could be sure, the bear turned and loped away, through the meadow and north.

Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits

Alek Davies pushed open the heavy wooden door to the village pub. The small, dim room wasn’t much better lit than the night-dark street, and Alek grimaced. This wasn’t the type of place he favored, poor and provincial and homely, but at least it was clean. Relatively. He found an empty seat at a crowded table and waved over the publican for an ale and a hot meal. Sipping at his drink, he studied the others around the table. Farmers, most of them, he guessed; maybe a couple of business owners. Perhaps the miller and shopkeeper, and that bloke at the end could be a blacksmith with arms that thick. Locals, the lot. Gradually, Alek eased his way into the conversation, laughing along, dropping a comment here and there, buying a round of drinks.

A lull in the conversation gave Alek the opening he needed. “Say, who lives in that cottage south of the village? Big family?”

One of the men across from him nodded. “Sheppard. Wife’s a laundress. Got eight kids.”

“How old’s the eldest girl?”

This question got a few raised brows. A young fellow down the way, lanky but well-muscled, narrowed his eyes at Alek and muttered, “Eighteen.”

The man beside the surly youth clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Sloane, here, has got his heart set on Miss Honora Sheppard, pretty thing that she is.” The rest of the table chuckled as Sloane’s face reddened. “Gonna marry her someday, eh, Sloane?”

“Just need to save up a bit more,” Sloane said. He was soft-spoken enough that Alek had to lean in to hear him. “Should have enough by Lady Day.”

“Hmm,” Alek murmured, half to himself and half to the man beside him. “And how does she feel about it?”

The man shrugged. “Does it matter? Big family like that? Money’s tight, food’s scarce—she’ll jump at the chance, won’t she?”

Alek sat back and nursed his ale, letting the conversation wash around him. He thought of the girl he’d seen, undernourished but strong and fearless as she watched over her brothers and sisters. There was something compelling about her, something forthright and honest. She was exactly what he needed.

His neighbor’s words repeated in his head: big family, money’s tight, food’s scarce. A small smile pulled at his lips, and he took another sip to hide it. There was no doubt he could offer the girl more than her young swain, even in his current situation. He could sweeten the deal for her family, too, and he could make the offer long before Lady Day. He had to for his own reasons, not just competition.

His eye fell on Sloane, who was eyeing him with a scowl of jealous distrust. Alek bit back a grin. The boy would be disappointed, but the choice was Miss Sheppard’s.

Ignoring his rival, Alek finished his meal, paid the publican, and slipped out into the night.

Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits