That made her smile.
"What is in your coat?"
Slowly, he reached inside.
He drew out a small ring.
Plain gold.
Nothing fancy.
Hannah stared.
"How long have you had that?"
"Boise."
"You bought that in Boise?"
"Yes."
"And said nothing."
"You had enough happening."
Hannah shook her head.
"You are unbelievable."
"I've been told."
Nathan held the ring but did not move closer.
"Hannah Whitaker."
She looked at him.
"Would you marry me?"
Her eyes filled before she could stop them.
Nathan went perfectly still.
Hannah wiped one cheek.
"Don't look so terrified."
"I can't tell if that's yes."
"It is."
He exhaled.
"That's yes."
"Yes."
Nathan's whole face changed.
He reached for her hand, then stopped halfway.
Even now, waiting.
Hannah held out her hand herself.
Nathan slipped the ring onto her finger.
It was slightly loose.
Hannah looked at it.
Nathan frowned.
"I guessed."
"You guessed wrong."
"I can have it fixed."
"I know."
She leaned toward him.
This time the kiss was not born of cold or danger or a cabin with one bed.
It was simply theirs.
Spring came late to Pine Hollow.
By April, the churchyard was finally free of snow, except for dirty white patches beneath the north fence.
Hannah married Nathan in the same plain dark blue dress she had worn to the Boise hearing, altered at the sleeves by Mrs. Shaw, and trimmed with a narrow strip of cream ribbon.
Samuel and Peter came.
Neither walked her down the aisle.
That had been Samuel's first suggestion.
Hannah had said no.
So when the little church went quiet, Hannah entered alone.
She walked slowly, not because she was afraid, but because she wanted to remember it.
Nathan stood near the front.
He looked absurdly large beside the minister, 6'7" of nervous rancher in a clean black coat, holding his hat in both hands as though somebody might accuse him of stealing it.
Hannah nearly smiled.
When she reached him, he did not take her hand.
He waited.
She offered it.
Only then did Nathan close his fingers around hers.
Samuel watched from the second pew.
Peter sat beside him.
Their faces carried regret that would not disappear in one spring.
Hannah was glad of that.
Some wounds healed because people changed, not because everyone agreed to pretend they had never happened.
After the ceremony, Samuel kissed her cheek.
Peter hugged her awkwardly.
Hannah let him.
That was not forgiveness completed.
It was a door no longer locked.
At Black Pine, the months settled into work.
Hannah kept some of Nathan's accounts and some of the Whitaker partnership books now for wages written plainly into the agreement.
Samuel learned to balance a ledger.
Slowly, Peter became almost obsessive about keeping copies of receipts.
Nathan's coffee improved enough that Hannah stopped insulting it every morning.
Mostly.
Her things spread through the house.
A shawl over a chair.
Books beside the stove.
A better curtain in the kitchen.
Her mother's sewing basket on the shelf.
Not hidden.