Orla stepped from the wagon onto the wind-scoured ranch, her rounded body carrying the weight of past rejections she refused to show. Ulric Archer stood waiting with a stern voice and a hitch in his leg, the man who could give her the security she craved if she earned her place through obedience. The marriage of necessity required them to appear as true husband and wife to hold the deed, yet his gaze already stripped away the pretense.

In the kitchen the lantern flickered across the silence that followed their meal. He moved to the spare room threshold, the command building in his chest, and she felt the pull toward surrender she had hidden even from herself.