“Spread Your Legs And Let Me See”—Mountain Man Ordered The Fat Outcast, But His True Purpose Was…

Chapter 2

She tucked the chain back beneath her shift, a habit so old she didn’t remember learning it. “It was my mother’s.”

Silas’s gaze stayed fixed on the spot where the locket had been, as if the silver were still hanging in the air between them. Then, with a visible effort, he dismantled the expression from his face and offered his forearm again, solid as a ridgepole.

“Can you walk?”

“I can try.”

They skirted the livery, where a big dun mare with a Roman nose and a winter coat built for blizzards lifted its head at their approach. The horse’s name, Silas said, was Ash, and Ash regarded Maeve with the calm, appraising patience of something that had seen worse travelers. He eased her up onto a folded blanket inside the stall — not yet in the saddle, only high enough to rest her legs and let the blood return to her feet — then poured coffee from a blackened tin, thought better of it, and added a finger of cream from a cracked bottle.

“Sip slow,” he said. “Food to follow.”