The Mountain Man Turned Away Every Pretty Widow— He Chose the Girl Who Quietly Mended His Torn Boots

Chapter 5

The storm broke at dawn.

The sky cleared to a brutal, brilliant blue. Snow on the peaks glittered like crushed diamonds. Elijah saddled his horse — a massive black stallion named Shadow — and lifted me onto the saddle in front of him.

He wrapped his buffalo coat around my shoulders.

“Ready?”

I looked down at the town below, the rooftops just visible through the trees.

“No,” I said honestly.

“Good. Means you’re not stupid.”

He kicked Shadow into motion.

We rode down the mountain together, breath fogging in the icy air, the sun blazing overhead. Stillwater Springs had no idea what was coming.

We reached the town at midday. Main Street was crowded — market day, half the territory had come to trade. Ranchers, miners, merchants, and their wives all packed into the muddy thoroughfare.

Elijah didn’t slow down. He rode Shadow straight down the center of Main Street, and the crowd parted like water before a ship.

People stopped. Stared. The hermit of Devil’s Ridge, and sitting in front of him, wrapped in his coat, was—

“Is that Martha Wainwright?”

The whisper spread like wildfire.

“Fat Martha. Plain Martha. With the mountain man.”

Elijah ignored them all. He rode straight to the hitching post outside the courthouse. He dismounted, lifted me down with surprising gentleness.

“Head up,” he murmured. “You don’t bow to anyone.”

I straightened my spine.

We walked toward the courthouse door. And that’s when Rosalind Pryce stepped into our path.

She was dressed for battle. Black velvet gown, feathered hat, pearl earrings that caught the sun. Behind her, Cordelia Vance smirked in pink silk.

“Mr. Croft.” Rosalind’s voice was honey over broken glass. “What a surprise. And you’ve brought your pet.”

A ripple of laughter from the crowd.

My face burned. But I didn’t look away.

Elijah’s expression didn’t change. “Move, Mrs. Pryce.”

“Oh, there’s no need to be rude. I’m simply concerned for Miss Wainwright.” Rosalind smiled, all teeth. “A young woman alone with a man overnight. Well, you know how people talk.”

“Her reputation is her own business.”

“But surely—”

“I said move.”

Rosalind’s smile faltered. She tried a different tactic, turning to me. “My dear, you must be exhausted. Let me take you home. You can rest. Clean yourself up. We can discuss this misunderstanding like civilized women.”

I looked at her. The fake concern masking genuine malice. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t swallow the words.

“There’s no misunderstanding, Mrs. Pryce. And I don’t need your help.”

She stared at me. No one spoke to her that way. Certainly not plain Martha.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Elijah’s mouth twitched.

Rosalind’s composure cracked. Her mask slipped, revealing the viper beneath. “You ungrateful—” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “I tried to help you. I tried to warn you. This man is a beast. When he’s done using you, he’ll throw you away like the garbage you are.”

I leaned in close. “At least I’m not garbage dressed in velvet.”

Her face went white, then red. She raised her hand.

“Touch her.”

Elijah’s voice was quiet. Conversational. Terrifying.

“Touch her, and I’ll forget you’re a woman.”

Her hand froze in midair.

The crowd held its breath.

Slowly, she lowered her hand. Smoothed her skirt. Forced a brittle smile.

“We’ll see how long this lasts.”

She turned and swept away, Cordelia scurrying behind her.

Elijah watched them go. “You made an enemy today.”

I was shaking. “I’ve had enemies my whole life. At least this time I earned it.”

He looked at me. Really looked. “Let’s get married.”

Judge Harrison was in his chambers eating a ham sandwich over a stack of legal documents. He nearly choked when he saw us.

“Elijah Croft,” he coughed. “Is this — marriage? Today? But the banns, the waiting period—”

Elijah dropped a gold nugget on the desk. It thudded against the wood like a heartbeat.

“Today. Now.”

The judge looked at the gold. Looked at me. Looked at Elijah.

“I’ll need witnesses.”

“Get them.”

Twenty minutes later, I stood in the judge’s chambers, heart pounding, facing a man I had met three days ago. Two clerks stood as witnesses, both glancing at the door like they expected someone to burst in and announce this was a joke.

“Do you, Elijah James Croft, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Martha Esther Wainwright, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I looked at Elijah. He wasn’t handsome. His face was scarred. His beard was wild. His eyes were the color of storm clouds.

But those eyes were looking at me like I mattered.

“I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife.”

Elijah reached into his coat and pulled out a leather cord. Hanging from it was a ring — heavy, hammered gold, set with a rough-cut ruby the size of a thumbnail.

“My grandmother’s,” he said, sliding it onto my finger. “It fits perfectly.”

I stared at the gem. It was worth more than my father’s life. More than the whole shack I had grown up in. Tears pricked my eyes.

The door slammed open.

Amos Wainwright stood there, panting, wild-eyed. He looked at me. At the ring. At Elijah. Greed twisted his face into something inhuman.

“You can’t do this. She’s my daughter. My property. You stole her.”

“She was your property.” Elijah stepped between us, a wall of muscle and menace. “Now she’s my wife. Her debts are my debts. Her enemies are my enemies.”

He reached into his coat. Amos flinched, expecting a gun. But Elijah pulled out a leather pouch and tossed it at his chest.

“Two hundred dollars. That pays for every meal she ate in your house, every debt you owe the Bodines, and the cost of never seeing your face again.”

Amos clutched the bag, his eyes darting between the money and me.

“Take it,” Elijah said, his voice dropping to a growl. “Walk away. Start over somewhere else. But if you ever come within fifty feet of my wife again — I’ll bury you so deep on that mountain that even God won’t find the grave.”

Amos’s courage shattered. He turned and ran.

I watched him go. My father. The man who had hit me, used me, sold me.

I felt nothing.

No. I felt free.