Chapter 3

Logan pulled me into his arms, his gaze raking across Wesley's face.

"Point at my wife one more time. I dare you."

The murderous edge in Logan's voice made Wesley stumble backward, nearly tripping over the doorstep. He immediately shut his mouth.

I took Logan's hand and walked toward the back of Willowville without looking back.

The moment the rickety wooden gate closed behind us, the mocking voices from outside were completely shut out.

Logan lowered his eyes to me, his voice deep. "From now on, my life belongs to you."

His gaze drifted toward the direction Wesley had left. His rough thumb gently brushed across the wounds on my palm.

"As for everyone out there, they'll repay everything they owe you—with interest."

Life after our marriage was nothing like the people in Willowville had predicted. In fact, they were the happiest three months I'd had in fifteen years.

Logan was up before dawn every morning, filling the water barrels and stacking the chopped firewood into neat piles.

When most families were surviving on beans and cornbread, my meals included fresh bread and pot roast.

One day, he handed me a metal cash box stuffed with money and ration coupons, telling me to take charge of the household.

A few days later, he reached into the bottom of that same box, pulled out a brand-new wristwatch, and fastened it around my wrist before I could protest. Madelyn had begged Wesley for three months to buy her the very same watch. He'd always refused, saying it was too expensive.

Meanwhile, life at the front of Willowville had descended into chaos.

Madelyn got exactly what she wanted—the position at Ashford Textile Mill.

However, after less than two weeks, she'd wandered away from her station and damaged the mill's only jacquard loom. The plant manager flew into a rage. Not only did he dock six months' wages, but he also reassigned her to the boiler room to shovel coal.

Every evening, she came home covered in soot, her dresses burned full of holes from flying cinders. Soon she was smashing things around the house and fighting with my parents.

Wesley's life wasn't any easier.

Madelyn couldn't even fry an egg, yet she constantly demanded he buy her one thing after another to make up for everything she'd suffered. His meager intern's salary couldn't keep up with her demands.

A few times while I was washing clothes by the well, I'd see Wesley returning home in a wrinkled shirt, looking utterly exhausted.

Whenever he caught sight of my new clothes and the watch on my wrist, his face twisted with resentment.

He began lingering outside the gate to the back of Willowville, convinced Logan must have been abusing me.

He refused to believe my happiness was real. In his mind, a woman like me could never be happy with a rough man like Logan. Surely I was only pretending and was waiting for him to rescue me.

One drizzly evening in late autumn, I got caught in the rain.

The old injury in my ankle flared up so badly that I couldn't walk. Without a word, Logan heated a basin of water and carried it to the bedside. His callused hands carefully cradled my foot as he tested the water's temperature.

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed outside. Mixed with them came Wesley's heavy breathing.

He'd finally convinced himself he'd found the perfect chance to swoop in and pity me from his lofty perch.

Bang!

With one violent kick, Wesley sent the wooden gate flying open at the back of Willowville.