She stood beside a battered vinyl suitcase, wrapping a worn knitted shawl tight around her shoulders against the biting Wyoming chill. She looked small against the vast expanse of the parking lot, but there was no slouch in her posture. Her hair was thick, dark brown, pulled back into a neat braid, and her eyes—dark, watchful, and intensely sharp—scanned the platform until they landed on him.
Cole walked over, pulling his hat down slightly. "Elena?"
"Cole?" Her English was quiet, framed by a soft, melodic accent, but clear and deliberate.
"Yeah. That's me." He reached for her suitcase, surprised by how light it was. "My truck is just over here. The heater takes a minute to get going, but it’ll warm up."
She nodded, following him across the icy asphalt. When she climbed into the passenger seat, she folded her hands tightly in her lap. The silence between them was heavy, thicker than the frost forming on the windshield edges. Cole put the truck in gear and pulled out onto the empty highway, the high beams illuminating nothing but blowing snow and endless blackness.
"Frank said it would be cold," Elena finally said, her voice barely rising above the rumble of the engine. "I think Frank did not know enough words to explain this cold."
A faint, rusty sound escaped Cole's throat before he realized it was a chuckle. "Wyoming cold is its own breed. It gets into your bones. You have a heavy coat in that bag?"
"No," she admitted softly. "Only sweaters."
"We'll get you a proper coat in town tomorrow," he said. "Before we go to the courthouse."
The mention of the courthouse brought the suffocating reality of their arrangement rushing back into the cab. Elena looked out the window into the dark. "Thank you. For this. I will work hard, Cole. I am not here to be a burden."
"It's a trade, Elena," Cole replied, his tone softening just a fraction. "You're saving my neck just as much as I'm saving yours. You don't owe me anything beyond what we agreed on."
They arrived at the ranch near midnight. The house was a modest, two-story structure of weathered timber and river stone. Inside, it was exactly what one would expect from a bachelor who spent fourteen hours a day outside: sparsely furnished, utilitarian, and coated in a thin layer of fine prairie dust.
Cole showed her to the spare bedroom on the ground floor. It had a sturdy oak bed, a single dresser, and a window that looked out over the eastern pastures. "You take this one," he said, setting her bag by the door. "I'm upstairs. Bathroom is down the hall. Kitchen is yours if you want it, but I usually just make coffee and toast before sunrise."
"It is a good room," Elena said. She looked around, her hand brushing the edge of the quilt. "It is quiet here."
"Too quiet, mostly," Cole admitted. "Get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow."
The wedding was a brief, sterile affair conducted by a bored county judge in a room smelling of floor wax and old paper. Frank was there as their witness, clapping Cole on the shoulder and giving Elena a warm, encouraging smile. They exchanged simple silver bands Cole had bought at a pawn shop that morning. When the judge pronounced them husband and wife, there was no kiss, only a stiff, formal handshake and the scratching of pens on legal documents.