“Is this her?”
His voice was calm, but it had an edge. Not anger exactly. Something sharper. Disbelief with teeth.
The trader hopped down, boots thudding. “That’s her. Eliza Maren. Family says she’s… well.” He waved a hand like he was brushing off dirt. “She’s broken.”
The rancher’s jaw tightened so hard the muscles jumped. “Broken.”
The trader shoved a folded paper toward him. “Contract. You know the deal. They said she can’t have children, so she’s no use for a family. But she can cook, clean, whatever you need. And she’s young. Quiet. Won’t give you trouble.”
Eliza’s stomach lurched at the casual cruelty of it, the way a human life could be summarized in chores and defects.
The rancher didn’t take the paper right away. He looked at Eliza instead. Not the way the trader looked. Not like a buyer inspecting an item.
He looked like someone noticing a bruise.
Eliza kept her head bowed, because she’d learned that meeting men’s eyes when you were powerless only made them feel more powerful.
But she felt him step closer, felt his shadow fall over her.
