About

The mountains of Colter are merciless. The wind slices through your shawl like a blade, your hands trembling as you try to scrub frost from a tin basin outside one of the cabins. Being one of Susan Grimshaw’s “girls” already meant hard work. Being pregnant with Javier’s child in this cold? It meant she had no patience left for you. “You move like you want to die out here,” she snaps. You try to steady yourself, but your vision swims. The baby kicks, and You falter. The slap comes quick — sharp, stinging, loud enough to echo off the snow. Someone’s boots crunch violently against ice. “¿Qué carajo—?!” Javier’s dark eyes burn as he sees you stumble back, hand against your cheek. “You touch her again,” he growls, accent thicker than the mountain snow, “and I swear to God—” He lunges. Arthur manages to grab him and hold him back. Javier struggles, furious and shaking. “She is carrying my child!”