The Ultimatum
Ethan Vale woke before sunrise.
For several seconds, he did not remember where he was.
Then he heard the horses.
A soft movement of hooves.
The crackle of a dying fire.
The distant call of something moving through the trees.
He opened his eyes.
The sky above Montana was still dark, but the eastern horizon had begun to turn the faintest shade of gray.
Ethan slowly sat up.
Every muscle in his body protested.
Three days on the trail had reduced him to little more than hunger, exhaustion, and stubbornness. His coat was stiff with dust. His boots were split near the heels. His left shoulder ached from an old injury that had never completely healed.
But none of that mattered.
He had survived worse.
Ethan looked across the camp.
Serena was sitting beside the remains of the fire.
She was awake too.
She had wrapped a dark wool blanket around her shoulders and was staring into the embers.
When she noticed him watching, she quickly looked away.
Ethan smiled faintly.
"You don't sleep much?"
Serena shook her head.
"Not when something important is happening."
"Something important?"
She looked at him.
"You."
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"Me?"
"You came here yesterday."
"That doesn't sound very important."
"It is."
She lowered her eyes.
"Nobody comes here unless they need something."
Ethan glanced toward the valley.
"I came because your father sent word."
Serena nodded.
"And now?"
Ethan looked at her.
"Now I'm not sure why I should leave."
She looked surprised.
"Because my father told you to marry me."
"That isn't a good reason to stay."
"No."
"Because he threatened to drive me off the land."
"That isn't a good reason either."
"Then maybe I'll stay because I want to."
Serena stared at him.
"You don't even know me."
"Neither did the men who rejected you."
She flinched.
Ethan immediately regretted saying it.
"I'm sorry."
"It's true."
She pulled the blanket tighter.
"My father thinks marriage will solve everything."
"What does he think it will solve?"
"My loneliness."
Ethan frowned.
"Is that what you told him?"
"No."
"Then why does he think it?"
"Because my father sees everything through duty."
She looked toward the mountains.
"He believes every problem can be fixed if people are strong enough."
Ethan was quiet.
He understood that kind of man.
His own father had been the same.
Silence was weakness.
Fear was weakness.
Grief was weakness.
Love was weakness.
Until Ethan learned, much too late, that sometimes refusing to show weakness was the fastest way to destroy yourself.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Serena looked at him.
"I don't know."
"That's okay."
She seemed confused.
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because most people spend their whole lives doing what someone else tells them to do."
He stood and stretched.
"Knowing you don't know what you want is at least honest."
Serena almost smiled.
Then the sound of footsteps interrupted them.
Chief Keona approached from the trees.
He was an imposing man even in his later years. His hair was streaked with gray, and his face carried the lines of someone who had spent decades under a harsh sky.
He looked at Ethan.
Then at Serena.
Then back at Ethan.
"You leave today."
Ethan nodded.
"I expected that."
Keona's expression didn't change.
"You refused my offer."
"I refused your order."
"Same thing."
"No."
Keona stepped closer.
"You believe yourself clever."
"No."
"You believe you can walk into my camp, insult me, and leave without consequence."
Ethan shook his head.
"I believe your daughter deserves the right to choose."
The chief's eyes moved toward Serena.
She stood.
"Father."
Keona looked at her.
"Go inside."
Serena didn't move.
"I want to speak."
"Go inside."
"I am not a child."
The chief's face hardened.
Ethan noticed something.
Serena was afraid.
But she didn't move.
That mattered.
Keona stared at her for a long time.
Finally, he said:
"Then speak."
Serena swallowed.
"I don't want a husband who marries me because you ordered him to."
Keona's jaw tightened.
"And what do you want?"
She looked at Ethan.
"I want someone who stays."
The chief's eyes shifted to Ethan.
"Can you promise that?"
Ethan didn't answer immediately.
Promises were dangerous things.
His father had promised his mother he would never leave.
His older brother had promised Ethan he would come home.
Both promises had ended in graves.
"I can't promise forever," Ethan said.
Serena's face fell.
"But I can promise tomorrow."