Darkness did very little to hide the firm outline of his bare back as he stood shaving by the fireplace. He must think she was asleep, she thought, spellbound by the man before her, even as her eyes trailed down the length of him and her mind memorized every dent in his form; sweat clinging to his finely chiseled muscles that was no doubt carved out of hours of hard work.

It wasn't dawn yet, and she had woken up earlier to the sound of movement. Briefly confused, it had only taken a second to remember where she was, and another, to recognize the man who stood shaving by the fireplace.

Why was he here? Her eyes shifted from one part of the room to the next. Where was Jenkins? She thought, freezing in her attempt to scan the room for him as the stranger turned toward her. Most likely blinded by the darkness, he didn't seem to notice she was awake when he made his way over to the dresser and picked up his shirt from where it hung on the arm of the chair. Shrugging it on, she ignored the slight stab of disappointment in her chest by his actions, and instead slid further down the sheets. She watched him neatly tuck his shirt in, and when he finally made his way out of the room, she was surprised when the sound of the door being locked did not filter back to her.

Utterly confused —both by her environment and by the odd stranger who had walked out a second ago— she waited for a few more seconds before crawling out of the bed and tiptoeing to the door.

Her fingers settled on the cold metal of the knob. Slowly, she twisted it and pulled, a loud gasp drifting from her lips as it gave way before her.

She stood frozen for several seconds, her fingers curling around the knob; why had he left the door open? Jenkins always locked the door. There were even times he tied her hands and locked the door, keeping her prisoner against her will. Was this a trap? Was she being tricked into something sinister?

Her mind immediately wandered to the day before when the strange man had spoon-fed her and stayed by her side until she fell asleep. He was nothing like Jenkins. His touch, as he brushed her hair aside, had not stung. He hadn't laid a hand on her since they met, and his eyes held no hostility in them. If anything, his eyes gave her an odd feeling of safety.

Still, the majority part of her was skeptical, and the part that was afraid of what she knew Jenkins was capable of, forced her to turn back around and crawled back into bed, rather than take the window of escape before her. There was no true way of escape. Even if she could save her own life, it would come at the expense of her father's, and while she was almost certain she hated him, she couldn't stand to see him die; she had already lost one parent. Perhaps she had even lost them both? She seemed like she had, because father never remained the same after her mother's death.

Moaning softly, Sharon was surprised to find the stranger leaning down over her. She glanced around, realizing then that she had fallen asleep, and from the brightness of the sunlight that streamed into the room, she must have been sleeping for a few hours.

"Good morning." His words surprised her; Jenkins would never be so courteous.

Pushing the sheets aside, she sat upright and rubbed her eyes.

"Sorry I woke you up, but the rest of us already had breakfast and I didn't think it would be wise to leave you sleeping until you are forced awake by hunger."

She realized then that he held a tray in his hands.

A frown immediately settled on her face. "Will you tell me who you are and what I'm doing here? Do not think for a second that I will accept your food if you do not give me the answers I need." Her stomach responded with a loud growl. Embarrassed, her lips fell wide open as his eyes shifted briefly to her stomach, and then to her face.

He raised a brow. "I believe the monster you have caged in there," he motioned to her stomach, "thinks otherwise."

She gasped, heat climbing up the side of her neck and setting her entire face on fire.

He shrugged, leaning down and placing the tray on her lap. "Perhaps I must leave you to your meal?" He straightened. "Once that monster is fed, then we will talk. Right now, I am not certain he won't keep interrupting our conversation if he is not fed."

Her face burned some more as she watched him, his eyes twinkled with humor, and while she thought it made him appear even more handsome than she had thought in the past, she hated him for humiliating her in such a manner.

She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she watched him close the door behind him, leaving her alone in the room.

It was several more seconds before she regained control of her breathing, and a second more before she turned her attention to the plate of toast and hot cup of black coffee before her; he was right, she needed to feed the monster in her stomach. But she was never going to tell him that.

~*~

Matthew smiled to himself as the axe made contact with the wood, a piece of wood slicing through the air and missing his eye by an inch.

He stepped back, shaking his head. He was distracted, and by the blonde head. The same scene of their conversation earlier in the day kept replaying over and over again in his head. He kept picturing the look of embarrassment on her face —the slight parting of her lips, the widening of her eyelids, her dilated pupils, and the cute dust of pink that stained her cheeks— and he couldn't help but smile.

Perhaps he was cruel for teasing her like that, but he had to admit he liked the look on her face, and he especially liked the monster in her stomach for betraying her true state of hunger to him. And to think she had sought to deceive him by lying about being hungry! Certainly she knew he was aware she had only eaten the afternoon before. Yet, she was stubborn, and feisty, and especially brave. If he was correct, then she must have given Jenkins a run for his money. She did not strike him as one to easily be threatened or intimidated; Jenkins really must have had a hard time with her, which explained his willingness to hand her over to Matthew.

A slight frown extinguished his smile; would she be more open to him than she was with Jenkins? He had tried to show her he was nothing like Jenkins, but she still had that guarded look in her eyes and he knew he could never force her to marry him. He would ask today, but that was all he could do. He had only tomorrow left to find a wife, after that, he would be left with no other choice but to bend to his father's demands; the blonde was his last chance.

Wiping the sweat off of his forehead with a handkerchief, he made his way back to the building carrying the chopped wood on his shoulder. He placed it by the back door, washed his hand in a basin Nana Lois had left outside the building because she could never stand for him to come into the house with dirty hands in addition to the mat she left because she hated for him to bring dirt into her 'freshly scrubbed floors. Turning from the basin, he made his way into the building and up the stairs. Pausing by the bedroom door, he made a fist and pounded lightly on it. He stepped back and waited for a second. When she did not respond, he pushed the door open, his eyes immediately coming to rest on her. She stood by the bedside, her arm slung slightly over the headboard and her eyes fixed on him.

"May I come in?"

She frowned. "W-why?"

"You asked me a question earlier; I thought you would like to know the answer right now."

She watched him. "First, you must tell me what happened to my clothes." She motioned to herself, and he glanced at the white night dress, immediately remembering taking her clothes off and helping her into it.

Embarrassed, he glanced down. Surely he could not tell her he had been the one to undress her? Yet, he did not feel comfortable about lying to her.

"It was ripped, and stained with... blood. I'm sorry, I should not have violated your privacy like that, and I cert-"

"You, and not Jenkins?"

He glanced up and shook his head. "Jenkins is gone."

The frown on her face deepened. "Where? Then he didn't hurt... He did not do anything, did he? Did you?" She glanced down briefly, her face paling the second she lifted her eyes up once more.

Briefly confused, he watched her clutch her neckline, and immediately understood what she meant. Shaking his head furiously, he momentarily imagined the torture she must have endured with Jenkins to even conceive the thought of him forcing himself on her. "No, of course not!" The very thought repulsed him.

A loud sigh escaped her lips, but she did not release her hold on her dress. "Then why are you here? Who are you? Where is Jenkins?"

"May I please come in, Blondie?" He said in reference to her hair, and also considering the fact that Jenkins had not bothered with introductions.

Her hold on her neckline slackened. "Blondie?"

He nodded. He had no idea what her name was, and had been dumb enough not to ask. "May I come in? I promise to maintain a respectable distance."

She watched him, skepticism clouding her eyes for a few seconds. He stood still by the doorway, deciding if she didn't want him to go into the room, he would simply respect her decision. He understood she was frightened and confused, and he fully blamed himself for not putting her fears at ease earlier.

Slowly, she nodded, surprising him.

"Thank you." He closed the door behind him and made his way to her.

Settling on the bed, she motioned to the fireplace. "Sit over there."

"Fair enough." He offered a bow of his head before heading over to the fireplace a few feet away. Settling on the chair, he clasped his hands before him.

She released a loud breath, her eyelids snapping shut briefly in what appeared to him to be an attempt at calming herself down.

He waited, understanding her need to take a moment to think. She sat still for several seconds, his eyes taking in her form; she was thin and dangerously close to being malnourished. He took note of her slouched shoulders and blistered hands that sat on her knees, assuring him of their ability to handle hard work. No doubt, she was accustomed to working, and her slouched form was an indication that she had little or no training in etiquettes.

He was however barely surprised. Didn't Stanley mention something about a gambling father? Her father had lost her in a bet, hadn't he? Then she was from a less than reputable home; nothing like Matthew had ever been around, least of all, considered marrying. But he was without a choice. She was not the lady of his dreams —or his parent’s dreams for that matter— but she was all he could get given the short notice.

Her eyelids flickered open, and she stared at him. "Let us begin with the unpleasant question; where is Jenkins?"

"Gone," he sat up straighter, somewhat nervous because he knew he needed to ask for her hand in marriage in the next few minutes.

"Gone? I am confused, gone where?" He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand to silence him. "Do not answer that, I would hate for it to seem like I care anything for the rogue's whereabouts. If Jenkins is gone, then it can only mean one thing —he lost a bet to you, and I am what he lost."

Shame immediately washed over Matthew at her analysis, for she was indeed right; Jenkins had lost to him. Perhaps he was as guilty as Jenkins? Perhaps he was as despicable as him?

"Do not look so surprised by my ability to guess," she answered dryly, "my own father lost me in a bet, and now, the man who was only a few hours ago about to force me to the courthouse to marry him, has lost me again. I wonder who you will lose me to."

"I am no gambler, Blondie." He murmured.

She shrugged. "You are certainly the first to go through the trouble of trying to gain my trust. Now, we must move on to the next question —who are you?"

"Matthew Steiner, and may I ask who you are?"

"The drunk didn't know my name, did he?" She scoffed. "No doubt he forgot to mention that to you when he lost the bet." She looked pointedly at him. "It is information I am unwilling to share as well."

"Then I will call you Blondie until you trust me enough to tell me."

"Then you will never know, because I will never trust you." She said. Her words felt like a jab to his chest. Surprised by his reaction, he simply ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "What do you want, Mr. Steiner?" She asked.

There was the question; the one he knew would provoke his proposal. But, he was uncertain of what to do, or say. He was uncertain of how to ask, and afraid she would refuse. Perhaps he must come out straight and tell her —demand that she be his wife?

No, he shook his head. He would ask her. He would ask her because she deserved to be given an option perhaps for the first time in her life? She deserved a choice.

Rising to his feet, he thought he saw fear flicker in her eyes. Holding her gaze, he went down on one knee. "Blondie, will you marry me?"

It was a simple question, one that carried no emotion in it. It was nothing like the time he proposed to Gretchen —even if he was turned down, and it sounded to him like he was making a business proposal, rather than a marriage proposal, but while he hated the lack of emotions his question carried, he hoped she understood that he didn't love her, and he couldn't pretend to be in love with her.

She sat still, confusion reflecting in her ocean blue eyes. Then, her confusion gave way to doubt. She stared at him with question and suspicion, and soon enough, anger was setting her eyes ablaze.

Rising to her feet, she planted her fists on her hips. "No."

"Wha—"

"I said no, Mr. Steiner. Now that you have the answer to your question, am I free to go?!" She stared at him, sarcasm lacing every word. She obviously meant to mock him, her eyes beholding him in fury.

Shocked —too shocked to even speak— Matthew nodded, and watched in silence as the second woman he ever asked to marry him, turned her back on him, leaving him kneeling there, his hopes and dreams on the floor with him.