Chapter 11 — Still Working

The morning after her wedding, Hallie was back in the storage shed before breakfast was over. No one stopped her. That helped.

The work list was where it had been the day before, weighted beneath a small piece of wood near the door. Hallie picked it up, found her assignment, and read it twice.

Inventory. Then grain distribution. Nothing had changed.

She was still standing there when a woman carrying a basket paused outside the doorway.

“You’re working?”

Hallie looked up. “Yes.”

The woman blinked. Not hostile. Just surprised.

“You got married last night.”

“I noticed.”

A reluctant smile appeared.

“I thought Grant might give you a day.”

“He didn’t.”

Hallie glanced back at the list.

“And I didn’t ask for one.”

The woman shifted the basket against her hip. “You could.”

“I could also finish this before noon.”

That ended the conversation. Mostly. By the time Hallie reached the grain shed, she had heard three different versions of the same question.

Was she still on regular rotation? Would she be moving into different work? Was she supposed to be supervising now?

None of the questions were cruel. That was what made them useful. Marriage had changed how people looked at her even before anyone had decided what the change meant.

Hallie had expected other packs to care that she was Grant’s wife. She had not expected Cedar Draw to start rearranging her in its own mind so quickly. A man near the grain bins held out a tally sheet.

“You can just sign this.”

Hallie took it. The count was unfinished.

“I can’t.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I haven’t checked it.”

“You’re Grant’s wife.”

“I was also Grant’s wife when I walked in here.”

His face tightened with embarrassment. Hallie handed the sheet back.

“Finish the count. I’ll check my section after.”

He accepted it. Still, she could feel the attention of two other workers nearby. Hallie went back to the sacks.

It was strange how easy it would have been to let the assumption stand. One signature. One small shortcut.

No one would have accused her of stealing authority. They would simply have started giving it to her.

That was almost worse. She wanted whatever place she built here to survive without Grant standing behind it. By midday, her shoulders ached and there was dust in the crease of one wrist.

Grant found her carrying a stack of folded supply cloths toward the wash area. He looked at the load. Then at her.

“You know there are easier jobs.”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t an offer.”

“Good.”

His mouth moved. Hallie adjusted the stack against her chest.

“People keep asking whether I’m still working.”

“You are.”

“They also think I can sign things now because I married you.”

“Can you?”

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

She stopped walking. Grant stopped too.

“That simple?”

“For me.”

“Not for everyone else.”

“No.”

He said it without impatience. Hallie shifted the cloths again.

“What does being your wife actually change here?”

Grant considered the question.

“Privately?”

“Yes.”

“We need to decide where you sleep.”

Heat climbed into her face before she could prevent it. Grant noticed. Of course he did.

But his expression stayed neutral.

“The marriage doesn’t require a shared bed,” he said.

Hallie’s embarrassment sharpened into relief.

“Good.”

“You can keep your room.”

She nodded.

“And if I want to change that later?”

“You tell me.”

The answer came without pause.

Hallie looked at him. The question had sounded practical until he answered. For one second she noticed his shoulders, the dust at his sleeves, and the fact that changing rooms would mean choosing to cross a threshold Grant would never ask her to cross.

Grant continued.

“My room stays mine. Yours stays yours. Neither of us enters without asking.”

That was unexpectedly precise.

“What about meals? Work? Authority?”

“Eat where you want. Same rotation unless the work changes. The marriage gives you no authority.”

Hallie let out a breath. Grant’s gaze remained on her.

“You thought I’d make you Luna.”

“No.”

“You thought everyone else might.”

“Yes.”

“They might try.”

“And you?”

“I won’t.”

The certainty in his voice settled something in her. Hallie looked down at the cloths in her arms.

“This marriage was supposed to make my choice harder to dismiss.”

“It does.”

“But it also makes people expect things.”

“It will.”

“Things I didn’t earn.”

“Some of them.”

She looked back at him. Grant stayed where he was and waited. He left the next move to her.

Hallie found that more reassuring than protection would have been.

“Then I’ll keep working.”

“I figured.”

She started past him. Grant caught the top cloth before it slipped from the stack. His knuckles grazed the inside of her wrist as he pushed it back into place.

Hallie’s grip tightened on the stack. The mate bond did nothing. The contact was too ordinary for that.

Which made it harder to blame on anything but herself. She could still hear him saying, You tell me. Hallie looked at him.

Grant had already released the cloth.

“Your room,” he said. “Keep it.”

“I will.”

“And if anyone tells you otherwise?”

“I’ll tell them they’re wrong.”

That earned the faintest smile.

“Good.”

Hallie walked on. By evening, people were still asking questions. But the questions had changed.

They asked which shift she wanted tomorrow, which section of the stores she had already checked, and whether she had time to look at a damaged ledger. Hallie noticed the difference. Marriage had added a name to her.

The work was what made people ask for her. When she returned to her own room that night, it looked exactly as she had left it. The bed was still hers alone.

But Grant’s answer from midday returned with irritating clarity. You tell me. The room was still hers. The fact that she could imagine choosing differently later was new.

Hallie closed the door and rested her hand on the latch. Tomorrow, she would report for work as Grant’s wife. She would answer the same practical questions she had earned today.

Cedar Draw would have to get used to seeing both.