“No man in that valley thinks like you.”
“Some do.”
“Not many.”
“No.”
Josie looked toward the iron box beneath his bed.
“Is it because of what’s in there?”
Judson’s expression changed.
That was enough.
“Yes.”
He looked away.
“What happened?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because tonight you dressed like that.”
Josie stared.
Then laughed so suddenly she nearly choked.
Judson smiled.
“Coward.”
“Yes.”
This time when she used the word, it felt affectionate.
January came hard.
Snow reached the lower window.
Temperatures dropped.
The barn roof groaned beneath weight.
Judson and Josie climbed together to clear sections before collapse.
Josie moved slower.
Judson never rushed her.
She hated that at first.
Then realized he was not waiting from pity.
He simply adjusted the work to the person beside him.
Everyone else seemed to expect Josie either to prove she could keep up or accept being useless.
Judson recognized a third option.
Work intelligently.
After clearing the barn, Josie stood panting.
Judson handed her water.
“You’re strong.”
She looked suspicious.
“Do not sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“You said it like you discovered something.”
“I discovered you’re stronger than most people who criticize you.”
“That is nearly everyone.”
“Then useful comparison.”
She drank.
Judson looked toward the valley.
The sky was changing.
Dark line.
Storm.
“We need inside.”
They barely reached the cabin before snow began.
That storm lasted four days.
On the second night, the chimney draft failed.
Smoke entered the room.
Judson climbed onto the roof.
Josie screamed at him.
He ignored her.
The ladder slipped.
Judson fell twelve feet.
The sound brought Josie outside barefoot.
He lay in snow.
Not moving.
“Judson!”
She reached him.
Rolled him carefully.
His eyes opened.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Move me.”
His voice was strained.
Josie stopped.
“Back?”
“Ribs.”
She assessed.
No obvious spinal injury.
Breathing painful.
Right side.
Possible fracture.
She looked toward the porch.
Thirty feet.
Snow deep.
He weighed well over two hundred pounds.
Judson read her expression.
“Can't carry me.”
“No.”
No shame in it.
Just fact.
Josie looked around.
Sled.
Wood drag.
Rope.
She built a crude litter.
Judson tried laughing.
Immediately regretted it.
“You've done this?”
“No.”
“Comforting.”
“Shut up.”
Using rope, leverage, and the porch rail, she dragged him inside.
By the time they reached the fire, Josie was sweating through her dress.
Judson’s face had gone pale.
She removed his shirt.
The bruising was already dark.
Her hands trembled.
“Three ribs maybe.”
“You're a doctor now?”
“My mother broke two once.”
“Same?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She hit Father with a skillet and slipped.”
Judson stared.
Josie smiled faintly.
“Long story.”
He lay back.
For three days Josie cared for him.
Meals.
Fire.