He did.
No argument.
Josie used a stump.
The stirrup.
The saddle horn.
It took effort.
Her skirt caught once.
Her breathing became loud.
But she climbed behind him.
Judson did not turn.
Did not comment.
Did not offer false praise.
He simply waited until she settled.
Then:
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
The horse moved.
For the first mile, Josie refused to touch Judson.
Her hands gripped the rear saddle strap.
The trail climbed.
Snow deepened.
The horse stepped carefully across frozen rock.
Josie’s arms began aching.
Judson glanced back once.
“You can hold my coat.”
“I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself.”
She did.
Until the horse stumbled slightly.
Josie gasped and grabbed Judson around the waist.
Her cheek hit the fur across his back.
He steadied the horse.
“Still fine?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
She released him immediately.
“Do you insult everyone you rescue?”
Judson looked back.
“I didn’t rescue you.”
The answer surprised her.
“What would you call it?”
“Leaving a store.”
She became quiet.
The trail entered dense pine.
Wind howled through the branches.
After nearly an hour, Josie stopped feeling her fingers.
Judson noticed before she said anything.
He halted.
Climbed down.
Josie’s heart began pounding.
This was it.
The moment.
Deep forest.
No witnesses.
No town.
No one who would care.
Judson opened a saddlebag.
Josie’s breathing shortened.
He removed a thick buffalo robe.
Then tossed it over her shoulders.
“Wrap tight.”
She stared.
“The wind gets worse after the ridge.”
He adjusted the robe around her back without touching anything unnecessary.
Then mounted again.
Josie looked at his shoulders.
Confused.
They continued.
By dusk, the cabin appeared.
Calling it a cabin felt dishonest.
The structure was built from enormous logs and stone, two stories high in places, with a deep porch, attached woodshed, barn, smokehouse, and corrals.
Light shone from two windows.
Josie stared.
“You live here alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Judson looked toward the mountains.
“They talk less than people.”
She understood more than he probably intended.
Inside, warmth wrapped around her.
A stone fireplace dominated one wall.
Shelves held jars, books, tools, dried herbs, and ammunition.
A large table sat near the kitchen stove.
One bed occupied the far side of the main room behind a partial timber divider.
Josie immediately noticed there was only one.
Judson shut the door.
Her body tightened.
He noticed.
Said nothing.
He removed his coat.
Hung it.
Then went directly to the stove.
“Sit.”
Josie remained standing.
He looked back.
“You're about to fall.”
“I’m not.”
“You sway when you lie.”
She stared.
“Sit.”
This time she did.
Judson opened a pot hanging over the banked coals.
Stew.
Real stew.
Beef.
Potatoes.
Carrots.
Onions.
Fat shining on the surface.
The smell hit Josie so violently her stomach cramped.
She looked away.
Judson poured a bowl.
Placed it before her.
Then bread.
A thick slice.
Butter.
She stared.