He was frightened.
Not of those men.
Of himself.
The Mountain Woman looked down at his hand.
“You didn’t hurt me.”
“Not yet.”
She frowned.
The Mountain Man spoke more quietly.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand plenty.”
“No.”
His voice sharpened.
“Everyone thinks they understand until something happens.”
“Something like what?”
“Like men coming to the cabin because they want me.”
She waited.
He continued.
“Like someone deciding the easiest way to reach me is through you.”
The Mountain Woman said nothing.
The Mountain Man looked toward the storm-dark window.
“There are men who remember things.”
“Men I embarrassed.”
“Men whose brothers hate me.”
“Men whose fathers died blaming me for something.”
His mouth tightened.
“People don’t forget.”
The Mountain Woman studied him.
“You planning to send me away because somebody somewhere might hate you?”
“Yes.”
The blunt answer surprised her.
She sat straighter.
The Mountain Man continued.
“You should leave after the storm.”
“No.”
“Go east.”
“No.”
“Find a decent town.”
“No.”
“A decent man.”
The Mountain Woman’s expression hardened.
“I found one.”
The Mountain Man laughed bitterly.
“You found me.”
“Yes.”
“That proves my point.”
She stared.
“What point?”
“You don’t know the difference.”
Anger arrived fast.
The Mountain Woman shifted as if she might climb off his lap.
The Mountain Man immediately moved one hand toward her waist.
Then stopped before touching her.
She noticed.
His fingers hovered in the air.
He wanted to keep her there.
He simply believed wanting gave him no right.
That softened her anger just enough.
The Mountain Woman said:
“You think because people fear you, you’re automatically bad.”
“I know what I’ve done.”
“So do I.”
“No.”
“I know enough.”
“You know stories.”
“And what do the stories say?”
The Mountain Man looked away.
The Mountain Woman continued.
“That you broke a rustler’s arm.”
Silence.
“That you dragged two men out of a saloon.”
Still nothing.
“That you once rode after three horse thieves alone.”
His jaw tightened.
She leaned closer.
“Want to know what else I know?”
The Mountain Man finally looked back.
“I know you spent half a night in freezing rain freeing a lamb caught beneath a fallen fence because you were afraid pulling too hard would break its leg.”
His expression changed.
“I know somebody leaves flour at the widow’s cabin whenever winter storms close the trail.”
The Mountain Man became very still.
“I know her little boy thinks an angel brings meat.”
“Stop.”
“I know you repaired the schoolhouse roof for free.”
“Woman.”
“I know you paid the doctor after the blacksmith’s daughter got sick.”
“That’s enough.”
“No.”