She whispered fiercely.
“Sometimes it is just another way of deciding for everybody else.”
The Mountain Man stared.
The Mountain Woman put both hands against his chest.
“You do not get to tell me I matter and then make my life smaller by dying because you refuse help.”
His expression cracked.
Just slightly.
Outside, somebody moved along the wall.
The Mountain Man heard it.
He took her hand.
Pulled her toward the pantry.
The Mountain Woman resisted.
“Listen.”
His voice changed.
Not command.
Plea.
“If they come through that door, I need to know you aren’t standing behind me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll watch you instead of them.”
That stopped her.
The Mountain Man continued.
“You are the one weakness I have never had.”
The Mountain Woman’s breath caught.
He pressed his forehead against hers.
“Please.”
The word defeated her more completely than any command could.
She nodded.
“All right.”
The Mountain Man exhaled.
He led her toward the pantry.
Behind a narrow shelf, he lifted a wooden latch.
A small cellar passage opened beneath the floor.
Cold air rose.
The Mountain Woman looked down.
Then back at him.
“You’re coming.”
“I will.”
“Promise.”
The Mountain Man hesitated.
Her face hardened.
He answered:
“I promise I will try.”
“Wrong answer.”
Despite everything, his mouth twitched.
The Mountain Woman touched his face.
“You come back to me.”
His eyes closed briefly.
Then opened.
“Yes.”
She descended into darkness.
The Mountain Man closed the panel.
The Mountain Woman could still hear through the floor.
Muted voices.
Wind.
The strangers.
Her own heartbeat.
She moved through the narrow cellar.
The tunnel led behind the cabin toward the barn.
Snow blew through the small exit.
The Mountain Woman pushed it open.
Cold hit her immediately.
Her plain cream dress was completely wrong for the weather.
She wrapped the shawl around herself.
Then looked toward the barn.
A horse moved inside.
The Mountain Woman understood what the Mountain Man expected.
Ride for help.
The Sheriff’s cabin was nearly six miles downhill.
In this storm, maybe longer.
She climbed into the barn.
Prepared the strongest horse.
Her hands shook.
Not from cold.
From fear.
She hated leaving him.
Every instinct told her to go back.
But his words remained.
I’ll watch you instead of them.
The Mountain Woman mounted.
Then heard shouting near the cabin.
She nearly turned.
Instead, she rode.
The storm swallowed her.
Snow cut across her face.
The horse fought the drifts.
The Mountain Woman leaned forward.
Her body made riding difficult in deep weather.