The Mountain Man followed its ears.
Nothing.
Then he saw white against stone.
Fabric.
He dismounted.
Rifle in one hand.
He approached carefully.
Ten feet away he realized the shape was human.
A woman.
Wedding dress.
Bare feet.
Blood dried along one arm.
The Mountain Man stopped.
Every instinct told him to turn around.
A dead woman in a wedding dress was the sort of trouble that ended with a rope around a man’s neck.
He looked toward the trail.
No riders.
No wagon.
No explanation.
The woman made a sound.
Small.
Broken.
Alive.
The Mountain Man cursed quietly.
Then knelt.
Two fingers against her neck.
Pulse.
Weak.
Her skin was freezing.
He removed his coat.
Wrapped her.
Lifted her.
She weighed almost nothing.
He carried her to the horse.
Mounted with her against his chest.
Her head fell against his shoulder.
Halfway toward the cabin, she stirred.
Her fingers suddenly grabbed his shirt.
“No belt.”
The Mountain Man looked down.
“What?”
Her eyes remained closed.
“No.”
“Please.”
“Don’t.”
Something in his chest hardened.
He tightened the coat around her.
“Easy.”
She shook.
“I’ll behave.”
The Mountain Man stared toward the ridge.
Whoever had put those words inside her head had better hope the snow hid his tracks.
The storm arrived before they reached the cabin.
Wind hammered the horse.
Snow erased the trail behind them.
The Mountain Man barely saw the roof until they were twenty yards away.
He dismounted.
Carried the woman inside.
The cabin was cold.
One room.
Stone fireplace.
Wood table.
Two chairs.
Rope bed.
Shelf.
Rifle pegs.
Nothing more.
He laid her on the bed.
Then built fire.
Pine caught.
Flames climbed.
The cabin filled with orange light.
He returned to her.
Her feet were cut badly.
Not destroyed.
But torn.
He heated water.
Cut away the worst shredded fabric around her calves.
Stopped.
Then deliberately placed a blanket over her before touching anything higher.
Even unconscious people deserved modesty.
He cleaned glass from her forearm.
Wrapped cuts.
Washed blood from her feet.
She woke during that part.
Her eyes opened.
Wild.
She kicked.
Pain stopped her.
“Don’t.”
The Mountain Man immediately moved backward.
Both hands visible.
“Fine.”
The Young Woman stared at him.
Her breath came too fast.
He remained where he was.
“There’s nobody here but me.”
She looked toward the door.
“Locked?”