Cooked.
Folded blankets.
Found flour.
Made rough flatbread.
The Mountain Man ate three pieces.
The Young Woman watched.
“Well?”
He swallowed.
“Good.”
She smiled before she could stop herself.
The Mountain Man saw.
Said nothing.
That made her smile again.
He treated her differently from every man she had known.
Not better because she was pretty.
Not worse because she was weak.
He simply responded to what she did.
If she helped, he accepted.
If she said no, he stopped.
If she grew quiet, he did not demand explanations.
That freedom began frightening her in a new way.
She did not know what to do with it.
On the fifth night, she found the wedding ring.
It had fallen from her finger during fever.
The thick gold band lay beside the bed.
She picked it up.
Stared.
The Mountain Man entered carrying firewood.
He saw the ring.
Then her face.
He placed the wood down.
“You married?”
The Young Woman closed her fingers around the ring.
“Yes.”
Silence.
The Mountain Man stepped backward slightly.
The movement was subtle.
Still, she noticed.
“You’re leaving?”
“No.”
“But?”
“You have a husband.”
Her expression changed.
“He bought me.”
The Mountain Man froze.
She looked toward the fire.
“My father owed him money.”
“He paid it.”
“Then married me.”
The Mountain Man’s jaw tightened.
“Did you agree?”
The Young Woman laughed softly.
Bitter.
“Everybody heard me say yes.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She looked at him.
The Mountain Man repeated:
“Did you choose him?”
“No.”
The answer arrived instantly.
The Mountain Man nodded.
The Young Woman opened her hand.
The ring lay against her palm.
“I ran from his bedroom.”
The Mountain Man said nothing.
She continued.
“I saw cuffs.”
“A belt.”
“He told me to undress.”
“I broke the window.”
“Men followed.”
The Mountain Man’s fingers curled around the back of a chair.
The Young Woman watched.
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
His head lifted sharply.
“No.”
The force of that answer startled her.
The Mountain Man looked toward the wall.
Then back.
“Never at you.”
Something in her chest shifted.
She placed the ring on the table.
Not throwing it.
Not yet.
Just refusing to wear it.
The Mountain Man expected tracks once the snow softened.
He never told her immediately.
Why frighten someone before danger existed?
Instead, he checked the ridge daily.
Cleaned his rifle.
Counted ammunition.
The Young Woman noticed.
“You think he’ll come.”
The Mountain Man looked toward her.
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“How many?”