Then the frozen windows.
“You still can't sleep on the floor.”
“I have before.”
“Not tonight.”
He started to object.
She stopped him.
“If I say stop, you stop?”
“Yes.”
“If I want space?”
“Yes.”
“If I change my mind?”
“Yes.”
“If I kick you?”
“I move.”
She smiled.
“Then get in the bed.”
He obeyed as though approaching explosives.
They lay fully clothed at first.
A foot apart.
Then she laughed.
“What?”
he asked.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“People think you wrestle wolves.”
“They exaggerate.”
“How much?”
“I shot one.”
“Less romantic.”
“Reality usually is.”
She turned toward him.
He looked at her.
Close.
Too close.
Her hand touched his chest.
Warm skin.
The left tattoo.
Rider beneath mountains.
She traced the edge carefully.
“Who is he?”
The cowboy’s eyes changed.
“Someone I knew.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
“And her?”
Her fingers moved toward the portrait.
He caught her wrist gently.
Not forcefully.
“Leave that.”
The reaction surprised her.
“Why?”
“Tonight isn't the night.”
“Apparently it is.”
He released her immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
“For touching me?”
“For stopping you like that.”
She studied him.
“You're frightened.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
His mouth tightened.
She moved closer.
“Is she the woman you loved?”
He looked toward the ceiling.
“No.”
“Wife?”
“No.”
“Sister?”
“No.”
“Then?”
His silence hurt unexpectedly.
The woman pulled back.
“Fine.”
He turned toward her.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Assume it’s because I don't trust you.”
“What should I assume?”
“That I am a coward.”
She stared.
Then laughed softly.
“Finally something believable.”
His eyes returned to hers.
The humor faded.
He touched a loose curl near her temple.
“You make this difficult.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because it's difficult from here too.”
He stopped breathing for half a second.
She moved closer.
Her cheek settled against his chest.
He allowed it.
Slowly his hand entered her hair.
That was how they reached the moment when she opened her eyes.
When she touched the portrait.
When memory finally connected the face.
Her mother.
Now she sat upright, staring at the tattoo while the mountain cowboy told her that her mother had been with him the night her father died.
She moved away from him.
“How did my father die?”
His face hardened.
“You were told?”
“Riding accident.”
“That’s not what happened.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“Put on your robe.”