Close.
His bare chest inches away.
Her breathing changed.
The Mountain Man noticed.
His eyes moved toward her mouth.
Then he stepped back.
“Crock.”
He handed it over.
The Mountain Woman took it.
“Coward.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He stared.
She smiled.
He walked outside.
The door shut harder than necessary.
The Mountain Woman laughed into the crock.
The next morning, he barely spoke.
Good.
She was not the only one affected.
Then came the blizzard.
The worst storm of the season arrived without warning.
The morning began clear.
By afternoon, clouds buried the ridge.
The Mountain Man checked livestock twice.
The Mountain Woman prepared extra water.
By dusk, wind screamed around the cabin.
Then a sound rose from the barn.
Horse.
Panicked.
The Mountain Man stood instantly.
“Stay.”
The Mountain Woman gave him a look.
He grabbed his coat.
“Woman.”
She grabbed hers.
They reached the barn through waist-deep drifts forming near the fence.
Inside, one mare kicked wildly.
Something was wrong.
Labor.
Too early.
The Mountain Man approached.
The mare struck the stall wall.
The Mountain Woman saw blood.
“Is she losing it?”
“Maybe.”
He entered.
The Mountain Woman followed.
The Mountain Man turned.
“I said stay inside.”
“And now I’m here.”
The mare kicked.
He dodged.
The Mountain Woman grabbed a blanket.
Hours followed.
Messy.
Cold.
Dangerous.
The Mountain Man knew animals.
The Mountain Woman knew births.
She had helped women in her family.
Not horses.
But some principles crossed species.
Calm.
Position.
Patience.
Do not panic because the person beside you panics.
The foal came weak.
For several seconds, it did not breathe properly.
The Mountain Man knelt.
His enormous hands looked impossibly gentle against the newborn animal.
The Mountain Woman watched him clear the airway.
Rub.
Wait.
The foal moved.
Then breathed.
The Mountain Man exhaled.
The Mountain Woman realized she had been holding her breath too.
The mare survived.
Foal survived.
They stayed until both stabilized.
Then walked back through snow.
The Mountain Woman slipped near the porch.
The Mountain Man caught her.
Both arms.
One around her back.
One beneath her.
Her entire weight landed against him.
He did not stagger.
The Mountain Woman looked up.
He looked down.
Snow clung to his beard.
Their faces nearly touched.
His arms remained around her.
She whispered:
“You can put me down.”
He did not.