Not yet.
Awkward.
The Mountain Woman immediately understood that despite his brutal manners, the Mountain Man had boundaries.
He said:
“You take it.”
“I’ll use the chair.”
“No.”
“That chair barely likes me.”
His eyes shifted toward the furniture.
The Mountain Woman added:
“It already complained.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
There.
She caught it.
“You smiled.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“Mountain Man.”
“Woman.”
They stared.
The Mountain Woman laughed.
He looked away.
That night, she slept in the bed.
The Mountain Man slept near the fire.
The next morning began before dawn.
He woke her by placing a bucket near the bed.
“Water.”
The Mountain Woman opened one eye.
“What?”
“Creek.”
He pointed outside.
“Quarter mile.”
Then walked away.
The Mountain Woman stared at the bucket.
Day two.
Another test.
She dressed.
Took two buckets.
The creek trail descended steeply.
Ice covered the shaded ground.
The Mountain Woman filled both.
Water doubled their weight.
The climb back became agony.
Her arms stretched.
Shoulders burned.
Halfway up, one boot slipped.
She fell sideways.
Water exploded across the slope.
Her hip struck frozen earth.
Pain stole her breath.
For several seconds, she lay still.
Then began laughing.
It was either laugh or scream.
She hauled herself upright.
One bucket had lost half its water.
The other nearly all.
The Mountain Woman went back down.
Refilled.
Climbed again.
When she reached the cabin, the Mountain Man stood beside the barn.
Watching.
Again.
She dropped the buckets.
Water sloshed.
The Mountain Woman said:
“If you tell me I’m slow, I’m drowning you in one of these.”
The Mountain Man looked at her mud-covered dress.
“You fell.”
“No.”
His eyes lowered toward the wet side of her skirt.
The Mountain Woman sighed.
“Yes.”
“You hurt?”
“Pride.”
“Anything useful?”
She glared.
His mouth almost smiled.
The Mountain Woman pointed at him.
“That was a joke.”
“No.”
“You made a joke.”
“Go inside.”
She laughed all the way to the door.
Day three brought the root cellar.
Dark.
Wet.
Spiders.
Rotten vegetables.
The Mountain Woman cleaned it.
Day four brought laundry.
Animal bedding.
Bread.
Another water trip.
A cracked stove hinge.
The Mountain Man gave instructions as though she had enlisted in an army.
The Mountain Woman increasingly ignored his tone and did the work her own way.
That bothered him.