Then impressed him.
He never said which.
On the fourth evening, a storm rolled down from the ridge.
Wind struck the walls.
Snow came horizontally.
The Mountain Man sat near the fireplace cleaning his rifle.
The Mountain Woman kneaded bread.
Her back hurt.
Her arms hurt.
Everything below her waist felt as though the mountain had personally punched it.
She pressed dough harder.
The Mountain Man said:
“You breathe too loud.”
The Mountain Woman stopped.
Slowly.
Her hands remained buried in dough.
“Excuse me?”
He kept cleaning the rifle.
“You breathe like a tired draft horse carrying water.”
The Mountain Woman stared.
He continued:
“Takes you twice as long as it should.”
Something inside her snapped.
Not dramatically.
Cleanly.
She wiped her hands.
The Mountain Man finally looked up.
The Mountain Woman walked toward him.
He remained seated.
She stopped directly in front.
“You’ve spent four days trying to make me quit.”
The Mountain Man’s expression revealed nothing.
“You give me the heaviest work.”
“Steepest path.”
“Filthiest cellar.”
“Worst wood.”
He said:
“Mountain doesn't care who you are.”
She leaned closer.
“No.”
“But you do.”
His eyes narrowed.
The Mountain Woman continued:
“You keep watching.”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“Tears?”
“Begging?”
“Seven women gave you those already.”
Something changed in his face.
The Mountain Woman saw it.
“So that’s true.”
Silence.
She folded her arms.
“You sent them all away.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Couldn't survive.”
“That your decision?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t marry a wife.”
“You ran an examination.”
The Mountain Man’s jaw tightened.
“Better here than halfway through winter.”
The Mountain Woman stared.
He continued:
“One cried because the cabin was cold.”
“One wouldn't touch livestock.”
“One refused creek water.”
“One lasted two days after snow.”
“One became sick from altitude.”
“One hated isolation.”
“One…”
He stopped.
The Mountain Woman waited.
“What?”
His voice lowered.
“One was afraid of me.”
The room became quiet.
The Mountain Woman looked at his rifle.
Then his scars.
Then his enormous hands.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
The Mountain Man looked toward the fire.
“She woke one night.”
“I was beside the stove.”
“Had no shirt.”
“She screamed.”
The Mountain Woman’s anger softened.
Not entirely.
He continued:
“Next morning she wanted town.”
“So I took her.”
The Mountain Woman studied him.
“What about the seventh?”
“She said she could love me if I became more civilized.”