The Mountain Woman burst out laughing.
The Mountain Man frowned.
“What?”
“She tried to civilize you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Wanted me to trim my beard.”
The Mountain Woman laughed harder.
His expression became offended.
“Move to town.”
“Attend church socials.”
“Wear a collar.”
The Mountain Woman nearly leaned against the table for support.
The Mountain Man watched.
Finally, something like amusement appeared.
The Mountain Woman wiped her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“I absolutely am not.”
The storm screamed outside.
Inside, tension changed shape.
The Mountain Woman returned to the dough.
The Mountain Man returned to the rifle.
Several minutes passed.
Then he said:
“You're still slow.”
The Mountain Woman turned.
He almost smiled.
She threw a small piece of dough at him.
It stuck in his beard.
The Mountain Man froze.
The Mountain Woman froze too.
Then laughed.
He removed the dough.
Looked at it.
Then at her.
“You shouldn't have done that.”
“Why?”
He stood.
The Mountain Woman’s laughter faded.
He was enormous sitting down.
Standing, he transformed the room.
The Mountain Man approached.
Slowly.
The Mountain Woman’s heart accelerated.
Not fear.
Something far less convenient.
He stopped close.
Too close.
The Mountain Woman lifted her chin.
“Well?”
The Mountain Man raised one hand.
For one second, she wondered whether he might touch her face.
Instead, he pressed the dough directly onto the tip of her nose.
Then walked away.
The Mountain Woman stared.
The Mountain Man sat.
Continued cleaning the rifle.
She wiped her nose.
“You bastard.”
His shoulders moved.
He was laughing silently.
That was the first night they began becoming something other than two strangers testing each other.
Not lovers.
Not yet.
Something more dangerous.
Comfortable.
The following week changed their rhythm.
The Mountain Man still worked brutally hard.
So did she.
But the tasks no longer felt like deliberate punishment.
He began explaining.
Which wood burned longest.
Where ice formed first on the creek.
How to read weather moving above the ridge.
Which cow kicked.
Which horse bit.
Where traps were set.
The Mountain Woman showed him things too.
How to keep flour dry.
How to stretch salt pork through winter.
How to clean cast iron without destroying the seasoning.
How to make biscuits that did not resemble ammunition.
The first time she tasted his old biscuits, she stared.
“You ate these?”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
She knocked one against the table.
Thunk.
The Mountain Man frowned.
“Food.”
“Building material.”
He looked offended.
She laughed.
The cabin changed.