“I’m trying.”
She looked at him.
“You always this bold before storms?”
“Only when I think I may be snowed in with a beautiful woman.”
Clara’s cheeks warmed.
“You’re not snowed in.”
“Not yet.”
She placed the spoon down.
“Careful.”
Caleb’s expression softened.
“I am.”
That was true.
He had been careful for months.
Clara knew it.
He never touched without invitation.
Never made grief sound like an obstacle he expected her to finish climbing.
Never implied she owed him affection because he helped.
That was why his flirting felt dangerous.
Because she liked it.
Clara leaned against the table.
“You ever think about marrying again?”
Caleb went still.
“That came suddenly.”
“Answer.”
He looked toward the fire.
“Sometimes.”
“Anyone particular?”
His eyes returned to hers.
“Yes.”
Clara’s heartbeat quickened.
She could have asked.
She did not.
Instead she said:
“Coward.”
Caleb laughed.
“You asked whether I thought about marriage.”
“Not whether you were capable of avoiding names.”
“You know the name.”
Clara looked away.
The wind struck the walls.
Caleb stepped closer.
“Clara.”
She lifted her eyes.
He did not touch her.
“I am not asking you for anything.”
Her chest tightened.
“I know.”
“I just want you to understand why I keep coming back.”
She whispered:
“I understand.”
The storm arrived before dawn.
By six, the world had vanished.
Clara woke to wind howling through the chimney.
Snow pressed against the windows.
She dressed quickly.
Fed the fire.
Checked the chickens she had kept alive.
Then went outside.
Caleb was already in the yard.
She stared.
“What are you doing here?”
He shoveled snow away from the barn door.
“Working.”
“You stayed?”
“In your shed.”
Clara frowned.
“You slept in the shed?”
“Better than riding home.”
“You could have used the floor.”
He paused.
“You didn’t offer.”
“You could have asked.”
Caleb looked at her.
“Would you have said yes?”
She hesitated.
He smiled.
“Exactly.”
She threw snow at him.
He laughed.
By noon, the storm worsened.
Caleb moved his horse into Clara’s barn.
They carried firewood inside.
Water.
Feed.
Everything they might need if the door became blocked.
At sunset, someone pounded on the cabin.
Caleb reached the door first.
Clara grabbed the rifle.
He looked at her.
“You expecting enemies?”
“In storms, desperation makes people unpredictable.”
He nodded.
Then opened the door.
A man stood outside with his wife and two children.
All four were covered in snow.
“Please.”
The father’s lips were blue.
“Our chimney collapsed.”
Clara immediately moved aside.
“Come in.”
The family entered.
The children were shaking.
Clara brought blankets.
Caleb removed the father’s wet coat.
The wife looked toward the stove.
“We haven’t eaten since morning.”
Clara nodded.
“How many?”
“Four.”
“Sit.”
Caleb watched her.
Clara went to the pantry.
She opened the first crock.
Chicken and dumplings.
The small birds everyone laughed at had become thick stew.
She added water.
More flour dumplings.
A handful of dried corn.
The pot grew.
Nobody complained that the meat was sparse.
Nobody cared that the broth had been stretched.
Twenty minutes later, four people ate.
The children finished first.
One boy looked at Clara.
“More?”
His mother immediately said:
“No.”
Clara smiled.
“He can have more.”