“You hurt your leg.”
“Old.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
He looked at her.
“You always this curious?”
“Only when people lie badly.”
He glanced toward the bog.
“Cabin’s less than a mile.”
“I can walk.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You like saying that.”
“You like arguing.”
They stood.
The woman took one step.
Her knees nearly folded.
The mountain man caught her around the waist.
Her body pressed against his.
Both froze.
The woman became acutely aware of the size of his hands.
The mountain man became aware of much more.
Her wet blouse clung to her.
His overshirt barely closed around her body.
Her breathing had not settled.
For the first time, his eyes moved somewhere he clearly had not intended them to.
Then immediately returned to her face.
The woman noticed.
Of course she noticed.
She had spent half her life recognizing the difference between disgust, mockery, curiosity, desire, and men trying to hide any of those.
This was desire.
Not hidden well.
Interesting.
“You finished staring?”
The mountain man’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
“I was checking whether you were injured.”
“With your eyes on my neckline?”
“I’m thorough.”
She raised an eyebrow.
His ears actually reddened.
That pleased her more than it should have.
Then pain flashed across his face.
He released her.
His hand moved toward his ribs.
The woman noticed blood along the side of his shirt.
“You’re hurt.”
“Scratch.”
“That is not a scratch.”
“Cabin.”
This time she did not argue.
They walked.
Slowly.
The mountain man’s cabin stood among giant redwoods where the slope rose away from the wet ground.
Rough log walls.
Stone chimney.
Small window.
Woodpile.
A covered porch.
No decorative nonsense.
Everything existed because it served a purpose.
The woman liked it immediately.
She disliked liking it immediately.
The mountain man opened the door.
Inside, warmth.
A stove.
Bed.
Table.
Tools.
Dried meat.
Coffee.
A rifle above the mantle.
Two shelves of books.
She noticed those.
He noticed her noticing.
“Surprised?”
“By the books?”
“Yes.”
“I assumed you ate bark and spoke to bears.”
“One bear.”
“Does he answer?”
“Better than most people.”
She smiled despite herself.
Then the mountain man swayed.
The woman reached him just before his knee buckled.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
She pointed toward the bed.
“Sit.”
Something in her voice changed.
The healer had arrived.
He obeyed.
The shirt came off reluctantly.
Then she saw the damage.
A long abrasion across his ribs where the rope had dragged him against bark.
Several shallow cuts.
Heavy bruising along one shoulder.
A deep scrape near the jaw.
Nothing immediately dangerous.
Still painful.
The woman opened the emergency pouch she kept beneath her skirt.
The mountain man watched.
“You carry medicine under your clothes?”