The most feared man in the Wyoming mountains had survived avalanches, wolves, freezing rivers, and men who had sworn to kill him.
But nothing frightened him quite like the moment his beautiful, 350-kilogram wife settled onto his lap, placed her hand against his broad chest, and whispered, "Tell me why you won't kiss me."
Outside, a January blizzard was tearing through the wilderness.
Inside, the enormous mountain man sat frozen in a reinforced oak armchair, his scarred hands gripping the armrests while the woman in the deep royal-blue dress gazed into his eyes.
She was twenty-nine years old, with long chestnut-brown hair braided over one shoulder, soft rosy cheeks, expressive hazel eyes, and an extraordinarily large figure that had made her the target of cruel remarks for most of her life.
He was thirty-nine, tall and powerfully muscular, with thick dark hair, a rugged beard, and a terrible scar running from his left temple toward his jaw.
For months, he had given her everything she needed.
Warmth.
Food.
Shelter.
Kindness.
Protection.
And a home where nobody was allowed to mock her body.
He carried firewood through snow that reached his waist. He built furniture wide and sturdy enough for her comfort. He kept her favorite tea near the stove and never let the fire die during the coldest nights.
Yet whenever she reached for his hand, he seemed to hesitate.
Whenever she moved close enough to kiss him, he looked away.
And whenever she caught him gazing at her with unmistakable affection, something painful crossed his face.
Now she was tired of wondering whether her husband regretted marrying her.
She leaned closer.
"You can face a mountain lion with a hunting knife, darling, but you look terrified whenever I touch your cheek."
He swallowed.
"You're not frightening me."
"Then what is?"
His eyes filled with something she had never seen so clearly before.
Guilt.
He looked toward the fireplace.
"There's something about me you don't know."
Her smile faded.
She gently turned his face back toward hers.
"Then tell me."
His powerful hands tightened around the chair.
"I wanted to tell you before."
"Before what?"
"Before we married."
She went completely still.
Outside, the wind slammed against the shutters.
Inside, the iron stove crackled softly.
Her voice trembled.
"What haven't you told me?"
He lifted one scarred hand toward her cheek.
Then stopped.