Slow.
Deliberate.
A dark horse emerged through the snowfall.
Its rider wore a massive fur coat.
The man looked down at the broken wagon.
Then at her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Finally he said, "You're the boardinghouse cook."
She smiled weakly.
"Apparently."
His expression changed when he saw her trembling.
"How long have you been here?"
"A while."
"Where's your driver?"
"Went for help."
The mountain man looked toward the sky.
Then the damaged wagon.
He dismounted immediately.
"Can you stand?"
She hesitated.
"With some difficulty."
He nodded.
"All right."
He didn't grab her.
Didn't make assumptions.
He offered his hand and waited.
She accepted.
He helped her carefully to her feet.
Then looked toward the distant ridge.
"My cabin's less than a mile from here."
She swallowed.
"I'm afraid I won't walk very quickly."
His expression remained calm.
"Then we won't hurry."
She stared.
He removed his fur coat and placed it around her shoulders.
It was enormous, even by ordinary standards, and the heavy lining protected her from the wind.
She looked up.
"What about you?"
He smiled faintly.
"I've got a thick skull."
Despite the cold, she laughed.
He secured the horses, checked the wagon, and guided her toward the cabin trail.
They moved slowly.
He adjusted his pace to hers.
When she needed to rest, he stopped without complaint.
When the snow deepened, he cleared a short path.
And when she apologized for delaying him, he looked almost offended.
"You're not delaying anything."
She lowered her eyes.
"I'm not accustomed to people waiting for me."
He studied her for a moment.
Then answered quietly.
"Perhaps you ought to be."
The words stayed with her.
By the time they reached the cabin, she was exhausted.
The building stood beneath towering pines, constructed from thick logs with a steep roof and a large stone chimney.
Warm light glowed through the windows.
Smoke rose into the snow-filled darkness.
The mountain man opened the door.
Then stood aside.
"Come in."
She entered.
The warmth struck her like an embrace.
A roaring iron stove stood against the left wall.
An oil lantern glowed above a wooden shelf.
Heavy blankets covered a broad chair.
The room smelled of pinewood, leather, smoke, and freshly brewed coffee.
It was rugged.
Simple.
Immaculately maintained.
The mountain man closed the door.
Then looked toward her.
"Sit."
She glanced at the nearest chair.
It was narrow.