Sharp despite the exhaustion.
He saw the shotgun.
“Loaded?”
Clara stared.
“What makes you think it isn't?”
“The way you're holding it.”
Her expression hardened.
He lifted both hands.
“Poor observation to say aloud.”
“Very.”
“My apologies.”
Clara opened the door a little farther.
“What happened to the horse?”
“Too many miles.”
“Lame?”
“Not yet.”
“Bring him around back.”
Elias blinked.
“That means yes?”
“That means the horse gets shelter.”
“And me?”
“I'll decide based on how well you follow instructions.”
For the first time, his smile reached his eyes.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Don't call me that.”
“What should I call you?”
“You should take the horse around back.”
The smile remained.
He obeyed.
Clara closed the door.
Only then did she realize her heart was pounding.
She placed the shotgun beside the wall.
The cabin suddenly felt smaller.
A woman alone learned to measure risk differently.
Men saw one large stranger in a storm and saw one person.
Clara saw weight.
Reach.
Temper.
Whether he blocked the door.
Whether he looked at the windows.
Whether his boots suggested labor or idleness.
Whether he watched her hands.
Whether he had been drinking.
Elias had looked at the gun first.
Then the room.
Then her.
That could mean anything.
Or nothing.
She returned to the stove.
The smell rising from the oven was stronger now.
Butter.
Cinnamon.
Sugar.
The scent of apples.
Except there were no apples in the cabin.
There had not been one since November.
Clara smiled despite herself.
Footsteps approached the rear.
She opened the kitchen door.
Elias stood there without his coat, which he had apparently left in the barn.
Underneath he wore a rough charcoal shirt, suspenders, dark trousers, and a vest that had once been respectable.
He was taller than she realized.
Wider too.
Not fat.
Just built like a man accustomed to carrying more than was reasonable.
There was a shallow scar beneath his left eye.
“Horse is settled.”
“Hay?”
“Gave him half a flake.”
“Water?”
“He drank.”
“You checked his hooves?”
Elias paused.
“No.”
Clara stared.
He sighed.
“I'll go back.”
“After you thaw.”
She stepped aside.
“Boots.”
He looked down.
“Off.”
“Yes.”
He removed them.
His socks were soaked.
Clara pointed toward the stove.
“Sit.”
He obeyed without argument.
Interesting.
She handed him a blanket.
Elias wrapped it over his shoulders.
Then he inhaled.
His head turned.
Clara knew exactly what had caught him.
He looked toward the oven.
Then toward her.
“Is that…”
“No.”
He frowned.
“I didn't finish.”
“I know.”
His eyes narrowed.
“That smells like apple pie.”
“Does it?”
“You know it does.”
Clara returned to the soup.
Elias watched.
“Where did you get apples?”
She stirred.
“Who said I did?”
He inhaled again.