Mostly.
Clara looked at him.
“That's a dangerous bargain for one piece of pie.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth.
“Depends on the cook.”
The air changed again.
Clara felt it in her chest.
She stepped closer.
Not much.
Enough.
“Keep looking at me like that and dessert won't be the only thing keeping you awake tonight.”
Elias's expression sharpened.
His voice lowered.
“I've been freezing for three days.”
He glanced toward the pie.
Then back to her.
“Right now I can't decide whether I want the pie or the woman who baked it more.”
Clara should have slapped him.
Instead she smiled.
She reached out and brushed a crumb from his beard with her thumb.
His body went still.
“Taste first.”
Her voice softened.
“If you behave, maybe I'll let you find out what else I've been keeping warm.”
Elias stared.
Then smiled slowly.
“Then I suddenly have a very strong reason to behave.”
Clara turned away before he saw how red her face had become.
That annoyed her.
She had started it.
She had no business blushing.
“You're sleeping near the stove.”
Elias looked toward the narrow bench.
“That's punishment.”
“It's shelter.”
“Can I earn a bed?”
“No.”
“Worth asking.”
“Was it?”
He took another bite.
“Yes.”
Clara shook her head.
Outside, snow buried the road.
Inside, Elias Mercer ate an apple pie without apples and decided, for the first time in many months, that perhaps surviving another day might be pleasant.
He stayed because of the storm.
That was what both of them said.
The snow continued through morning.
By noon, the road vanished beneath drifts.
Elias stood in the barn doorway looking toward white fields.
“Two days.”
Clara stood beside him.
“One.”
He looked at the sky.
“Two.”
“I've lived here nine years.”
“I've ridden weather across four states.”
“And?”
“Two.”
She sighed.
“Fine.”
He smiled.
“Happy to be correct.”
“You aren't.”
They spent the day working.
Elias checked the horse.
Then Clara's old mare.
Then the cow.
The cow disliked him.
“She has good instincts,” Clara said.
“She has no manners.”
“Neither do you.”
“You flirted first.”
“That was yesterday.”
“Doesn't expire.”
Clara threw a handful of straw at him.
He laughed.
Later, Elias discovered the hand pump beside the kitchen had frozen.
He disassembled part of it.
Clara watched.
“You know what you're doing?”
“No.”
She stared.
He looked at her.
“I'm joking.”
“You're very brave around a woman holding a hammer.”
He repaired the pump.
Not elegantly.
But it worked.
Clara handed him a cup.
“Useful.”
“Highest praise so far.”
“Don't become proud.”
“Too late.”
That evening she cooked cornmeal cakes and beans.
No pie.
Elias looked offended.
“Where's dessert?”
“You ate half yesterday.”
“I've worked all day.”
“You repaired one pump.”
“Heroically.”
She laughed.
Then caught herself.
The sound surprised her.
She had not laughed this much in years.
Thomas had been funny too.
Different.
Gentler.
Less irritating.
Elias's humor was defensive.