For nearly four months, he had brought food to her isolated cabin whenever the mountain weather allowed. Sometimes he delivered venison. Sometimes he brought dried fish, firewood, or supplies purchased during his infrequent trips into town.
Each time, he stayed only long enough to ensure she had what she needed.
Each time, she invited him inside.
And each time, he invented some excuse to leave.
His horses needed tending.
A fence required repair.
The trail would become dangerous after dark.
He had work waiting at his ranch.
Most of those excuses were true.
None explained why he could face a blizzard without hesitation but couldn't sit across from this woman for a simple supper.
Tonight, however, the storm had arrived faster than expected.
Snow was already gathering against the doorway.
The wind carried a deep, continuous roar through the surrounding pines.
Beyond the porch, he could barely distinguish the dark shape of his horse standing beneath the shelter of the cabin's small attached stable.
He knew the trail back to his ranch crossed a narrow ridge above a frozen ravine.
He also knew that attempting the crossing in this weather would be dangerously foolish.
Still, he wanted to leave.
Not because the woman had done anything wrong.
Because every moment spent near her made him want something he had forbidden himself to want again.
She looked toward the meat on his shoulder.
“Put that down before your arm gives out.”
He gave a humorless laugh.
“It's not going to give out.”
“Then put it down because I'm asking you.”
Something in her tone made him obey.
He stepped fully into the cabin, shut the heavy door behind him, and lowered the elk quarter onto a prepared wooden cutting table near the kitchen wall.
The floorboards creaked beneath his weight.
He brushed snow from his hair.
A few flakes fell onto the worn planks.
The woman watched him carefully.
Her cabin had been designed around the limitations imposed by her extraordinary size. The doorways were broader than those in most frontier houses, the floor had been reinforced, and several pieces of furniture had been constructed with enormous supporting beams. A wide, heavy chair stood beside the fireplace, while sturdy rails helped her move between the table, stove, and sleeping area.
She could walk short distances with effort, but her mobility was limited, especially when she was tired. Living alone required patience, planning, and considerable ingenuity.
The rancher had learned all of that during his visits.