He turned.
“Morning, darling.”
Her cheeks turned pink.
He noticed.
A smile spread across his face.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Don't look so pleased with yourself.”
He laughed.
“Can't help it.”
She pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders.
“Did you sleep?”
“Some.”
“Enough?”
He considered the question.
“Better than I have in years.”
Her expression changed.
He looked toward her.
“And you?”
She smiled softly.
“Very well.”
He nodded.
Then he glanced toward the roof.
“Now we'd better make sure we have somewhere to sleep tonight.”
She followed his gaze.
The smile faded.
“Yes.”
He approached the damaged section.
The ceiling had bowed slightly beneath the fallen branch and accumulated snow.
One of the outer wall boards had shifted.
The temporary posts were holding the main beam, but the roof required repair before another storm arrived.
He examined the damage from the safe interior area.
Then he returned to the woman.
“The outer storage roof may have taken the worst of it.”
She nodded.
“That's the oldest part.”
He looked toward the windows.
“The wind's easing. I might be able to clear the branch from the ground once I can reach the side of the cabin.”
She considered the conditions.
“Not until we can see properly.”
He smiled.
“Thought you might say that.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Then perhaps you're learning.”
He laughed.
Then he went toward the kitchen.
“Coffee?”
Her expression brightened.
“Yes, please.”
He prepared it using the kettle beside the stove.
When he returned with two cups, she watched him with an amused expression.
“What?”
She smiled.
“Nothing.”
He gave her a look.
She laughed.
“All right. I was wondering whether you're always this pleasant in the morning.”
He sat.
“Not usually.”
“What happened?”
He looked toward her.
“You.”
Her smile faded into something tender.
He handed her the cup.
Then he sat beside the fire.
They drank in comfortable silence.
Eventually, she looked toward his damaged hand.
“Does the cold bother it?”
He nodded.
“Some mornings.”
She studied the scars.
“Do you still have pain?”
“Sometimes. Mostly when weather changes.”
She looked thoughtful.
Then she pointed toward a small drawer beneath the table.
“There's a pair of wool-lined mittens in there. I made them last autumn.”
He looked at her.
“For yourself?”
She smiled faintly.
“No.”
He frowned.
“Then who?”
Her cheeks turned pink.
She looked down at her coffee.
“I suppose I hoped a certain stubborn rancher might need them.”
He stared.
Then he laughed softly.
“You've been planning ahead.”
She shrugged.
“Someone had to.”