He opened the drawer.
Inside lay a pair of heavy leather mittens lined with thick wool. The left one had been shaped carefully to accommodate his injured hand without placing pressure on the scarred fingertips.
He picked it up.
Then he looked toward her.
“How did you know?”
She smiled.
“I noticed how you hold your reins.”
He stared.
She continued.
“You keep the left hand slightly turned inward. And whenever you take off your gloves, you rub the damaged fingers.”
He looked at the mitten.
The stitching was excellent.
The wool lining was soft.
The leather had been reinforced where it would receive the most wear.
He slipped it onto his hand.
It fit perfectly.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then he looked toward her.
“You made these for me?”
She nodded.
“I wasn't sure you'd accept them.”
His throat tightened.
“Darling.”
She smiled nervously.
“They're only mittens.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
He flexed his hand carefully.
“They're more than that.”
She watched him.
Then he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
She closed her eyes.
He whispered, “Thank you.”
Her smile trembled.
“You're welcome.”
The storm weakened enough by late morning for him to step outside.
He secured the rope again, dressed warmly, and checked the stable before approaching the damaged roofline.
The branch had fallen from a tall pine growing several yards away.
Its upper portion rested against the roof, while the heavier end remained partly supported by the snow.
The rancher studied the situation carefully.
Climbing onto the roof would be foolish.
But he could relieve some of the pressure using a rope and controlled leverage from the ground, once the remaining wind eased and he established a safe working distance.
He returned inside.
The woman was seated beside the table, examining a sewing pattern.
She looked up.
“Well?”
He explained what he'd found.
She listened.
Then she asked whether the branch might slide toward the outer wall if he pulled it.
He considered the question.
“Yes.”
She pointed toward the rear of the cabin.
“There's an old timber frame behind the storage room. It might help you control the direction.”
He frowned.
“What frame?”
“My husband built it years ago for lifting heavy supplies.”
The rancher looked interested.
“Where?”
She described the location.
He returned outside and found the frame partially buried beneath snow.
It was sturdy, constructed from thick timbers anchored into the ground.
A block-and-tackle system hung from one crossbeam.
He examined it.
Then he smiled.