“I came down to put more wood on the fire.”
“Then I sat.”
“Then apparently I stopped being useful.”
The woman stared at him.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t angry?”
“No.”
“Disappointed?”
“No.”
“Regretting marriage?”
His eyes widened.
“What?”
She immediately felt foolish.
The old fear always felt reasonable until spoken aloud.
She looked away.
The mountain man slowly stood.
He did not reach for her.
That was another thing he had learned.
Sometimes she needed closeness.
Sometimes she needed space first.
He asked quietly:
“Did your husband do that?”
She hated that he could recognize the ghost so quickly.
“Yes.”
The mountain man’s jaw tightened.
She lifted one finger.
“No dead-man punching.”
He exhaled.
“Fine.”
Then:
“He used distance when he was angry?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t tell you why?”
“No.”
“Make you ask?”
“Yes.”
The mountain man looked toward the floor.
“That’s cruel.”
She swallowed.
“It worked.”
He looked back.
She continued:
“I saw you down here and thought…”
Her voice weakened.
“…I thought maybe I’d already become too much.”
The mountain man stared.
There were phrases he hated.
Too much had become one of them.
He stepped closer.
Stopped one pace away.
“May I?”
She nodded.
His arms went around her.
Carefully.
Not because she was fragile.
Because care had become habit.
The woman rested her head against his chest.
He whispered:
“If I’m angry, I’ll tell you.”
She gave a small laugh.
“You’re promising communication?”
“I’m regretting it already.”
She smiled into his shirt.
He continued:
“If I sleep on the floor because I’m angry, you may kick me.”
“How hard?”
“Reasonably.”
“That’s disappointing.”
He laughed.
Then he touched the side of her face.
“You’re not too much.”
Her eyes filled.
He sighed.
“Do I need to say that every week?”
“Maybe.”
“Fine.”
And he did.
Not every week.
Sometimes more.
Sometimes months passed without need.
But whenever old shame resurfaced, he never treated repetition as failure.
He understood wounds could heal and still ache in weather.
The second piece came over money.
The woman had inherited enough property to make people treat her differently.
Not enough liquid cash to be careless.
Land was wealth mostly when sold, leased, mined, timbered, or borrowed against.
She did not want to sell.
The mountain man did not either.
But ownership required taxes.
Surveyors.
Repairs.
Legal fees.
Workers.
Road maintenance.
Insurance.
Feed.
Equipment.
Buildings.
The woman hired an accountant from Denver who arrived wearing polished boots that had never known mud.