“Yes.”
“No.”
“It works.”
“No.”
“I’m not in jail for debt.”
“That is not bookkeeping standard.”
“What standard?”
“Readable.”
By evening, she had reorganized six months of fur, timber, supply, and trapping records.
Caleb watched.
“You said your father had you doing accounts.”
“Yes.”
“You’re good.”
“I know.”
The confidence came out before she could soften.
Caleb smiled.
“Good.”
He did not call it surprising.
That mattered.
Elena learned his scar came from falling branch, not bar fight.
The jaw he allegedly broke had belonged to a drunk man who hit a woman outside mercantile.
He had indeed spent eleven days above timberline.
But not because he was lost.
He had been tracking a missing boy.
The boy lived.
The valley version had removed the child because mystery sounded better.
Caleb did sleep with rifle beside bed.
“Wolves?”
“People.”
“Comforting.”
“You asked.”
She learned Sarah had raised Caleb after their mother died.
That explained his devotion.
Sarah had also taught him reading beyond basic.
He read slowly but carefully.
Elena noticed he moved lips sometimes over difficult words.
He noticed her noticing.
“You can laugh.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Everyone does.”
“I was wondering why you don’t ask.”
“For what?”
“Help.”
Caleb shrugged.
“Pride.”
Elena nodded solemnly.
“Stupid.”
“Yes.”
She began reading newspaper aloud after supper.
Not because he could not.
Because she liked the sound of conversation.
He repaired a rocking chair to support her weight after the first one creaked dangerously.
Elena saw new braces.
“You changed it.”
“Yes.”
“Because I broke it?”
“You did not break it.”
“It cracked.”
“It was poorly built.”
“It held you.”
“I weigh less.”
“There.”
“Where?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The face people make before saying if furniture fails under me, furniture becomes my fault.”
Caleb looked at chair.
Then Elena.
“Wood does not know morality.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“If chair breaks, chair is weak.”
“It does not accuse person.”
A smile spread before she could stop.
“That may be most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Caleb went still.
So did Elena.
The word hung.
Romantic.
She looked away.
Caleb cleared throat.
“Low standard.”
“Yes.”
His ears were red.
She enjoyed that.
On fifth night, temperature fell brutally.
Elena woke because fire had weakened.
She emerged from bedroom to find Caleb asleep in chair near hearth.
Not loft.
He had spent nights climbing ladder.
Why chair?
Then she saw blood on his palm.
He had split skin while chopping ice.
Elena fetched cloth.
“Caleb.”
He woke instantly.
His hand reached toward knife at belt before recognizing.
“Elena.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Nothing.”
She sat across.
“Give me hand.”
He hesitated.