She smiled through her tears.
He returned to the stove.
For several minutes, the only sounds were the crackling fire and the soft movement of the cooking utensils.
Then she spoke.
"May I ask you something personal?"
He glanced back.
"Depends how personal."
She smiled.
"Have you ever been married?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Why not?"
He considered the question.
"Never found a woman who wanted this life."
She looked around the cabin.
"It doesn't seem so terrible."
He laughed.
"You haven't seen February."
She tilted her head.
"What happens in February?"
"The wind decides it hates everybody."
She laughed.
Then asked, "Were you ever in love?"
The mountain man grew quiet.
For several seconds, he stirred the stew.
Then he answered.
"Once."
Her smile faded slightly.
"What happened?"
He looked toward the fire.
"She wanted a life in the city. I wanted the mountains."
The young woman nodded.
"And neither of you changed your mind?"
"No."
"Did it hurt?"
He gave a small, rueful smile.
"Quite a bit."
She studied him.
Then whispered, "I'm sorry."
He shrugged.
"We were young. Neither of us was wrong."
She considered that.
Her father had always described failed relationships as proof somebody was selfish or foolish.
The mountain man seemed to understand that two people could care for each other and still want different futures.
She found that strangely comforting.
Then he looked toward her.
"What about you?"
She laughed nervously.
"What about me?"
"Ever been in love?"
Her cheeks flushed.
"No."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Never?"
"Not properly."
He looked amused.
She continued.
"Men don't usually look twice at women built like me."
His expression changed.
He placed the spoon down.
"Who told you that?"
She looked away.
"Everybody."
He stepped closer.
"Sweetheart."
She lifted her eyes.
"Anybody who couldn't see how beautiful you are must've been looking at you through a burlap sack."
She stared.
Then laughed in disbelief.
"You're teasing."
"No."
Her smile faded.
He continued quietly.
"I've been trying not to stare since the trading post."
Her cheeks burned.
"Really?"
He nodded.
"Really."
She looked down at her hands.
For a moment, she didn't know what to say.
Then she whispered, "My father said no man would want to marry someone my size."
The mountain man's jaw tightened.
"Your father says a great many foolish things."
She smiled.
He stepped closer, but stopped before touching her.
"Look at me."
She did.
"You're beautiful."
Her eyes shone.
He continued.
"And you don't need to become smaller to be worth loving."
The words were so simple that they almost hurt.
She'd spent years pulling corset laces tighter, skipping meals when her father complained, and hiding beneath clothing designed to make her body less noticeable.