Now a frightening mountain man she had known for only a few hours was asking what she wanted.
She did not know how to answer.
That frightened her more than she expected.
The mountain man seemed to understand.
He stood.
"I'll sleep near the outer door."
She looked up.
"What?"
"You can take the bed."
She glanced toward the small sleeping area.
"But—"
"There's a lock on the inner door."
She stared.
He continued.
"You can use it."
Her voice trembled.
"You trust me?"
He looked at her.
"Trust isn't the issue."
He nodded toward the room.
"You deserve privacy."
Then he moved toward the outer part of the cabin.
The young woman remained beside the fire.
The documents lay across her lap.
The letters sat beside her tea.
And for the first time in her adult life, she realized that a man could be powerful without demanding power over her.
That night, she slept beneath the heaviest quilts she had ever known.
The bed was wide enough to hold her enormous body comfortably, with thick supports and a sturdy wooden frame.
She expected the mountain man to complain about her size.
He never did.
He brought extra pillows.
Made sure the fire would remain warm.
Then left her alone.
Outside, the storm continued.
Inside, she finally slept.
When morning arrived, the windows were covered with frost.
The mountain man had already been awake for hours.
She could hear him moving through the cabin.
The sound of a kettle.
The crackle of firewood.
The quiet scrape of a chair.
She sat up slowly.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then she remembered.
The wagon.
The storm.
The corset.
The knife.
The letters.
The inheritance.
She looked down at the loose woolen nightdress he had found among a chest of stored clothing.
It was plain.
Warm.
Comfortable.
No tight stays.
No painful laces.
No attempt to hide her body beneath crushing layers.
She took a deep breath.
Then another.
And smiled.
Breathing should never have felt like a luxury.
She dressed slowly in the brown gown after removing the ruined corset and arranging the fabric comfortably.
The dress no longer fitted the way her aunt intended.
It hung more loosely across her shoulders, and the waist no longer forced her body into a painful shape.
For the first time, she did not care.
She entered the main room.
The mountain man stood beside the stove.
His fur coat was gone.
Without it, he seemed slightly less intimidating, though no less enormous.