Caleb glanced up. "And what did your mother say?"
Martha smiled. "She told him a brick couldn't make his supper."
Caleb laughed, longer this time. The sound filled the little cabin, and Martha looked at him with open surprise before smiling herself. For a moment, they were simply two people sharing a joke by the fire, without the disappointment of the stagecoach or the awkwardness of their arrangement standing between them.
Then Caleb noticed how quickly her smile disappeared when he shifted in his chair. Her eyes moved toward his hands, and her shoulders tightened as though she expected him to reach for her. He remained still, allowing her to finish tending the stove before speaking again.
"Miss Higgins," he said, "you don't have to stand at attention every time I move."
She looked embarrassed. "I don't mean to."
"I know." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I haven't given you much reason to feel comfortable here."
Martha stared at the fire. She seemed uncertain whether he was asking for forgiveness or simply making an observation. Finally, she whispered, "You've kept your word. You've never troubled me."
Caleb looked toward her. He had promised not to touch her because he didn't desire her, and he'd assumed that the promise would be understood as rejection. But she spoke as though his restraint were a rare kindness.
That realization troubled him more than he wanted to admit.
The next morning, he found Martha repairing the handle of a wooden bucket. She had braced the damaged section with a strip of leather and was examining it closely when he entered the barn. Caleb stopped in the doorway, watching her work in the pale morning light.
"That bucket's been useless since spring," he said.
Martha glanced up. "It only needed a new fastening."
"I tried fixing it twice."
She smiled. "Then perhaps it needed someone with smaller hands."
Caleb looked at her broad hands, reddened by work and marked with tiny needle pricks. He understood she was making a joke at her own expense, but he didn't laugh immediately. Instead, he examined the repair and gave the handle a cautious pull.
It held.
"That's good work," he said.
Martha's expression softened. "Thank you."
He nodded toward the barn door. "You said you knew something about timber. I believe I'm starting to see why."
She looked away, but not before he noticed something flicker across her face. It wasn't pride. It was fear, as though discussing the source of her skills might lead to a place she didn't want to revisit.
Caleb didn't press her.
Instead, he asked whether she'd help him plan repairs to the barn's western wall before another storm arrived.
Martha looked astonished.
"You want my opinion?"
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."