The storm had swallowed the mountain before Clara ever understood how completely a mountain could disappear.
By sunset, the world outside the cabin had ceased to exist.
There was no trail.
No pine forest.
No distant ridge.
No moon.
Only snow.
It came sideways against the walls in furious white sheets, driven by a wind that seemed determined to tear the little cabin from its foundations and throw it down the mountain. Every few minutes, the chimney groaned beneath the pressure. Fine crystals pushed through cracks around the window frame, gathering on the sill despite the cloth Clara had stuffed into the gaps.
Inside, however, there was warmth.
The stone fireplace burned steadily.
A kettle hung above the flames.
Two enormous wolfish dogs lay near the hearth, their dark bodies curled against one another, ears occasionally twitching whenever the wind struck the cabin hard enough to make the logs creak.
The room smelled of smoke, pine, leather, and something faintly sweet from the dried herbs hanging above the fireplace.
Clara had been in Montana for nine days.
Nine days since the stagecoach had left her at a settlement so small that she had almost laughed when the driver pointed toward the mountains and told her that her husband lived "up there."
Nine days since she had first seen the man she had crossed a thousand miles to marry.
Nine days since she had discovered that the photograph he had sent her had been several years old and had failed to capture the sheer size of him.
Nine days since she had learned that Gideon Vale was thirty-three years old, enormous, quiet, weathered by the mountains, and apparently more comfortable communicating with dogs than with human beings.
And tonight was the first night she had begun to understand him.
Gideon sat on the edge of the rough wooden bed.
His wolf-fur mantle hung loosely across his broad back, leaving his powerful shoulders and chest exposed to the warm firelight.
His dark-brown hair fell untidily around his face.
His beard was thick and uneven, as though he trimmed it only when it became inconvenient.
His hands rested on his thighs.
They were enormous hands.
Scarred hands.
Working hands.
Hands that could split wood, pull a frightened horse away from a ravine, skin a deer, repair a broken wagon wheel, or carry a grown man out of a snowdrift.
Yet those hands were trembling.
Clara had noticed.
She had noticed nearly ten minutes ago.
She had pretended not to.
Now she couldn't resist teasing him.
She moved closer.
Her ivory nightdress brushed against his leg.
One of her hands curled gently around his forearm.
His muscles tightened beneath her fingers.
She smiled.
"You can face wolves without blinking, but sitting this close to your own wife has your hands trembling."
Gideon looked at her.
His gray eyes were usually hard enough to make strangers step aside.
Tonight they were different.
Uncertain.
Almost boyish.
He glanced at her lips before forcing his eyes back to hers.
"Because wolves never asked me to be gentle..." His voice dropped. "And you're the first woman I've ever wanted badly enough to be afraid of hurting."
Clara's teasing smile disappeared.
For a moment she simply stared at him.
Then her fingers tightened slightly around his arm.
She had expected many things when she agreed to become a mail-order bride.
She had expected awkwardness.
Perhaps disappointment.
Perhaps loneliness.
She had not expected tenderness.
Certainly not from a man who looked capable of frightening a grizzly bear.
Clara slowly lifted her other hand.
Her fingertips touched his beard.
Gideon went completely still.
"Then don't guess what I want," she whispered. "Listen to me—and if I tell you to stay close tonight, you stay."
His eyes did not leave hers.
"I will."
The words were so quiet that she almost missed them.
She moved closer.
He did not move.
She could feel his breath.
Warm.
Uneven.
Nervous.
Clara had never seen a man so physically powerful look so frightened of a woman.
It touched something deep inside her.
She brushed her thumb along his beard.
"You really have never kissed anyone?"
He swallowed.
"No."
"Not once?"
"No."
"Not even before the war?"
"I wasn't in the war."
She smiled faintly.
"I meant before the mountains."
Gideon looked down.
"No."
"Why?"
He took a long breath.
"Didn't meet anyone I trusted."
Clara's expression softened.
"And me?"
His gaze returned to hers.
"I'm trying."
Her heart moved.
She leaned closer.
His hands remained at his sides.
That was when the dogs lifted their heads.
Both of them.
At exactly the same moment.