"You're serious?"
"Yes."
"That's why they're so large."
"They were born in the mountains."
"Where did you find them?"
"Bear was a pup."
"And Ash?"
"Found her caught in a trap."
Clara looked toward the dogs.
"You rescued them."
"They stayed."
She smiled.
"You have a habit of rescuing things."
Gideon looked at her.
"I didn't rescue you."
"No?"
"You rescued yourself."
She smiled.
"Maybe."
He looked into the fire.
"You changed this place."
"How?"
"It used to be a shelter."
"And now?"
"Home."
She rested her head against him.
The silence between them was no longer empty.
It was full.
Full of trust.
Full of things neither needed to say.
Outside, the mountain remained wild.
Dangerous.
Beautiful.
Inside, Clara had finally stopped listening for footsteps.
She knew now that the sound of someone pounding on a door did not always mean the past had come to claim her.
Sometimes the door could remain closed.
Sometimes a woman could say no.
Sometimes a man could hear it.
And sometimes love was nothing more complicated than someone standing beside you when the storm came, asking nothing in return except that you let them stay.
Weeks passed.
The broken window was replaced.
The door was repaired.
The bullet holes remained.
Gideon refused to cover them.
"Why?" Clara asked.
"So I remember."
"Remember what?"
"That fear can enter through a door."
She looked at him.
"And?"
He took her hand.
"But it doesn't have to stay."
Spring came slowly.
Snow melted from the lower slopes.
The creek swelled.
The horses grew restless.
The first wildflowers appeared near the cabin.
Clara began planting a small garden.
Gideon pretended not to care.
But every morning he checked it.
One afternoon she caught him.
"You moved my stones."
"They were crooked."
"They were supposed to be crooked."
"They weren't useful."
"They were decorative."
He looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted something beautiful."
He looked around the rugged cabin.
"You have me."
She stared at him.
Then laughed.
"You've become arrogant."
"I've been married."
"That isn't an excuse."
He kissed her forehead.
She smiled.
"You know what I like most?"
"What?"
"You finally smile."
"I always smiled."
"No."
"Sometimes."
"Never."
He looked at her.
"Maybe I didn't have much reason."
"And now?"
He looked at the little garden.
The cabin.
The dogs.
The mountains.
Then her.
"Now I do."
That summer, they traveled down the mountain together.