"I wanted to carry some of it."
She looked away.
For a moment, the only sound was the fire.
That was the first thing she had loved about him.
Not his strength.
Not his height.
Not the fact that he could lift a saddle with one hand.
It was that he had noticed.
Most men had looked at her and seen a woman.
Gideon had looked at her and seen the weight she carried.
And he had never once made her feel ashamed of it.
Martha walked to the shelves and reached for a jar.
"We need more salt."
"We have salt."
"Not enough."
"There are two jars."
"One is nearly empty."
"That's still salt."
She turned.
"You want bland chicken?"
"No."
"Then bring me the other jar."
Gideon pushed away from the table.
"Yes, ma'am."
Martha watched him walk toward the pantry.
He was still broad.
Still strong.
Still carrying himself like a man who could wrestle a horse if he had to.
But there were gray strands in his dark hair now.
The first ones had appeared two years earlier.
Martha had teased him.
He had said they were distinguished.
She had called them stubborn.
Now there were more.
She loved them.
She loved the lines around his eyes.
She loved the small scar beneath his chin.
She loved the way his shoulders looked after a day of chopping wood.
She loved the fact that after all these years, he still came into the kitchen whenever she cooked.
Not because he needed to.
Because he wanted to be near her.
Gideon returned with the salt.
"Here."
She took it.
"Thank you."
He didn't move away.
Martha looked at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You are staring."
"I know."
"Why?"
"Because you're beautiful."
She rolled her eyes.
"After all these years, that's the best you can do?"
Gideon smiled.
"You're beautiful."
"You already said that."
"I meant it twice."
She laughed.
"Go cut the bread."
"Yes, ma'am."
He walked to the other side of the table.
Martha began seasoning the chicken.
The evening continued quietly.
There was bread.
There were roasted carrots.
Potatoes.
A pot of beans.
A jar of blackberry preserves.
And a small bottle of whiskey that Gideon had been saving since autumn.
When everything was ready, Martha lit two additional lamps.
Their warm glow filled the cabin.
Gideon pulled out her chair.
She looked at him.
"Still doing that?"
"Always."
She sat.
He sat across from her.
For a while, they ate without speaking.
The chicken was tender.
The skin crackled beneath the knife.
Martha watched Gideon take his first bite.
His eyebrows rose.
"Well?"
She asked.
He nodded.
"Perfect."
She smiled.
"You'd better say that."
"It's true."
"You'd say anything for another piece."
"That too."
She cut another portion.
"Here."
He accepted it.