The roof leaked above the storeroom.
And the front counter was worn smooth by decades of customers.
But it was hers.
She traveled west that spring.
By summer, she had repaired the oven, reorganized the kitchen, and begun making the bakery profitable again.
She sold cinnamon rolls, rye bread, fruit pies, biscuits, and cakes for birthdays and weddings.
Farmers stopped by before sunrise.
Children pressed their noses against the window after school.
And ranch hands came in from the mountains looking for hot coffee and something sweet.
Some customers were kind.
Others weren't.
Elena endured the rude comments until she learned that the best answer was often to charge fairly, provide excellent food, and refuse to reward cruelty with attention.
Still, loneliness followed her.
She worked long hours.
Ate supper alone.
And spent evenings sitting beside the kitchen stove while the town socialized without her.
Women invited her to prepare cakes for weddings.
Rarely to attend them.
Men flirted until someone else began watching.
Then they pretended she'd misunderstood.
After a while, Elena stopped expecting romance.
She told herself she had the bakery.
The little apartment behind it.
Her aunt's old books.
And customers who appreciated her work.
That should have been enough.
Then Gideon Hale walked through her door.
It happened during an early November snowfall.
The afternoon was gray and bitterly cold.
Elena had just removed a tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven when the bell above the entrance rang.
She looked up.
And saw the largest man she'd ever met.
He stood nearly two meters tall, with enormous shoulders, long dark hair, a thick beard, and a terrible scar stretching down the left side of his face.
His boots were muddy.
His coat was worn.
And when he entered, every conversation in the bakery stopped.
A farmer near the window immediately looked down.
Two women gathering pastries moved away from the counter.
A young man whispered something to his companion.
Elena heard the words.
“That's Hale.”
The companion looked frightened.
“The mountain beast?”
The enormous stranger stood quietly beside the counter.
He didn't seem surprised by the reaction.
He simply removed his gloves and placed several coins on the polished wood.
“One loaf of rye, please.”
His voice was deep.
Controlled.
Almost gentle.
Elena studied him.
Then turned toward the bread rack.
She selected the freshest loaf.
Wrapped it carefully.
And placed it in front of him.