She looked toward him.
“You don't know me.”
“No.”
“But I'm interested.”
The room seemed warmer.
Matilda looked away.
“That's a dangerous thing to say to a woman at three in the morning.”
“Why?”
“You really don't spend much time with women.”
“Not civilized ones.”
Matilda laughed.
“I'm sleeping beside a stew pot.”
“Civilized enough.”
She shook her head.
Then became serious.
“What happens when the storm ends?”
“We go to Black Ridge.”
“We?”
“If you want.”
Matilda looked at her hands.
“I can't ride a horse.”
“Didn't ask you to.”
“I can't walk mountain trails.”
“Didn't ask that either.”
“How?”
“Freight sleigh if snow holds.”
“Reinforced wagon if road clears.”
“Bench wide enough.”
“Steps.”
“Stops.”
He said it matter-of-factly.
No embarrassment.
No euphemism.
Matilda stared.
“You've been thinking about this.”
“Since I learned you were alive.”
Her heart shifted.
“How did you know what I would need?”
“I asked.”
“Who?”
“Doctor.”
“Wheelwright.”
“Woman in Canon City about your size.”
Matilda blinked.
“You found another woman my size?”
“Not quite.”
“How big?”
“I did not ask her weight.”
That answer warmed something.
“She told me ordinary wagon springs would fail.”
“So I changed mine.”
“You changed your wagon before meeting me?”