She gasped.
The man stopped.
“Don’t.”
She froze.
His hands remained visible at his sides.
“Your ribs may be bruised.”
Clara stared.
“Where am I?”
“My cabin.”
“Where?”
“Black Pine Ridge.”
She searched her memory.
Stagecoach.
Snow.
A scream.
The driver shouting.
The coach tipping.
Then nothing.
“My clothes.”
“Drying.”
Her face changed.
Caleb recognized the fear immediately.
He stepped backward.
“You were freezing.”
Clara looked down at herself beneath the blankets.
Her linen shift covered her.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
Still, panic rose automatically.
“Did you…”
“No.”
His answer came so quickly she looked up.
Caleb continued, more carefully, “I removed wet outer clothes. Kept you covered. Didn’t touch anything that wasn’t necessary.”
Clara watched him.
He seemed uncomfortable.
Strangely, that helped.
“Who are you?”
“Caleb Ward.”
She knew the name.
Everyone in Red Hollow knew it.
Mountain Ward.
The giant hermit above Black Pine Ridge.
Children told stories about him.
A man who could break a wolf’s neck with his hands.
A man who once went an entire year without coming into town.
A man who had killed someone.
Depending on who told the story, sometimes three people.
Clara’s heart raced.
Caleb saw.
“You know the name.”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
He looked tired.
“Most do.”
That answer contained no pride.
Only resignation.
Clara realized suddenly that he knew exactly what people said.
He turned toward the stove.
“Water?”
Her throat felt like sand.
“Yes.”
He poured a cup.
Then stopped several feet from her.
Instead of approaching, he set it on a small stool and pushed the stool toward the bed with one boot.
Clara stared.
“You won’t come closer?”
“You look like you don’t want me to.”
Nobody had ever said anything like that to her.
Not her husband.
Not the men who laughed when she squeezed through narrow spaces.
Not women who touched her sleeves without invitation and said she had such a pretty face if only she lost some weight.
Clara reached for the cup.
Her hands shook.
Caleb turned away while she drank.
“Anyone else survive?”
The question nearly broke her.
He did not answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
Clara closed her eyes.
“Mrs. Sutton?”
“I don't know names.”
“Older woman?”
Caleb nodded once.
Clara pressed the cup against her mouth.
“She was going to Helena.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“She had grandchildren.”
Caleb looked toward the fire.
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened?”
“Coach left road.”
“I remember the wheel…”
She frowned.
“There was a sound.”
Caleb glanced at her.
“What kind?”
“Metal.”
“Then driver shouted.”
“After that…”