“It is three days.”
“We walk?”
“Yes.”
Sadie looked at her boots.
Lucien did too.
He opened a pack.
Removed a pair of fur-lined moccasins.
Set them on the wagon seat.
“Put those on.”
“I can walk in mine.”
“You can.”
He pointed toward snow.
“And lose toes.”
“I have worn these all winter.”
“In town.”
“They’re fine.”
Lucien crouched.
He touched one boot at the side where the leather had split.
His fingers did not touch her leg.
“Snow gets in there.”
Sadie glared.
“I know.”
“Then stop arguing with leather.”
She almost laughed again.
Instead she changed footwear.
The moccasins fit perfectly.
Too perfectly.
Sadie looked up.
“How did you know my size?”
Lucien’s shoulders tightened.
“Mrs. Palmer.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
Sadie stared.
“How long have you been planning this?”
Lucien lifted the supply pack.
“Walk.”
“Lucien.”
He stopped.
“How long?”
His eyes met hers.
“Since October.”
That was four months.
Before the famine became desperate.
Before six wagons.
Before Cobb entered the washhouse.
Sadie felt the first true thread of fear.
Not fear that Lucien would hurt her.
Fear that everyone knew something about her except herself.
The climb took hours.
Lucien walked ahead.
Not far.
Never so far she could not see him.
He could have moved twice as fast.
Sadie realized after the first mile that he was shortening his stride deliberately.
She resented the kindness because it made hating him harder.
By dusk they reached the cabin.
It stood beneath tall pines against the side of a ridge.
Stone chimney.
Heavy timber walls.
A shed.
A corral.
Stacks of split wood high enough to survive a siege.
The place looked lonely but solid.
Lucien opened the door.
Heat from a banked fire remained inside.
Sadie entered.
One room.
As promised.
A wide hearth.
Table.
Two chairs.
Cookstove.
Shelves.
A narrow bed against the far wall.
A loft above part of the room.
Rifles hung near door.
Furs stacked near hearth.
Everything clean.
Almost unnaturally so for a man who lived alone.
Sadie set down her shawl.
Lucien carried her trunk in.
Placed it beside the bed.
Then went back outside.
No instructions.
No claim.
Sadie stood in the center of the room feeling foolish.
The place smelled of cedar, smoke, leather, and dried herbs.
On one shelf sat six books.
She walked closer.
A Bible.
A trapping manual.
A volume of Shakespeare.
A medical guide.
Two ledgers.
She touched Shakespeare.
“Didn’t expect that?”
Lucien’s voice came from behind.
Sadie turned.
He had removed his fur coat.
Without it he looked no less intimidating.
Gray shirt.
Suspenders.
Dark trousers.
Forearms marked by old scars.