Clara closed her eyes.
She could feel his heartbeat.
Strong.
Steady.
Real.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he whispered, "I missed you."
Clara felt tears gather.
She tightened her arms.
"I missed you too."
He held her gently.
And outside, as the snow continued falling through the pines, the mountain man who had spent years believing he needed nobody began to understand that coming home could mean something more than returning to a cabin.
It could mean being wanted.
They sat together over a late supper.
Clara served him bean stew with a spoonful of chow-chow, thick corncakes, and the last of a small piece of smoked meat.
He ate slowly.
She watched him.
He noticed.
"What?"
She smiled.
"Nothing."
"Clara."
She looked down.
"Just glad you're here."
His expression softened.
He reached across the table.
Took her hand.
Then told her about the trapped freight wagons.
The teamsters were alive.
All three.
One had a badly swollen ankle.
Another was suffering from a persistent cough.
But they had a sheltered camp, feed for the animals, and enough provisions for several more days.
Caleb and the others had reached them through the safer mining spur, carrying what medical supplies they could.
They brought the injured driver back slowly with assistance.
The others remained with the wagons until a safe plan could be made for their cargo.
Clara listened carefully.
"How much grain is there?"
"More than we can carry on our backs in one trip."
She nodded.
"Can the road be repaired?"
"Eventually."
"Before spring?"
Caleb hesitated.
"Maybe. But not quickly."
She looked toward the stove.
He continued.
"We may be able to move smaller loads across the old upper trail when the weather settles. Pack animals, perhaps. But we won't risk the men in unstable snow just for a few sacks."
Clara nodded.
"Good."
He studied her.
"Good?"
She looked up.
"Yes."
He smiled.
"I thought you might tell me to fetch every grain of flour before breakfast."
She shook her head.
"I'd rather have you back for supper."
His expression changed.
The room became quiet.
For a moment, Clara wished she could recall the words.
They seemed too revealing.
Then Caleb lifted her hand gently.
His rough thumb brushed across her knuckles.
"Clara."
She looked at him.
He hesitated.
Then said quietly, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Her heart began beating faster.
"What?"
He looked toward the table.
Then back at her.
"When this storm is over, would you let me take you to supper?"
Clara blinked.
"To supper?"