That almost seemed more dangerous.
Cruel men sometimes advertised themselves.
Quiet men required guessing.
The driver offered his arm.
The widow hesitated before taking it.
Getting down from the wagon had become another thing she learned to do under observation.
People watched large women move.
They watched chairs.
Steps.
Floorboards.
Wagon springs.
Anything that might turn a human body into public entertainment.
She shifted carefully.
Before the driver could make a spectacle of helping, the mountain man set down the trunk and moved closer.
He did not grab her.
He simply held one broad hand out.
“May I?”
The question stopped her.
Not the hand.
The word.
May.
She looked at him.
Then took it.
His grip was firm enough to steady her and gentle enough that she never felt pulled.
When her boots reached the snow, he immediately released her.
No lingering touch.
No amused glance toward the wagon suspension.
No comment.
The widow adjusted her cloak.
“Thank you.”
The mountain man nodded.
The driver cleared his throat.
“Well.”
Neither answered.
He looked toward the cabin.
Then toward the sky.
“I ought to get down before the road closes.”
The widow stared at him.
Of course.
That was the agreement.
He had brought her here.
Now she stayed.
The driver climbed back onto the wagon.
The mountain man lifted her trunk.
The widow stood beside the road while the horses turned.
For a moment she considered calling after them.
It would have been ridiculous.
Her money was nearly gone.
Her Baltimore room was gone.
Her late husband’s creditors knew every relative who might shelter her.
Her aunt had made it painfully clear that the invitation to remain in her house expired the moment this marriage proposal arrived.
“You should be grateful.”
Her aunt had said.
“A man in Colorado is willing to take responsibility for you.”
Take responsibility.
As though she were a damaged shipment.
The widow watched the wagon disappear.
Snow filled its tracks almost immediately.
Behind her, the mountain man said:
“You’ll freeze.”
She turned.
He stood several yards away with the trunk.
Still not touching her.
Still not ordering.
She followed him inside.
The cabin was not what she had expected.
People in Baltimore had told stories about western mountain men as though they slept beside carcasses and ate directly from knives.
This cabin was simple.
But carefully simple.
A stone fireplace occupied most of one wall.
A heavy table sat near the center.
Shelves held jars of preserved vegetables, flour, dried beans, coffee, salt, and neatly arranged tins.