Not because Amos had been close.
Because survival had begun to feel like something they could control.
His death reminded them otherwise.
Caleb held her.
This time she let him.
Her body fit against his differently than she expected.
She had spent years feeling physically too large.
Too much.
In Caleb’s arms, she felt not smaller.
Held.
There is a difference.
He did not squeeze as if proving strength.
He simply stayed.
Clara whispered:
“Kiss me.”
Caleb froze.
She pulled back.
“What?”
“I want to be sure.”
“I just told you.”
“No.”
“Sure you’re not asking because you’re sad.”
She stared.
“That is annoyingly decent.”
“I try.”
“I am sad.”
“Yes.”
“I also want you.”
His expression changed.
That was enough.
He kissed her.
Slowly.
His beard rough against skin.
Clara’s hand rose to his chest.
Heat.
Strength.
The kiss deepened.
Then Caleb stepped back.
She looked offended.
He smiled.
“If I don’t stop, I’m sleeping somewhere other than floor.”
Her face heated.
“Coward.”
“Absolutely.”
She laughed.
He kissed her forehead.
Spring did not arrive quickly.
Nothing in mountains does.
February thawed for two days, then froze again.
March brought rain on snow.
The pass crews finally reached the buried cut.
What they found was worse than expected.
A rockslide beneath the snow had torn half road away.
Rebuilding required timber supports.
At least two more weeks.
People groaned.
Clara recalculated.
Food could last.
Barely.
Caleb’s cache had changed everything.
Without it, starvation would have begun by January.
But Clara refused to let the story become “mountain man saved settlement.”
Caleb agreed.
“My food would’ve stayed on mountain if you hadn’t built place to use it.”
“And my pantry would’ve emptied without you.”
“Then we saved each other.”
“Disgustingly sentimental.”
“You started it.”
In early April, first supply wagon reached Laurel Ridge.
People gathered beside road.
Some cried.
Children shouted.
The wagon carried flour, salt, coffee, medicine, seed.
Not abundance.
Connection.
The pass was open enough.
Winter ended.
Slowly.
Mud replaced snow.
Creek rose.
Chickens emerged into sun.
Eight of Clara’s original twelve survived winter.
Five hens.
Three roosters.
Too many roosters.
Caleb offered solution.
“Soup.”
Clara agreed.
The surviving hens laid.
More chicks came in May.