Jonah dropped her bag by the wall and looked at her like he was reading a list no one else could see. “You’ll cook,” he said. “Mend. Keep the fire. I’ll hunt. Chop. Keep wolves off the door. Don’t expect more than that.” It wasn’t a proposal. It was a division of labor.
Abby lifted her eyebrows. “Well,” she said, voice dry, “isn’t that the kind of romance a woman crosses a continent for.” Jonah’s jaw tightened as he pulled a knife from its sheath and began sharpening it on a stone. The scrape filled the silence, sharp and steady.
Abby waited a beat, long enough to see he wasn’t going to fill the air with anything else, then walked straight to the hearth. “Fire’s low,” she announced. “Either you like breathing, or you enjoy freezing. I’m stoking it.” She gathered logs, split kindling with a small hatchet she’d spotted by the wall, and had the fire crackling within minutes. Heat spread into the room, softening corners, turning the cabin from fortress to something closer to shelter.
Jonah’s sharpening slowed for half a second, his eyes flicking to her hands, to the sure way she moved. The other brides, Abby guessed, had stepped inside and started looking for curtains that weren’t there, a softness that had never been promised. They’d shivered and complained and tried to talk Jonah into being someone else.
Abby didn’t have energy left for pretending a mountain man was meant to behave like a parlor gentleman. She cared about warmth, food, and not being sent away like a cracked dish.
That night, Jonah tossed her a wool blanket. “You take the bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep by the fire.” Abby blinked, surprised not by the offer itself but by the blunt honor inside it. “You don’t have to,” she started. Jonah’s eyes narrowed. “I said you take it,” he replied, like refusing would be an insult.
Abby nodded once. “Fine. But if your back freezes stiff, don’t blame me when you start walking like an old mule.” Jonah grunted, which might have been annoyance or amusement. Abby climbed into the narrow bed, pulled the quilt up, and stared at the log ceiling while wolves howled in the distance.
For the first time since she’d left home, she didn’t feel like she was taking up too much space. The cabin was rough, the man was rougher, but the mountain wasn’t laughing at her. The mountain was simply asking: Are you going to stay?
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
