He carried her inside and laid her on his bed, the only bed, near the fire. Her clothes were stiff with ice. Her skin was so cold it made his hands ache.
He set another log on the fire and watched the flames catch, then he knelt by the bed and pulled off her boots.
Or tried to.
They were frozen tight, leather stiff, laces crusted. He worked them loose carefully, because her feet looked like river rocks—icy and mottled—and he didn’t want to tear skin that already seemed too close to breaking.
When the boots finally came off, he wrapped her feet in a blanket and rubbed her toes through the fabric until he felt the faintest hint of warmth returning.
She stirred.
A soft sound in the back of her throat.
Eli reached for a kettle and poured water, set it on the fire. Broth would take longer, but water was faster. Warmth was the first fight.
He glanced back at the girl.
Her dress was soaked through, heavy with melted snow, clinging to her like wet hide. That kind of cloth would steal heat faster than the wind.
Eli knew what he needed to do.
He also knew what it might look like, if anyone ever asked.
Still, nobody was here.
Just him.
Just the storm outside, pounding on the logs.
He reached for the buttons of her dress.
And her eyes flew open.
Wild fear.
Immediate.
She grabbed his wrist with surprising strength, fingers like iron despite the cold.
“No,” she whispered.
Her voice was thin and broken, but the word carried weight like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Eli froze.
He didn’t understand it at first—why a woman half-dead in the snow would be afraid of a man trying to get soaked cloth off her so she didn’t freeze from the inside out.
But the terror in her eyes was not confusion.
It was memory.
It was the kind of fear that lives in a body long after the danger passes.
It reminded him of his sister Sarah, and something in Eli softened painfully.
He lifted both hands, palms open.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. I’m stopping.”
Her grip stayed tight for another heartbeat, like she was waiting for him to lie.
Then her fingers loosened, trembling.
Eli didn’t try again.
He didn’t argue.
He didn’t explain himself like he was owed understanding.
He pulled a dry blanket up around her shoulders and tucked it in tight, keeping the wet dress covered, sealing in what little heat the fire could give.
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