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?
