“Can You Make Me Come Tonight — The Mail Order Bride Asked… The Virgin Mountain Man Whispered, ‘I…’”

Chapter 6

Margaret woke to the sharp, bitter smell of chicory coffee and the rhythmic hollow thud of an axe outside.

The air in the cabin was frigid — she could see her breath misting in front of her face — but beneath the mountain of heavy furs and the patchwork quilt, she was sweltering. She lay perfectly still, staring at the raw pine beams of the ceiling.

Her body ached.

It was a deep, unfamiliar soreness. Not the sharp, terrified tension that used to lock her jaw and knot her shoulders for days in St. Louis. Not the bruised, hollowed-out feeling of surviving a man’s temper. This was a heavy, grounding fatigue. The physical evidence of a long night spent teaching a giant how to be gentle.

She turned her head. The space beside her was empty, the sheets already cold.

Habitual panic flared in her chest for a fraction of a second before the memories rushed back, extinguishing the fear like water over a match. The tremor in his hands. The way he had kept pausing, whispering into her hair, “Is this all right? Am I hurting you?” The way he had finally let go, burying his face in her neck with a sound that was half groan, half sob.

He hadn’t hurt her. He had held her like she was the most precious thing he had ever touched.

Margaret pushed the heavy furs back and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The cold air raised goosebumps on her bare arms. She pulled on her wool stockings and her day dress, moving slowly, savoring the ache in her muscles.

The door unlatched.

Elias stepped inside, bringing a swirl of snow and freezing air with him. He was carrying an enormous armful of split logs, his beard dusted with frost, his cheeks ruddy from the wind. He kicked the door shut with his boot and turned toward the woodbox.

He froze when he saw her standing by the bed.

The logs tumbled from his arms, clattering violently into the wooden crate. He wiped his gloved hands on his thighs, his gaze dropping instantly to the floorboards. The fearsome mountain man, capable of surviving a brutal Wyoming winter single-handedly, looked entirely ready to bolt back out into the snow.

“Morning,” Margaret said, her voice husky with sleep.

Elias swallowed hard. “Morning.”

He took off his heavy leather gloves, tucking them under his arm. He couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands. “I made coffee. It’s on the stove. I can fry some bacon if you’re hungry.”

“Coffee is fine.”

She walked across the room. Elias tensed as she approached, his massive frame going rigid. He was bracing himself. For what? Regret? A harsh word?

Margaret stopped in front of the stove, picked up a rag to protect her hand, and poured the thick black liquid into a tin cup. She took a sip. It was awful — bitter and strong enough to strip paint.

“You chopped a lot of wood,” she noted, looking out the frosted window at the massive pile of fresh kindling stacked against the wall.

Elias rubbed the back of his neck. “Woke up early. Didn’t want to wake you. Figured the cold was coming fast, so I… I got to chopping.”

He was overcompensating. The sheer volume of wood outside was the physical manifestation of his nervous energy.

Margaret set her cup down on the table. She turned to face him, leaning her hip against the heavy oak.

“Look at me, Elias.”

He slowly brought his eyes up to meet hers. The river-stone gray was filled with a frantic, silent question.

Did I ruin this? Are you packing your trunk?

“I’m not fragile,” she said softly, deliberately holding his gaze. “And I’m not leaving.”

The breath Elias let out seemed to empty his entire chest. His shoulders dropped three inches. He closed his eyes for a brief second, nodding slowly.

“I didn’t know,” he mumbled, his voice thick. “I didn’t know it was going to be like that. I thought I was too heavy. Too rough.”

Margaret walked the two steps separating them. She reached out and placed her hands flat against his chest, right over his heavy wool coat. He was solid as a rock wall.

“You were exactly what you needed to be,” she said.

He looked down at her hands. Slowly, cautiously, he raised his own massive hands and placed them over hers. He didn’t pull her into a tight embrace. He just held her hands against his chest, grounding himself in the reality of her touch.

“I’ll get better at it,” he promised, the earnestness in his voice breaking her heart a little. “I learn fast, Margaret. I swear I do.”

A genuine, startling laugh bubbled up in her throat. It was the first time she had laughed out loud in nearly three years. The sound bounced off the pine walls, bright and clear.

Elias looked startled. Then a slow, hesitant smile cracked through his thick beard, changing his entire face. He looked younger. He looked lighter.

“I know you do, Elias.” She smiled, stepping back and picking up her coffee. “Now fry that bacon. I have a feeling we’re going to need the energy today.”

The transaction was dead.

The partnership had begun.