She scrambled back, eyes wide, chest rising fast, searching, not seeing him. Seeing something else, someone else? No. Don't her voice cracked as she reached blindly for anything. Her hand found the knife.
She grabbed it and turned, pressing her back against the table, blade shaking in her grip. "Stay back. " Luke raised both hands slowly. Didn't move closer. "Easy," he said. "You're safe. " Her head shook fast.
No, no, your she couldn't finish. Her breathing broke apart. He stayed where he was. Name's Luke," he said, voice steady. "This is my cabin.
I found you in the storm. " She glanced down at hers at the blanket. At the torn remains of her dress near the fire, then back at him. "You your clothes were ice. " He cut in that or you freeze. Silence. The knife trembled in her hand.
He didn't reach for it. Didn't step closer. Just watched. "You can keep that," he added quietly. Her grip tightened.
The fire popped behind him. Wind pressed against the walls. She swallowed hard. "Where am I? " Laramie Mountains. A pause, then softer: "Who are you? " He shrugged once.
"Just a man. " She studied him like something dangerous, like something she didn't understand yet. And for a long moment, neither of them moved. Outside, the storm raged louder. Inside the fire burned hot. Two strangers, one room, and something neither of them had expected had already begun.
The storm did not pass. It settled in. Like something that had decided to stay. For 3 days, the wind pressed against the cabin walls, testing every crack in the logs. Snow buried the door halfway up, sealing the outside world behind a white wall that shifted and breathed.
Inside, they learned the shape of each other's silence. She kept the knife near her, not in her hand anymore, but close. Always close. Luke noticed. He said nothing.
On the second morning, she stood near the door, wrapped in his shirt, staring at the white blur beyond the window. I will leave," she said. Her voice was thin but steady. ""When it stops. "" Luke poured coffee into a tin cup without looking at her. "It might not stop for a while. " She nodded once. Didn't argue.
Didn't ask to stay. That was the way of it between them. No asking, no offering, just waiting. He gave her the place by the fire. Took the cold cot for himself.
At night, the fire cracked between them like a line drawn in dirt. Neither crossed it. During the day, he moved quietly. Too quietly for a man his size. Every step measured, every motion slow.
She watched him when he wasn't looking. His hands scarred, split at the knuckles, strong enough to break bone, careful enough not to slam a cup on a table. He watched her, too. The way she flinched at sudden sound. The way her shoulders tightened when he passed too close.
Like a deer waiting for the snap of a trap. They ate in silence. Stew thick with beans. Hard bread. Tin spoons scraping metal.
The only sound in the room. By the third night, the storm had worn her down. Sleep came in broken pieces. And when it came, it brought him with it. Not Luke.
The other man, the one she had run from, the door, the hand, the weight. She jerked awake with a sharp cry. "Luke was already moving. " He crossed the room in two steps, dropping to his knees in front of her. "You're safe," he said, grabbing her shoulders. "Wake up," she struck him hard.