Her nails cut across his arm as she twisted, trying to break free. "Don't touch me. " Her voice broke apart. She wasn't seeing him. Luke tightened his grip just enough to stop her from hurting herself. "It's me," he said.
"You're in the cabin. " She fought harder. Then, suddenly, he let go, pulled back like he'd touched fire. She collapsed inward, pulling her knees tight, rocking slightly, breath coming in sharp pulls. The room filled with the sound of it. Not loud, but broken.
Luke turned away, sat on the stool by the fire, stared into the flames. Didn't move, didn't speak. Time stretched. The wind outside softened to a low moan. Her breathing slowed.
Then he was my husband. The words came low, rough. Luke didn't turn. "I was married yesterday," she said. "My father owed him money. " She swallowed hard, a lot.
The fire shifted. Luke still didn't move. "He paid it. " She went on. "And I was the price. " Her fingers dug into the blanket. I ran before he could before the word stopped.
Luke's hand tightened against his knee. He knew the rest. "I think he will find me," she whispered. ""He always gets what he wants. "" Silence again. Then Luke spoke. "I had a sister. " Her head lifted slightly.
"She married a man from Cheyenne," he said. "Seemed decent. " His voice stayed flat. "First time I saw her after, she had a bruise. " He picked up a small piece of wood, turned it between his fingers. "Next time, her arm was broken. " The wood snapped. "She said she fell. " He stared into the fire.
"I went to get her. " A pause. "He laughed at me. " Luke's jaw tightened, so I hit him. The fire cracked sharp. "He had a knife. " Luke touched his chest without looking. "Right here. " Another pause.
"I took her home anyway. " The room felt smaller, hotter. "I thought that was enough. " His voice dropped lower. "Two weeks later, she walked into the river. " The words hung there, heavy, unmoving. "I got her away from him," Luke said quietly. but not from what he did. Silence pressed in again, but it was different now.
Not empty. Shared, he stood slowly. "You should sleep," he said. "He's not here. " He turned his back to her. Went to the cot.
Lay down facing the wall. Didn't look at her again. The storm eased the next day, not gone, but quieter. The air felt thinner, colder. Luke stepped outside early. came back with wood.
Snow clung to his beard. She watched him from the fire. "You don't ask my name," she said. He shrugged off his coat. ""No. Why? "" He paused. ""Then you'll tell me when you want to. "" That stopped her.
She looked at him longer than before, then turned back to the fire. Later that afternoon, she stepped outside, wrapped in his spare blanket. The cold hit like knives, but it felt clean. Real. She walked to the creek, broke the ice, filled the bucket.
Then a sound. Water movement. She turned. Luke stood upstream, shirt off, water running over his shoulders, his back broad, scar visible across his chest. He moved like the cold didn't touch him, like he belonged to it.
She didn't mean to stare, but she did. Something shifted inside her. Not fear, something else. Sharp, sudden. It made her breath catch.
Luke turned, saw her. She dropped her gaze immediately, grabbed the bucket, walked back fast, too fast. That night, the cabin felt smaller, the air heavier, every movement louder. He sat sharpening his knife, steel against stone. Slow, steady, she sat by the fire trying to sew, missing every third stitch.