He saw me in town 6 months ago. He decided he wanted me. He sent gifts. I sent them back. He came to my room at the boarding house.
I locked him out. She resumed stitching, her hand shaking slightly now. When a man like that is refused. He does not just walk away. He destroys.
He told people I was a [ __ ]. He told the shopkeepers not to sell to me. He said I was dirty. That I was asking for it. The town believes what he pays them to believe.
She tied off the knot and snipped the thread. She looked up at Jonah, her eyes wet but fierce. I am not what they say I am. Jonah. Jonah looked at the stitches.
They were neat and even. He looked at Millie. I know, he said. His anger was a cold, quiet thing in his gut. It was the kind of anger that did not shout.
It was the kind of anger that loaded a gun. No one takes what isn't given, Jonah said. It sounded like a law, a law older than the courthouse down in Silverton, a law written in the rock and the timber. In the days that followed, the dynamic in the cabin shifted. The air grew heavy with something unspoken.
A craving built between them, filling the small space. Jonah found himself watching her hands as she mended his shirt. Millie found herself watching the way Jonah moved. The easy strength in his back as he lifted the heavy cast iron pot. They avoided looking at each other too long.
To look was to acknowledge the pull, and to acknowledge the pull felt dangerous. It felt like stepping off the edge of the cliff outside. They were two wounded people, and desire felt like a luxury they could not afford. It felt like hope, and hope was terrifying. One night, the wind died down, leaving a silence so deep it rang in the ears.
They were asleep, Jonah in his corner, Millie on the bed. Millie woke with a gasp. It was a sharp, strangled sound, as if she were drowning. She sat up, clawing at her throat, her eyes wide and unseeing. She was caught in a nightmare, trapped in some memory of a door breaking down or a hand grabbing her wrist.
No, she whimpered. No, please. Jonah was there in a second. He did not grab her. He did not shake her.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his presence a solid wall against the dark. Millie, he said softly. You are safe. You are on the ridge. She looked at him, her chest heaving, sweat beating on her forehead.
The terror in her eyes was slowly replaced by recognition. She saw Jonah. She saw the man who had stood between her and the wolves. She trembled, a violent shudder that shook her whole frame. Jonah reached out.