The coffee tasted like it had been made from grounds used twice already, bitter and thin.

But it was hot, and that was enough.

“We’ve got a long stretch today,” Caleb said, chewing a piece of jerky as he studied the lightning sky.

“Want to make the foothills before we stop? You sore?” “No,” Eleanor lied.

He glanced at her and she saw the ghost of a smile.

Right.

Well, that no is going to turn into a yes by noon and a hell yes by tonight.

But you’ll get used to it.

Takes about 3 days for your body to stop fighting the saddle.

They were on the trail before the sun cleared the horizon.

Eleanor’s prediction about her soreness proved accurate within the first hour.

By midm morning, she was gritting her teeth against every jarring step of the horse.

Her hands clasped around Caleb’s waist had gone from aching to numb to aching again.

But she didn’t complain, didn’t ask to stop.

She’d meant what she said.

She wasn’t a passenger.

The landscape changed as they climbed.

The grasslands gave way to rolling hills dotted with pine and juniper.

The air grew thinner, colder.

By afternoon, patches of old snow appeared in the shadows where the sun didn’t reach.

Caleb stopped once to water the horse at a narrow creek.

Eleanor slid down from the saddle and immediately stumbled, her legs refusing to hold her weight properly.

She caught herself against a rock, face burning with embarrassment.

Caleb didn’t comment.

He simply led the horse to drink while Eleanor splashed cold water on her face and tried to will feeling back into her legs.

“Drink,” Caleb said, handing her a canteen.

“And eat something, even if you don’t feel hungry.

” Eleanor obeyed, forcing down jerky that tasted like salted leather.

Her stomach churned in protest, but she kept it down.

They rode on.

The sun was setting when Caleb finally called a halt near an outcropping of rock that formed a shallow cave.

Eleanor practically fell off the horse this time.

Her legs buckled completely, and she landed hard on her knees in the dirt.

“Easy,” Caleb said, appearing beside her.

He gripped her elbow, steadying her.

“You pushed too hard today.

” “I’m fine.

” “You’re not fine.

You can barely stand.

Eleanor forced herself to her feet, shaking off his hand.

I said, “I’m fine.

” Caleb studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“All right, then.

You’re fine enough to gather firewood while I tend the horse.

It was a test.

” They both knew it.

Eleanor gathered the wood.

It took twice as long as the night before, her movements clumsy and painful, but she did it.

By the time she returned with her arms full of branches, Caleb had the horse settled and was arranging the fire pit.

They ate the same sparse meal as before.

Eleanor wrapped herself in the blanket and sat as close to the fire as she could without actually burning herself.

The cold was deeper tonight, sharper.

Her breath came out in visible puffs.

“Tomorrow will be harder,” Caleb said after a while.

We start climbing in earnest.

The trail gets rough.

“I can handle it.

I know you can.

I’m just telling you what to expect.

Eleanor looked at him across the fire.

In the flickering light, his weathered face looked older, harder, but his eyes were kind.

Why do you do this? She asked.

Not helping me.

I understand that now, but this life, riding alone from place to place, working other people’s ranches.

Don’t you want something of your own? Caleb was quiet for a long time.

He picked up a stick and poked at the fire, sending sparks spiraling into the darkness.

I had something of my own once, he said finally.

Small spread in Texas, not far from my family’s ranch.

Was planning to build it up, maybe get married eventually.

But after Mary died, I couldn’t stay.

Sold the land to my brother for half what it was worth, and rode north.

3 years ago.

3 years ago, he confirmed.

Been moving ever since.

Work a season here, a season there.

Never stay long enough to put down roots.

That sounds lonely.

It is.

He said it simply without self-pity.

But it’s what I chose.

Seemed easier than staying in one place and remembering everything I’d lost.

Eleanor understood that.

She had spent 2 years in Boston after her parents died, living in her aunt’s house, teaching piano to children who didn’t want to learn, feeling like a ghost in her own life.

The only thing that had finally moved her forward was the letter from Horus Whitman offering marriage and a new start.

That new start had turned to Ash within an hour of her arrival in Wyoming.

But now riding north into the mountains with a stranger who’d shared his grief with her, Eleanor felt something she hadn’t felt in years.

Possibility.

What will you do? Caleb asked, breaking into her thoughts.

If the land is real and you claim it, what then? Eleanor pulled the blanket tighter.

Build a cabin, maybe a small house if I can afford it.

Plant a garden.

Find work teaching if there are families nearby.

Make something that’s mine.

That’s a good plan.

It’s a desperate plan, Eleanor corrected.

I have $17 and a piece of paper.

I don’t know how to build anything or plant anything or survive a Montana winter.

I’m going to fail spectacularly.

Maybe, Caleb agreed.

Or maybe you’ll figure it out.

You’re tougher than you think.

How would you know? You’ve known me one day.

I know you walked out of that town ready to die trying rather than give up.

I know you didn’t complain once today, even though you were in pain the whole ride.

And I know you’re gathering firewood on legs that can barely hold you up rather than admit you need help.

He shrugged.

That’s enough to know you’re tough.

Eleanor felt her eyes sting unexpectedly.

She looked down at her hands, calloused now from gripping the rains, and blinked hard.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what? For not treating me like I’m fragile.

” Caleb smiled, a real smile this time, not just a ghost of one.

“You’re welcome.

” The days that followed blurred into a rhythm of pain, exhaustion, and small victories.

Eleanor’s body slowly adapted to the constant riding.

The soreness didn’t disappear, but it became manageable.

She learned to anticipate the horse’s movements, to shift her weight properly, to hold on without clutching desperately at Caleb’s waist.

She learned other things, too.

How to start a fire with damp wood, how to tell the difference between a deer trail and a game trail, how to read the sky for coming weather.

Caleb taught her without fanfare, his instructions brief and practical.

See that cloud formation means rain within 6 hours.

Keep the coffee pot to the side of the fire, not directly over it.

If you hear rocks falling up ahead, stop the horse and wait.

He never talked down to her, never acted like her ignorance was amusing or charming.

He simply taught her what she needed to know to survive.

On the fourth day, they climbed through a narrow pass between two massive rock walls.

The trail was barely wide enough for the horse, loose stones skittering away beneath its hooves.

Elellanar pressed herself against Caleb’s back, trying not to look down at the drop off to their left.

“You doing all right back there?” Caleb asked.

“Perfectly fine,” Elellanar lied through clenched teeth.

She felt his quiet laugh more than heard it.

“Good, because it gets narrower up ahead.

” It did get narrower.

At one point, Eleanor could have reached out and touched both rock walls at once.

The horse moved carefully, placing each hoof with deliberate precision.

Eleanor held her breath until they emerged on the other side into a high mountain meadow.

That night they camped beside a lake so still it reflected the mountains perfectly, creating the illusion of infinite depth.

Eleanor stood at the water’s edge, watching the stars appear one by one in both the sky and its mirror image.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Caleb said, coming to stand beside her.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.

” They stood in comfortable silence for a while.

The temperature was dropping rapidly, but Eleanor wasn’t ready to return to the fire yet.

The beauty of this place felt sacred somehow, like stepping into it had required something of her, and she needed to acknowledge that.

Can I ask you something personal? Eleanor said.

Seems like we’re past the point of asking permission.

Eleanor smiled.

Fair enough.

Do you regret it? Leaving Texas? I mean, selling your land.

Caleb considered the question.

Sometimes, mostly late at night when I’m camped alone and wondering what my life might have looked like if I’d stayed.

He paused.

But regret doesn’t change anything.

I made my choice.

Can’t unmake it.

Would you ever go back? Try to build something again.

Maybe if I found the right place, the right reason.

He glanced at her.

What about you? Do you regret coming west? I regret trusting Horus Whitman.

I regret being naive enough to believe a man I’d never met would keep his promises.

Eleanor wrapped her arms around herself against the cold, but I don’t regret leaving Boston.

There was nothing for me there.

And if this land in Montana doesn’t exist, or if it does exist, but it’s worthless.

Eleanor had asked herself that question a hundred times.

She still didn’t have a good answer.

“Then I’ll figure something else out,” she said finally.

I didn’t come this far to turn back at the first obstacle.

No, Caleb agreed quietly.

I don’t suppose you did.

On the seventh day, they encountered their first real danger.

They’d been climbing through a dense forest of pine and aspen, the trail steep and winding.

Eleanor was half asleep against Caleb’s back, lulled by the steady rhythm of the horse’s gate when she felt him go rigid.

“Don’t move,” he said softly.

Don’t make a sound.

Eleanor’s eyes snapped open.

Ahead of them on the trail, not 30 ft away, stood a massive bear.

It was dark brown, nearly black, with a distinctive hump of muscle at its shoulders.

A grizzly.

The bear hadn’t noticed them yet.

It was busy tearing apart a rotting log, searching for grubs.

Caleb’s hand moved slowly to the rifle secured to his saddle.

Eleanor felt her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she was certain the bear would hear it.

The horse shifted its weight and a small stone rolled down the slope.

The bear’s head snapped up.

For one frozen moment, woman, man, horse, and bear all stared at each other.

Eleanor could see the bear’s small eyes could see the wet darkness of its nose as it tested the air.

Easy, Caleb breathed so quietly, Eleanor almost didn’t hear it.

Whether he was talking to her or the horse or himself, she didn’t know.

The bear took a step toward them, then another.

Caleb raised the rifle slowly, sighting down the barrel.

Eleanor knew with absolute certainty that if he fired and missed, or if the shot wasn’t fatal, the bear would be on them in seconds.

The bear took another step, then it stopped, sniffed the air one more time, and turned away.

It lumbered off the trail and disappeared into the thick undergrowth with surprising speed for something so massive.

Caleb didn’t lower the rifle for a full minute.

When he finally did, Eleanor felt his whole body sag slightly with released tension.

That, he said, was too close.

Eleanor realized she’d been holding her breath.

She let it out in a shaky exhale.

Does that happen often? More often than I’d like.

Usually they avoid people, but this time of year they’re trying to fatten up before winter.

Makes them bold.

He urged the horse forward, giving the spot where the bear had been a wide birth.

From now on, we need to make more noise when we’re riding through thick forest.

Talk, sing, anything to let them know we’re coming.

Sing.

Elellanor’s voice came out higher than normal, adrenaline still courarssing through her.

Don’t have to be good at it.

Bears don’t care about pitch.

Despite everything, Eleanor laughed.

It came out shaky and a little wild, but it was genuine.

That night, Caleb showed her how to properly handle the rifle.

“I’m not saying you’ll ever need to use it,” he said.

“But out here, knowing how is the difference between living and dying.

” Eleanor had never held a gun before.

It was heavier than she expected, the metal cold against her palms.

“First rule,” Caleb said, standing behind her, adjusting her grip.

Never point it at anything you don’t intend to shoot.

Second rule, assume it’s always loaded, even when you know it’s not.

Third rule, if you’re going to shoot, shoot to kill.

Wounding something dangerous just makes it angry.

He walked her through loading, aiming, breathing, squeezing the trigger slowly rather than jerking it.

Eleanor’s first shot went wide, the recoil surprising her.

The second was closer to the tree Caleb had designated as a target.

By the 10th shot, she was hitting it consistently.

“Good,” Caleb said.

“You’re a natural.

I’m terrified.

” “That’s smart.

Fear keeps you careful.

” On the ninth day, it snowed.

Not the light dusting they’d seen in the high passes, but real snow.

Thick flakes that fell steadily from a low gray sky.

Within hours, the trail disappeared under a white blanket.

Caleb didn’t stop.

He kept the horse moving, trusting his sense of direction more than the invisible trail.

Eleanor huddled against his back, her shawl and the borrowed blanket wrapped around her, but the cold still found its way through every layer.

“How much farther?” she asked through chattering teeth.

“To Montana?” “Four, maybe five more days if the weather holds.

And if it doesn’t hold, then longer.

” They made camp early that day in a thick stand of pine that provided some shelter from the falling snow.

Caleb built the fire larger than usual and strung a makeshift shelter using his canvas tarp and rope, creating a space that held the heat better.

Eleanor sat as close to the fire as she dared, but she couldn’t stop shaking.

The cold had settled into her bones, and no amount of fire seemed able to chase it out.

“Come here,” Caleb said.

Elellanar looked up.

He’d moved his bed roll closer to the fire and was holding his blanket open.

I’m fine,” Eleanor said automatically.

“You’re hypothermic.

We’re getting there.

” Pride won’t keep you warm.

His voice was matter of fact, not unkind.

It’s practical, not improper.

You need body heat.

Eleanor hesitated only a moment before moving to sit beside him.

Caleb wrapped the blanket around both of them, and Eleanor felt the warmth of him immediately, solid and alive beside her.

“Better?” he asked.

Eleanor nodded, not trusting her voice.

They sat there together as the snow continued to fall, watching the fire through the gap in the canvas shelter.

“Tell me about Boston,” Caleb said after a while.

“What was your life like before all this?” Eleanor leaned her head against his shoulder without really meaning to.

She was too cold and tired to care about propriety anymore.

“Quiet,” she said.

“Very quiet and very small.

I lived with my aunt in a narrow house on a narrow street.

I taught piano to children who resented having to learn.

I went to church on Sundays and took tea with my aunt’s friends on Wednesdays and read books in my room at night because there was nothing else to do.

Sounds lonely.

It was, but I didn’t realize how lonely until I left.

She paused.

My parents died when I was 22.

Influenza within 2 days of each other.

I had no siblings, no other family except my mother’s sister.

Aunt Margaret took me in because it was her duty.

But she never let me forget I was a burden.

That why you agreed to marry a stranger? Partly.

Mostly I just wanted something different, something that was mine, not handed to me out of obligation.

Eleanor laughed softly, bitterly.

I suppose I got what I wished for.

This is definitely different.

Is it better? Eleanor thought about that.

She was colder than she’d ever been, more exhausted, more uncertain about her future.

She’d been on horseback for 9 days, eaten nothing but jerky and hardtac, slept on the ground, and nearly been killed by a bear.

“Yes,” she said.

“It’s better.

” She felt Caleb’s surprise in the way he shifted slightly beside her.

“Even though you’re freezing and exhausted and don’t know if you’ll survive.

Even though, at least I’m doing something.

At least I’m trying.

in Boston.

I was just waiting, waiting for something to change, for someone to rescue me, for my life to somehow begin.

Eleanor pulled the blanket tighter.

Out here, I I’m not waiting anymore.

No, Caleb agreed softly.

You’re definitely not waiting.

They sat together until the fire burned low, and Eleanor’s shaking finally stopped.

When she began to doze against his shoulder, Caleb carefully eased her down onto the bed roll and covered her with both blankets.

Eleanor woke sometime in the deepest part of night to find Caleb sitting by the rebuilt fire, feeding its small branches to keep it alive.

She watched him through half-closed eyes, the careful way he tended the flames, the distant look on his face as he stared into the fire.

He looked lonely, deeply, achingly lonely.

Eleanor understood that loneliness.

She’d lived with it for years.

But lying here now, warm under borrowed blankets, while a good man kept watch through the cold night, Elellanor felt that loneliness beginning to ease.

The snow stopped by morning, leaving the world transformed and silent.

They rode through a landscape of white and shadow, the horses hooves crunching through the fresh powder.

The sun came out briefly around midday, turning everything crystalline and brilliant.

On the 11th day, they descended into a wide valley where the snow hadn’t yet reached.

A small trading post sat at the junction of two trails, three rough buildings, and a corral.

“We’ll stop here,” Caleb said.

“Resupply and rest the horse.

” The trading post was run by a grizzled man named Dutch, who asked no questions and spoke in grunts.

But he had coffee beans, flour, dried beans, and salt pork, which Caleb purchased with careful deliberation.

Eleanor bought thread and a needle with her own money, intending to repair the tears appearing in her clothing.

The thought of having something to do with her hands besides cling to Caleb’s waist was appealing.

“There’s a woman here,” Dutch said, jerking his thumb toward the smallest building.

“Runs a bath house.

Dollar for hot water and soap.

” Eleanor looked at Caleb, who nodded.

“Go ahead.

I’ll tend to supplies.

” The bath house was primitive, a single room with a large metal tub and a stove for heating water.

But the water was hot, and the soap was real, and Elellaner sank into that tub with a groan of pure relief.

She washed 11 days of trail dust and sweat from her skin and hair, scrubbing until she felt almost human again.

Her clothes were too filthy to put back on, so she wrapped herself in the rough towel provided, and washed them in the bath water, ringing them out as best she could.

When she emerged, Caleb was waiting with the supplies packed and ready.

He looked at her damp hair and clean face and smiled slightly.

Feel better? Imeasurably.

They camped that night just beyond the trading post, and Eleanor sat by the fire mending her dress while Caleb cleaned and oiled his rifle.

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