“You cannot force property upon me,” he told her.
“I have excellent attorneys.”
“I live in a cabin.”
“Then you may own several thousand acres around your cabin.”
“I don’t want several thousand acres.”
“Jasper does.”
Caleb looked at the mule outside.
Jasper brayed.
“Traitor.”
By March, snow began retreating from the lower slopes.
Eleanor remained.
At first she claimed legal matters required it.
Then the road opened.
She still remained.
Samuel eventually left for Denver to dismantle what remained of Blackwood Consolidated.
On his final morning, he found Caleb chopping wood.
“She loves you.”
Caleb split another log.
“You were shot in the shoulder, not the head.”
Samuel smiled.
“You love her.”
Caleb swung again.
“Road’s open.”
“I noticed.”
“You should use it.”
Samuel mounted.
“Twenty-seven years apart, and you’re already tired of me?”
“Twenty-seven years wasn’t long enough.”
Samuel laughed.
Then his face softened.
“Don’t waste time because you think loss makes love foolish.”
Caleb stopped.
Samuel looked toward the cabin.
“We already lost enough.”
He rode away.
That evening Eleanor stood beside the creek watching ice break apart beneath the current.
Caleb approached.
“You staying through spring?”
She looked at him.
“Would that bother you?”
“No.”
“Summer?”
“No.”
“Autumn?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“And winter?”
Caleb’s throat tightened.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you’re staying because you want the mountains.”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“And if I want something else?”
Caleb’s gaze held hers.
Months earlier she had been afraid to sleep beside him.
Now she stood close enough to hear his breathing.
“You remember what you told me during the storm?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Nothing happens unless I ask.”
“Yes.”
She looked suddenly nervous.
The old fear returned, but transformed now into vulnerability.
“What if I ask?”
Caleb barely breathed.
“Depends what.”
Eleanor reached for his rough hand.
Held it between hers.
Then whispered, “Kiss me.”
Caleb did.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As though a kiss could be both promise and question.
Eleanor answered by rising onto her toes and pulling him closer.
When they finally separated, Caleb rested his forehead against hers.
“You sure?”
She laughed softly.
“I crossed half the country, survived a blizzard, escaped murderers, exposed a criminal empire, and inherited enough money to purchase your entire mountain.”
“That didn’t answer the question.”
Eleanor’s smile disappeared.
She touched his face.
“Yes, Caleb.”
Her voice became steady.
“I am sure.”
They married beneath the lodgepole pine where Jasper had found her.
Samuel stood beside Caleb.
Dr. Mercer performed the ceremony despite admitting he had no legal authority to do so.
A legitimate judge repeated it three days later.
Jasper ate Eleanor’s flowers during both.
For the first time in years, Sable Hollow filled with people again.
Families returned.
The Whitfield mine reopened under worker ownership.
Caleb built a larger house.
Eleanor insisted on windows.
Caleb insisted windows were holes people paid money to put in walls.
They compromised.
She got twelve.
Years later, travelers passing through Sable Hollow told the story differently.
Some said Eleanor Ashford had been a helpless heiress rescued by a mountain man.
Others said Caleb Whitfield had been a lonely hermit rescued by a beautiful woman.
