Couldn't feel her hands, even though she knew they must still be gripping her bag because the weight was still there. This was how she would die. Not quickly frozen in place like that drunk in Boston, but slowly, step by step, until her body simply gave out, and she collapsed into a drift, and the snow buried her. And come spring, someone would find her body and wonder who she'd been. A shape emerged from the white, solid, and dark and blessedly rectangular.
A building. Rose tried to run toward it, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. She managed a stumbling walk, then fell against what turned out to be a wall. Rough huneed logs chinkedked with some kind of mortar. A barn maybe, or a cabin.
She didn't care which. It was shelter. She felt her way along the wall, searching for a door. Her hands were clumsy, useless things at the ends of her arms. She couldn't make her fingers work properly, but there a handle.
She grabbed it with both hands, put her full weight into pulling. The door didn't budge. Rose pulled harder. Desperation, giving her strength she shouldn't have had. Nothing.
The door was either locked or frozen shut. She pounded on it with numb fists, knowing even as she did that it was feudal. The wind was too loud. No one would hear her over the storm. Unless Rose opened her mouth and screamed, "Help!
Somebody! Help me! I'm freezing! " The wind ripped the words away. She screamed again, pounding on the door until her fists left dark smears that might have been blood. She couldn't tell.
Couldn't feel anything anymore. "Please, please, someone. I don't want to die out here. " Her voice cracked on the last word. She slumped against the door, sliding down until she was kneeling in the snow. This was it then.
She'd made it so close. Close enough to touch shelter, but not close enough to survive. The cold was winning. Rose could feel it now, that strange warmth people talked about. The final trick the body played before shutting down.
She was so tired. So very tired. Maybe she should just close her eyes for a moment. Just a moment. Miss Caldwell.
The voice came from somewhere above her. Rose tried to look up, but her neck wouldn't work properly. Miss Caldwell, can you hear me? A shape resolved itself from the white. Tall, broad-shouldered, covered in snow.
A man. Rose tried to answer, but her jaw was locked tight, teeth chattering so hard she bit her tongue. Tasted blood. Christ. The man dropped to his knees beside her.
"You're early and nearly frozen. " He pulled off one glove, pressed his bare hand against her cheek. His skin felt like fire. Rose tried to pull away, but couldn't move. "Can you stand? " Rose managed the smallest shake of her head. "All right, then. " The man gathered her up as if she weighed nothing.
Rose found herself pressed against a chest that was warm and solid and smelled like horses and leather and something sharp like pine. She wanted to tell him to put her down, that she could walk, that she wasn't some helpless thing that needed carrying. But her body had other ideas. Her head lulled against his shoulder and stayed there. "Been waiting 3 months for you, Miss Caldwell," the man said as he carried her through the storm.
His voice was deep, rough-edged. "Not unkind. Didn't expect you to show up in the worst blizzard we've had in 5 years. " Rose tried to form words. Tried to explain about the stage coach driver about being abandoned on the road, but all that came out was a pathetic whimpering sound that mortified her. "Save it," the man said.
"Talk later. Right now, we need to get you warm before you lose fingers or toes. " He kicked open a door. Warmth hit Rose like a physical blow so intense after the bitter cold that it actually hurt. She gasped and the man carried her straight to what must be a fireplace because she could feel heat radiating against her face. He sat her down in a chair close to the fire.
Rose's eyes were frozen shut, crusted with ice. She felt the man's hands on her face brushing away snow and ice with surprising gentleness. "Going to take off your coat now," he said. "Need to get these wet clothes off you. " Rose managed to nod. Modesty seemed like a foolish concern when weighed against survival.
The man worked quickly, efficiently, removing her coat and the shawl underneath. Her dress was soaked through the heavy wool, having absorbed melted snow. He paused, and Rose forced her eyes open just enough to see him properly for the first time. He was perhaps 30, maybe older, hard to tell with men who lived rough lives. His face was weathered tanned despite it being winter.
Dark hair curled slightly where it touched his collar. Eyes that were gray the color of winter sky before snow. A strong jaw shadowed with several days of beard, not handsome exactly, but striking, the kind of face that looked like it had been carved from the same granite that formed the mountains. I'm going to get you some dry clothes, he said. Women's clothes.
They'll fit well enough. He disappeared into another room. Rose sat shivering by the fire, gradually becoming aware of her surroundings. She was in a cabin larger than she'd expected. The main room was perhaps 20 feet across with a high ceiling supported by rough huneed beams.
A stone fireplace dominated one wall big enough to roast a whole pig. Furniture that was simple but well-made. A table with four chairs, a rocking chair built in shelves filled with books. Books. Rose focused on that detail, clinging to it.
A man who owned books was a man who read. A man who read might have some education, some refinement, might not be the brutal frontier savage she'd half expected. The man returned carrying a bundle of clothing. He set it on the chair beside her. Put these on.
I'll turn my back. Thank you, Rose managed. Her voice came out as a horse whisper. The man turned away, moved to the stove on the far side of the room. Rose heard him putting a kettle on, making tea maybe, or coffee.
She fumbled with the buttons of her dress, her fingers still clumsy with cold. The wet fabric clung to her skin, making it difficult to remove, but eventually she managed peeling the soden layers away and replacing them with the dry clothes the man had provided. A simple cotton dress worn soft with age, too large for her by several sizes hanging loose on her thin frame, but dry and warm. Rose had never appreciated dry clothes quite so much in her entire life. "Done," she said.
The man turned back, his eyes swept over her assessing. Not lustful, Rose noted. "Not the way some men looked at women, just evaluating the way a doctor might evaluate a patient. " "How are your fingers? Your toes? Can you feel them? " Rose wiggled her toes experimentally.
Pain shot through her feet, sharp enough to make her gasp. But pain was good. Pain meant the tissue was alive. "They hurt," she said. "Good.
That means no frostbite. If you couldn't feel them at all, we'd have a problem. " He brought over a steaming mug. Tea strong and sweet. Drink it slowly. Rose took the mug in both hands, letting the warmth seep into her palms.
The first sip burned her tongue, but she didn't care. It was hot and sweet and reaching all the way to her frozen core. "You're Wyatt Thornne," she said. "Not a question. " I am. I'm Rosemary Caldwell, though.
I suppose you figured that out. I did. Wyatt pulled up a chair and sat across from her, not too close, maintaining proper distance. Your letter said you'd arrive next week. The clerk and Helena said there was space on today's stage.
I thought it better to come early than to spend money on lodging while I waited. Rose took another sip of tea. The driver said he told you I should have waited for better weather. Old Pete. Something that might have been amusement flickered across Wyatt's face.
That sounds like him. Did he at least tell you where to go before he abandoned you? He said to follow the fence line. That there was a ranch about a mile northeast. 3 miles actually, but close enough in a blizzard.
Wyatt stood moved to the window. Storm's getting worse. You're lucky you made it. Another hour out there and we'd be burying you come spring. Rose sat down her tea with hands that shook slightly.
I appreciate your bluntness, Mr. Thorne, but I was aware of the danger. Were you? He turned from the window, those gray eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you made a foolish choice based on saving a few dollars.