He recognized him now. "Hiram. " The man, Gideon, didn't offer a hand. He didn't smile. He just stood there, letting the snow melt off his boots pooling on the floor. "You're You're down from the ridge early. " Hiram stammered, attempting a false bravado.
He puffed out his chest, trying to reclaim the authority he had just been wielding over Cora. "Trapping season ain't over. " "Mules couldn't pull through the pass. Need a floor for the night. " Gideon's tone left no room for debate. It wasn't a request. "Well now, see here. " Hiram started, puffing himself up further.
"This is a private home. You can sleep in the barn. Gideon finally moved. He took three steps into the room. The floorboards, which usually creaked under Hiram's weight, were silent beneath his heavy boots.
He stopped a foot away from Hiram. Hiram had to crane his neck to look up at him. Barn roof caved under the snow. Gideon said softly. I'm staying by the fire.
Hiram swallowed hard. The shotgun in his hand suddenly looked like a child's toy next to the massive buffalo rifle Gideon held. Right. Right, of course. Just for the night.
You owe me a hide for the trouble, though. Gideon didn't answer. He turned away from Hiram, dismissing him entirely. It was a profound insult, one Hiram would have killed a smaller man for. But against Gideon, Hiram just tightened his grip on his gun and stayed silent.
Gideon walked toward the stove, toward Cora. She pressed herself harder against the cast iron, ignoring the burning heat on her skirt. She kept her eyes on the floor. Men were violence. That was the only truth she knew anymore.
A bigger man just meant bigger violence. Gideon stopped a few feet away. He unbuttoned his heavy coat. Hold this, he said. Cora flinched, raising her arms instinctively to cover her head.
But no blow came. She opened her eyes. Gideon was holding out the heavy bear skin coat. Slowly, her hands trembling, she reached out and took it. The weight of the garment almost dragged her down.
It smelled of wood smoke, pine needles, and raw freezing air. It smelled like the world outside, a world she had almost forgotten. Mhm. Hang it on the peg, Hiram barked from across the room, trying to reassert his dominance. Don't just stand there like a mute.
Cora moved to obey, dragging the heavy coat toward the wall. Leave her be, Gideon said. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look at Hiram. He just pulled off his leather gloves and held his thick, calloused hands out to the stove.
Hiram's face flushed a deep, ugly red. She's my wife. I'll tell her what to do in my own house. Gideon slowly turned his head. The gray eyes settled on Hiram again.
There was no anger in them, just a cold, flat assessment, like a wolf looking at a sick calf. She was cooking, Gideon said. Let her cook. For a long, agonizing moment, the two men stared at each other. Cora held her breath, the heavy coat clutched to her chest.
She waited for the explosion. She waited for Hiram to raise the shotgun, but Hiram broke. He looked away, muttering under his breath, and slunk back to his chair at the table. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a long, desperate pull. Cora let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
She looked at Gideon. He was already looking back at her. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod toward the pot on the stove. She turned back to the stew, her hands shaking so badly, she could barely hold the spoon. The cabin was suffocatingly quiet as they ate.
Cora had served the stew in chipped wooden bowls. She sat on a small stool by the hearth, keeping her distance from the table where the two men sat. Hiram ate loudly, slurping the thin broth, occasionally glaring at Gideon. The whiskey had emboldened him again, filling his veins with a false, liquid courage. Gideon ate with quiet efficiency.
He didn't slouch. He didn't rush. He moved with a deliberate, grounded energy. "Trapping must be bad this year if you're begging for floors to sleep on," Hiram sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Gideon set his spoon down.
"Trapping's fine. " "Then why come down in a blizzard? " "Told you mules couldn't pass. " Gideon didn't elaborate. He didn't feel the need to fill the silence. Hiram hated silence. Silence meant he wasn't the center of attention. He slammed his fist on the table, making the bowls rattle.
Cora flinched, her shoulders jumping up to her ears. "Woman! " Hiram snapped, turning his frustration on the only target he felt safe attacking. "Get me more bread. " Cora stood up quickly, ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs. "We're out, Hiram. That was the last of the loaf. " Hiram's eyes narrowed.
He stood up, knocking his chair back. "I told you to bake yesterday. " "The flour," she started, her voice barely a whisper. "We've been out of flour for a week. " "Don't you lie to me in front of company," he hissed, taking a heavy step toward her. The alcohol made him clumsy, but no less dangerous. He raised his hand, the familiar prelude to the violence that governed her life.
Cora braced herself. She didn't close her eyes this time. She just watched the hand, calculating the angle, knowing how to turn so her jaw wouldn't take the full brunt of the strike. The strike never landed. Gideon moved faster than a man his size had any right to.