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“I’ve never met a newspaper reporter carpenter. Makes us even.” Spring didn’t mind the conversation, but she didn’t want him to think her being friendly was an invitation to something else. He was a stranger after all, and she was a woman alone. “Do you have a sister?”
“Yes. Her name’s Melody.”
“What would you tell her if she took in a strange man and they had to be alone together for a few days?”
He stilled and searched her face. She waited.
“I’d—I’d tell her to be watchful and careful, and to be ready to protect herself if need be.”
Spring nodded. “Good advice.”
Silence settled over the room for a few moments, before he said quietly, “You’re a very unique woman, Miss Lee.”
“I also sleep with a Colt Peacemaker.”
“Noted.”
She stood and gathered up their empty bowls. “I’ll get the water boiling for your tea and then go check on the horses.”
While the water boiled, Spring went to her room to dress for venturing out. With the windows snowed over there was no way of telling what she’d be facing outside, but the wind had stopped, a good sign.
He was still seated at the table when she returned. His curious eyes scanned the buffalo coat as she set it on a chair, but he didn’t ask about it. In the kitchen the water was ready. After putting the bark in and letting it steep, she carried a mug out to him and set it down. Under his gaze she put on the coat, did up her muffler, and donned her battered, wide-brimmed, gray hat.
He asked, “Do all the women here dress like you?”
“All the ones with sense. I’ll be back shortly. Providing I can get out. If the windows are snowed over, the doors probably are, too.” Her hope was that the temperatures hadn’t dropped low enough to freeze the snow.
Leaving him with the tea, it took a few shoves with her shoulder to get the back door open. Holding the lantern she’d lit, she steppedout into the knee-high snow covering the back porch. It was cold, the moon was just rising, and the snowfall had transitioned to flurries. Her land was covered by a beautiful glistening sea of white as far as she could see. According to her grandfather Ben, the tribes had different words for various types of snow, from heavy and wet, to light and fluffy, and everything in between. He’d never taught her the words though. With a gloved hand, she scooped some up, tossed it, and it floated light as goose down. A blessing, at least for the moment. Were it heavy with moisture, making her way to the barn would be a lengthy, tiring struggle. Due to the snow’s sheer depth though, it would still take time, but its fluffiness would make the trek easier. Unable to see the porch’s stairs, she descended carefully. The last thing she needed was to fall and break something. As she reached what she guessed to be the bottom, the depth rose to midthigh. With the lantern held high, she waded slowly. The barn was a good distance from the house. With any luck, she’d make it before summer.
