By the fourth morning, nobody knew exactly what time it was.
Their watches disagreed.
The sky offered no help.
Day and night had become different shades of gray.
Abby kept time by meals.
Breakfast.
Broth.
Supper.
Between them existed work.
And waiting.
The men had stopped asking when the storm would end.
That was progress.
Caleb had developed a cough.
That was not.
Abby noticed it first when he carried wood from the pantry.
He turned away and covered his mouth.
She looked at him.
"I'm fine."
"I didn't ask."
"You looked."
"I have eyes."
"Tragic."
"Cough again."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Caleb stared.
Then coughed deliberately.
It sounded dry.
Abby pressed a hand to his forehead.
He froze.
So did she.
Warm.
Too warm.
"Sit."
"Abby—"
"Sit."
"I've been working."
"You've been freezing and thawing for three days."
"So have you."
"I carry more insulation."
He almost smiled.
Then coughed again.
Abby's worry deepened.
She boiled water with willow bark and dried mint.
Caleb grimaced after tasting it.
"That's horrible."
"Good."
"Good?"
"If you can complain, you're not dying."
"Your medical philosophy seems limited."
"It has kept Wyatt alive."
From the table Wyatt raised one wrapped hand.
"Against my will."
Several men laughed.
Laughter had become valuable.
They rationed that too.
At noon, the roof began groaning again.
Caleb tried standing.
Abby pushed him down with one hand.
Billy stared.
"Good Lord."
"What?" Abby asked.
"You just sat Caleb Montgomery down."
"He'll survive the humiliation."
Caleb looked amused.
"Apparently I'm very weak."
"Finally, honesty."
Billy and Tom checked the braces.
One had shifted.
They reinforced it.
Then came another problem.
Smoke.
At first Abby thought the stove was drawing poorly.
Then Eddie shouted.
"Wall!"
A dark stain had appeared behind the chimney.
Abby ran.
The wood was hot.
Too hot.
"Fire!"
Men moved instantly.
No panic.
Not this time.
Abby had trained them without realizing it.
Caleb rose.
She pointed.
"Sit."
"For God's sake—"
"Fine. Stand uselessly if you prefer."
He ignored her.
Billy opened the stove damper.
Tom carried water.
Abby inspected the chimney collar.
A spark had likely entered dry wall packing.
They could not pour water blindly and risk cracking hot iron.
She ordered the stove damped down.
Men brought wet cloth.
They pressed it against the wall.
Smoke thickened.
Wyatt coughed from his table.
"Move him!"
Jeb was first.
He lifted Wyatt beneath the shoulders.
Billy took his legs.
Together they carried him to the far side.
Abby noticed.
So did Jeb.
Neither commented.
For nearly half an hour they fought a fire smaller than a dinner plate.
It was the most dangerous thing in the house.
Outside, cold wanted to kill them.
Inside, heat nearly did.
Finally the smoke diminished.
Caleb leaned against a table.
His face had gone pale.
Abby grabbed his arm.
"You are going to bed."
"There are twelve men in your kitchen. Which bed?"
"Mine."
Every man suddenly became fascinated by something else.
Caleb raised an eyebrow.
Abby reddened.
"For sleeping."
"Naturally."
"If you say one word—"
"I wouldn't dare."
She guided him to her small room behind the pantry.
It was the first time a man had entered it.
The thought annoyed her because it mattered.
Her room contained a narrow bed, washstand, trunk, mirror, and one framed photograph of her parents.
Caleb noticed the photograph.
"Your mother?"
"Yes."
"You resemble her."
"She was half my size."
"I meant the eyes."
Abby looked at him.
Caleb lay down.
She covered him.
"You should sleep."
"Will you?"
"No."
"Then neither will I."
"Excellent. Fever has made you stupid."
He caught her wrist gently.
Abby stopped.
"Rosalie."
Her name sounded different in his voice.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
He glanced toward the kitchen.
"All of it."
Abby pulled her wrist free.
"You can thank me by not dying in my bed. People would gossip."
"Who?"
"Twelve cowboys."
"They already think we're married."
"What?"
Caleb smiled.
"Probably."
Abby threw the blanket over his face.
She left before he could see her smile.
Back in the kitchen, Jeb sat beside Wyatt.
He was feeding him broth.
Abby stopped.
Jeb looked up.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I can hold a spoon."
"I can see that."
"You surprised?"
"Should I be?"
He looked away.
Wyatt said, "He's terrible at it."
"Shut up."
"Half went down my shirt."
"Then eat your shirt."
Abby hid a smile.
At supper, the men insisted she sit before they ate.
She looked around suspiciously.
"What?"
Billy cleared his throat.
"Nothing."
"Then eat."
"You first."
"Why?"
Billy looked embarrassed.
"Because you haven't been."
Abby went still.
She had been tasting food while cooking.
Small amounts.
Too small.
She thought nobody noticed.
Apparently they had.
Tom slid his biscuit toward her.
Abby pushed it back.
"No."
"You need it."
"So do you."
Jeb spoke from across the table.
"He's right."
Abby looked at him.
He seemed uncomfortable.
"You eat last every time."
"Because I'm serving."
"No."
Jeb stared into his bowl.
"You eat less."
The room was silent.
Abby folded her arms.
"So now you're measuring my food?"
Jeb winced.
"I suppose I deserved that."
"You did."
He nodded.
Then he tore his biscuit in half.
He put one piece on Abby's plate.
"Eat."
Abby stared at it.
The man who three days earlier accused her of hoarding food was giving her half his ration.
Something in her chest shifted.
She picked up the biscuit.
"Thank you."
Jeb nodded.
No speech.
No grand apology.
Not yet.
But perhaps some changes were too important for words at first.
That evening the wind weakened again.
Nobody trusted it.
By midnight, stars appeared.
Billy saw them through a crack near the boarded window.
"Stars!"
Men rose.
Caleb emerged from Abby's room wrapped in a blanket.
She frowned.
"You should be sleeping."
"Stars outrank you."
"Nothing outranks me in my kitchen."
He smiled.
They gathered near the remaining clear window.
For the first time in days, the sky existed.
Black.
Cold.
Filled with stars.
The storm had not ended.
Snow still moved across the ground.
But the blizzard's fury had broken.
Men began cheering.
Abby did not.
Not yet.
Caleb noticed.
"What's wrong?"
She pointed.
"Temperature."
"What about it?"
"Clear sky after a storm."
His expression changed.
"Colder."
"Much colder."
The men stopped celebrating.
Abby nodded toward the stove.
"We made it through wind."
She looked around the room.
"Now we make it through cold."
Outside temperatures plunged.
By dawn, frost formed inside the kitchen.
Every breath became visible.
They burned more wood.
Too much.
Abby knew it.
So did Caleb.
"We'll be empty by tomorrow," she whispered.
"The barn."
"Maybe."
"There's wood there."
"Maybe."
"We have to go."
This time Abby could not disagree.
Caleb started dressing.
"No."
He looked at her.
"You're feverish."
"Less."
"Still."
"I know the route."
"So does Billy."
"Not well enough."
Jeb stood.
"I'll go."
Everyone turned.
Caleb frowned.
"No."
Jeb pulled on his coat.
"You said yourself you need someone who knows the yard."
"I said I know it."
"And you're sick."
"Jeb—"
"I'll go."
Abby studied him.
"Why?"
He looked at her.
"Because I've spent three days acting like the worst man in this room."
"That's not an answer."
"Maybe I'm tired of being him."
No one spoke.
Abby handed him a scarf.
"Billy goes with you."
Billy nodded.
"Rope around both."
Jeb fastened gloves.
Abby stepped close.
"If you can't see the house—"
"Follow the rope."
"If your hands go numb—"
"Come back."
"If the wind rises—"
"Come back."
He almost smiled.
"I do listen occasionally."
"Prove it."
They left.
Twenty minutes passed.
Thirty.
Forty.
Caleb paced.
Abby said nothing.
At fifty minutes, the rope jerked.
Once.
Then twice.
Caleb grabbed it.
"Trouble."
Men pulled.
The rope resisted.
Then slackened.
"Pull!"
Everyone joined.
They dragged.
Slowly.
The door opened.
Billy fell inside.
Alone.
Abby's blood turned cold.
"Where's Jeb?"
Billy gasped.
"Barn roof... collapsed."
Caleb grabbed his coat.
Abby blocked him.
"I'm going."
"So am I."
"You can't."
Abby put on her coat.
Caleb stared.
"Absolutely not."
"He's out there because I sent him."
"No."
"Move."
"Rosalie."
"Move."
Caleb looked at her face.
Then stepped aside.
But only long enough to put on his own gloves.
"If you're going, I'm going."
Together they tied onto the rope.
The cold outside struck like a hammer.
Abby could barely breathe.
They followed Billy's tracks.
Twenty yards.
Forty.
Sixty.
The barn emerged like a dark ghost.
Part of the roof had collapsed.
A shout came from beneath broken timber.
"Here!"
Jeb.
Alive.
They climbed through.
He was trapped by a beam across one leg.
Caleb pulled.
Nothing.
Abby crouched.
"On three."
Jeb stared.
"You?"
"Unless you want to wait for someone prettier."
Despite pain, he laughed.
"Fair."
Caleb and Abby lifted together.
The beam moved.
Jeb dragged himself free.
His leg was injured but not broken.
Then Abby saw what lay beside him.
A small wooden sled.
Loaded with firewood.
"You stayed for the wood?"
Jeb grimaced.
"Came all this way."
Abby shook her head.
"You may be the stupidest man alive."
"Alive is the important word."
They dragged Jeb and the wood back together.
When the kitchen door finally shut behind them, the men cheered.
Jeb lay on the floor, exhausted.
Abby knelt beside him.
He looked at her.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Jeb said quietly, "I'm sorry."
Abby waited.
"For all of it."
His eyes dropped.
"Every name. Every joke. Every time I made you feel like you were less than anybody here."
Abby swallowed.
Jeb continued.
"I was wrong."
There was no laughter now.
No audience he could impress.
Only a tired man and the woman he had hurt.
Abby nodded.
"Then be better."
He looked up.
"That's it?"
"Apologies are words."
She stood.
"Better is what comes next."
Jeb nodded.
And for once, he understood.