The first log slipped from Eliza Morgan's hands just after sunrise.
It landed in the snow with a heavy thud.
Eliza stood still for several seconds, one hand resting against the small of her back and the other pressed beneath the curve of her stomach.
She was eight months pregnant.
The wind moved through the pine trees above her, carrying the sharp smell of snow and frozen earth.
For a moment, she wondered whether she had finally pushed herself too far.
Then she looked at the half-built cabin.
Four walls were beginning to take shape.
The roof was still unfinished.
There was no proper chimney.
The windows were nothing more than rough openings covered with blankets.
But it was hers.
Every log had been dragged, measured, cut, and positioned by her own hands.
No husband had helped her.
No brother.
No father.
No hired carpenter.
Only Eliza.
She slowly bent down and wrapped both hands around the log again.
"One more," she whispered.
The baby moved.
Eliza smiled faintly.
"I know."
She pulled.
The log barely moved.
She tried again.
Nothing.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
The cold morning air burned her lungs.
Then she heard a horse.
Eliza froze.
There shouldn't have been anyone nearby.
The nearest settlement was several miles away, and almost nobody came this far into the mountains during winter.
She straightened slowly.
A dark horse emerged between the trees.
Its rider wore a long brown coat and a black hat.
He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, and completely at ease in the saddle.
Eliza reached for the small axe beside the cabin wall.
The rider stopped.
Neither spoke.
The horse breathed clouds of white vapor.
Finally, the man lifted one hand.
"I'm not here to cause trouble."
Eliza kept the axe in her hand.
"Then keep riding."
The man looked at the cabin.
Then at the stack of logs.
Then at Eliza's pregnant belly.
His expression changed.
Not pity.
Not amusement.
Something closer to disbelief.
"You built this?"
Eliza's eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
"Because I've never seen anyone build a cabin alone."
"You have now."
The man's mouth curved into a small smile.
"Fair enough."
He climbed down from the horse.
Eliza tightened her grip on the axe.
He noticed.
"Ma'am, if I meant you harm, I wouldn't have announced myself from fifty feet away."
"That doesn't make me trust you."
"No."
He nodded.
"It doesn't."
He walked closer, stopping well outside the range of the axe.
"My name is Cole Ryder."
Eliza said nothing.
"And you are?"
"Someone who doesn't need company."
Cole looked at the cabin again.
"I can see that."
There was something about his voice that irritated her.
Not because he sounded arrogant.
Because he sounded impressed.
Eliza was accustomed to people looking at her and seeing weakness.
A pregnant woman alone in the mountains.
A widow.
A woman with no family nearby.
Someone who should have been rescued.
Cole looked at her as if she had done something remarkable.
She didn't know what to do with that.
"Move along," she said.
Cole nodded.
He returned to his horse.
But before mounting, he turned.
"If that roof isn't finished by tonight, you'll lose half your heat."
"I know."
"Storm coming."
"I know that too."
He smiled.
"Then I suppose you don't need me."
"No."
Cole mounted.
"Probably not."
He rode away.
Eliza watched him disappear between the trees.
She lowered the axe.
Then looked at the cabin.
For the first time that morning, she wondered whether she had made a mistake.