Beans.
Coffee.
Candles.
Medicine.
And a small sack of dried apples.
Eliza looked at him.
"You rode through this storm for this?"
"I was already nearby."
She knew he was lying.
No one was already nearby.
Not in a storm like this.
She stepped aside.
"Come in before you freeze."
Cole entered.
The cabin was tiny.
One room.
A stove.
A bed.
A table.
A chair.
The unfinished walls let cold air through.
Cole looked around.
"You really did build this yourself."
"Yes."
He touched one of the beams.
"This is good work."
Eliza looked at him suspiciously.
"You know construction?"
"Enough."
"How much is enough?"
"Enough to know you cut this beam with a dull saw."
She almost smiled.
"I didn't have another one."
Cole looked at her hands.
They were rough.
Calloused.
One finger had a healing cut.
"You shouldn't be doing this alone."
Eliza's expression hardened.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The pity."
"I'm not pitying you."
"You sound like everyone else."
Cole shook his head.
"I'm not everyone else."
"That's what everyone says."
He smiled slightly.
"Then you'll have to decide for yourself."
For several minutes, neither spoke.
The fire crackled.
Snow struck the roof.
Finally Cole stood.
"I'll fix the roof."
"No."
"Eliza—"
"No."
He looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because if I let you fix one thing, you'll think I need you to fix everything."
Cole's expression softened.
"I don't think that."
"Then why help?"
He considered the question.
"Because strength doesn't mean refusing every helping hand."
Eliza looked away.
She hated that answer.
Mostly because it sounded true.
Cole stayed for an hour.
He repaired the roof.
He reinforced the door.
He checked the chimney.
He left before midnight.
The next morning, Eliza discovered something else.
A stack of firewood had appeared beside her cabin.
She knew who had left it.
She also knew she hadn't asked for it.
For the next week, Cole came and went.
Never too often.
Never staying long.
Sometimes he left supplies.
Sometimes he repaired something.
Once, he brought a new saw.
Eliza refused it.
He left it anyway.
"Keep it," he said.
"Why?"
"Because your old one is terrible."
She glared at him.
He laughed.
Slowly, despite herself, she began to look forward to his visits.
She learned that Cole had grown up poor.
His father had owned a small ranch that eventually failed.
Cole had left home at seventeen.
He worked cattle.
Drove herds.
Fixed fences.
Slept under the stars.
He eventually bought land.
Then more land.
Then more.
People began calling him wealthy.
Cole hated the word.
"Money is just a tool," he once told Eliza.
"Easy to say when you have plenty."
He looked at her.
"Having money doesn't mean having peace."
She believed him.
She just didn't understand why.
Then one afternoon, a stranger arrived.
His name was Graham Voss.
He rode an expensive black horse and wore a fine coat.
Unlike Cole, he did not bother hiding his wealth.
He stopped in front of Eliza's cabin.
"I represent a land company."
Eliza stood on the porch.
"I don't need representation."
He smiled.
"You may not realize how valuable this property is."
"It was cheap when I bought it."
"Things change."
Eliza folded her arms.
"What do you want?"
"To purchase your land."
"No."
"You haven't heard my offer."
"I don't need to."
His smile disappeared.
"You should think carefully."
"I already have."
He looked at her stomach.
Then at the cabin.
"You're alone."
Eliza felt something cold settle in her chest.
"I'm not helpless."
"I didn't say you were."