Mountain Man Expected a Cold Marriage — But His Bride Set His Heart on Fire

Chapter 4

Spring in the mountains was a liar. One evening, a storm crashed down without warning. Snow drove sideways against the cabin. The wind rattled the shutters like fists. Inside, the fire roared but could not fight the drafts that slipped through the walls.

Elara shivered on the edge of the bed, wrapped in blankets that were not enough. Silas watched her from the hearth.

“This cold will get worse,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He hesitated. “We need to share the bed. For warmth. Nothing more.”

Her heart pounded. The last time a man had said *nothing more*, it had not been true. Her gaze flickered to the windowsill where the scissors sat — a dark silhouette against the firelight.

But Silas stood there with his hands open, waiting for her answer.

“Just sleep?” she asked.

“Just sleep.”

They lay back to back at first, stiff and silent. The wind howled. The cabin groaned. The warmth from his body soaked through the blankets. When a violent gust slammed the shutter against the wall, she gasped. Without thinking, Silas reached behind him and found her hand in the dark.

He did not pull her closer. He simply held it.

“It’s just the wind,” he said.

She did not let go.

In the morning, they woke still hand in hand. Neither spoke of it. But something had shifted. She noticed the scissors were still on the windowsill. She had not reached for them. For the first time in months, she had not needed to.