Ruby looks at me like I've lost my mind, which is fair. I'm wondering the same thing.
The bathroom door opens, and Delilah emerges wearing my clothes. Something primal stirs in my gut at the sight—she's drowning in fabric, my flannel hanging to her mid-thigh, sleevesrolled up multiple times. She's still the most feminine thing that's been in this cabin... ever.
Ruby growls low, positioning herself between me and the intruder.
"Hey there," Delilah says softly, not moving forward. "You must be the welcoming committee."
I'm impressed that she doesn't show fear. Ruby picks up on that immediately, her posture relaxing slightly.
"This is Ruby," I tell her. "She's a good judge of character."
"I hope I pass inspection." Delilah slowly extends her hand, palm down, letting Ruby approach on her terms.
After a tense moment, Ruby sniffs her fingers, then nudges her palm. Not quite approval, but acceptance.
"Good girl," I murmur, more to my dog than my guest.
"She's beautiful," Delilah says, carefully making her way back to the couch. The sweatpants trail under her heels, and she's cuffed them several times at the ankle.
My clothes look ridiculous on her. But also right, in a way I don't want to examine.
I return to the stew, adding salt and dried herbs. My grandfather taught me to cook—said no man should depend on anyone else for basic needs. Food, shelter, warmth. Provide these for yourself, and you're truly free.
I've lived by that code for years. Free and alone. Just how I like it.
"Something smells amazing," Delilah says, interrupting my thoughts.
"Venison stew. Need the protein in this cold."
"You hunt?" She asks it like a question, though the answer should be obvious.
"Everything I eat comes from these mountains or the garden out back." I stir the pot, avoiding her gaze. "Except coffee. I draw the line at hand-grinding beans."
That gets another laugh from her. "A man has to have standards."
The sound of her amusement is too natural, too easy in this space that's known only my silence. Danger signals flash in my mind. This woman is temporary. A complication. An interruption to my peace.
I don't do temporary connections. They only leave holes when they end. I ladle stew into bowls, bring them to the small table by the window. "Can you make it over here?"
She stands carefully, using the furniture for support as she hobbles to the table. Ruby watches her with curious eyes, then settles by the fire with a heavy sigh.
"Traitor," I mutter to my dog. She's supposed to be as antisocial as I am.
Delilah eats like she hasn't seen food in days, which might be close to the truth. I try not to watch the way she closes her eyes with each bite, the small sounds of appreciation she makes.
"This is incredible," she says between spoonfuls. "I expected, I don't know, beans from a can or something."
"I'm a hermit, not a savage."
Her lips twitch. "Is there a handbook on the difference?"
I almost smile. Almost. "Common sense and good boots. That's the difference."
"Says the man to the woman he just rescued from certain death." She winces slightly. "Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke, not ungrateful."
I shrug. "You'd have died out there. These mountains don't care about gratitude."
"Well, I care." Her eyes meet mine across the table, too earnest by half. "Thank you, Caleb. Really."
