Page 16 of Challenged By the Mountain Man

"You did good," I say, and the words feel strange coming out. I don't give compliments. I don't do reassurance. But she's standing there looking at me like she needs to hear it, and I need to say it.

She lowers the axe slowly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. For your first time, you didn't completely embarrass yourself."

"Wow. High praise."

"Best you're going to get from me."

She smiles, and it changes her whole face. Makes her look younger, less guarded. Makes me wonder what she looked like before whatever happened to put those shadows under her eyes.

"I should go," she says, but she doesn't move.

"Yeah," I say. "Wait here a minute."

She blinks. "What?"

"I told you. That wood on your porch is shit. You need proper seasoned wood or you're going to freeze tonight." I'm already moving toward the covered stack near my shed, the good stuff I've been curing for months. "I'll load some up for you."

"Griffin, you don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to."

I grab the wheelbarrow from beside the shed and start loading it with split wood. Good, dry birch and oak that'll burn hot and long. Enough to get her through at least a few days if she's smart about it.

Hannah watches me work, arms crossed, and I can feel her trying to figure out what to say. Whether to argue. Whether to ask again what I want in return.

"How much do I—" she starts.

"Nothing."

"Griffin—"

"Hannah." I straighten up, the wheelbarrow half-full, and look at her. "It's wood. I've got plenty. You need it. That's all there is to it."

She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war happening behind her eyes. The part of her that wants to refuse, to maintain independence, to not owe anyone anything. And the part of her that knows she actually does need it, that the temperature's going to eventually drop below freezing and that wet wood on her porch isn't going to cut it.

Finally, she nods. "Okay. Thank you."

"Stop thanking me."

"Stop doing things that make me want to thank you."

I smirk, finish loading the wheelbarrow until it's stacked high, then grab the handles and start pushing it toward the road. Bear trots alongside, and after a moment, Hannah falls into step beside me.

The walk to her cabin is quiet. The wheelbarrow creaks with every bump in the road, and the sun is sinking lower, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. The temperature is already dropping. I can feel it in the air, the way the cold settles in fast once the sun starts giving up.

"You've been doing this a long time," Hannah says finally, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"Living up here. Off the grid."

"Eight years."

"That's a long time to be alone."

I don't answer. What am I supposed to say to that? *Yeah, that's the point*? *I came up here because I couldn't stand being around people anymore*? *Because every time I closed my eyes in the city I saw Daniels bleeding out and heard Garcia screaming and felt the weight of all the men I couldn't save crushing my chest until I couldn't breathe*?