The ax splits the log clean through. My bear grumbles beneath my skin, restless and irritated. We have a delivery to make. The clan’s shed needs its final stock before the storm hits, and I’m standing here in the growing dark, watching snowflakes pile up on the woodpile, because some cleaning lady can’t tell time.
Tardy. That’s the word bouncing around my skull. Tardy, irresponsible, unreliable.
I already know how this weekend is going to go. She’ll show up with excuses. I’ll have to explain everything twice. She’ll do the job wrong, I’ll lose my temper, and by tomorrow morning she’ll be crying in her car on the way back down the mountain.
Same as all the others.
My bear huffs, a low sound of disagreement. He wantsme to calm down. He’s been strangely subdued all day, pacing in circles instead of his usual restless prowling. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.
Another swing. Another log split clean down the middle.
The snow is coming down heavier now, thick flakes that stick to my beard and melt against my skin. I can smell the storm building, feel the pressure dropping in my bones. This is going to be a bad one. The kind that buries roads and traps people in their homes for days.
Maybe that’s what’s taking her so long. The mountain roads are treacherous in weather like this, especially for someone who doesn’t know them.
The thought doesn’t make me any less irritated.
I’m about to give up and head inside when I hear it. The distant whine of an engine struggling against the incline. Tires spinning, catching, spinning again. A car fighting its way up the last stretch of road.
About damn time.
I set down the ax and watch the treeline, waiting for headlights to appear. Part of me wonders if I should go down and give her a push. The road gets steep near the top, and if her car doesn’t have four-wheel drive, she might not make it.
But then the headlights crest the hill, and a small sedan crawls into view. Crawls being the operative word. The thing is barely bigger than a golf cart, struggling through snow that’s already several inches deep. I don’t know how she fit all my supplies in that tin can on wheels.
The car pulls to a stop in front of the cabin. The engine cuts off with a shudder that doesn’t sound healthy.
I grab a few pieces of split wood and tuck them under my arm, heading for the porch. Might as well put them bythe fireplace while I’m waiting for her to get her act together.
The driver’s door opens.
She steps out into the snow, and I can’t see much of her. Big coat, the kind that swallows a person whole. Boots that look too new for this terrain. Hat pulled low, scarf wrapped high, gloves that are already dusted with white. She brushes thick flakes from her face, squinting against the wind.
I don’t wait for her to compose herself.
“You’re late.”
She startles, turning toward me. Through the scarf and the hat and the snow, I can just make out dark eyes going wide.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ironwood. The roads were?—“
“It’s Tolin.” The correction comes out harsher than I intend. Or maybe exactly as harsh as I intend. “Don’t call me Ironwood. Ever.”
She flinches. Even through all those layers, I can see her body tense.
“Alright. Mr. Tolin. I apologize for?—“
“Pop the trunk.” I’m already walking past her, not interested in apologies. “I’ll help unload. I have a delivery to make to my clan and I’m late because I was waiting for you.”
I don’t look back to see her reaction. I don’t need to. I can feel the weight of her stare on my back as I push through the cabin door and dump the armload of wood inside.
The fire is burning low. I’ll need to build it up before I leave, or the cabin will be freezing by the time I get back. One more thing to do because she couldn’t arrive on time.
The front door opens behind me. I hear the rustle of plastic bags, the careful footsteps of someone trying not to track snow inside.
She’s carrying too much. Four bags clutched in eachhand, her arms straining with the weight. I don’t know why that bothers me, but it does. Something about the sight of her struggling makes my bear stir, uneasy.
I cross the room before I realize I’m moving.
