“No, Emmett. Are there more than two of you men up here on the mountain?”

I removed my hat and ran my fingers through my hair while tryin’ to cipher what she was askin’.

I said, “It’s a big mountain, and I don’t know how many men might be on it. But in this area, far as I know, it’s just you and me and Shrug.”

She frowned, and shook her head.

“You must have heard me scream,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, and a fine scream it was. By the second one, I had you pinpointed.”

“You did.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And yet you moved not a muscle to come to my aid.”

“No, ma’am.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, if Shrug needed my help, he would a’ whistled.”

“Whistled.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gave me a look that might have had disgust in it. “So you’re neither hunter nor hero. Are you a coward, then?”

I felt a burn creep up the back of my neck.

“A coward?” I scowled and put my hat back on, tired of her disrespect.

“That’s right,” she said. “After all, I need to know what type of person I’m dining with. Perhaps you’re just lazy.”

I’d never known a proper woman to have such a sharp tongue. I doubted she had a husband. If she did, he probably cut her loose. I shook my head and spoke in my strictest voice.

“I cut my huntin’ short on account of my horse.”

She looked at Major. “How so?”

“He announced you were enterin’ camp.”

“I see,” she said with a smart tone. “Your horse talks, but your friend does not.”

I sighed. This tenderfoot was lucky to be alive. I knew seasoned trappers who couldn’t survive an Ozark night. Forgettin’ that, her insultin’ nature alone could get her killed by any number of men I know and admire. I worked to keep the anger outta my voice, but I’m sure some leaked out anyway.

“Ma’am, checkin’ on my horse don’t mean I can’t hunt. And trustin’ my friend’s ability to handle trouble don’t make me a coward, nor lazy.”

We gave each other stern looks until I wondered if Shrug would care if I put a bullet through one of her hands, to soften her temperament. If I shot the fleshy web between her thumb and forefinger, she’d heal in a week or two. As a bonus, there’d always be a circle scar to keep her reminded.

Abruptly, she said, “Perhaps you’re right. After all, I’m the outsider here. I shouldn’t rush to judge. I’ve had a harrowing time, and I’m new to your ways. Forgive me, please.” She approached me, extending her hand. “I’m Phoebe Thayer, of the Philadelphia Thayers.”

I hesitated briefly, then wiped my hand on my shirt and took hers and shook it while thinkin’ how close she’d come to losin’ the use of it. But then, standin’ a mere two feet from her, close enough to smell her scent, I began to think less about her hard words and more about her soft physical features.

She sensed the change in my mood, and pulled away, sayin’, “I noticed your friend had neither horse nor gun.”

“Shrug can’t ride a horse, and don’t need a gun.”

“How can a man survive in the wilderness without a mount and gun?”

“Shrug ain’t a normal man.