Get in my bed now, fat cow,” she roared. But what she did there made her feel like a goddess. The storm howled like a wounded beast over the peaks of White Peak Mountain, swallowing every sound except the wind. Through the blinding snow stumbled a woman, Evangeline Eva Morrison, 25, her red hair stiff with ice, her hands shaking as she tried to shield her face from the gale.

She had been walking for hours, maybe days. She could no longer say it. All she knew was that if she stopped, the cold would claim her. Her dress, soaked and torn, clung to her body, heavy like chains. Every breath burned. She whispered to herself, her voice breaking only a little farther on. They said there was a cabin on the ridge. Behind her, the world she had fled seemed to vanish in the storm.

The town of Milbrook, her cruel stepfather Jeremaya Hartwell, and the nightmare that had tried to force itself upon her—she could still hear his drunken laughter. “Will you marry him, child? He’s not paying my debts.” So she ran into the night, into the storm. Better to die free in the snow than live as someone’s property.

 

 

But now her legs gave way. The wind knocked her down, burying her in white. Her lips turned blue. Her heartbeat slowed. She whispered a final prayer, not to be saved, but to stop suffering. And then, light, a door opening, a shadow moving through the storm, a deep voice thundered over the wind. God almighty, hold.

Arms as strong as iron lifted her from the snow. She tried to speak, but her lips barely moved. He carried her inside, the door slamming shut behind them. And then that same voice roared again, urgent and ferocious. Get in my bed now, you fat fool, or you’ll die.

The words crackled through the cabin like harsh, terrifying gunshots, but they weren’t filled with lust, they were filled with panic. Because Dr. Damian Cross, the man they called the White Man of the Mountains, knew he only had minutes to save her life. The cabin door slammed shut, cutting through the blizzard like a wall.

Inside, only the crackling of the fire and the sharp rasp of breathing filled the room. Damian Cross placed the woman on a bearskin near the hearth. Her skin was white and freezing, her pulse weak. Steam rose from her soaked dress as the heat reached her. She could feel the shivering of hypothermia deep in her bones.

“Damn,” he muttered, peeling off his gloves. “You’ve been in this storm too long.” He poured a kettle of water into a bowl, added a handful of herbs, and placed it by the fire. Then he turned to her and shouted, “High-pitched, bossy voice. Listen to me, you need to take off those clothes now.” Her eyelids fluttered, barely conscious.

No, please don’t hurt me. Don’t be silly, he shouted. If you stay like this, you’ll be dead before dawn. Get in bed now. The words sounded cruel, even to his own ears. The habits of isolation had made him brusque, too used to speaking to storms, not to people.

But he had no time for gentleness. Eva tried to move, but collapsed again. Her breath came in shudders. Deien swore under his breath, picked her up effortlessly, and carried her across the room. “Don’t you dare faint now,” he said softly, but trembling with urgency.

He placed her on the large bed near the fire, turned onto his back, and began to speak rapidly. His voice was softer this time. Listen carefully. Take off your wet clothes. Everything. There’s a blanket behind you. Wrap it tightly around your body. I’ll keep my back turned. He waited, his eyes fixed on the wall, listening to the faint rustle of fabric. For a moment, nothing moved. Then, finally, a whisper.

I finished. He turned. She was sitting clutching the blanket to her chest, her red hair damp and tangled around her shoulders, her lips still trembling, but her green eyes like spring, looking at him with a strange mixture of fear and gratitude. Deien approached slowly and deliberately, holding a cup of steaming liquid.

“Drink this slowly,” Eva hesitated. “What is it? Willow bark and ginger for fever. I’m a doctor, not a monster.” That last line came out quietly, almost bitterly. Eva’s gaze softened. “They said you were dangerous, that you would kill anyone who climbed this mountain.” Deimien gave a grim smile. “They say a lot of things about things they don’t understand.”

He knelt beside her, a large hand hovering just above her shoulder, careful not to touch. You can feel your fingers already. He raised a trembling hand. “A little bit okay. That means I’m not too late.” For the first time since she’d arrived, their eyes met completely, his

I was colliding with their exhaustion.

Two broken souls, both hunted by lies. Outside, the blizzard howled, scratching at the cabin walls. Inside, the world narrowed to a fire, a bed, and two strangers struggling against the cold and the weight of what others had led them to believe about themselves. Damien stood. His voice low. “Now you will live. I will make sure of that.”

Eva’s eyelids fluttered. Why help me? She paused by the bed, the firelight flickering over the scars on her hands. “Because someone once helped me, and I didn’t deserve it either.” She wanted to ask more, but the warmth finally overcame her. Her eyes closed, and sleep, deep, safe sleep, claimed her for the first time in years.

Damien watched her breathing steady, then turned. His voice was barely a whisper against the crackling fire. “Rest easy, redhead. The storm can’t touch you here.” When Evangelí awoke, the world was silent, so silent that for a moment she thought she had died. The fire still burned low in the hearth, painting the wooden walls a warm amber.

She was wrapped in blankets so thick they felt like a cocoon. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something sweet, herbs perhaps or pine resin. Her first thought was, “I’m alive.” Her second was, “Where am I?” Then she saw him.

Deien Cross sat in a chair near the window, the morning light falling on his face. His silvery-white hair in the sunlight made him look almost otherworldly. He was reading a pair of glasses balanced low on his nose, but his posture, still and alert, betrayed a man who never truly relaxed. When he noticed her stirring, he set the book aside. “Are you awake?” he said simply.

Eva tried to sit up, clutching the blanket closer to her chest. How long have I been asleep? Two days. His long coat stood up, rustling against the floor. “You had a fever. I almost lost you last night,” he blinked, the words barely sinking in. “You stayed here the whole time.” He shrugged as if it were obvious.

I couldn’t leave you alone, could I? Not with the storm raging. The sharpness in his tone didn’t hide the quiet fatigue in his eyes. He handed her a bowl of soup, its steam curling between them. “Eat slowly.” Eva’s fingers trembled as she took it. “Thank you.” Deien leaned against the table, arms crossed. “You have spirit, I’ll grant you that.”

Not many would climb a mountain in a storm. So he gave a weak laugh, more of a sigh than a sound. “I didn’t have much choice.” His gaze sharpened. “Someone was chasing you.” I doubt it. Then the words tumbled out. “My stepfather wanted to sell me, marry me to a man old enough to be my grandfather. I ran before dawn. I didn’t care if I froze.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. For a long moment, the only sound was the soft pop of burning wood. When he finally spoke, his voice was low with harsh edges. “You did the right thing.” No one deserves that. She met his eyes and for the first time saw not the rumored monster, but a man carrying pain like a chain around his neck.

“You don’t sound like the [ __ ] they say you are,” he said softly. I almost smiled. “The town calls me what it will. It’s easier to fear a ghost than to face what they’ve done. What did you do?” His expression darkened, then softened again as he exhaled. “Nothing worth the hatred I earned. I lost my family. That was enough to make me a myth.”

He picked up the bowl he’d emptied, set it on the table, and busied himself with the teapot, but his next words were quieter. “I was a doctor. My wife and child died in a carriage accident I couldn’t stop. The town said I was cursed, so I came here. It’s easier to live among snow than whispers.” Eva’s heart contracted.

I’m sorry. Don’t be, he said, turning to her. “You couldn’t have known. For a For a while, neither of them spoke. They watched him move around the cabin. Each movement was efficient, almost elegant, though fraught with loneliness. He added wood to the fire, checked the drying herbs by the window, then paused to look at her again.

“You can stay here until the snow melts,” he said. “The road is buried for miles.” His lips curved weakly. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll bring trouble?” His eyes held hers. “Trouble finds me anyway.” That night, when the storm started again, she couldn’t sleep.

The wind screamed like ghosts in the windows. At some point, Deien got up from his chair and added more logs to the fire. Eva whispered, half asleep. “Do you ever get used to the cold?” He looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “You don’t fight it, you make peace with it.”

” When he closed his eyes again, the last thing he felt was the faint weight of another blanket being placed over his shoulders and the realization that the man called the [ __ ] white man had such a gentle touch.

Snow falling. The storm lasted another week, but inside the cabin, the cold began to lose its grip. The fire never went out, and for the first time in years, Evangeline Morrison woke to warmth that didn’t come just from blankets, it came from presence.

Every morning she would find Damian Cross already awake, tending the hearth or scribbling notes in his leather-bound journal. His movements were precise, but silent, as if he’d spent years living by the rhythm of silence. He never said much, but somehow his stillness filled the room. The first morning she was strong enough to stand, Eva tried to help with breakfast.

She hobbled to the small kitchen, her legs unsteady but determined. “At least I can stir the soup,” she said. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Deien looked up from chopping wood by the door. “You’ll either rest or collapse again.” “I’ve been lying in bed for days,” she said, pouting slightly. “I need to do something,” she hesitated.

Then she handed him a wooden spoon. “Fine, but if you faint, I’ll carry you back myself.” Her laugh was soft, genuine, the first he’d heard from her. As she stirred, the scent of herbs filled the cabin. Thyme, wild onion, venison stew simmering over the fire. Damien paused, watching her with silent curiosity.

Her red hair glowed like embers in the firelight, her cheeks rosy from the heat, her figure full and lively, so different from the lifeless shadow he’d carried through the snow days before. “You cook like someone who’s done it all their life,” he finally said. Eva smiled shyly. “When you grow up poor, you learn to make miracles out of leftovers.”

Food was the only way he could make my mother smile. Damian’s gaze softened. A flicker of memory in his eyes. My wife was the same. She said good soup could fix anything. The words hung between them like a fragile truce between past and present. The days became a rhythm. They fixed leaks in the roof together.

She mended torn curtains while he replaced cracked windowpanes. He fed the chickens outside, laughing when one tried to steal his scarf. He split wood, and she teased him about how he looked more like a warrior than a doctor. In the evenings, they ate by the fire: stew, bread, sometimes even roasted trout from the stream below the ridge. Eva insisted on doing the dishes.

Damian insisted on checking her pulse afterward. “You’re still cold,” one said. night, pressing his fingers lightly to her wrist. He smiled. And you still act like every heartbeat matters. He met her eyes, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. They matter. One night, the wind outside moaned through the chimney, and Eva shivered.

Damian looked up from his book. “Come closer to the fire.” “I’m fine,” he said, though his teeth chattered. “Eva,” his tone carried quiet authority, the kind that came from saving lives. She sighed, stood, and sat on the rug near him. He reached behind her and pulled another blanket over her shoulders. “You never listen.”

“You’re bossy,” he joked. “I’m alive,” that’s why he answered. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was filled. The kind that only existed between two people, who had begun to trust each other’s presence. After a moment, he asked gently, “Do you ever get lonely up here?” He didn’t answer immediately.

The firelight flickered in his ice-blue eyes. Lonely and peaceful look the same when you’ve been hurt enough, he said finally. But he was alone. Eva’s fingers tightened around the blanket. I’m not waiting anymore. That brought a real smile to her face. Not anymore. In the days that followed, Daimen taught her little things.

How to start a fire without smoke, how to set traps, how to read the weather from the color of the sky. In turn, she taught him to laugh again. He caught her humming once while she cooked. The gentle, old melody. “What is that song? My mother’s lullaby,” she said. “I used to sing it when storms scared me.” Damian nodded.

The memory of his own son flickered behind his eyes. “It’s beautiful, he keeps singing.” So he did. And each night, as the snow outside deepened, the sound of his voice softened the cabin walls, until it felt less like a shelter and more like a home. One morning, when the snow finally stopped, they stepped out together. The world stretched out before them.

White and endless, the light so bright it hurt to look. Eva’s breath clouded in the air. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “It’s quiet,” Damien said. “The mountain always gives silence before peace.” She turned to him, smiling weakly. “Then maybe it’s time we both started listening.”

For a moment they stood there in that silent world, a man once called [ __ ] and the woman who had wandered through hell to find him. The thaw came slowly, as if the

The mountain itself wouldn’t let them go. Melting snowdrops ran off the eaves, and the path that had been buried for weeks began to show a dark ribbon of mud beneath the ice. For Evangeline Morrison, the change should have meant hope.

Instead, it brought dread. She stood by the window one morning, watching the mist curl off the ridge. “When the trail opens, I guess I’ll have to decide where to go,” she murmured. Damian Cross didn’t look up from the tools he was cleaning. “You don’t have to decide yet, but you know I can’t stay here forever,” he hesitated, putting down his scalpel. “I know.”

It was the first time either of them had spoken aloud about leaving, and the air between them grew heavy with what neither dared say, the thought of parting already hurt like a wound. That afternoon, the sound of hooves broke the stillness. A horseman was climbing the trail toward the cabin. Damian’s whole body went still. No one rides through here unless they’re right.

He muttered, putting on his coat. Eva felt her stomach tighten. Who would come up here? He didn’t reply. He just stepped out into the cold. Moments later, a tall man appeared in the doorway, his hat dusted with eau de toilette. His badge caught the firelight. Sheriff Tanner announced himself grimly. “Dr. Cross, I didn’t expect to see you again.” Damian’s jaw tightened.

You’ve seen me. Now state your business.” The sheriff looked past him and saw Eva standing by the hearth. His eyebrows rose. “Okay, okay, so the rumors were true. The white [ __ ] took in a runaway.” Eva’s heart sank. “How do you know? The whole town’s been talking,” Tanner said.

Your stepfather’s been raising hell for weeks. He said his daughter was kidnapped by a killer.” Damian took a slow step forward. “I haven’t killed anyone.” Tanner’s lip curled. Maybe not, but people down there still think you let your family die, and now they think you’ve added another poor soul to your collection. Eva found her voice. That’s a lie.

She saved me. The sheriff studied, his tone softening slightly. “Miss Morrison, no one’s saying you’re not grateful, but you have people worried. You disappear in a blizzard, you end up living with a man the town fears, it doesn’t look good.” Damian’s hands tightened at his sides. “Tell Hartwell his claim is worthless. The woman is free to make her own choices.”

The sheriff’s eyes flicked between them, sharp and knowing. “Be careful, Doc. You know how Milbrook deals with things he doesn’t understand?” Then he turned and walked away, his horse’s hooves fading into the mist. That night, Eva found Damian sitting outside,

an untouched bottle of whiskey beside him. “Did you hear them?” she said quietly. “They will come, maybe not today, but soon. Men like Hardwell don’t forgive losing control.” She knelt beside him, placing her hand over his. “Then we will face them together.” She shook her head. “You don’t know what that means. I’ve seen mobs burn men alive for less.”

And I’ve seen what cruelty does to people who keep running from it,” he said fiercely. “You told me once that the mountain gives silence before peace. I think it also gives courage before love.” For the first time, Damian’s mask cracked. “Eva, I’ve been running from ghosts all my life. I don’t want to see them touch you.”

He leaned closer, his voice shaking, but firm. “They already did. The night you carried me out of the snow, they let me go.” Her breath caught. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her as if he could shield her from every shadow below the ridge. Outside, the wind began to rise again, whispering through the pines.

None of them saw the faint orange glow far down in the valley, the torches of riders beginning to rise. The next morning dawned in uneasy silence. The air was heavy, the sky bruised with clouds of Snow. Again, the kind that promised more than a storm.

Damian Cross was already outside splitting wood when the first sound reached him. The low, rhythmic thud of hooves. More than one horse. He dropped the axe. His eyes narrowed toward the hillside below the cabin. Evangeline Morrison stepped onto the porch, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. What is it? She didn’t answer immediately. Then she heard it, too.

The echo of voices carried on the cold wind. “Riders,” Damian said quietly. “At least six of them.” Eva’s stomach turned to ice. “Hardwell,” she nodded once. “And the sheriff, if I’m not mistaken, by the time the men reached the clearing, the air was sharp with tension. The snow fell in lazy flakes, catching the torchlight as the horses snorted steam.”

Sheriff Tanner sat up front, his face grim. Beside him, Jeremaya Hartwell, red-faced, reeking of whiskey, even from a distance,

He pointed toward the cabin. “There she is,” he shouted. “The [ __ ] stole my name and ran off with this mountain [ __ ]. I want her back.” Damian stepped forward, unarmed but imposing.

You’ll keep your distance, Hardwell.” The old man sneered. “That’s my daughter.” Eva’s voice cut through the air. “You lost the right to call me that the day you tried to sell me like cattle.” The sheriff shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Easy, no one wants blood now.” Hardwell spat in the snow. “I’ll take her by force if I have to.”

Damien’s tone dropped to a low, dangerous growl. “You can try.” The riders moved, their hands hovering near their holsters. The mountain wind moaned through the trees. Tanner raised a hand. “Doc, don’t do this. If you resist, they’ll make you look like a murderer again.” Damian’s eyes never left Hardwell.

And if I let him take her, what will that do to me? Eva stood beside him, trembling, but resolute. You won’t take me back to Jeremiah. I belong to no one but myself. Hardwell barked a laugh. Do you think anyone will believe you? Look at you, you fat, ruined thing. He didn’t finish the sentence because Deien moved.

Not fast, not wild, but with a controlled fury that froze everyone in place. In two strides, he was in front of Hartwell’s horse, grabbing the reins and yanking them down. The animal reared, and Hartwell fell into the snow. “Enough,” Damian said, his voice firm as iron. “You will leave this mountain and never return.” Hartwell crawled to his knees, reaching for the pistol in his belt, but before he could draw, a shot crackled through the air. The bullet buried itself in the snow between his hands.

The sheriff still held his smoking revolver. “That’s enough,” Tanner barked. “You’re done here, Hardwell.” Hardwell looked at him in disbelief. “Are you on his side?” “I’m on the side of right,” Tanner said. “You lied to half the town. You said this man kidnapped her. It seems to me she’s standing next to him willingly.”

Eva met his gaze. More willingly than I’ve ever stood next to anyone else. For a long, frozen moment, no one moved. Then the sheriff holstered his weapon. “Let’s go.” The riders hesitated. Then they turned their horses one by one. Hartwell’s curses were lost in the wind as they descended the mountain.

When silence finally returned, Eva realized she was trembling. Deimien turned to her, his hand brushing her cheek. “You didn’t have to face him,” he murmured. “Yes, I had,” he said softly. “You fought for me. It was time I fought for myself.” He looked at her for a long moment, then drew her into his arms. The light from the fire inside the cabin spilled onto the snow, enveloping them both in warmth.

The danger had passed, but the choice had been made. Not for the sheriff, not for Hardwell, but for the two souls who refused to be broken again. That night, the mountain was silent again. The torches had disappeared into the darkness below, and only the soft hiss of the fire remained.

The storm had passed outside and in. Evangeline Morrison sat by the hearth, her shawl draped loosely around her shoulders. The orange glow touched her face, softening every scar the past had left. Across the room, Dr. Damian Cross tended the embers, pushing a fresh log into the flames. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

The cabin felt different now. Not a refuge of exile, but a home born of defiance and care. Finally, Eva broke the silence. They’ll talk about us down there, won’t they? Daimien looked up. They always talk. It’s what small towns do when they don’t understand something pure. She smiled weakly.

Then what did the room speak? And she sat beside her for a moment, simply looking at her, the woman who had walked through her storm and somehow silenced her. “You changed everything, Eva,” she said softly. For years, this house was nothing but wood and pain. Now it breathes again.

She reached for his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. And you gave me back my life. You made me believe I was worth saving. The wind outside sighed through the pines like a lullaby. The firelight danced across their faces. Deien brushed a loose curl of red hair from her cheek. “Are you safe here?” he whispered. “If you accept it, this can be your home.”

” Eva’s eyes sparkled as she leaned into his touch. “It already is.” He kissed her forehead, gentle as falling snow, and the world outside the cabin seemed to hold its breath. For the first time in years, White Peck Mountain knew peace. The doctor who had once fled the world and the woman who had fled its cruelty had found the very thing they had both stopped believing in. A beginning.

And as the fire crackled and dawn crept over the ridge, Evangelin smiled through her tears, whispering, “Maybe every storm brings someone home. Every time I share a story like this, I

This reminds me that love doesn’t always look perfect.

Sometimes it begins in the storm, in fear, in moments when the world has already given up on us. But somewhere out there, someone will see through the snow and reach out. Not to change who we are, but to remind us that we have always been enough. If you’re listening right now, tell me where in the world you’re listening to this story from tonight.

And if you still believe that kindness can heal what cruelty has broken, stay close, because the next story is already waiting for you.