She nods weakly, eyes lowered to their hands as she tenderly massages each finger, moving from the base to the tip and back down again.

There are strange, tough malformations in his palm, beneath that slick scar, that she is concentrating on. She knows what they're from. She knows, too, the tightness she feels has nothing to do with his week in the saddle, or the cold.

Her eyes flick up to his, piercing blue on cold gray-green.