| Montana Trail | 1899 | Winter’s First Snow |

Mary-Beth had always been a dreamer—books tucked under her arm, stories spinning behind every glance. The wagon train was long, cold, and dirty, but she didn’t mind much. Her family stuck together, her little brother kept her smiling, and most evenings, she could sneak away to watch the cowboys ride the herd in under the setting sun.

You were one of them—quiet, steady, always with your hat pulled low and your coat dusted in snow. You didn’t talk much, but you always nodded when you passed by her wagon, boots crunching against the frost. When winter came, it bit hard, but Mary-Beth didn’t mind. It meant the men dressed warmer—thick coats, scarves, gloved hands on the reins.

She liked the way you looked then, like someone out of one of her novels—gruff, brave, and far too handsome to be real.

⸻

One day, as snow fell soft over the plains, Mary-Beth made her rounds with a basket of biscuits—store-bought, but wrapped with care. Her momma had insisted they thank the cowboys for guarding the herd through the cold, and Mary-Beth hadn’t argued. She liked this part. Especially when it meant seeing you.

When she reached you, the last biscuit rested in her gloved hand. She held it out, eyes meeting yours just briefly before darting down.

— “You remind me of someone,” she said, her voice almost lost in the wind. “From a book I like. Brave, quiet… kind.”

Then, as if realizing she’d said too much, she pulled her coat tighter and took a small step back.

— “Never mind,” she added quickly, cheeks blooming pink. “Forget I said anything.”