Second to last chapter. Thank you guys so much for the reviews. They have been very much appreciated!! Well, second to last chapter (I think I said that already...oh well, got a lot on me mind.) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still, nothing Cold Mountain belongs to me.

Chapter 5: In the west

He'd been out shoveling hay all morning. She hadn't thought it was that involved of an undertaking. Perhaps she'd been wrong and she was inwardly glad that she hadn't given him that job on day one, or he might have left, and she had really enjoyed his staying.... She grabbed her coat off the hook and flew out the cabin door towards the holding-barn, determined to help since she'd been the one who told him to do it. With the barn door ajar, she peeked in and saw him shoveling away at the hay, and even though the pile he'd accumulated was good sized, he'd barely made a dent on the hay that covered the holding-barn floor.

"I came to help. I didn't realize the job was so huge, I'm sorry." She said quickly, walking into the barn and grabbing a pitchfork from against the wall. He said nothing in response but paused from shoveling long enough to watch her find a fork and shed her heavy jacket. Even though the day itself was quite cold, she would soon get warm tossing hay. Apparently he had, for she noticed right away that he had shed his outer layers and was wearing just a thin shirt, partially unbuttoned, over his long-sleeved undershirt. To her, he looked good, clean-shaven, but with two days worth of stubble, tousled light brown hair and two brilliant green eyes that, despite the hurt they harbored, were still captivating. She stood beside him and began heaving hay from the ground, up into the pin; ground, pin; ground, pin; ground, pin.

"If you do it that way for too much longer, you're bound to tire out quicker." She stopped and looked at him, surprised.

"Oh. And if you don't mind my asking, what is the proper way?" her voice had a light, friendly tone to it, even though her words were sarcastic.

"Here..." he propped his pitchfork deep in the hay and walked in front of her. He grasped both of her hands, which were wrapped around the pitchfork. "Like this." He shifted her hands around and let her adjust to the new position.

"And...how do I use it, holding it this way?" The position was awkward to her. She'd never held a pitchfork so sideways and didn't know how it could be possibly be of any use.

"Its more of a sideways motion then the up-down one you were using." He released her hands and stepped back demonstrating the motion without using a pitchfork. She watched him and honestly tried to understand what he was showing her, but with his right being her left and him sweeping to the left meant her sweeping to her right...she just couldn't follow it.

"I'm sorry. I still don't quite get it." She studied the fork in her hands and attempted a sideways motion. But it was obviously wrong, for he crossed around behind her. He brought his arms around her shoulders and down her arms, grasping her hands, which were on the pitchfork. "Like this." He said, his voice so close to her ear. He moved his arms in the sideways-sweeping motion, and hers moved with his. After four or five sweeps, he removed his hands and backed away.

"Thank you. I get it now." She tired to sound composed, like she hadn't enjoyed the feel of his arms around her quite as much as she did. Her muscles, remembering the feel of the sweep, guided the pitchfork as it skewered the hay, for her mind was completely gone. His arms had been so warm around her...and of course, it was only because he was teaching her something, it would never be for any other reason. But she pushed that thought out of her mind and channeled her new-found energy from his close proximity into moving the hay, in hopes of being able to accomplish something good.

(some time later)

They had been at it for hours and still, the barn floor looked as though they hadn't even really tried. She glanced out the door, leaning her sweat streaked face against the pitchfork pole. The sun was slipping quietly and serenely in the west, casting its last rays upon the mountain faces, leaving in its wake soft blues, purples, pinks and oranges.

"Inman...we can't finish this job now. We should stop and go in to fix dinner—darkness will come soon."

"Alright." He picked up the fork and walked over to the far wall and leaned the fork against it, before moving to gather up his coat and heavy shirt. She did the same and waited for him by the door.

"You didn't have to come out and help. There must have been other things you needed to do." He said as she closed and latched the thick wooden door.

"Nah—nothing that couldn't wait. Besides, your method of hay pitching was much easier then the way I was doing it. It will without a doubt come in handy in the future." She cast him a thankful smile to which she was sure she saw him, ever so slightly, smirk at.

"I've some more stew for dinner. I know its been the same thing day in and day out, but it keeps well and is easy to fix, plus the bread from last night. Does that sound alright?"

"Sounds good, 'cause I'm hungry and your stew is good."

"Thanks—me too." They reached the porch and entered the cabin just as they were beginning to get chilled by the winds that had at first been cooling them from their strenuous afternoon work.

(later)

She'd set the stew to warming up quietly on the stove, the bred to rising in the warm oven and Inman was at the table reading, so she sat in the rocker by the fire to rest. She ached from the afternoon of pitching hay—her right shoulder hurt even worse than normal. She raised it and gingerly moved it through a small circle. Her face turned into a grimace and she set it down against the rocker back. The chair had a most pleasant, rhythmic creak that had on occasion lulled her to an early sleep. She let her head rest against the back of the chair. Gradually, her eyes closed, exhausted from working and relaxed by the fire's heat.

It wasn't until the creaking stopped, but her footprints were not to be heard, that Inman turned from his book towards her. He had never really noticed before how pretty she was. But now, in the glow of the roaring fire, it was quite clear. Her head rested back against the chair, framed by her loose curls. Her fair skin glowed golden in the firelight and emanated serenity. He rose and slowly walked over to her. He knew she must be completely exhausted to fall asleep before the day's work was finished. A thought to wake her flashed through his mind...but she looked so peaceful and content that he just couldn't bring himself to wake her. He reached his hand out and gently brushed back a stray curl. Her skin was surprisingly soft under his fingers. He hadn't thought it to be so after all the time she spent outdoors in the cold. A soft, dreamy sigh sounded from her and he pulled his hand back as she shifted in the rocker before settling into silence again.

"Sleep well Maggie." A small smile crept to his face as he looked her over one last time before moving away.

Her eyes drifted slowly open—a small, faint light shone out of the darkness before her. It couldn't be that dark it? She sat up in the chair and looked around. Faint shadows played across the dark room. She found the light source—a small candle on the mantle...Inman. It must've been him, since she fell asleep. Dinner...oh no. She'd fallen asleep before dinner. She rose quickly, taking the candle and headed for the stove. The fires were out and things were put away and washed. He didn't.... She walked over towards the table. On a plate, in front of where she usually sat, was an apple and few slices of bread. A note lay next to it.

" For if you wake up and are hungry. –I "

Inman...she held the note close and didn't bother to hide her smile. Only Inman would've though to leave her food, what with her falling asleep before she'd even finished dinner. The more she looked at the plate, the hungrier she became. In no time, she had eaten the bread and apple, leaving behind only the apple core. She set the plate by the stove to deal with in the morning and set about to find a pencil and paper.

" Thank you. –M "

She set it against the candle holder on Inman's bedside table. Surely, he'd see it there. Realizing that she was tired still, she walked quietly to her bed and blew out the candle before falling into bed, fighting off sad thoughts of Inman's departure that would come with the rising sun.


Leave a note, review or somethin' if'n ya wants. I should be able to get the last chapter up rather quickly.