The Shepherd's Hut – Part 2: Embers

"I would not mind at all," said Jorge, in a voice that shook slightly. "I would mind if you did not."

The kiss was gentle and tasted of red wine and woodsmoke. His hand, huge and leathery, rose to her cheek with infinite care. She laughed softly and kissed him back, and the stove ticked. Outside the rain was easing. A few stars showed through the hole in the cloud.

"I thought I was done with this," said Elena.

"So did I."

"I was wrong."

"We were both wrong," said Jorge, smiling. "It is a very good feeling."

They fed the stove. They opened a second leather bottle. Late in the night the clouds finally rolled back, and the whole sky lit up, thousands of stars blazing over the black rim of the peaks, and they stood in the doorway wrapped in the grey blanket, looking out in silence.

"I have a bed," said Jorge, at last. "It is narrow. It has a good sheepskin."

"I like sheepskin."

"Elena, are you sure? We are old."

"We're experienced." She took his hand. "I'm sure."

The bed was narrow indeed, but the sheepskin was thick and warm and the little lamp threw gold on the stone walls. They undressed with care and a great deal of humour, laughing at knees and buttons and the ridiculous sensible vests of mountain people, and under the heavy wool their love-making was patient, tender and kind, with the stove glowing and the mountains silent all around. They fell asleep with the sheepskin round them like a nest.

At dawn, the pass was washed gold. A flock of sheep ambled across the green slope below the hut, clanking softly. Elena stood at the door in Jorge's jacket, a cup of milk in her hands, watching.

"My trail goes down today," she said.

"Yes."

"It also comes up again."

"In September," said Jorge, "the cheese is best."

"I'll bring a better map."

"Bring a pencil," said Jorge. "I will show you everything."

More mature romance stories: Autumn in Quebec · The Quilting Circle · The Silver Ballroom