The Snowshoe Guide – Part 2: Log Cabin

"Yes," said Genevieve. "Please."

The kiss was soft and tasted of chocolate and woodsmoke. Dana's gloved hand rose to Genevieve's cheek, and then, laughing, she pulled the glove off with her teeth. Her bare palm was warm. Genevieve slid her arms round her neck, snow powdering both their hats.

"My toque is going to fall off," said Dana, against her mouth.

"Let it."

They reached the cabin at dusk, a little log hut in a clearing with smoke rising from the chimney and snow up to the windowsills. Inside it was dark, snug and smelled of cedar. Dana lit the lamp and the stove, and the room filled with golden light. There was a wide bunk with a heavy quilt, a table, two chairs, a shelf of paperbacks and a kettle already ticking.

"It's perfect," said Genevieve.

"It's small."

"It's perfect."

They ate stew from a tin, drank rum-laced tea and sat by the stove in blankets. The windows glowed blue, then black. A few stars appeared in the clearing above the roof.

"Are you sure?" said Dana. "We can sleep in the chairs."

"I've been sure since the hare tracks."

They undressed slowly by the stove, laughing at thermal layers and tangled laces, and under the quilt their love-making was gentle, unhurried and tender, with the fire murmuring and the snow whispering on the roof. The cabin held them like a closed hand.

In the morning, fresh snow had fallen. The whole clearing lay untouched under a blue sky, without a single track. Genevieve stood at the door in a blanket, looking out.

"Fresh tracks," said Dana, joining her. "Shall we make the first ones?"

"Together?"

"The only way I know."

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