It was colder than a witch’s heart. Owen Smith opened up the forge and kept the fire going day and night, which was probably the reason nobody died.
On the longest night, he was on the edge of exhaustion and his sister dragged a chair over.
“Sit. I can keep the fire going.”
He slept, dreaming of his dead wife and awoke with unashamed tears running down his face.
But he knew what he must do.
Before the thaw arrived, the innkeeper’s daughter had accepted his offer.
They married in the spring, and his baby daughter melted his frozen heart.
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