They were home-builders.
"Whenever you smell coffee and bacon at a cabin," O'Connor had always said, "they'll ask you in to breakfast if you knock at the door." But Kent was not recalling his old trail mate's words.

In the present moment all other thoughts were lost in the discovery that Marette was getting breakfast--for him.
He went to the door and listened.

Then he opened it and looked in.
Marette was on her knees before the open door of the stove, toasting bread on two forks.

Her face was flushed pink.

She had not taken time to brush her hair, but had woven it carelessly into a thick braid that fell down her back.