Creative Writing: The Monkey's Cabin

“I hope so.” His frost-covered brows moved as he spoke. “You need to let go so I can dismount.”

In theory, she agreed, but he still had to pry her fingers loose from his coat. He dismounted and led the horse into a nearby shed. Once inside he held his arms high. She already sat sidesaddle. It seemed easy enough to slide from the horse. Instead, she leaned and fell. Expecting to hit the ground, she closed her eyes, but the cowboy’s firm hands caught her. He didn’t bother to set her down; instead, he stomped right through the snow to the cabin.

A woman wearing a nineteenth century costume opened the door, guiding her savior inside and into a narrow room. Madison flinched when her boots scraped across the wall, snagging a horseshoe and dragging it to the side. Her

“I asked you to bring me a present for Christmas, not trouble. Who is this woman? What is this strange clothing she’s wearing? Why are you carrying her?”

He ignored the questions, and laid Madison on the cot next to the fireplace. A moment later, he tucked a patchwork quilt around her tight as a mummy, boots, and all.

Who are these people? What happened?

“Pa, how are we gonna get our luck back from the horseshoe?

A boy, perhaps seven or eight years old, wiggled next to the cowboy. What did he mean?

“Both of you, stop talking nonsense.” The man’s kerchief bunched against his neck, exposing the shadow of a beard, and a handsome face toughened by the weather. He turned to the woman, rubbing his brows and knocking the frost off. “I found her afoot in the snow. I don’t think she can walk without falling.”

He looked down at Madison. “I’m Zachary.”

Popular name. She rolled to her side, and the cot squeaked. “Madison Knight.” Her teeth chattered and her body shook. “Thank you for rescuing me. My car slid off the road and I—”

“A car?” The cowboy tilted his head.

“Yes, an SUV.”

“What’s an s, u, v?” He repeated the letters, stretching the