By noon, Clementine understood why most people considered the Iron Range a place better admired from a distance.
The road vanished repeatedly beneath snow.
Pines crowded the trail so tightly their branches scraped both sides of Gideon's wagon. Above them rose cliffs of dark stone streaked white with early frost.
Bitter Creek had disappeared hours ago.
There were no farms.
No church steeples.
No chimney smoke.
Only wilderness.
Clementine loved it.
She did not tell Gideon.
For most of the journey, he drove in silence.
Not angry silence.
Comfortable silence.
Clementine had never known a man capable of it.
The men of Bitter Creek filled empty air with opinions because they feared what might happen if anybody had enough quiet to think.
Gideon appeared to have no such concern.
Around sunset, snow began falling harder.
He handed Clementine a thick buffalo robe.
"Put that over your legs."
"I'm fine."
"You're shivering."
"I'm not."
Her teeth immediately clicked together.
Gideon looked at her.
Clementine snatched the robe.
"Not a word."
He looked ahead.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking loudly."
The corner of his mouth moved.
They reached a hunting shelter after dark.
It was little more than a roofed structure surrounded on three sides by logs.
Gideon built a fire while Clementine opened the food crate.
She found dried venison, beans, hard biscuits, coffee, and several onions.
"You eat like a man serving a prison sentence."
"It keeps me alive."
"So would flavorful food."
"Flavor isn't necessary."
"Neither are clean shirts, apparently, yet civilization generally encourages them."
Gideon looked down at himself.
"My shirt is clean."
"It may have been clean during the Lincoln administration."
He stared at her.
Then laughed.
It was the first time Clementine heard the sound.
Low.
Brief.
Unexpectedly warm.
She turned away quickly because something inside her reacted to it.
They ate beans beside the fire.
That night Gideon gave her the only bedroll and slept sitting against the wall with his coat wrapped around him.
Clementine woke before dawn.
Snow had blown inside.
It covered his boots and one shoulder.
He was still asleep.
For several seconds, Clementine studied him.
People called Gideon Hayes rich.
They called him dangerous.
Strange.
Savage.
Some said he kept gold bars beneath his cabin floor. Others claimed he had killed three men in Nevada.
Nobody had ever mentioned that he would give a woman his bedroll and freeze quietly rather than announce his sacrifice.
When Gideon woke, Clementine was already making coffee.
"You should've woken me."
"You looked comfortable."
"I was covered in snow."
"Mountain luxury."
He accepted the cup she offered.
Their hands touched.
Neither moved immediately.
Then Clementine pulled back.
The second day's climb was worse.
At one point the wagon became stuck in frozen mud.
Gideon climbed down.
"Stay there."
Clementine stared at him.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Ground's slick."
"You hired me because you thought I could survive February, remember?"
"I remember."
"Then don't start treating me like porcelain in October."
Before he could answer, she jumped down.
Together they pushed against the rear wheel.
Mud soaked Clementine's boots.
Her hair loosened.
Her shoulders burned.
The wheel broke free.
The wagon rolled forward.
Gideon looked at her.
"What?"
Clementine asked.
"Nothing."
"You have that expression."
"What expression?"
"The one where you're thinking loudly."
He shook his head.
They arrived at Black Vein shortly before dusk on the third day.
Clementine had expected a crude mining camp.
Instead she saw a small settlement.
Cabins lined a broad clearing beneath the mountain. A sawmill stood near a rushing creek. Smoke rose from a large cookhouse. Farther upslope, timber structures surrounded the mine entrance.
Men paused when Gideon's wagon appeared.
Then they noticed Clementine.
Thirty-eight miners stared.
Clementine sighed.
"Here we go again."
Gideon climbed down.
A red-bearded man approached.
"Boss."
"Caleb."
The man's gaze shifted toward Clementine.
His eyebrows rose.
Gideon said, "Clementine Mercer. She's fixing the books."
Caleb looked impressed.
"All of them?"
"Hopefully."
Clementine climbed from the wagon without assistance.
"How bad are they?"
Caleb scratched his beard.
"We keep finding numbers that don't belong anywhere."
"Numbers always belong somewhere."
"These appear to be wandering wild."
Clementine looked at Gideon.
"You weren't exaggerating."
"I rarely do."
Gideon's cabin sat apart from the workers' quarters.
Large but plain.
Two floors.
Stone chimney.
Wide porch.
Inside were three rooms downstairs and two upstairs.
Clementine received the upstairs bedroom.
The mattress was clean.
The blankets were thick.
A small window overlooked the valley.
On the desk waited six wooden crates.
Clementine stared.
"No."
Gideon stood in the doorway.
"Yes."
"Those are the ledgers?"
"Some."
"Some?"
"More are downstairs."
She turned slowly.
"I want six times my aunt's wages."
"Done."
"Damn."
Gideon almost smiled.
"You should've asked for eight."
For four days Clementine barely left the desk.
She discovered mistakes.
Then irregularities.
Then something worse.
Someone had been stealing.
Not small amounts.
Thousands.
Invoices had been duplicated.
Freight deliveries charged twice.
Equipment purchases recorded but never received.
Payroll allocated to miners who did not exist.
On the fifth evening, Clementine carried three ledgers downstairs.
Gideon was repairing a rifle near the fire.
"We have a problem."
"How large?"
"Eight thousand dollars that I can prove."
His hands stopped.
"And what you can't?"
"Possibly twice that."
Gideon's face hardened.
"Who?"
"I don't know yet."
"Former superintendent?"
"Maybe."
She placed the ledgers down.
"But some entries were made after his death."
Gideon's gaze sharpened.
"Meaning someone currently on this mountain is stealing from you."
"Yes."
Clementine sat opposite him.
"And whoever it is knows the mine well."
Gideon leaned back.
"How long to identify them?"
"Depends how clever they are."
"Very."
"How do you know?"
"They've been stealing from me without getting caught."
Clementine nodded.
"Fair point."
For the next week they worked together.
She traced invoices.
Gideon checked physical stock.
They discovered missing blasting powder.
Missing tools.
Missing silver ore.
Not simply bookkeeping fraud.
An organized theft operation.
Clementine began noticing something else.
Gideon knew every worker's name.
He knew whose wife was expecting a baby.
Whose son had pneumonia.
Which miner sent half his wages to an elderly mother in Missouri.
He paid injured men even when they couldn't work.
He kept food stores large enough to feed every family through winter.
The myth of Gideon Hayes did not resemble the man.
One evening, Clementine asked, "Why does Bitter Creek think you're some kind of wilderness monster?"
Gideon cut potatoes at the kitchen table.
"I don't attend dances."
"Clearly."
"I don't attend church."
"Scandalous."
"I don't invite townspeople here."
"Wise."
"I once broke the banker's nose."
Clementine paused.
"Ah."
"He deserved it."
"I'm certain he did."
"He tried to foreclose on a widow during a blizzard."
Clementine smiled.
"There you are."
"What?"
"The terrifying mountain beast."
He slid potatoes into a pot.
"You sound disappointed."
"Devastated."
The storm arrived three nights later.
Not snow.
Wind.
A violent mountain gale that tore roofing shingles away and sent trees crashing.
Clementine woke to shouting.
She pulled on boots and ran downstairs.
Gideon was already outside.
A lantern swung wildly from his hand.
"Stay inside!"
She ignored him.
Near the workers' bunkhouse, part of a roof had collapsed.
Men were trapped.
Clementine ran.
For the next hour there was no time for fear.
She lifted timber.
Bandaged a crushed hand.
Held a lantern while Gideon crawled beneath a fallen beam.
When a seventeen-year-old stable boy began panicking, Clementine slapped both hands against his cheeks.
"Look at me."
He did.
"You're alive. Breathe."
He breathed.
"Again."
By dawn, everyone was safe.
Three injuries.
No deaths.
Clementine sat exhausted outside the cookhouse.
Her dress was torn.
Blood—someone else's—stained one sleeve.
Gideon approached.
He had a cut over one eyebrow.
"You're bleeding."
"So are you."
"Mine isn't mine."
"That's worse."
She stood.
"Sit."
"I'm fine."
"Clementine."
"Gideon."
They stared at each other.
He sat.
She cleaned his wound.
Neither spoke.
When Clementine finished tying the bandage, she realized his hands rested carefully at his sides.
He could easily have touched her waist.
He didn't.
He never assumed permission.
That mattered more than compliments ever had.
"Thank you," he said.
"For the bandage?"
"For tonight."
Clementine shrugged.
"Anyone would have helped."
"No."
His eyes held hers.
"Not anyone."
Her breath caught.
The moment stretched.
Then Caleb ran toward them carrying a canvas pouch.
"Boss!"
Gideon stood.
"What?"
"We found this where the roof came down."
Caleb handed him the pouch.
Inside were silver fragments.
Raw ore.
Marked with Black Vein's identifying stamp.
Gideon's face went cold.
"Where?"
"Hidden inside the bunkhouse wall."
Clementine looked toward the damaged building.
A secret storage cache.
Someone had been hiding stolen silver inside Gideon's own camp.
Gideon turned to her.
"Looks like your thief is closer than we thought."
Clementine closed the pouch.
"No."
She looked toward the sleeping cabins.
"Your thief isn't just close."
Her voice lowered.
"Your thief lives with you."