Nobody left Black Vein the next morning.
Gideon closed the road.
He said a fallen tree had blocked the pass.
Technically, one had.
He simply neglected to mention that Caleb could have cleared it by noon.
Clementine approved.
If the thief believed the storm had accidentally trapped everyone, he would be less likely to panic.
For two days she watched.
She listened.
Most men behaved normally.
They complained about mud.
Played cards.
Argued over coffee.
A few asked about the hidden silver, because secrets in a mining camp traveled faster than fire through dry grass.
Gideon told them very little.
Clementine told them nothing.
Her investigation narrowed to four men with access to the accounting office and ore storage.
Caleb Rourke, Gideon's foreman.
Peter Voss, the freight manager.
Daniel Pike, the assayer.
And Samuel Trent, a quiet miner who sometimes handled payroll.
Clementine disliked suspecting Caleb.
He had helped rescue men during the storm.
He laughed easily.
Workers trusted him.
But numbers did not care whether somebody was likable.
Neither could she.
On the third night, Clementine remained awake after everyone else slept.
Gideon had moved the important ledgers downstairs.
They sat on the dining table.
Clementine pretended to retire.
Then she waited.
Near midnight, floorboards creaked.
She slipped from bed.
The sound came from below.
Clementine moved quietly down the stairs.
A shadow stood beside the table.
Someone held a lantern low.
A hand reached toward the ledgers.
Clementine stepped onto the final stair.
"I wouldn't."
The figure froze.
Then spun.
Peter Voss.
The freight manager.
His face went pale.
"Miss Mercer."
"Mr. Voss."
He glanced toward the door.
"Couldn't sleep."
"So you came to read mine ledgers?"
"Thought I heard something."
"You did."
Clementine descended.
"Me catching you."
Peter's eyes changed.
That was when she knew.
Not because he had been near the books.
Because fear disappeared.
Something colder replaced it.
"You should've stayed in Bitter Creek," he said.
Clementine's pulse accelerated.
"You should've learned arithmetic."
Peter lunged.
Clementine grabbed the nearest object.
A cast-iron skillet.
She swung.
It connected with his forearm.
Peter shouted.
He knocked the skillet aside and seized her wrist.
Clementine drove her knee forward.
Peter folded.
Then the front door opened.
Gideon entered.
He took in the scene in less than a second.
Peter released Clementine.
Bad decision.
He reached for his revolver.
Gideon crossed the room before the weapon cleared leather.
One hand caught Peter's wrist.
The other struck his chest.
Peter hit the wall hard enough to shake a shelf.
Gideon removed the revolver.
"Sit."
Peter sat.
Clementine rubbed her wrist.
Gideon saw it.
His expression darkened.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No."
"Clementine."
"Not significantly."
Gideon looked ready to redefine significantly.
She placed herself between him and Peter.
"We need him conscious."
Peter spat blood onto the floor.
"You think I'm working alone?"
Clementine looked at him.
"Thank you."
His eyes narrowed.
"For what?"
"For confirming you're not."
Peter realized his mistake.
Clementine smiled without warmth.
"Arithmetic isn't your only weakness."
By dawn they had answers.
Peter refused to name his partner.
He did not need to.
Clementine produced freight records.
Every shipment containing missing supplies had been signed by Daniel Pike, the assayer.
Daniel's cabin was empty.
He had vanished during the night.
The road was blocked.
Which meant he had gone into the mountains on foot.
Gideon saddled a horse.
Clementine met him outside wearing her coat.
"No."
She folded her arms.
"You haven't heard my argument."
"I know your argument."
"You don't know where he's going."
"Neither do you."
"I do."
Gideon stopped.
Clementine held up an invoice.
"Daniel purchased lamp oil and winter rope from a trapper four months ago."
"So?"
"The trapper's station is north."
Gideon looked toward the ridge.
"Old Dunbar cabin."
Clementine nodded.
"If Pike has partners outside Black Vein, that's where he'd meet them."
Gideon swore.
"You stay here."
"No."
"Clementine."
"We've had this discussion."
"The mountain isn't a dance hall."
"Yes. Dance halls are much more dangerous. They're full of bachelors."
Despite the situation, Gideon nearly smiled.
She mounted the second horse.
They found Pike near dusk.
He was not alone.
Two men waited at the abandoned cabin.
When Gideon and Clementine approached, gunfire erupted.
Gideon pulled Clementine behind a boulder.
"Still think this was a good idea?"
"No."
"Wonderful."
"I think it was an excellent idea."
Another shot struck stone.
Gideon stared at her.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
The confrontation ended quickly after Gideon circled through the trees.
One man fled.
The other surrendered.
Daniel Pike attempted to escape down the ravine.
Clementine saw him first.
She shouted.
Gideon cut him off.
By dark, all three were captured.
Inside the cabin they discovered stolen silver packed into crates.
Nearly twelve thousand dollars' worth.
There were also letters.
One contained the name of a buyer in Denver.
Another contained something more troubling.
Bitter Creek Bank.
Clementine read it twice.
Then handed it to Gideon.
The banker had been financing the theft.
Not directly.
Carefully.
Loans to freight companies that did not exist.
Money transferred through shell accounts.
Gideon's jaw tightened.
"The same banker whose nose you broke?"
"Same one."
"Perhaps you should've broken both sides."
Gideon looked at her.
"You're a bad influence."
They returned to Black Vein two days later.
Peter, Pike, and the third man were eventually delivered to the territorial marshal.
The banker would follow.
For the first time in months, Gideon's accounts balanced.
Six weeks passed.
Then seven.
Clementine remained.
Neither mentioned it.
Winter arrived fully.
Snow covered the mine roofs.
Temperatures dropped until water froze inside buckets.
Clementine reorganized payroll.
Negotiated cheaper freight contracts.
Started an emergency reserve.
Workers who once stared suspiciously when she arrived now knocked on her office door for advice.
One miner asked whether he should purchase cattle.
Another wanted help writing a letter to his wife.
A third brought her a pie after she corrected a payroll mistake in his favor.
Clementine slowly realized something.
She belonged here.
Nobody cared that her dresses required extra fabric.
They cared whether the flour shipment arrived.
They cared whether wages were correct.
They cared whether Clementine knew how to treat frostbite.
She had become necessary.
One evening Gideon found her standing outside beneath the stars.
Snow stretched across the valley, brilliant beneath moonlight.
"Cold."
"I noticed."
He stood beside her.
"Your six weeks ended eleven days ago."
"I noticed that too."
"Do you want to go home?"
Clementine's chest tightened.
Bitter Creek was home.
Wasn't it?
Her aunt was there.
Her room.
Her familiar streets.
But Black Vein felt different now.
At Bitter Creek, she occupied space apologetically.
Here, people made space because she had earned it.
"I don't know."
Gideon nodded.
No pressure.
No persuasion.
That almost made deciding harder.
Clementine looked at him.
"Do you want me to leave?"
His gaze remained on the mountains.
"No."
One word.
Simple.
She waited.
Gideon added, "But wanting you here and asking you to stay are different things."
"Why?"
"Because one is mine."
He looked at her.
"The other affects your life."
Clementine stared.
Seven men at a dance had treated choosing a woman as their right.
Gideon Hayes, wealthiest man in the territory, behaved as if choosing Clementine was meaningless unless Clementine also chose.
Something inside her shifted.
"Gideon."
"Yes?"
"You've never once asked me about my size."
He frowned.
"Why would I?"
"Everyone does eventually."
"I know you're large."
Clementine laughed.
"Thank you for the revelation."
"So am I."
"You're a man."
"I'm aware."
"It's different for you."
His expression became serious.
"It shouldn't be."
Clementine looked away.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Gideon said quietly, "My mother was built like you."
Clementine turned.
"Strong."
He looked toward the ridge.
"She hauled me ten miles through snow when I broke my leg at twelve. Carried me part of it."
"Your mother carried you?"
"I was smaller then."
"Barely, I imagine."
He smiled.
"People called her big. My father called her the reason he survived twenty winters."
That sentence lodged somewhere deep inside Clementine.
Gideon turned toward the cabin.
"Come inside before your eyelashes freeze."
She followed.
At the door, she stopped.
"Gideon."
He looked back.
"I'm staying through winter."
His expression remained controlled.
But his eyes changed.
Warmer.
"All right."
Clementine pointed.
"Don't look so pleased."
"I'm not."
"You're thinking loudly again."
This time Gideon smiled openly.
And Clementine suddenly understood that winter might be far more dangerous than she had expected.
Not because of wolves.
Not because of thieves.
Because for the first time in her life, she was beginning to care whether one particular man saw her.
And judging by the way Gideon Hayes looked at her, he already did.