By the second week of December, Elias no longer wondered whether marrying Josephine had been a mistake.
He wondered how he had survived so long without her.
The realization frightened him.
He did not tell her.
Elias Row had faced bears, broken bones, starvation weather, and men with guns.
Love was more frightening than all of them.
Because love gave the world something to take.
On the morning the blizzard came, Josephine woke before daylight.
Wind pressed against the cabin walls.
Not yet dangerous.
But wrong.
She had learned the mountain’s sounds.
This wind had a hollow note.
Elias dressed beside the stove.
“You’re going out?”
“Only trap line.”
Josephine looked through the window.
Clouds crowded the western ridge.
“Today?”
“Need to check two traps before the weather closes.”
“Can they wait?”
“One may have something in it.”
She frowned.
Elias walked over.
“I’ll be back by two.”
“You said that last time.”
“I was forty minutes late.”
“I remember every one of them.”
He smiled.
Josephine straightened his coat.
“You laugh, but I mean it.”
“I know.”
“Two.”
“Two.”
She pointed a finger at him.
“If you are not inside this cabin at two o’clock, I’m coming after you.”
Elias kissed her forehead.
“You’d get lost before the barn.”
“I resent your confidence.”
“So does the barn.”
She swatted his chest.
He laughed.
Then he kissed her properly.
It was the last peaceful moment either of them would have that day.
---
At noon, snow began.
At twelve-thirty, the mountains disappeared.
By one, Josephine could barely see the barn.
She stood at the window.
No Elias.
“He said two,” she reminded herself.
At one-thirty, the wind became violent.
Snow slammed horizontally across the glass.
Josephine fed the stove.
Checked water.
Checked the clock.
At two, she opened the door.
White.
Nothing else.
She shouted.
“ELIAS!”
The wind took his name.
She waited.
No answer.
At two-fifteen, Josephine put on her coat.
Then stopped.
Do not panic.
Elias knew the mountains.
He had survived storms before.
He would shelter somewhere if necessary.
At three, she opened the door again.
“ELIAS!”
Nothing.
At four, she stopped pretending she was willing to wait.
Josephine had watched Elias prepare for storms.
She knew the rules.
Never walk blindly.
Always mark your way.
Protect your hands.
Stay dry.
She pulled on two pairs of stockings.
Boots.
Wool coat.
Gloves.
Scarf.
Then she went to the shed.
A heavy coil of rope hung from a hook.
Josephine took it.
She tied one end around the main support beam inside the cabin.
The other around her waist.
She lit a lantern.
Then stepped into the storm.
The wind hit so hard she fell against the porch rail.
For a moment, fear nearly drove her back.
This was not Chicago snow.
Not a city storm.
This felt alive.
Hungry.
Snow reached above her knees in places.
Josephine leaned forward and moved.
One step.
Another.
Another.
“ELIAS!”
Nothing.
The rope trailed behind her.
She followed the direction he used to reach the lower trap line.
She could see perhaps ten feet.
Sometimes less.
Her face burned.
Then went numb.
Josephine kept moving.
“ELIAS!”
The lantern swung violently.
Her shoulders screamed.
Every breath hurt.
She remembered the stagecoach.
The cold kills people.
She remembered answering him.
A Wyoming winter will have to try harder.
“Try harder,” she muttered.
Then kept walking.
The rope tightened.
She had reached its limit.
Josephine stared into the whiteout.
“No.”
She pulled forward.
Nothing.
The rope held.
She could go no farther without abandoning her lifeline.
“ELIAS!”
Silence.
Tears froze against her lashes.
She turned.
Then something struck her boot.
Josephine looked down.
At first she thought it was a branch.
Then she saw fingers.
Human fingers.
She dropped to her knees.
“Elias!”
Snow covered most of him.
He lay facedown against a drift near the rocks.
Josephine rolled him.
His skin looked gray beneath his beard.
“Elias!”
His eyes fluttered.
“Jo…”
“I’m here.”
“Go back.”
She almost laughed.
“You idiot.”
“Storm…”
“I noticed.”
She checked him quickly.
No obvious blood.
One leg seemed wrong.
He tried to rise.
Pain folded him immediately.
“Ankle,” he gasped.
Josephine looked toward the cabin.
She could not see it.
Only the rope told her where home was.
“I can’t carry you.”
“No.”
“So we drag you.”
“Josephine—”
“You may complain once we are indoors.”
She grabbed the back of his coat.
Planted both feet.
Pulled.
Elias moved perhaps six inches.
Josephine grunted.
Again.
The snow fought her.
The wind fought her.
Elias was almost twice her weight.
But the slope favored them.
One foot.
Then another.
Again.
Again.
Josephine’s arms began trembling.
“Stop,” Elias whispered.
“No.”
“Rest.”
“If I rest, I may decide I hate you.”
“Fair.”
She dragged again.
Then froze.
Something appeared beside the lantern light.
Tracks.
Horse tracks.
Fresh.
Josephine stared.
They crossed the path Elias had used.
One horse.
Then another.
Then another.
At least three.
Elias saw them too.
His expression changed.
“Those weren’t there earlier.”
Josephine tightened her grip on him.
A shape moved through the storm.
Farther uphill.
A horse.
Josephine could barely make it out.
Then the animal shifted.
Something hung beside the saddle.
A rifle.
Her blood turned colder than the storm.
“Elias,” she whispered.
He raised his head.
The silhouette disappeared.
“Move,” he said.
“What?”
“Get me inside.”
Josephine did not need to be told twice.
---
By the time they reached the cabin, Josephine could barely feel her hands.
She hauled Elias across the porch.
Then rolled him through the doorway.
The lantern went out.
She slammed the door.
Locked it.
Elias tried to stand.
His ankle failed.
Josephine helped him to the chair.
“Rifle.”
She retrieved it.
Elias checked the chamber.
Loaded.
Josephine knelt.
“Let me see your foot.”
“Window.”
“I can manage both.”
She cut away the boot laces.
His ankle was swollen.
Not broken, she thought.
Badly sprained.
His fingers trembled.
Hypothermia worried her more.
Josephine stripped off his wet coat.
Then shirt.
Elias protested.
“Not now.”
“Josephine.”
“You nearly froze to death. Your modesty may file a complaint tomorrow.”
She wrapped him in blankets.
Made hot water.
Forced him to drink slowly.
All while looking toward the window every few seconds.
Darkness arrived early.
The storm worsened.
Nothing moved outside.
At seven, Elias’s shivering finally became less violent.
Josephine sat beside him.
“Who was it?”
“Don’t know.”
“You have a suspicion.”
He looked at her.
“Mercer.”
“Crowe’s man?”
Elias nodded.
“Why follow you into a blizzard?”
“That’s the question.”
Josephine remembered finding Elias.
“You fell?”
“Horse spooked.”
“Why?”
He closed his eyes.
“Gunshot.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Someone fired from the ridge. Missed me. Horse threw me.”
Josephine stared.
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I was busy freezing.”
“That man tried to kill you.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe.”
“Could’ve been warning shot.”
“Elias.”
He looked at her.
Josephine’s expression was fierce.
“People do not fire rifles near a man on a mountain during a blizzard to improve his mood.”
Despite everything, Elias smiled faintly.
“You’re angry.”
“I dragged you half a mile through snow. I have earned anger.”
He reached for her hand.
She let him take it.
Then his expression became serious.
“If those men are Crowe’s, they may come here.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw them.”
“You barely saw anything.”
“They don’t know that.”
Josephine looked toward the door.
“What do we do?”
“We survive tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
“We survive tomorrow too.”
She squeezed his hand.
“That is not much of a plan.”
“It’s the one I’ve used most of my life.”
Josephine stood.
“Then perhaps it’s time you had a better one.”
---
Near midnight, someone knocked.
Three slow strikes.
Josephine and Elias looked at each other.
The wind screamed outside.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Elias raised the rifle.
“Behind me.”
“You can’t stand.”
“Still behind me.”
Josephine took the revolver from his gun belt.
He stared.
“What?”
“You taught me.”
“I taught you to shoot cans.”
“If whoever is outside stands still enough, I will pretend he is a can.”
Elias almost objected.
Then the knocking came again.
A voice followed.
“Row!”
Silas Mercer.
Elias’s jaw hardened.
“What do you want?”
“Shelter!”
Josephine whispered, “Do not open that door.”
Mercer shouted again.
“Storm took my horse! Let me in!”
Elias looked toward Josephine.
Frontier law was harsh but simple.
Refusing shelter in a deadly storm could mean killing a man as surely as shooting him.
Josephine knew that too.
“If he is alone?” she whispered.
“We can’t know.”
Mercer pounded the door.
“Row! I’m freezing!”
Elias made a decision.
He pointed the rifle.
“Josephine, stand left.”
She did.
Elias called, “Open the door slowly and keep your hands where I can see them!”
The latch moved.
The door opened.
Silas Mercer stumbled inside.
Snow covered him.
His beard was white with ice.
No rifle.
Only a revolver at his hip.
Elias said, “Take the gun off.”
Mercer obeyed.
Josephine collected it.
Then she closed the door.
Mercer looked from her to Elias.
His eyes settled on the swollen ankle.
“Bad luck.”
“Was it?”
Mercer’s expression did not change.
Elias raised the rifle slightly.
“Who else is out there?”
“No one.”
“We saw tracks.”
“Crowe’s riders.”
Josephine felt the room tighten.
Mercer looked toward her.
“You must be the Chicago bride.”
Josephine did not answer.
Mercer smiled.
“Crowe said you were pretty.”
Elias’s voice turned dangerous.
“When did Crowe see my wife?”
Mercer’s smile disappeared.
Silence.
That single mistake told them everything.
Crowe had people watching the cabin.
Josephine stepped closer to Elias.
Mercer exhaled.
“All right.”
He looked exhausted.
“I’ll tell you what’s happening.”
“You’ll tell me everything,” Elias said.
Mercer nodded.
“Crowe doesn’t only want your spring.”
Elias waited.
“He needs your entire southern ridge.”
“For what?”
“Railroad surveyors.”
Elias frowned.
Mercer continued.
“New line may come through next year. Whoever controls this pass controls the best route down into Oak Haven.”
Josephine understood immediately.
“The land will become valuable.”
“More than valuable,” Mercer said. “Worth a fortune.”
Elias’s face hardened.
“And Crowe knows?”
“He paid a surveyor.”
“So he tried to kill me.”
Mercer looked away.
Josephine raised the revolver.
“Answer him.”
Mercer stared at her.
Then nodded once.
“The shot was supposed to frighten you off the trail. Not hit you.”
“Why?”
“Because Crowe wanted to search your cabin while you were gone.”
Josephine’s blood ran cold.
“For what?”
Mercer looked toward Elias.
“Your deed.”
Elias’s expression changed.
Mercer lowered his voice.
“Crowe plans to make sure that by spring, everyone believes this mountain belongs to him.”
Outside, the blizzard roared.
Inside, Josephine finally understood that she had not merely married a mountain man.
She had stepped into a war.
And somebody intended to steal their home.
---