Elias Vane arrived two days later.
He did not come alone.
Lydia saw four riders climbing toward the cabin while she stood at the table rolling biscuit dough.
Caleb was outside splitting wood.
The instant he saw them, he set down the axe.
Not hurriedly.
Not nervously.
That frightened Lydia more.
She wiped flour from her hands and stepped onto the porch.
“Inside,” Caleb said.
“You promised to stop ordering me.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“These men may be armed.”
“So are you.”
“Lydia.”
She met his eyes.
“Then explain.”
His jaw tightened.
“Vane owns the largest timber operation south of Leadville. He’s been trying to buy this land for five years.”
“Why?”
“Water rights.”
Lydia looked toward the stream cutting across Caleb’s acreage.
“He needs your water.”
“His mill does.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
“Repeatedly?”
“Yes.”
“Politely?”
Caleb gave her a look.
“Ah.”
The riders stopped in front of the porch.
Elias Vane dismounted first.
He was perhaps forty-five, handsome in a polished way Caleb was not. His coat was expensive. His boots were nearly clean despite the muddy trail.
He smiled at Lydia.
“Well.”
Caleb stepped between them.
“Vane.”
“Rusk.”
Elias’s gaze returned to Lydia.
“I heard you ordered yourself a wife.”
Lydia did not like his choice of words.
“I bought a stagecoach ticket,” Caleb replied. “Not a woman.”
Elias laughed.
“Touchy.”
He removed his hat.
“Mrs. Rusk, I presume?”
“Miss Hart.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Not married yet?”
Caleb’s voice went cold.
“Why are you here?”
Elias looked toward the damaged fence.
“I heard you lost some horses.”
“Interesting news to travel so quickly.”
“Mountain country is full of gossip.”
“It’s also full of tracks.”
Silence.
One of Elias’s men shifted in the saddle.
Elias smiled again.
“You accusing me of something?”
“Not yet.”
Lydia watched both men.
Caleb carried anger like a banked fire.
Elias carried his like perfume—subtle, deliberate, meant to enter a room before anyone acknowledged it.
“I came to renew my offer,” Elias said. “Three thousand dollars for the eastern forty acres.”
“No.”
“Four thousand.”
“No.”
“Five.”
“No.”
Elias looked toward Lydia.
“You might reconsider now that you have a household to support.”
Lydia spoke before Caleb could.
“Mr. Rusk appears quite capable of supporting his household.”
Elias studied her.
“And you must be the Philadelphia girl.”
“Woman.”
His smile widened.
“I like confidence.”
“I wasn’t offering it for your approval.”
Caleb coughed.
Lydia looked at him.
Was he hiding a laugh?
Elias’s expression cooled.
“The mountain gets difficult, Miss Hart. Winters are long. Accidents happen.”
Caleb stepped forward.
“Careful.”
Elias replaced his hat.
“Just neighborly advice.”
“You live twelve miles away.”
“Still neighbors.”
He mounted.
Before leaving, he looked at Lydia one more time.
“You may find civilization more attractive after a month up here.”
Lydia folded her arms.
“I spent twenty-four years in civilization. I remain unconvinced.”
The riders left.
Caleb stared after them.
“Inside.”
Lydia went willingly this time.
The door closed.
“What did he mean about accidents?”
Caleb leaned his rifle against the wall.
“Exactly what it sounded like.”
“Has he threatened you before?”
“Not where witnesses could hear.”
“The horses?”
“Probably him.”
“Why not report him?”
“To whom?”
“The sheriff.”
“Sheriff Cole drinks with Vane every Thursday.”
Lydia understood.
“So we cannot prove anything.”
“No.”
She looked toward the red wool Caleb had placed on the table.
“We can prove one of his men was near the fence.”
“Not enough.”
Lydia nodded.
“Then we need more.”
Caleb stared at her.
“We?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Lydia laughed once.
“You sent for the wrong woman if you wanted someone who would hide behind the curtains.”
“I sent for a wife, not a deputy.”
“You do not currently have either.”
Caleb opened his mouth.
She raised one finger.
“Do not say something you will regret.”
He shut it.
For several days, nothing happened.
The weather warmed.
Lydia’s wound continued healing.
Caleb rode to town and returned with news that the preacher might reach the mountain the following week.
Neither spoke much about the wedding.
Yet Lydia noticed Caleb had purchased a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.
He hid it inside a cupboard.
She pretended not to see.
One afternoon she unpacked her wedding dress.
It was not fashionable.
There had not been money for fashionable.
It was cream-colored with tiny covered buttons and lace Lydia herself had salvaged from her mother’s old gown.
The skirt was wide enough to accommodate her figure without pretending she was someone else.
Unfortunately, the fall from the horse had torn one side.
Lydia spread it over the bed.
Caleb walked in carrying wood.
He stopped.
She looked up.
“It needs repairing.”
He kept staring.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is very clearly something.”
“I’ve never seen a wedding dress in my cabin.”
“Well, unless there is something you failed to mention, I imagine not.”
His eyes moved across the gown.
“You made it?”
“Mostly.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Lydia looked at him.
“The dress?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Caleb put down the wood.
Lydia picked at the torn fabric.
“I was afraid it would look foolish.”
“Why?”
“Because wedding dresses are designed for graceful women.”
He frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means.”
“No.”
“Small.”
“Why?”
“Caleb.”
“I’m serious.”
Lydia shook her head.
“Never mind.”
He crossed the room and touched the torn edge of fabric.
“You can repair it?”
“I believe so.”
“If not, Mrs. Foster in town sews.”
“You know a seamstress?”
“Everyone knows Mrs. Foster. She fixed a bullet hole in my coat.”
“That is not usually how seamstresses advertise.”
He looked at the dress again.
“You’ll look beautiful.”
The statement was simple.
No awkward correction afterward.
No qualification.
Lydia’s chest tightened.
“Thank you.”
Caleb nodded and walked outside.
She sat staring at the door long after he left.
That evening, the barn caught fire.
Caleb smelled smoke first.
He ran outside.
Lydia followed.
Flames licked up the rear wall.
“Water!”
They formed no bucket line because there were only two of them.
Caleb threw snow.
Lydia dragged water from the well despite her aching leg.
One section of roof collapsed.
A horse screamed from inside.
Caleb rushed through the doorway.
“Caleb!”
He disappeared into smoke.
Lydia’s heart stopped.
Seconds became minutes.
Then Caleb emerged leading the terrified bay.
His sleeve burned.
Lydia beat out the flames with her apron.
They fought until midnight.
By then the barn was half ruined.
Three weeks of stored hay had burned.
Caleb stood blackened with soot, staring at what remained.
Lydia saw something on the snow.
A small glass bottle.
She picked it up.
It smelled of kerosene.
“Caleb.”
His face hardened.
This had not been an accident.
The next morning they rode into town.
Sheriff Amos Cole examined the bottle, listened, scratched his gray beard, and leaned back.
“You see anyone?”
“No,” Caleb said.
“Got witnesses?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“Investigate.”
Cole sighed.
“Against Elias Vane?”
“I didn’t say his name.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Lydia studied the sheriff.
“Sheriff, if someone burns a barn, do you generally wait until they burn the house before becoming interested?”
Cole looked at her.
“Ma’am, mountain disputes get ugly. Best thing might be for Rusk to sell.”
Lydia stood.
“Thank you.”
Caleb followed her outside.
“You’re angry.”
“That man is useless.”
“He’s worse than useless.”
“What does that mean?”
Caleb hesitated.
“I think Vane owns him.”
Lydia stopped walking.
“Can we prove that?”
“No.”
“Yet.”
Caleb gave her a tired look.
“You like that word.”
“I do.”
They purchased nails, lamp oil, grain, and replacement tools.
As Caleb loaded the wagon, Lydia entered the general store.
The proprietor, Miriam Holt, was a sharp-eyed widow in her fifties.
“You’re Rusk’s bride.”
“Soon.”
Miriam leaned closer.
“You watch Elias Vane.”
“I intend to.”
The woman studied her.
“Caleb tell you what happened to Daniel?”
“No.”
Miriam’s expression changed.
“Ask him.”
That night Lydia did.
Caleb sat at the table, repairing a harness.
“Who was Daniel?”
His hands stopped.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Miriam Holt.”
Caleb stared at the leather.
“My brother.”
“You said your brother died.”
“He did.”
“How?”
“Logging accident.”
Lydia waited.
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“He worked for Vane.”
Understanding came slowly.
“Caleb.”
“Daniel discovered Vane was cutting timber beyond his claim. He threatened to report it. Three days later a tree fell the wrong direction.”
“You believe Elias killed him?”
“I believe Elias ordered men to weaken the trunk.”
“Can you prove it?”
“No.”
“That is why you hate him.”
“That’s one reason.”
Lydia reached across the table and rested her hand over his.
He stiffened.
Then did not move away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Caleb looked at their hands.
“So am I.”
That night someone fired a rifle through the cabin window.
The bullet struck the wall six inches above Lydia’s head.
Caleb threw her to the floor.
He extinguished the lamp.
Another shot came.
Then silence.
Caleb crawled toward the rifle rack.
Lydia’s heart hammered.
“Stay down.”
This time she did not argue.
Caleb slipped outside through the rear window.
Minutes passed.
Then twenty.
When he returned, snow covered his shoulders.
“Gone.”
Lydia stood trembling.
Caleb saw her.
“You hurt?”
“No.”
He crossed the room.
His hands came to her shoulders.
“Lydia.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“So are you.”
He looked down.
His hands were indeed unsteady.
The realization silenced both of them.
Lydia whispered, “He could have killed us.”
Caleb’s voice came rough.
“He almost killed you.”
He pulled away.
“This ends tomorrow.”
“What does?”
“You.”
She froze.
Caleb looked toward her trunk.
“I’m taking you back to Leadville.”
“No.”
“You’ll stay with Mrs. Foster until the road clears east.”
“No.”
“I should never have brought you here.”
Pain struck deeper than Lydia expected.
“Do you regret me?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It sounded very much like it.”
“I regret putting you in danger.”
“I was in danger the day I fell from the horse.”
“That was an accident.”
“And you saved me.”
“This is different.”
“Yes. This time I know the danger exists.”
“Exactly.”
“And I am still here.”
“Lydia—”
She stepped closer.
“If you tell me you no longer want me, I will pack.”
Caleb went silent.
“If you tell me you have changed your mind about marrying me, I will leave.”
His eyes lifted.
“But if you send me away because Elias Vane frightened you on my behalf, then you are not protecting me.”
She held his gaze.
“You are deciding for me.”
The cabin became very quiet.
Caleb looked at the bullet hole above the bed.
Then at Lydia.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
The words were almost painful.
Lydia breathed again.
“Then I won’t.”
“I’m afraid he’ll hurt you.”
“I am afraid too.”
He frowned.
“You don’t look afraid.”
“That is because women learn early how to do things while afraid.”
Caleb stared at her.
Then Lydia stepped into his arms.
Not accidentally.
Not because she was injured.
By choice.
For one instant Caleb stood motionless.
Then his arms closed around her.
Lydia rested her face against his chest.
She heard his heart beating hard.
For the first time since arriving in Colorado, she felt how dangerous the mountain could be.
And for the first time in years, she also understood what it meant to have someone terrified of losing her.