Gideon opened the door only wide enough to step through it.
Then he shut it behind him.
Mae remained inside with Samuel.
She wanted to stay away from the window.
She lasted perhaps five seconds.
Silas stood near the edge of the porch, swaying slightly.
Jeb Cutter waited twenty feet behind him with two other men.
So Silas had not come alone.
Mae’s fear became anger.
Of course he had brought Jeb.
Silas had never been brave unless another man stood nearby.
“Where’s my wife?” Silas demanded.
Gideon rested the rifle loosely against his shoulder.
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
Silas laughed.
“She tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“She’s my wife.”
Gideon said nothing.
“You paid me for temporary use.”
Mae’s stomach turned.
That was not what had happened.
Silas continued.
“You want to keep her, price changed.”
Gideon’s voice remained level.
“She isn’t property.”
Jeb Cutter stepped forward.
“Then you won’t mind letting her decide.”
“I already did.”
“I want to hear it from her.”
Gideon turned his head slightly toward the cabin.
Mae knew he was leaving the decision to her.
Her first instinct was to hide.
Then she remembered Samuel growing old enough to understand.
What would she teach him if she hid forever?
Mae handed Samuel into the cradle.
“Stay here, sweetheart.”
She wrapped herself in a coat Gideon had given her and opened the door.
Four men turned.
Silas smiled.
The sight of it made her skin crawl.
“There she is.”
Mae stood beside Gideon.
Not behind him.
Beside him.
Silas looked her up and down.
“You look fed.”
Mae said nothing.
“Got yourself comfortable, huh?”
Still nothing.
His smile weakened.
Silas hated silence when it belonged to someone else.
“Pack your things.”
“No.”
The word came out so calmly that Mae almost looked around to see who had spoken.
Silas stared.
“What?”
“I said no.”
His face changed.
The old change.
The tightening mouth.
Narrowed eyes.
Mae’s body remembered before her mind did.
Her shoulders rose defensively.
Gideon noticed.
He moved half a step closer but did not touch her.
Silas pointed.
“You don’t speak to me that way.”
Mae felt years of fear rising.
But behind it was something new.
Rage.
“You sold me.”
“You embarrassed me.”
“You sold your son.”
Silas waved dismissively.
“He’s better off here than starving with us.”
“You spent a hundred dollars in eight days.”
Silas’s cheeks colored.
“That money was mine.”
Mae laughed once.
“Everything was yours, wasn’t it?”
Jeb grew impatient.
“We didn’t climb this mountain to hear married folks argue.”
He looked at Gideon.
“Walker wants two hundred.”
Gideon’s expression did not change.
“No.”
“Then the woman comes down.”
“No.”
Jeb’s hand drifted toward his revolver.
Gideon’s rifle barely moved.
Yet suddenly everyone noticed where the barrel pointed.
Jeb stopped.
Silas cleared his throat.
“Two hundred and we forget the whole thing.”
Mae stared at him.
“You would sell me twice?”
Silas shrugged.
“You’re the one refusing to come home.”
Home.
The word hit something inside Mae.
Home had been floorboards stained with whiskey.
Home had been hiding coins beneath loose boards.
Home had been praying Samuel would not cry.
“No,” Mae repeated.
Silas stepped onto the porch.
Gideon blocked him.
“Move.”
Gideon did not.
Silas made the mistake of grabbing his coat.
What happened next was almost too fast to follow.
Gideon caught Silas’s wrist, turned it, and dropped him to one knee without striking him.
Silas screamed.
“Let go!”
Gideon’s voice stayed calm.
“Do not touch me.”
Mae recognized the words.
The same rule.
Permission.
Even now.
He released Silas.
Silas stumbled backward.
Jeb drew his revolver halfway.
Gideon aimed the rifle.
“Finish drawing.”
Jeb froze.
Wind moved through the pines.
Nobody spoke.
Finally Jeb let the revolver slide back into its holster.
“This isn’t over.”
Gideon nodded.
“I know.”
They left.
Mae watched until the riders disappeared among the trees.
Only then did her knees begin shaking.
Gideon lowered his rifle.
“You all right?”
“No.”
“Do you want to go inside?”
“Yes.”
He did not touch her.
Mae found herself wishing he would.
That frightened her almost as much as Silas’s visit.
Inside, Samuel began crying.
Mae picked him up.
Gideon checked the windows.
“Cutter will come back.”
Mae bounced Samuel gently.
“You knew he would.”
“Yes.”
“Then why stay here?”
“Because running tells him we’re afraid.”
“I am afraid.”
Gideon turned.
“So am I.”
She stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
Mae almost smiled.
“Of Jeb?”
“No.”
He looked at Samuel.
“Of being too late again.”
That silenced her.
Over the next several days, Gideon prepared.
He checked ammunition.
Moved supplies.
Set warning lines along the trail.
Mae watched him turn the cabin into a fortress.
But she also began noticing things.
He always placed extra wood near her room before sunset.
He carved Samuel a wooden horse.
He repaired Mae’s boots without mentioning it.
He found wool fabric in storage and left it on the table.
“For winter clothes,” he said.
She sewed herself a thicker dress.
Then a little coat for Samuel.
Then, without planning to, a scarf for Gideon.
When she gave it to him, he stared at the scarf as though it were gold.
“It’s only wool.”
“I know.”
“You need one.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you looking at it like that?”
He cleared his throat.
“No one’s made me anything in years.”
Mae’s chest tightened.
“Now someone has.”
He wore it the next morning.
Two weeks passed.
No sign of Silas.
No sign of Cutter.
Snow deepened.
The cabin became its own world.
Mae began learning Gideon’s routines.
He woke before dawn.
Checked traps.
Fed animals.
Cut timber.
Repaired tools.
Read by the fire at night.
His books surprised her.
History.
Medicine.
Law.
Shakespeare.
“You read plays?”
Gideon looked up.
“Sometimes.”
Mae smiled.
“The terrifying mountain hermit reads Shakespeare.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your reputation would be destroyed.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
Mae realized she was teasing him.
And he was letting her.
Later that night Samuel stood without assistance for nearly three seconds.
Mae gasped.
Gideon looked up from his book.
Samuel wobbled.
Then fell onto his bottom.
Mae laughed.
Gideon laughed too.
The sound filled the cabin.
Something warm moved through Mae.
Dangerously warm.
She looked at Gideon.
He was already looking at her.
Neither spoke.
For one heartbeat, the distance between them felt very small.
Then Gideon looked away.
Mae’s face heated.
The following morning, everything changed.
Gideon found footprints.
Not human.
Horse.
Three sets.
“They were here last night,” he said.
Mae’s heart dropped.
“How close?”
“Barn.”
“Why didn’t the animals make noise?”
“They did. Wind covered it.”
Gideon examined the trail.
One horse had circled toward the shed he had told Mae not to enter.
When he returned, he looked worried.
“They know what I have.”
“The evidence?”
He nodded.
“Then move it.”
“I will.”
“Where?”
He looked at her.
“Somewhere Cutter won’t find it.”
That afternoon, Gideon opened the forbidden shed.
Mae followed.
Inside were crates, weapons, old case files, saddles, and several metal boxes.
One wall held photographs.
Mae stared.
Women.
Dozens.
Some young.
Some older.
Several holding children.
“Who are they?”
“Missing.”
Mae moved closer.
Dates and locations had been written beneath each image.
Kansas.
Colorado.
Wyoming.
Montana.
One photograph showed a smiling woman with Gideon’s gray eyes.
Beside her stood a little girl.
Mae knew before asking.
“Your sister?”
“Clara.”
“And the child?”
“Rose.”
Mae touched the edge of the photograph.
“How old would Rose be?”
“Eleven.”
Mae turned.
“You think she could still be alive.”
“I have to.”
The words were so quiet they hurt.
Mae scanned the photographs again.
Then she saw something.
A face.
She leaned closer.
“Wait.”
Gideon joined her.
Mae pointed.
“I know her.”
His entire body stiffened.
The photograph showed a dark-haired woman perhaps thirty years old.
“Who?”
“She worked at the boardinghouse in Misery Bend when Samuel was born. Her name was Nora Bell.”
Gideon’s breath changed.
“When did you last see her?”
“Last spring.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
His eyes became intensely focused.
“Mae, this photograph was taken four years ago in Kansas.”
She looked at him.
“She was listed missing?”
“Yes.”
“Then she wasn’t missing.”
“No.”
Gideon began searching through papers.
Mae thought about the boardinghouse.
Nora rarely spoke.
She cleaned rooms and sometimes cared for miners’ laundry.
Mae remembered bruises.
She had assumed they came from rough work.
Then another memory surfaced.
“Nora used to receive wagons at night.”
Gideon froze.
“What kind?”
“Covered freight wagons.”
“How often?”
“Maybe once a month.”
“What did they carry?”
“I never saw.”
Mae’s stomach tightened.
“But sometimes I heard crying.”
Gideon looked at her.
“Women?”
Mae shook her head slowly.
“Children.”
The silence became unbearable.
Gideon grabbed his coat.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to town.”
“In this weather?”
“I need Pike.”
Mae stepped in front of him.
“And leave us alone?”
He stopped.
She hated how frightened her voice sounded.
Gideon removed his hand from the door.
“You’re right.”
Mae stared.
Silas had never said those words.
Gideon considered.
“We all go tomorrow.”
“All?”
“You, Samuel, me.”
“Back to Misery Bend?”
“Yes.”
Mae’s pulse quickened.
The town held every nightmare she had escaped.
But maybe also the answer to Gideon’s.
She looked at Clara’s photograph.
At Rose.
Then at her own son.
“If Cutter is moving children…”
Gideon nodded.
“We stop him.”
Mae took a breath.
“We.”
His gaze met hers.
“Yes.”
That night, they packed.
Just before dawn, Mae woke to Samuel coughing.
She sat up.
His skin felt hot.
Too hot.
“No.”
She pressed her lips to his forehead.
Fever.
Panic exploded through her.
“Gideon!”
He was in the room almost immediately, stopping inside the doorway.
“What?”
“Samuel.”
Gideon approached.
Mae did not object when he touched the baby’s forehead.
His face tightened.
“He’s burning.”
“I know.”
The storm outside had worsened overnight.
Traveling to town would be nearly impossible.
Gideon moved toward the medicine shelf.
Mae tried to remember everything the doctor had once told her.
Cool cloth.
Fluids.
Watch his breathing.
Samuel coughed again.
A deep, frightening sound.
Gideon looked toward the window.
Then at Mae.
“There’s a doctor sixteen miles east at Carter’s mining camp.”
“In this?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll die.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
Gideon pulled on his coat.
Mae caught his hand.
It was the first time she had intentionally touched him.
He stopped.
“Gideon.”
He looked down at their joined hands.
Then at her.
Mae’s voice broke.
“Please come back.”
Something passed through his gray eyes.
“I will.”
He left before sunrise.
Mae watched him disappear into the storm.
Hours passed.
Samuel’s fever climbed.
Noon came.
Then afternoon.
No Gideon.
Darkness approached.
Mae stood at the window with Samuel against her chest.
“Come on,” she whispered.
Snow swallowed the trail.
Then, far away, something moved.
A horse.
Mae’s heart leaped.
But only one rider appeared.
Not Gideon.
Jeb Cutter emerged from the storm.
And behind him rode Silas Walker.
---