They reached Callaway’s cabin before Aryan.
Barely.
Marshal Whitcomb wanted Arabella to remain in Coldwater.
She refused.
Callaway argued with her until she asked one simple question.
“If I stay, will Aryan stop looking for me?”
Callaway could not say yes.
So they rode.
Whitcomb sent Deputy Samuel Price with them while he gathered additional men.
The plan was to reach the high ridge, secure the cabin, then wait for the marshal.
But Aryan Reed had spent years moving stolen cattle through country most lawmen never saw.
He knew hidden trails.
At dusk, Bear began growling.
Callaway looked toward the southern ridge.
Riders.
Four.
Maybe five.
“Too soon.”
Deputy Price checked his revolver.
“How long until Whitcomb?”
“Tomorrow morning if nothing delays him.”
Arabella tightened her grip on the rifle Callaway had given her.
Callaway looked at her.
“Tunnel.”
“No.”
“Arabella.”
“We discussed this.”
“This isn’t discussion time.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You said choices.”
“And I choose to keep you alive.”
“You cannot give freedom to someone and then take it away when you become afraid.”
That stopped him.
Callaway looked at her for a long moment.
The woman standing before him was not the half-frozen stranger Bear had uncovered.
She was still afraid.
That was obvious.
But fear no longer commanded her.
Callaway nodded once.
“Stay near the stone wall.”
Arabella released a breath.
Price glanced between them.
“You two always argue this much?”
“Yes,” they answered together.
Bear barked once.
The first shot struck the cabin roof.
Everyone moved.
Callaway returned fire toward the trees.
Price took position behind the woodpile.
Arabella crouched behind the stone chimney base.
She could hear horses shifting below.
Aryan’s voice came through the darkness.
“Send her out!”
Callaway shouted, “You seem stuck on that request.”
A shot shattered the window.
Arabella ducked.
Fear shook her hands.
She remembered the tin plate.
Shoulder firm.
Breathe.
Do not jerk the trigger.
A man appeared between trees.
Arabella fired near his position.
He dropped behind cover.
She had not hit him.
She was glad.
She did not want death.
She wanted distance.
Another bullet struck the wall.
Then silence.
Callaway frowned.
“Why’d they stop?”
Bear suddenly ran toward the rear of the cabin.
Callaway swore.
“Fire.”
Smoke appeared along the back wall.
Someone had thrown burning pitch against the logs.
Arabella rushed inside.
Flames licked around the window frame.
She grabbed a bucket.
Callaway followed.
“Leave it.”
“We can stop it.”
“They’ll shoot us through the window.”
Arabella hesitated.
Another burning bundle struck the roof.
Callaway looked upward.
“They’re forcing us out.”
Price came through the door.
“They’ve got the east side too.”
Callaway made the decision.
“Tunnel. Now.”
This time Arabella did not argue.
They moved through the rear rocks as flames spread across the cabin roof.
Bear went first.
Price followed Arabella.
Callaway stayed last.
Inside the tunnel, smoke drifted faintly through cracks.
Arabella heard timber snapping.
Callaway’s home was burning.
She turned toward him.
His expression was unreadable.
“Callaway…”
“Keep moving.”
They emerged downslope.
The fire above gave them enough light to see Aryan’s men gathering near the cabin.
Price whispered, “We can slip north.”
Callaway nodded.
Then Bear growled.
A shadow moved.
Jedediah stepped from behind a tree.
He held a pistol.
Arabella stopped breathing.
Her father looked terrible.
One eye was swollen from Aryan’s blow.
Blood stained his shirt.
“Arabella.”
Callaway moved in front of her.
Jedediah pointed the gun.
“Stay out of this, Long.”
Arabella stepped sideways so she could see him.
“Pa.”
Something twisted across Jedediah’s face.
“Come with me.”
“No.”
“Aryan’ll kill all of us.”
“Then why are you helping him?”
“I ain’t.”
“You brought him here.”
“I made mistakes.”
Arabella almost laughed.
“Mistakes?”
Jedediah lowered the pistol slightly.
“I lost things.”
“You lost me.”
His face hardened.
“You ran.”
“You sold me.”
“I was drunk.”
“You shook his hand.”
“I didn’t know what he’d—”
“You knew exactly what you were doing.”
The words came calmly.
That surprised Arabella.
She had imagined confronting her father with rage.
Instead, she felt exhausted.
Jedediah looked older than she remembered.
Smaller.
For most of her life he had been enormous in her mind.
Now she saw a frightened gambler standing beneath a burning sky.
“You’re coming home,” he said weakly.
Arabella looked past him toward the flames.
“My home is burning.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer.
Callaway remained tense beside her.
Arabella said, “I’m never going back.”
Jedediah stared.
“I’m your father.”
“You were.”
Pain crossed his face.
For once, Arabella did not rush to soften what she had said.
Then Aryan shouted from uphill.
“Lawson!”
Jedediah flinched.
Aryan appeared between the trees with two men.
He saw the group.
His smile returned.
“Well.”
Callaway raised his rifle.
Aryan’s men did the same.
Price stepped out.
“Deputy marshal!”
Aryan laughed.
“One deputy?”
A gunshot cracked.
Price fell.
Arabella screamed.
Callaway fired.
One of Aryan’s men dropped his rifle and staggered behind a tree, clutching his shoulder.
Chaos erupted.
Bear lunged.
Jedediah dove for cover.
Arabella crawled toward Price.
Blood darkened his coat.
“Stay with me.”
“Shoulder,” he gasped. “Went through.”
Not fatal.
Arabella pressed cloth against the wound.
Callaway shouted from behind a boulder.
“Arabella, move!”
Aryan advanced through smoke.
Flames had spread into the surrounding brush.
Wind pushed sparks downslope.
The whole mountainside was becoming dangerous.
Aryan saw Arabella.
“There you are.”
She grabbed Price’s revolver.
Aryan stopped.
His smile widened.
“You gonna shoot me?”
Arabella raised the gun.
Her hands shook.
“Stay back.”
“You don’t have it in you.”
Maybe he was right.
Arabella did not want to kill.
But she had learned something Callaway had understood from the beginning.
Strength did not require cruelty.
It required boundaries.
“Stay back.”
Aryan took one step.
The revolver fired.
The bullet hit the dirt beside his boot.
Aryan froze.
Arabella stared down the barrel.
“I said stay back.”
His expression changed.
Behind him, horses thundered through the trees.
More riders.
Aryan spun.
Marshal Whitcomb emerged from the smoke with four armed men.
“Drop it, Reed!”
For one instant Arabella thought Aryan might surrender.
Then he turned his weapon toward Whitcomb.
Callaway tackled Arabella behind the rocks.
Gunfire erupted.
It ended quickly.
When Arabella looked up, Aryan was on the ground, wounded but alive.
Whitcomb kicked the revolver away.
“You’re under arrest.”
Aryan spat blood into the snow.
“For what?”
“Start with attempted murder of a federal deputy.”
Price groaned.
“Territorial.”
Whitcomb looked toward him.
“Glad you’re awake.”
Callaway helped Arabella sit.
Behind them, the cabin roof collapsed.
Flames roared upward.
Callaway stared.
Arabella saw grief cross his face.
That cabin had held Abigail.
His marriage.
His solitude.
His refuge.
Now it was disappearing.
“I’m sorry,” Arabella whispered.
Callaway’s eyes remained on the fire.
“Cabins can be rebuilt.”
She knew he was trying to believe it.
Then Whitcomb shouted.
“Where’s Lawson?”
Arabella turned.
Jedediah was gone.
Tracks led downslope.
He had fled during the gunfight.
Aryan was captured.
His men were disarmed.
But Arabella’s father had escaped into the burning mountain.
And somewhere among the flames, the last unfinished piece of her old life was still running.
---