The avalanche sounded like the entire mountain had decided to move.
Mara had never heard anything like it.
Trees snapped.
Snow thundered.
The ground trembled beneath her horse.
“DOWN!” Abel shouted.
He seized Mara’s reins and dragged both horses toward a ridge of exposed rock.
They barely reached it.
Snow exploded across the trail behind them.
Mara’s horse screamed.
Abel threw himself toward her as white powder swallowed everything.
For several seconds there was no sky.
No mountain.
No sound except roaring.
Then silence.
Mara opened her eyes.
She was on the ground.
Abel lay partly over her.
“Abel?”
His head lifted immediately.
“You hurt?”
“I don’t think so.”
He rolled away.
Mara sat.
Their horses had survived.
The trail had not.
Behind them, where the road had been, stood a thirty-foot wall of snow.
Mara stared.
“That complicates things.”
Abel actually laughed.
She turned.
“What?”
“You nearly got buried alive and your response is ‘that complicates things.’”
“It does.”
His smile faded.
“We can’t go back.”
“Then we continue.”
“Mara.”
“Is Silverton ahead?”
“Yes.”
“Then we continue.”
The only alternate route crossed High Pass.
Abel warned her three times.
“It’s difficult.”
“I understood the first time.”
“It’ll take all night.”
“Then we ride all night.”
“You’re not used to this altitude.”
“You’re not used to being married. We’re both learning.”
That ended the argument.
They rode.
Through twilight.
Then darkness.
The trail climbed until the air felt too thin to breathe.
Mara’s legs ached.
Her back burned.
Snow soaked through her gloves.
Several times Abel asked whether she needed to stop.
Several times she said no.
Near midnight, her horse stumbled.
Abel caught her arm.
“We rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
Mara was too exhausted to fight.
They found shelter beneath a granite overhang.
Abel built a small fire.
Mara sat wrapped in a blanket, teeth chattering.
Abel poured coffee.
“You were right.”
She accepted the cup.
“About?”
“This being difficult.”
“That sounded painful for you.”
“It was.”
She smiled.
He crouched opposite her.
“Why did you come west?”
“You know why.”
“I know about those proposals.”
“That isn’t the whole reason.”
Mara looked into the fire.
For a moment she considered refusing.
Then she realized she wanted Abel to know.
“My mother died when I was sixteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My father lasted another seven years. After that, the farm went to my cousin because apparently possessing the wrong kind of body also meant possessing the wrong kind of inheritance.”
Abel frowned.
“You worked that farm.”
“My whole life.”
“And he took it?”
“The law helped him.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I stayed with my aunt afterward. She spent five years trying to convince me that marriage to any available man was better than being an unmarried woman without property.”
“And you disagreed.”
“Loudly.”
“I’m shocked.”
Mara laughed softly.
“When I saw your advertisement, there was one line I liked.”
“What line?”
She remembered it exactly.
“‘I have enough land for two lives if she doesn’t mind building the second one herself.’”
Abel looked surprised.
“You remembered that.”
“It was the reason I answered.”
He stared into the fire.
“The newspaper changed half of what I wrote.”
“Yes. Particularly the quiet part.”
“They made me sound like I wanted a housekeeper.”
“You certainly needed one.”
He looked offended.
“Your flour had insects.”
“Those were not insects.”
“They waved at me.”
Abel laughed.
Warmth spread through Mara that had nothing to do with the fire.
Then his expression softened.
“I’m glad you came.”
The simple words struck harder than any elaborate declaration could have.
Mara looked away.
“You may regret admitting that.”
“I already regret several things.”
“Such as?”
“Teaching you to shoot.”
“Reasonable.”
“Showing you where I hide the coffee.”
“A catastrophic tactical error.”
“Marrying a woman who argues with avalanches.”
“That one you’ll learn to appreciate.”
He leaned closer.
“I think I already do.”
The world became very quiet.
Mara’s humor faded.
Abel touched her face.
Not possessively.
Almost uncertainly.
She closed the space between them.
Their kiss was nothing like the church kiss.
This one contained six days of arguments, shared danger, laughter, grief, and everything neither had known how to say.
When they separated, Mara’s forehead rested against his.
“Abel?”
“Yes?”
“If you become smug, I will push you into the snow.”
“Understood.”
They resumed the ride before one.
By dawn, Mara had ridden nearly twelve hours.
When the lights of Silverton appeared below them, she nearly cried.
Instead she lifted her chin.
Abel glanced at her.
“Tired?”
“I could ride another ten hours.”
“That is an obvious lie.”
“Yes.”
They found the surveyor.
Samuel Whitaker was seventy-three, half-deaf, and living above a hardware store.
When Abel explained why they had come, Whitaker became quiet.
“I remember your father.”
“You surveyed Wolfjaw?”
“I did.”
“Would you testify?”
The old man hesitated.
Mara saw fear.
“Mr. Whitaker,” she said, “Silas Rourke is trying to take land that legally belongs to my husband.”
Whitaker looked toward the door.
“You don’t understand that man.”
“I understand him perfectly.”
“He ruined my business.”
“Then help us prevent him from ruining another life.”
Whitaker shook his head.
“I’m old.”
“So?”
“So I have no fight left.”
Mara leaned forward.
“Then lend us your memory.”
The old man studied her.
Abel said nothing.
Finally Whitaker stood.
He opened a cabinet and withdrew a leather tube.
Inside was a survey map.
Original.
Signed.
Stamped.
Abel exhaled.
Whitaker touched the paper.
“I kept this because something about Rourke never sat right.”
“Will you come to Mercy Hollow?”
The old man sighed.
“Yes.”
They stayed in Silverton one night.
The return journey took longer because they avoided High Pass.
When they reached Wolfjaw two days later, smoke rose from the clearing.
Mara’s stomach dropped.
Not again.
They galloped.
The cabin stood.
The barn stood.
But the chicken coop had been smashed.
The front door hung open.
Inside, furniture had been overturned.
Drawers emptied.
The blue curtain Mara had hung lay torn on the floor.
She stopped.
That curtain mattered more than it should have.
It was ridiculous.
Only cloth.
Yet seeing it destroyed felt personal.
Abel entered behind her.
“Mara.”
She picked it up.
“They wanted us to know they came inside.”
“Yes.”
Abel’s voice sounded dangerous.
Mara noticed the table.
A knife pinned a note to the wood.
NEXT TIME, WE WAIT FOR HER.
Abel ripped it free.
“No.”
Mara looked at him.
“No what?”
“You’re going to town.”
“Abel—”
“You’re staying there until this is finished.”
“We’ve already had this conversation.”
“This is different.”
“No.”
He slammed his fist against the table.
“Mara!”
She flinched.
Barely.
But Abel saw it.
His anger disappeared immediately.
He stepped back.
“I’m sorry.”
Mara looked at him.
“I know you’re afraid.”
“They came into our home.”
“Yes.”
“They threatened you again.”
“Yes.”
“I buried my brother because I thought being stubborn mattered more than danger.”
“And now you think loving someone means controlling where they stand?”
His face tightened.
“That isn’t fair.”
“No. It isn’t.”
She approached him.
“But fear isn’t fair either.”
Abel turned away.
Mara reached for his hand.
“I will not become the reason you turn into a prisoner again.”
“I don’t know how to lose you.”
Her anger vanished.
Those six words carried eleven years of grief.
Mara squeezed his fingers.
“Then don’t waste time imagining it.”
He looked at her.
“Help me win.”
The court hearing was scheduled four days later.
Samuel Whitaker arrived.
So did half of Mercy Hollow.
Silas Rourke wore a tailored black coat.
Judge Caldwell sat behind the bench.
Abel placed the deed and survey on the clerk’s table.
Rourke’s attorney objected immediately.
Forgery.
Improper filing.
Questionable chain of title.
The words came rapidly.
Mara watched Judge Caldwell.
Something was wrong.
He would not look at Rourke.
He looked frightened.
Whitaker testified.
He confirmed every boundary.
Then Rourke’s attorney produced another document.
A transfer agreement.
Supposedly signed by Abel’s father.
Selling mineral rights to Rourke.
Dated fourteen years earlier.
Abel stood.
“That signature is false.”
Judge Caldwell struck the bench.
“Sit down.”
Rourke smiled.
Mara stared at the paper.
Something bothered her.
She leaned closer.
Then she saw it.
The witness signature.
Elias Stone.
Eli.
Abel’s brother.
Mara’s mind raced.
She whispered, “How old was Eli fourteen years ago?”
Abel frowned.
“Eighteen.”
“Full name?”
“Elias Matthew Stone.”
“Look.”
Abel followed her finger.
His face changed.
The witness line read Elias Michael Stone.
Wrong middle name.
Mara stood.
“Your Honor.”
Judge Caldwell frowned.
“Mrs. Stone—”
“That document is fraudulent.”
Rourke stopped smiling.
His attorney rose.
“This woman is not qualified—”
“She can read,” Abel said.
Mara held up the paper.
“My husband’s brother supposedly witnessed this transfer.”
“So?” the attorney asked.
“His name was Elias Matthew Stone.”
Silence.
“This says Elias Michael Stone.”
The attorney looked down.
Mara continued.
“And there’s another problem.”
Abel looked at her.
“What?”
Mara smiled slowly.
“Eli’s letter.”
She pulled the letter they had found in the line shack from her bag.
“He signed every page.”
Judge Caldwell compared signatures.
They were completely different.
The courtroom erupted.
Rourke stood.
“This proves nothing.”
Samuel Whitaker suddenly spoke.
“Yes, it does.”
Everyone turned.
The old surveyor pointed toward Rourke.
“Because I know who wrote that fake signature.”
Rourke’s face went pale.
Whitaker continued.
“His clerk. Owen Pike.”
The stationmaster in the rear of the courtroom bolted toward the door.
Sheriff Daniels grabbed him.
Mr. Pike struggled.
“No!”
Mara stared.
The frightened stationmaster began shouting.
“I only copied what Rourke gave me! I never killed anybody!”
The courtroom became utterly silent.
Abel stood slowly.
“What did you say?”
Pike realized his mistake.
Rourke shouted, “Be quiet!”
Sheriff Daniels turned.
“Killed who?”
Pike looked at Abel.
Then at Rourke.
“Eli Stone.”
Abel’s face emptied.
Mara grabbed his arm.
Pike began crying.
“Rourke told them just to scare him. That’s what he said. But they left him in the storm.”
Rourke moved toward the exit.
The sheriff blocked him.
“You’re not leaving.”
Rourke’s polished confidence vanished.
“This is absurd.”
Judge Caldwell stood.
“For eleven years,” he said, voice shaking, “I allowed fear to make me look away.”
Rourke stared at him.
The judge continued.
“I will not do it again.”
He turned to Sheriff Daniels.
“Take Mr. Rourke into custody.”
Abel did not celebrate.
He simply sat.
Mara sat beside him.
His hands trembled.
After eleven years, the mountain finally seemed to exhale.
But outside the courthouse, Mara suddenly felt dizzy.
She grabbed Abel’s arm.
He caught her.
“Mara?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re pale.”
“It’s been a long week.”
He touched her forehead.
“No fever.”
Then Mara counted backward.
Dates.
Weeks.
Her eyes widened.
Abel noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Mara.”
She stared at him.
For perhaps the first time since arriving in Colorado, Mara Bell Stone had absolutely no clever response.
Because a possibility had just occurred to her.
A possibility that might change Wolfjaw Mountain forever.
---