Rebecca woke to the smell of coffee.
She sat upright beneath the heavy wolf pelts and listened.
Metal scraped softly against iron.
Jonas moved near the stove.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then she saw the log walls.
The rifle above the mantle.
Snow packed against the window.
Reality returned.
She was married.
To a stranger.
In Colorado.
And for the first time in nearly a year, nobody knew exactly where she was.
At least she hoped they didn’t.
“Coffee,” Jonas said.
Rebecca pushed the blankets aside.
He had already dressed in heavy trousers, boots, and a brown wool shirt.
His dark hair was damp from washing.
The scar along his jaw looked sharper in morning light.
Rebecca had noticed it immediately at the depot.
The scar made him look dangerous.
Yet nothing Jonas had done frightened her.
His roughness was open.
Honest.
She had learned long ago that polished men could be far more dangerous than scarred ones.
She took the tin cup.
“Thank you.”
Jonas studied her.
“Sleep?”
“A little.”
“You talk in your sleep.”
Rebecca’s stomach tightened.
“What did I say?”
“Couldn’t understand it.”
Relief flooded her.
Jonas took a sip.
“Sounded like a name.”
She lowered her cup.
“What name?”
He watched her.
“Elias.”
Rebecca’s fingers went cold.
Jonas noticed.
“Who’s Elias?”
“No one.”
“People don’t usually whisper ‘don’t let Elias find me’ about no one.”
Rebecca stood too quickly.
Coffee splashed onto her hand.
She hissed.
Jonas took the cup.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re burned.”
“It’s nothing.”
He pulled a small tin from a shelf and applied salve.
His hands were enormous.
Rough.
Scarred.
Yet his touch was unexpectedly careful.
Rebecca watched him.
“You found tracks last night,” she said.
Jonas stopped.
“How’d you know?”
“You’re watching the window.”
He looked toward it.
“Horse came halfway up the lower trail.”
Rebecca’s pulse raced.
“Did you see the rider?”
“No.”
“Could have been a hunter.”
“No hunter rides up here after dark in a storm without stopping.”
Rebecca stood.
“I should leave.”
Jonas looked at her.
She began collecting clothing from her case.
“I can reach Silver Plume before afternoon.”
“You ain’t going anywhere.”
She stopped.
“You wanted me gone yesterday.”
“Yesterday I thought you were foolish.”
“And today?”
“Today I know somebody’s following you.”
Her eyes burned.
Jonas crossed his arms.
“I married you.”
“That marriage need not make your problem mine.”
“Already does.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Rebecca stared at him.
The words had lived behind her teeth for months.
She had not spoken them to the agency.
Not to Reverend Abbott.
Not to anyone on the train.
But the secret was becoming more dangerous by the hour.
She sat slowly.
“My name really is Rebecca Hale.”
Jonas waited.
“I was married before.”
“That part true?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“My husband, Thomas Hale, died eighteen months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Jonas frowned.
Rebecca stared at the fire.
“Thomas was a decent man when I married him. Or I thought he was. His business partner was his cousin, Elias Mercer.”
Jonas’s expression hardened slightly.
“Elias handled investments. Property. Loans. Thomas trusted him.”
“What happened?”
“Thomas discovered Elias had been stealing.”
“How much?”
“A great deal.”
Rebecca twisted her fingers.
“Money belonging to investors. Families. Widows. Small businesses. Elias forged records and shifted ownership of property into false companies.”
“And your husband?”
“Thomas confronted him.”
Her voice dropped.
“Three days later, Thomas died.”
Jonas was silent.
“They said his horse threw him.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No.”
Rebecca looked at Jonas.
“Before he died, Thomas hid copies of Elias’s records.”
“In your case?”
Her gaze shifted.
That was answer enough.
Jonas walked to the window.
“Why not take them to lawmen?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“The sheriff in St. Louis worked for Elias.”
Jonas turned.
“Judge?”
“Elias paid him too.”
“Federal marshal?”
“I sent a letter.”
“And?”
“Two men came to my house before the marshal replied.”
Rebecca’s breathing became shallow.
“They searched everything.”
Jonas’s jaw tightened.
“One of them held my arm while the other told me accidents happen to widows who ask questions.”
Rebecca touched her wrist unconsciously.
That was why she had frozen when Jonas grabbed her.
“They wanted the papers?”
“Yes.”
“You still have them.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Rebecca almost smiled.
“Because men like Elias assume frightened women are stupid.”
Jonas looked at her with new respect.
“Where are they?”
She opened her case.
Inside were three dresses, underclothes, a hairbrush, a small Bible, and sewing supplies.
Rebecca removed everything.
Then she pulled at the fabric lining.
A hidden panel opened.
Inside lay a leather packet.
Jonas whistled softly.
Rebecca placed it on the table.
“Copies of ledgers. Deeds. Letters.”
“Enough to hang him?”
“Enough to destroy him.”
Jonas picked up one sheet.
Names.
Numbers.
Property descriptions.
Signatures.
“And he knows you have this?”
“He suspects.”
“He followed you west.”
“I changed trains twice.”
“Still found you.”
Rebecca stared into the fire.
“I told you I should leave.”
Jonas returned the papers.
“No.”
“You can’t fight this man.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t know him.”
“That is exactly why you cannot understand.”
Jonas leaned both hands on the table.
“Rebecca, a bear tried to tear my shoulder off three winters ago. A mining gang once put a knife against my throat over a claim I didn’t even own. I spent four nights trapped in a blizzard with one broken snowshoe and half a rabbit.”
Rebecca blinked.
Jonas continued.
“I understand dangerous men fine.”
“This is different.”
“Maybe.”
He straightened.
“But nobody comes onto my mountain and threatens my wife.”
The word struck her strangely.
Wife.
Not burden.
Not mistake.
Wife.
Rebecca looked away before he saw how deeply it affected her.
Jonas walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Check the trail.”
“Alone?”
“That’s usually how I go.”
She stood.
“Jonas.”
He looked back.
“Be careful.”
Something passed through his expression.
Almost warmth.
“I always am.”
He returned three hours later carrying two rabbits.
No tracks.
No rider.
For the next week, life settled into a difficult rhythm.
Rebecca learned.
Badly at first.
Then steadily.
She learned how to keep the stove burning overnight.
How to knead bread.
How to carry water without soaking her boots.
How to collect eggs without frightening the hens.
She learned that Jonas liked coffee almost black and hated sweet preserves.
She learned that he could repair anything made of wood.
She learned that he spoke little but noticed everything.
And Jonas learned about her.
She was not strong in the way he expected.
She could not lift heavy sacks.
She struggled with the ax.
But she possessed another kind of strength.
She refused to quit.
When her hands blistered, she wrapped them.
When bread collapsed, she tried again.
When she burned stew, she ate it too.
By the tenth day, her biscuits were edible.
By the twelfth, good.
Jonas took three at supper.
Rebecca smiled.
“You like them.”
“They’re food.”
“You took three.”
“Hungry.”
“You like them.”
Jonas drank coffee.
Rebecca smiled wider.
Then came the storm.
It began at dusk with wind.
By midnight, snow hammered the roof.
Jonas checked the barn.
Rebecca followed him despite his orders.
“You stay inside.”
“The animals need water.”
“I said stay inside.”
“You married help, remember?”
Jonas glared.
She put on his spare coat.
“Argue while walking.”
He muttered something under his breath.
They crossed the yard together.
Inside the barn, Bess whinnied anxiously.
Jonas secured shutters.
Rebecca filled buckets.
The wind screamed.
Then a loud crack came from outside.
Jonas froze.
“Tree.”
They ran toward the cabin.
A pine had fallen across the roof.
Not through it.
But one branch smashed the chimney pipe.
Smoke began filling the cabin.
Jonas climbed the roof in the middle of the storm.
Rebecca held the lantern below.
“Jonas!”
“I’m fine.”
“You cannot see!”
“Neither can the tree.”
He cut branches while snow buried his shoulders.
Suddenly, his boot slipped.
Rebecca screamed.
Jonas caught the roof edge.
For one terrible second, he hung above the frozen ground.
Rebecca dropped the lantern into snow and grabbed a rope.
“Take this!”
Jonas caught it.
She wrapped the other end around the porch post.
Her hands burned against the rope.
Together they got him down.
Inside, Jonas’s palm was bleeding.
Rebecca cleaned it.
He watched her work.
“You saved me.”
“You would have saved yourself.”
“Maybe.”
She tied the bandage.
Jonas said quietly, “You did.”
Rebecca looked at him.
Their faces were very close.
Firelight flickered between them.
For the first time, Jonas noticed how her hair glowed copper near the flames.
For the first time, Rebecca noticed the gray in his eyes was not cold.
It was storm-cloud gray.
Alive.
Neither moved.
Then a sound came from outside.
A horse.
Jonas stood immediately.
He reached for his rifle.
Rebecca went pale.
Three knocks struck the door.
Jonas raised the rifle.
“Who is it?”
A voice answered.
“Looking for shelter.”
Jonas recognized the accent.
Not local.
Eastern.
He glanced at Rebecca.
Her face had gone white.
“Do you know him?” he whispered.
She shook her head.
But her hands were trembling.
Jonas opened the door only a few inches.
A man stood outside wearing a dark wool coat.
Clean-shaven.
Too clean for someone crossing the mountains.
“My horse is hurt,” the man said. “Storm caught me.”
Jonas looked past him.
No horse.
“Where’s your animal?”
The man smiled.
“Down trail.”
Jonas shut the door.
The man slammed his boot against it.
Jonas shoved back.
Rebecca screamed.
A gunshot exploded.
Wood splintered.
Jonas dropped.
He fired through the door.
Someone outside cursed.
Then the footsteps retreated.
Jonas opened the door.
The stranger had vanished into the storm.
Blood stained the snow.
Rebecca stood behind him.
“That was Elias’s man.”
“You recognize him now?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because no stranger fires through a door after asking for shelter.”
Jonas locked the door.
Rebecca stared at the bullet hole.
“They found me.”
Jonas placed the rifle on the table.
“Yes.”
She looked at him, terrified.
“I brought this to you.”
“You brought yourself.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No.”
Jonas stepped closer.
“It ain’t.”
That night, Rebecca could not sleep.
Near dawn, she heard Jonas speaking softly.
She opened her eyes.
He sat near the stove with his rifle across his knees.
“You can sleep,” she whispered.
“No.”
“You need rest.”
“So do you.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Why are you doing this?”
Jonas was quiet.
Then he said, “Because when I gave my word in that church, I meant it.”
Rebecca swallowed.
“You hardly knew me.”
“Still don’t.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Not entirely.”
She almost laughed.
“That is comforting.”
Jonas looked toward her.
“But I believe you.”
That was different.
Rebecca turned her face into the pillow so he would not see the tears in her eyes.
She had been doubted by bankers.
Dismissed by lawmen.
Threatened by Elias.
Pitied by relatives.
But Jonas believed her.
And somehow that mattered more than everything else.