Winter tightened its grip around Jonas Hargrave’s mountain.
Snowdrifts rose against the north side of the cabin.
The creek froze beneath two feet of ice.
Even noon sunlight felt weak and distant.
Rebecca changed with the season.
The velvet traveling suit disappeared into her case.
She began wearing heavy skirts, wool stockings, Jonas’s spare shirts, and boots borrowed from a miner’s wife in town.
Her hands developed calluses.
Her cheeks gained color.
She stopped trembling.
Jonas noticed all of it.
He also noticed things he pretended not to.
The way she hummed while cooking.
The way she spoke to Bess as though the mare were human.
The way she tucked loose hair behind her ear when concentrating.
The way the cabin no longer felt empty when he returned from trap lines.
That disturbed him most.
Jonas had lived alone for twelve years.
He had not become lonely by accident.
Loneliness had been a decision.
Once, long before the scar on his face and the mountain cabin, Jonas had planned another life.
Her name had been Anna.
They grew up in Missouri.
They were to marry at twenty-three.
Then fever came through town.
Anna died within five days.
So did her younger sister and their mother.
Jonas buried all three.
A month later, he went west.
He told himself he preferred solitude.
The truth was simpler.
He could not lose what he did not love.
Rebecca was becoming dangerous.
Not because Elias Mercer wanted her.
Because Jonas was beginning to care whether she stayed.
He fought it.
He became quieter.
Worked longer.
Slept farther from the bed.
Rebecca noticed.
One evening, after Jonas returned late, she placed stew before him.
“Are you angry with me?”
“No.”
“You have said twelve words to me in three days.”
“Counted?”
“Yes.”
“That makes thirteen.”
Rebecca stared.
Jonas almost smiled.
Almost.
She sat across from him.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you avoiding me?”
He looked at the fire.
“I ain’t.”
“You leave before sunrise. You return after dark.”
“Work.”
“Yesterday you spent four hours repairing a fence buried under six feet of snow.”
“It needed repair.”
“In April.”
Jonas put down his spoon.
“What do you want, Rebecca?”
“The truth.”
He looked at her.
She waited.
Jonas said, “Truth is you’re getting comfortable.”
“Is that bad?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because eventually you’ll leave.”
Rebecca’s expression softened.
“You still think I’m going back east?”
“Maybe not east.”
“Then where?”
“Somewhere easier.”
She was silent.
Jonas stood.
“This life ain’t what you were raised for.”
“You don’t know how I was raised.”
“No. Because you don’t tell me.”
“That works both ways.”
Jonas stopped.
Rebecca looked directly at him.
“You know my dead husband’s name. You know the man hunting me. You know why I ran. I don’t know anything about you except that you once fought a bear and apparently enjoy misery.”
“I don’t enjoy misery.”
“You live on a frozen mountain by yourself.”
“Peaceful.”
“You argue with chickens.”
“They started it.”
Rebecca laughed.
Jonas tried not to.
Failed.
The tension broke.
Then Rebecca touched his scar.
It happened so naturally neither expected it.
Her fingertips traced the edge near his jaw.
Jonas went still.
Rebecca’s eyes met his.
“What happened?”
“Grizzly.”
“You said that.”
“You want details?”
“I want to know you.”
That frightened him more than any bear.
He stepped back.
“Nothing to know.”
Rebecca’s hand fell.
“Yes, there is.”
Jonas turned toward the door.
“Going to check the barn.”
“Of course you are.”
He looked back.
Her disappointment hurt.
He left anyway.
Two days later, Jonas rode into Silver Plume for supplies.
Rebecca remained at the cabin.
He hated leaving her alone.
But Elias’s man had not returned.
Tracks around the property showed nothing unusual.
And the cabin was stocked with weapons Rebecca now knew how to use.
Jonas had taught her.
The first time she fired his revolver, she nearly dropped it.
By the fifth lesson, she could hit a tin can at twenty paces.
He returned before dark carrying flour, beans, lamp oil, nails, and mail.
One letter bore Rebecca’s name.
No return address.
Her face changed when she saw it.
Jonas handed it over.
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a single sheet.
Rebecca read.
Then sat down.
“What?”
She handed it to Jonas.
Three lines.
Mrs. Hargrave,
Your husband died because he chose the wrong side.
Do not make the same mistake twice.
Return what belongs to Mr. Mercer.
Jonas read it again.
“He knows we’re married.”
Rebecca nodded.
“He knows where I am.”
“He already did.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“He’s telling me you’re the target now.”
Jonas tore the letter in half.
Rebecca grabbed his wrist.
“You should take me back to town.”
“No.”
“This is not bravery. It is stupidity.”
“Maybe.”
“Jonas.”
“I said no.”
Her voice rose.
“I will not have another husband die because of me.”
The cabin went silent.
Jonas looked at her.
Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears.
“I watched Thomas leave the house angry. I knew he was going to confront Elias.”
Her voice cracked.
“I could have stopped him.”
“No.”
“I could have tried harder.”
“That don’t mean he’d listen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But I know men.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Of course you do.”
Jonas crouched beside her.
“Your husband made a choice.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Elias made another.”
She shook her head.
“You ain’t responsible for either.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Jonas hesitated.
Then wiped one away with his thumb.
Rebecca leaned into his hand.
He froze.
Something passed between them.
Warm.
Dangerous.
Real.
Jonas stood abruptly.
Rebecca’s face fell.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“For what?”
“Making me want things.”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Rebecca stared.
Jonas closed his eyes.
“You asked for truth.”
“Yes.”
“That’s it.”
She stood slowly.
“What things?”
He laughed without humor.
“A home that ain’t empty.”
Rebecca’s breath caught.
Jonas continued.
“Someone waiting when I come back.”
He looked at her.
“You.”
She took one step toward him.
Jonas did not move.
“I thought you wanted a housekeeper.”
“I did.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
Rebecca smiled through tears.
“That makes two of us.”
Then she kissed him.
It was gentle.
Barely more than a touch.
Jonas stood completely still.
Rebecca pulled back.
“I’m sorry.”
He caught her around the waist.
His second kiss was nothing like the first.
Twelve years of buried tenderness broke open.
Rebecca gripped his shirt.
Jonas held her as though afraid she might vanish.
When they separated, both were breathless.
He touched his forehead to hers.
“This is a bad idea.”
“Yes.”
“Dangerous.”
“Probably.”
“I’m not good at this.”
“I noticed.”
Jonas laughed quietly.
Rebecca smiled.
For one perfect minute, Elias Mercer did not exist.
Then gunfire exploded outside.
A window shattered.
Jonas threw Rebecca to the floor.
“Stay down!”
Another shot struck the wall.
Jonas crawled toward his rifle.
Rebecca reached for the revolver beneath the table.
“Two riders!” she shouted.
Jonas fired through the broken window.
A horse screamed.
Someone cursed.
Then flames appeared near the barn.
“Fire!”
Rebecca ran for the door.
Jonas grabbed her.
“No!”
“Bess!”
“I’ll get them!”
He sprinted outside.
Rebecca watched through smoke and snow.
Two men rode near the trees.
One fired.
Jonas ducked.
The barn roof began burning.
He threw open the doors.
Flint burst out.
Then the mule.
Bess panicked inside.
Rebecca could hear her screaming.
Jonas went back.
“Jonas!”
The roof groaned.
He emerged leading Bess just as part of the structure collapsed.
Rebecca ran outside with blankets.
Together they beat sparks from the mare’s mane.
One attacker rode closer.
Rebecca recognized him.
The man from the storm.
He raised his gun at Jonas.
Rebecca fired first.
Her bullet struck the rider’s shoulder.
He fell.
The second man fled.
Jonas crossed the yard.
The wounded attacker reached for his gun.
Jonas kicked it away.
“Who sent you?”
The man spat blood.
“You know.”
“Elias Mercer?”
The man smiled.
“Mercer says the widow has something that belongs to him.”
Jonas pressed a boot against his chest.
“She don’t.”
“Then you’ll both die for nothing.”
Rebecca approached.
The man saw her.
His smile widened.
“Mrs. Hale.”
“My name is Hargrave now.”
The smile vanished.
Jonas looked at her.
Something fierce moved through his chest.
The attacker laughed.
“Mercer’s coming himself.”
Rebecca went cold.
“When?”
The man refused to answer.
Jonas tied him to a post.
At dawn, he put the wounded man on a horse and delivered him to the sheriff in Georgetown, a man Jonas trusted.
Then Jonas went to the telegraph office.
He sent a message east.
Not to local authorities.
To the federal marshal Rebecca had contacted months earlier.
Jonas returned to the cabin after dark.
The barn was half gone.
A window was boarded.
Snow had covered blood in the yard.
Rebecca stood near the stove.
“What did you do?”
“Sent a wire.”
“To whom?”
“Federal marshal.”
Her eyes widened.
“What did you say?”
“That I got evidence, a witness, and men trying to kill my wife.”
Rebecca swallowed.
“My wife.”
Jonas removed his coat.
“You are.”
She smiled faintly.
“Yesterday that frightened you.”
“Still does.”
Rebecca walked closer.
“Why?”
Jonas looked down at her.
“Because I know exactly what I’d lose now.”
She took his hand.
And for the first time in twelve years, Jonas Hargrave allowed himself to hold something he could not bear to lose.