The truth about Abigail's father changed something inside her.
For several days she moved through the cabin quietly.
Not afraid.
Grieving.
There was a difference.
Cole gave her space.
He knew grief.
He understood that some pain did not need fixing.
It needed room.
Abigail spent hours remembering things she had dismissed as childish inventions.
Her father helping her tie a red ribbon around Willow's mane.
Her father slipping biscuits into her pocket when Martha said she had eaten enough.
Her father promising, "Someday we'll find somewhere peaceful."
He had been planning to keep that promise.
The avalanche had stopped him.
Not choice.
Not abandonment.
Death.
Abigail cried differently now.
The tears were painful, but they did not contain shame.
A week later she approached Cole beside the barn.
"I want to go to Silver Pass."
Cole stopped repairing a harness.
"Now?"
"When the weather allows."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
He nodded.
"Good enough."
They waited four days for clear skies.
Then they rode north.
Silver Pass was several hours away, and winter made the journey difficult.
Cole carried rope, blankets, extra food, and a shovel.
Abigail wore the buffalo-hide coat he had first placed around her shoulders.
They reached the memorial shortly after midday.
A wooden cross stood near the old trail.
Names had been carved into a weathered board.
Some represented recovered bodies.
Others represented the missing.
Abigail walked slowly down the list.
Then she saw it.
SAMUEL MERCER.
Her breath caught.
She touched the name.
For twelve years her father had existed nowhere except memory and Martha's accusations.
Now there was proof carved into wood.
"He was here."
Cole stood several feet away.
"Looks that way."
Abigail closed her eyes.
"I wish he'd known I didn't hate him forever."
Cole looked toward the mountains.
"Maybe fathers know more than we think."
She smiled sadly.
They remained until afternoon.
Before leaving, Abigail tied her father's handkerchief to the base of the cross.
Then she changed her mind and untied it.
Cole raised an eyebrow.
"I thought you were leaving that."
"No."
She folded it carefully.
"He gave it to me."
She placed it inside her coat.
"I think he'd want me to keep something."
Cole nodded.
On the ride home, Abigail talked more than she ever had.
About her father.
About wanting a garden larger than Cole's miserable vegetable patch.
"It's not miserable."
"It grows three carrots."
"Five."
"Two were barely carrots."
"They were young."
"They were roots with ambition."
Cole laughed.
She smiled.
Healing entered through cracks like sunlight.
But winter still had dangers.
Three nights later, a blizzard struck.
Wind slammed against the cabin.
Snow piled waist-high outside.
Cole woke before dawn and discovered part of the barn roof had broken under the weight.
He pulled on his coat.
Abigail emerged.
"What's wrong?"
"Barn."
"I'm coming."
"No."
She straightened.
"Why?"
"Too dangerous."
"You may need help."
"I said no."
The sharpness in his tone stopped her.
Cole realized immediately.
Abigail's face had changed.
Not terror as before.
Hurt.
He sighed.
"I'm not saying you can't help because you're incapable."
"Then why?"
"Because if that roof comes down, I need only one fool under it."
She folded her arms.
"That's a terrible explanation."
"It's the explanation I've got."
She grabbed her coat.
"Then there will be two fools."
Cole nearly argued.
Then stopped.
"Stay behind me."
They fought through snow to the barn.
One beam had cracked.
A mare was trapped in a stall beneath it.
Cole tried lifting the fallen timber.
It would not move enough.
Abigail saw the horse panicking.
"Keep it calm!"
"How?"
"Talk."
"About what?"
"Anything."
Abigail crawled into the stall.
The mare kicked wildly.
Abigail pressed against the wall.
"Easy, girl."
Cole strained against the timber.
"Keep talking!"
Abigail began telling the horse about cinnamon.
Cole grunted.
"Cinnamon?"
"You said anything."
The mare gradually settled.
Abigail slipped a rope around its neck.
Cole lifted the beam enough for the animal to squeeze through.
The horse bolted toward the door.
Then the beam shifted.
"Cole!"
The roof collapsed.
Abigail heard wood crack.
Snow exploded into the barn.
For one terrible second she saw nothing.
Then she screamed.
"Cole!"
No answer.
She clawed at broken boards.
"Cole!"
A hand emerged beneath snow.
Abigail dropped to her knees.
She dug frantically.
His face appeared.
Blood ran from his forehead.
"Abigail."
"I'm here."
"Back."
"What?"
"Get back. Beam's unstable."
"I'm not leaving you."
She found the broken support lying across his leg.
Too heavy.
She tried anyway.
Nothing.
Panic rose.
Martha's voice returned.
Useless.
Weak.
Worthless.
Abigail gritted her teeth.
"No."
Cole looked at her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She scanned the barn.
A long iron bar leaned near the tool bench.
She grabbed it.
Using a stone as a fulcrum, Abigail forced the iron beneath the beam.
She pushed down.
The timber lifted slightly.
Cole dragged his leg free.
The roof groaned.
"Move!"
They scrambled outside seconds before another section collapsed.
Cole fell into the snow.
Abigail dropped beside him.
"Your leg."
"Not broken."
"You're bleeding."
"I noticed."
She pressed her sleeve against his forehead.
Cole looked at her.
"You came back."
She stared.
"Of course I did."
His voice was quiet.
"I told you to run."
"You taught me something."
"What?"
"I'm allowed to disobey if someone I care about is being stupid."
Despite the pain, Cole laughed.
Then his expression changed.
Someone I care about.
Abigail realized what she had said.
Neither looked away.
The storm prevented them from reaching town.
Abigail helped Cole inside.
She cleaned the wound using boiled water and whiskey.
His knee was badly bruised, but he could move it.
"Need stitches?" she asked.
"Probably."
"I've never stitched skin."
"Same idea as socks."
"It absolutely is not."
"Needle goes through."
She glared.
Cole smiled faintly.
"I trust you."
Those three words steadied her.
Abigail stitched the cut.
Her hands did not shake.
When finished, she sat beside him.
Cole looked exhausted.
"You saved me."
"You saved me first."
"That's different."
"Why?"
He had no answer.
During the next several days, Cole was forced to rest.
He hated it.
Abigail enjoyed ordering him around far too much.
"Sit."
"I'm fine."
"Sit."
"I need wood."
"I brought wood."
"The horses—"
"Fed."
"Traps—"
"Checked."
His eyes narrowed.
"You're becoming bossy."
"I'm discovering my personality."
Cole smiled.
"Terrifying."
The forced closeness changed their relationship.
Abigail read aloud while he rested.
They played cards.
Cole lost frequently and claimed she cheated.
She did.
One evening the conversation turned serious.
"Why do you live alone?" Abigail asked.
Cole looked toward the fire.
"Started after Hannah died."
"You blamed yourself."
"Still do sometimes."
"Why?"
"I saw bruises."
Abigail said nothing.
"I asked her husband once. He said she fell."
Cole's jaw tightened.
"I believed what was easier."
"You didn't hurt her."
"No."
"But you wish you'd stopped the person who did."
"Yes."
Abigail understood completely.
"Martha hurt me."
Cole looked over.
"You stopped her."
"Not soon enough."
"You didn't know me."
"Didn't matter."
Abigail studied his face.
"Maybe Hannah is why you noticed."
"Maybe."
"Then she helped save me too."
Cole's eyes turned wet.
He looked away quickly.
Abigail reached over.
For the first time, she touched his face.
Just her fingertips against his cheek.
Cole became motionless.
"If you want me to stop—"
"No."
She left her hand there.
There was no kiss.
Not yet.
But the air changed.
Several days later, Sheriff Danner arrived unexpectedly.
He brought news.
Martha had disappeared.
Abigail felt immediate fear despite herself.
"Disappear how?"
"Boarding-house owner found her room empty."
"Maybe she left town."
"Maybe."
The sheriff looked at Cole.
"But she owes money to some dangerous people."
Cole's expression hardened.
"Gambling?"
"Whiskey. Cards. Both."
"How much?"
"Enough."
Abigail's stomach tightened.
Sheriff Danner removed his gloves.
"One more thing."
He handed her an envelope.
"Found in her room."
Abigail stared at it.
Her name was written across the front.
In Martha's handwriting.
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a single page.
Abigail,
I know where your father was going before the avalanche. He wasn't only trying to take you away. He found something that belonged to you. If you want the truth, come to Red Hollow alone.
Do not bring Barrett.
Abigail read it twice.
Cole watched her face.
"What?"
She handed him the letter.
His jaw clenched.
"You're not going alone."
Abigail looked toward the snowy mountain road.
Martha had lied for twelve years.
Now she claimed there was still another truth.
And whatever it was, she knew exactly how to make Abigail follow.