The second bullet buried itself in the log wall above Eliza’s head.
Rowan crossed the cabin before the echo faded.
He caught Eliza around the waist and pulled her behind the stone fireplace.
“Stay down.”
Eliza’s breath came too quickly.
“How many?”
“Don’t know.”
A third shot hit the door.
Rowan crawled toward the broken window.
Eliza grabbed his sleeve.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Don’t go outside.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You’ll shoot back?”
“If they give me something to shoot at.”
Her hand remained wrapped around his sleeve.
Rowan glanced at it but did not pull away.
“Listen to me,” he said quietly. “This cabin’s been through worse.”
“When?”
“Winter of seventy-eight.”
“What happened?”
“Bear.”
Despite everything, Eliza stared.
“A bear shot at you?”
“No.”
Another bullet struck the wall.
Rowan almost smiled.
“Bear was louder.”
A laugh escaped Eliza before she could stop it.
The sound shocked her.
Perhaps that was why Rowan had said it.
Outside, Caleb shouted.
“Eliza!”
She went rigid.
“I know you’re in there.”
Rowan’s eyes met hers.
Caleb continued.
“Creed kidnapped you!”
Eliza nearly laughed again, but this time there was no humor in it.
“Come outside and I won’t press charges.”
Rowan whispered, “Generous.”
Eliza glared at him.
“Sorry.”
Caleb shouted, “You’re sick, Eliza. You’re confused.”
Her fear turned to anger.
That was Caleb’s greatest weapon.
Not fists.
Not knives.
Not the skillet.
The way he rewrote reality.
He could strike her one evening and convince her by morning that she had forced him.
He could lock her in the bedroom and later claim he had been protecting her from herself.
He could take every dollar she earned and insist she was irresponsible with money.
And for years Eliza had slowly accepted the version of herself he described.
Weak.
Difficult.
Unstable.
Ungrateful.
She looked down at her splinted wrist.
Something inside her hardened.
Caleb called again.
“Come home!”
Eliza stood.
Rowan grabbed her arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Answering.”
“You stand near that window, I’ll tie you to the floor myself.”
She stared.
Rowan immediately released her.
“Bad choice of words.”
“Very.”
“Sorry.”
Despite herself, she believed him.
Eliza stayed behind the fireplace but raised her voice.
“Caleb!”
Silence outside.
Then, “Eliza?”
She heard disbelief.
“You’re alive.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.”
Rowan watched her carefully.
Caleb’s voice became tender.
The voice he used in public.
“Honey, you’re injured. Creed is taking advantage of you.”
Eliza felt something powerful happen.
The words no longer entered her.
They stopped at the surface.
“You beat me with a skillet.”
Silence.
“You broke my wrist.”
“Eliza—”
“You tied my hands.”
“You were hysterical!”
“You stole my money.”
“That money belonged to our household.”
“You left me in a ravine.”
“You ran from me and fell.”
Rowan’s expression darkened.
Eliza almost admired the speed of Caleb’s lie.
Almost.
Then she shouted, “You should have decided on that story before you told Rowan I disappeared.”
No answer.
Eliza continued.
“And before Deputy Pike helped you track me here.”
A horse shifted outside.
So Pike was there.
Caleb had not denied it.
Rowan leaned close.
“Keep him talking.”
“Why?”
“Need to know how many.”
Eliza understood.
“Where’s Pike?” she shouted.
Caleb said nothing.
“You brought a lawman to murder your wife?”
A second voice answered.
“Eliza Mercer!”
Pike.
“This is Deputy Harlan Pike. Rowan Creed is wanted for assault.”
Rowan whispered, “That was quick.”
Pike continued.
“Step outside.”
Eliza shouted back.
“Did Caleb tell you he tried to kill me?”
“Eliza, you’re not thinking clearly.”
There it was again.
She closed her eye.
Then opened it.
“I have my mother’s papers.”
Outside, silence.
Rowan turned sharply toward her.
Eliza lifted one finger.
Wait.
She shouted, “Birth certificate. Marriage record. Letters.”
Caleb finally answered.
“What letters?”
His voice had changed.
No tenderness.
No concern.
Fear.
Eliza smiled.
“Miriam Whitmore’s.”
Someone cursed.
Not Caleb.
Pike.
Rowan’s eyes narrowed.
Eliza understood at once.
“Deputy Pike knows the name.”
Rowan whispered, “Apparently.”
Caleb shouted, “Those papers belong to me!”
Eliza nearly laughed.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For admitting they exist.”
No response.
Then the shooting started again.
This time from two directions.
Rowan grabbed the water bucket and kicked dirt over part of the fire.
“What are you doing?”
“Making it dark.”
The cabin dimmed.
“Cellar trapdoor,” Rowan said.
Eliza stared.
“What cellar?”
“Under the bed.”
“You have a cellar?”
“I live through Colorado winters. Of course I have a cellar.”
Another shot.
Rowan shoved the bed aside.
A square wooden hatch appeared.
He opened it.
“Get in.”
“What about you?”
“I’m coming.”
She climbed awkwardly down a short ladder.
Rowan handed her the satchel of papers.
Then the revolver.
He descended after her and closed the hatch.
Darkness swallowed them.
The cellar smelled of earth, potatoes, and smoke.
Rowan struck a match.
At the far wall was a narrow opening.
“A tunnel?”
“Root cellar drains downhill.”
“You can crawl through that?”
“We can tonight.”
Eliza looked at her wrist.
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
Before she could ask, Rowan knelt with his back toward her.
“Get on.”
“No.”
“Eliza.”
“You’re not carrying me through a hole.”
“You’d rather stay for Caleb?”
She climbed onto his back.
The tunnel was miserable.
Narrow.
Freezing.
Every movement hurt Eliza’s ribs.
But Rowan kept going.
After nearly fifteen minutes, moonlight appeared ahead.
They emerged behind a cluster of boulders sixty yards downhill from the cabin.
Eliza looked back.
Men moved around the building.
Three.
Caleb.
Pike.
And another man.
Rowan’s horse was hidden farther down the ravine.
“How did you know they wouldn’t find him?”
“Horse doesn’t like strangers.”
“That keeps them away?”
“No. He bites.”
Rowan helped Eliza mount.
Then climbed behind her.
They moved through the trees without using the trail.
Half a mile later, orange light rose behind them.
Eliza twisted around.
“No.”
Rowan looked back.
His cabin was burning.
Flames reached above the pines.
“They set it on fire.”
He said nothing.
Eliza felt sick.
“That was your home.”
“Was a cabin.”
“Everything you own—”
“I own what I’m carrying.”
His voice was steady.
But Eliza felt the tension in the arm around her.
He had lost his home because of her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“They burned it because I was there.”
“They burned it because they’re bad men.”
She stared ahead.
The distinction mattered.
They rode until dawn.
Rowan took them to an abandoned shepherd’s hut high above tree line.
Inside, he built a small smokeless fire.
Eliza sat wrapped in blankets while he examined her wrist.
“Still straight.”
“You sound surprised.”
“You rode six hours.”
“So did you.”
“My wrist isn’t broken.”
She looked at him.
“Your house burned.”
He shrugged.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be angry.”
Rowan stopped.
Eliza waited.
Finally he said, “I am.”
“At me?”
“No.”
“At yourself?”
“Some.”
“Why?”
“For underestimating Caleb.”
“You didn’t.”
“Didn’t expect Pike.”
“Neither did I.”
Rowan looked toward the hut door.
“My brother used to tell me the dangerous man isn’t the one carrying a gun. It’s the one carrying authority.”
Eliza thought of Elias Creed.
The man who might have come searching for her when she was seven.
“Do you think Pike killed your brother?”
Rowan did not answer for several seconds.
“Maybe.”
“And if he did?”
“I’ll find proof.”
“What if there isn’t any?”
“Then I won’t pretend there is.”
Eliza studied him.
That was another difference.
Caleb needed every suspicion to become fact if it helped him.
Rowan appeared willing to live with uncertainty.
“What do we do now?”
“Go to the mine.”
“Why now?”
“Because Caleb knows about the papers.”
“And the deed.”
“Not where it is.”
“Yet.”
Rowan nodded.
They left after two hours.
The trail into Jefferson Creek had not been used in years.
Snow covered most of it.
By afternoon, they reached a narrow canyon.
Old timber supports protruded from the mountainside.
Rowan dismounted.
“Whitmore Number Three.”
Eliza stared at the black mine entrance.
“My father worked here?”
“Sometimes.”
Rowan tied the horse.
They entered carrying a lantern.
The tunnel descended into darkness.
Old rails rusted beneath their feet.
Water dripped somewhere ahead.
Eliza’s fear grew with every step.
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“A marker.”
“What kind?”
Rowan lifted the lantern.
“Three stars.”
They searched nearly an hour.
Nothing.
Then Eliza noticed scratches on a support beam.
A pine tree.
Above it, three stars.
“Rowan.”
He turned.
Together they removed several stones behind the timber.
Inside was a metal box.
Rowan pulled it free.
Eliza knelt beside him.
The lock had rusted away.
Inside were documents wrapped in waxed cloth.
The original deed.
A ledger.
Several letters.
And a revolver.
Rowan lifted the ledger.
His eyes widened.
“What?”
“This isn’t ranch accounting.”
“What is it?”
“Payments.”
“To who?”
Rowan turned pages.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts.
Then he stopped.
His face drained.
“Eliza.”
“What?”
He handed her the book.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Daniel Mercer.
Then another.
Harlan Pike.
Payments extending over nearly twenty years.
Eliza’s heart hammered.
“What does it mean?”
Rowan pointed to an entry from 1867.
A payment beside the initials E.C.
Elias Creed.
Eliza looked up.
“My brother disappeared that week,” Rowan said.
They stared at each other.
Then came a sound behind them.
Metal against stone.
Rowan extinguished the lantern.
Darkness.
Footsteps echoed from the entrance.
A voice followed.
Caleb.
“Thank you, Eliza.”
Her blood froze.
“You saved me the trouble of finding it myself.”