Caleb opened the door with his rifle in his hand.
Three men stood outside.
The first wore a dark wool coat too expensive for the mountain and boots that had never known honest ranch mud before that week. He was perhaps thirty-eight, smooth-faced, narrow-eyed, with black gloves and a polished silver watch chain across his vest.
Behind him stood two hired men.
And behind them, tied to a tree, were three exhausted horses.
Edwin Vale smiled.
“Caleb Mercer, I presume.”
Caleb did not return the smile.
“You’ve ridden a long way to stand outside.”
Vale’s eyes moved past him.
He saw Clara.
Possession entered his expression.
Not relief.
Not affection.
Possession.
“There you are.”
Clara stepped farther into the room.
Caleb shifted, blocking Vale’s view.
Vale’s smile thinned.
“I’ve come for my fiancée.”
“She says she’s not.”
“She is confused.”
Clara’s voice carried from behind Caleb.
“I am not confused.”
Vale laughed softly.
“You’ve always been dramatic.”
Caleb’s grip tightened around the rifle.
“You have business with the sheriff, conduct it in town.”
“This is private.”
“No. It became my business when you came onto my land.”
Vale studied him.
“You truly believe her?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve known her three weeks.”
“That’s been long enough to know she doesn’t want you here.”
Vale’s eyes hardened.
“She stole from me.”
Clara appeared beside Caleb.
“I copied your theft.”
One of Vale’s men shifted.
Interesting.
Caleb noticed.
Vale noticed too.
“You see?” Edwin said. “Delusions. She was under considerable strain in Chicago.”
Clara’s chin lifted.
“You forged invoices through Baker Textile, Northwestern Freight, and Archer Supply.”
The hired man on the left looked sharply at Vale.
Vale’s face barely changed.
“You should come home.”
“I have no home with you.”
“I can make these accusations disappear.”
“By marrying you?”
“By being sensible.”
Clara stepped forward.
Caleb caught her arm gently.
Not to restrain her.
To remind her she was not alone.
Vale noticed the gesture.
Something ugly flashed across his face.
“Mercer, I don’t know what arrangement you’ve made with her—”
“You’re done.”
“I have documents proving—”
“You’re done.”
Caleb’s voice was quiet.
That made it more dangerous.
Vale stared at him.
Then he smiled again.
“Very well.”
He turned toward his horse.
“You should know warrants are already being prepared.”
Clara stiffened.
Vale mounted.
“Once territorial authorities receive extradition papers, your mountain friend won’t be able to hide you.”
Caleb stepped onto the porch.
“I’m not hiding anyone.”
“No?”
“No. She’s standing exactly where she chooses to stand.”
For the first time, Vale’s smile disappeared.
The three men rode away.
Caleb watched until trees swallowed them.
Then he closed the door.
Clara released a breath that shook.
“You should have let him take me.”
Caleb turned.
“No.”
“He will destroy you to get those papers.”
“Then we deal with him.”
“You don’t understand what men like Edwin do.”
Caleb leaned the rifle against the wall.
“I understand men.”
“He has money.”
“So?”
“Connections.”
“So?”
“He can lie convincingly.”
“So can half the men in Redemption. The other half just do it badly.”
Clara stared at him.
Despite everything, she laughed.
Then her face folded.
She covered her mouth.
Caleb had never been good with tears.
Sarah used to accuse him of looking more frightened by crying than gunfire.
Clara did not sob.
One tear slipped down her cheek.
Then another.
Caleb stood awkwardly.
“Clara.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I came here because I believed a lie, and now every terrible thing I escaped is following me into your life.”
He crossed the space between them.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“I didn’t write those letters.”
“I know.”
“But if I had known what was happening to you, I would still have told you to come.”
Her eyes widened.
Caleb realized what he had said only after hearing it.
Something passed between them.
Then he stepped back.
“Tomorrow we go to the sheriff.”
By sunrise, the storm had buried the trail.
They could not reach Redemption for three days.
Vale could not return either.
The mountain sealed them together.
Caleb discovered those three days were the most dangerous ones of all.
Not because of Edwin.
Because of Clara.
She wore one of his old shirts while washing her only good dress.
She stood barefoot near the stove.
She sang while kneading bread.
Quietly.
Not Sarah’s songs.
Her own.
Caleb would enter the cabin and stop because warmth, lamplight, and Clara’s red hair made the place resemble a home again.
He hated how much he wanted that.
On the second night, they played cards.
“You’re cheating,” Clara said.
“I’m winning.”
“That isn’t a denial.”
“You accused me without evidence.”
“You have three kings.”
“That’s evidence?”
“There are only four in the deck, and I have two.”
Caleb looked at his cards.
Then at her.
Clara burst out laughing.
He had accidentally included cards from a second deck stored in the same box.
By the time he realized it, he was laughing too.
Not politely.
Not briefly.
Laughing until his ribs hurt.
The sound filled the cabin.
Then it faded.
Clara was looking at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’ve never heard you laugh like that.”
“Neither have I.”
Her expression softened.
“You should do it more often.”
Caleb looked away.
That night he dreamed of Sarah.
She was standing beneath the pine.
But she was not sick.
She was twenty-five again, wearing the blue dress she had worn when they married.
Caleb tried to apologize.
Sarah only smiled.
When he woke, dawn was breaking.
Clara was asleep in the chair near the dying fire, a blanket around her shoulders.
Apparently she had stayed up reading and lost the fight.
Caleb stood over her.
A strand of red hair lay across her cheek.
Before he could stop himself, he reached toward it.
His fingers halted an inch away.
He withdrew his hand.
“Coward,” he muttered.
Clara opened one eye.
“Did you call me a coward?”
Caleb nearly jumped.
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Myself.”
“That sounds like a private argument.”
“It is.”
She smiled sleepily.
“I hope you win.”
The weather cleared that afternoon.
They rode to Redemption the next morning.
Sheriff Reed listened while Clara explained everything.
When she showed him the copied ledgers, his expression changed.
“These entries are enough to raise questions.”
“Are they enough to stop an arrest?”
“Maybe.”
He leaned back.
“Vale filed theft charges in Cook County. If legitimate papers arrive, I may have to hold you while the matter is reviewed.”
Caleb’s jaw hardened.
“You believe him?”
“Belief isn’t the same as law.”
Clara placed one hand over Caleb’s before he argued.
The gesture silenced him instantly.
Reed noticed.
“So what do we do?” she asked.
“Find corroboration.”
“There was a clerk named Henry Doyle. He handled shipping accounts. He suspected something.”
“Where is he?”
“Chicago, unless Edwin frightened him away.”
Jonas, who had been hovering outside the sheriff’s office out of guilt, entered.
“I know a telegraph operator in Denver who knows a Pinkerton agent.”
Caleb gave him a look.
Jonas raised both hands.
“I’m trying to fix my previous contribution to the situation.”
Clara almost smiled.
Reed nodded.
“Send the message.”
Two days later, a reply came.
Henry Doyle had vanished.
Vale’s accusation strengthened.
And then cattle began disappearing from Caleb’s mountain.
The first was a heifer.
Then two steers.
Tracks showed riders had cut the western fence.
Caleb followed them for miles.
They disappeared near the road toward Redemption.
“This isn’t random,” he told Clara.
“Edwin.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But I know cattle thieves don’t usually travel from Chicago wearing polished boots.”
He repaired the fence.
That night someone fired a bullet through the cabin window.
Glass exploded across the room.
Caleb threw Clara to the floor.
Another shot struck the wall.
He grabbed his rifle and ran outside.
Two riders disappeared among the trees.
Caleb fired once over their heads.
They kept going.
Inside, Clara sat amid broken glass, breathing hard.
Caleb knelt.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He checked anyway.
Her cheek had a tiny cut.
He wiped the blood with his thumb.
She went still.
So did he.
They were inches apart.
Caleb could feel her breath.
Clara’s green eyes dropped briefly to his mouth.
Then footsteps sounded on the porch.
Caleb spun with his rifle.
Jonas shouted.
“Don’t shoot!”
Caleb lowered the weapon.
Jonas entered carrying a telegram.
“What happened?”
“Someone fired through the window.”
Jonas went pale.
Caleb looked at the paper.
“What is it?”
Jonas handed it to Clara.
She unfolded it.
Read.
Her knees nearly gave way again.
Caleb caught her elbow.
“What?”
Clara looked up.
“Henry Doyle is alive.”
“Where?”
“Denver.”
Jonas nodded.
“The Pinkerton agent found him.”
Relief filled the room.
Then Clara continued reading.
Her expression changed.
“What else?”
“He says Edwin knows I have the copied ledgers.”
Caleb waited.
“And?”
“He says Edwin is coming back.”
Caleb looked toward the broken window.
“I think he already has.”